‘You look …’ Stunning, beautiful, radiant, glowing. He grappled for the right words but all of them seemed inadequate, cheesy or both. Nothing came close to capturing the way she looked and the feelings she stirred within him, physical and emotional.
Maisie frowned as he faltered.
‘You look well.’
‘Well?’
‘Yeah. As in, you know … healthy, fit, shiny … and that coat is nice. Is it new?’
Maisie glanced at her puffa coat and back at Patrick with amazement. ‘Healthy? Shiny? My coat? You make me sound like Basil. Any minute now, you’ll be throwing a stick for me and offering me a Bob Martin’s.’
‘Bob Martin’s? I’m sorry, I …’
Maisie shook her head at his incomprehension. ‘They’re vitamin tablets for dogs. They’re supposed to give them a nice glossy coat. My gran used to have a spaniel and she always swore by them. For the dog, not herself.’ Her tone was deadpan.
Patrick floundered. He hardly knew what she was saying, only how he was feeling. Confused. Turned on. High as a kite and in the depths of despair all at the same time. ‘That too. I do like your coat … is it new? Shit. I’m digging a hole here, aren’t I?’
Maisie shook her head but he could tell she was definitely amused. He’d made her laugh. He liked seeing her laugh, he liked making her laugh … and making her cry out in pleasure even more.
‘Channel Tunnel sized. I’d enjoy watching you reach Australia, but we’re going to miss the whole Nativity Parade if we don’t leave right this minute.’ She glanced around her to make sure no one could hear her. Her breath was warm against his ear. ‘I’d love to drag you off to bed.’
‘But?’ Patrick murmured, trying to regain some semblance of composure and finding it almost impossible with an offer like that whispered in his ear.
‘But … much as I fancy sneaking off for a quickie behind the lifeboat station, I’ve waited years to be back on Scilly to see the Nativity Parade and nothing and no one is going to keep me away.’
‘Thanks a lot!’ Patrick’s protest drew a momentary glance from the smokers but they immediately went back to their fags and the view over the harbour.
‘Shh, now come on before we miss the action, and don’t forget, to everyone else, we’re just friends. Or in your case, an underling.’
‘Just friends.’ Patrick shot her an exasperated grin. As soon as they stepped out into the street, he shoved his hands in his coat pockets in case he accidentally put his arm around Maisie or patted her bum. What a bum. She was wearing a skin-tight pair of faded jeans with a strategically placed rip where her cheek met the top of her thigh. Her slim calves were encased in chunky boots. Patrick was glad it was fully dark now so he could watch her without being seen too clearly. His view of her as they weaved in and out of people towards the parade was enough to make him weep in frustration.
Will and Jess soon spotted them and made their way over on the street corner. Javid and Katya were already in prime position, along with some of the rugby club regulars and their families.
Maisie was jigging up and down like an excited kid.
‘We’ve missed the start of the parade but we’ll still see most of it,’ said Maisie. ‘Jess says Adam’s niece and nephew are taking part in the lantern parade.’
‘What happens?’ asked Patrick.
‘They do it every year. The shepherds and angels start off from the Star Castle and they pick up other characters along the way. The three kings, Mary, Joseph and baby Jesus. He’s always played by a baby who was born on the islands this year.’
‘Jess. Hi!’ Maisie said when the group were together.
Jess hugged Maisie. ‘Sorry, we thought we were going to miss everything and I had to practically drag Will off the farm and down to the jetty. It’s like Santa’s grotto in that packing room at the farm, but with flowers not gifts. I feel bad enough for leaving the seasonal elves on their own but Mum’s stepped in to supervise. Why does Christmas always happen at our busiest time of year?’
Maisie laughed. Patrick got a slap on the back from Will. Patrick knew how hard the Godrevy family had worked to build up St Saviour’s Flower Farm through two generations. On his recent visits to the farm for his liaisons with Maisie, he’d been amazed at the scale of the operation and the sight and scent of hundreds of thousands of yellow narcissi being harvested and sent off all over the UK. Judy would have loved to see it – she loved tending her own small patch on the roof terrace of the Fingle.
‘Oh, there’s little Todd from the jewellery workshop down the road from the farm. He looks so cute in his tea-towel headdress. And that’s the new baby, Cary, from the bakery behind the Starfish Studio on St Piran’s.’
‘Fen and Archie will love seeing their neighbour’s baby take centre stage,’ Maisie said. ‘I see Archie’s already here with his sketchbook. Look, Jess. Here come Adam’s niece and nephew, the angels with the three kings.’
Jess snorted. ‘Angels, my arse. Those girls are from the market garden on St Saviour’s. A serious case of miscasting there. They’re always up to something.’
Patrick listened, quietly amused by the local gossip.
Maisie pulled out her phone and started taking photos, pointing out local characters in the parade to Patrick. She glowed as brightly as the lanterns carried by the children.
Patrick, Maisie and their friends followed the parade further down the street as a local group sang carols. They were old favourites that most people listening would recognise, even though they might be from opposite sides of the planet. ‘Good King Wenceslas’ and ‘Away in a Manger’. Patrick could put names to some of the faces in the crowds, and recognised more. The isles’ winter population was barely that of a large secondary school, although it had clearly been swollen by some hardy tourists wanting to escape the festive madness of the mainland and join in with simpler festivities.
There could not have been a greater contrast than with Melbourne, where the bars, inside and out, would be packed with office parties enjoying champagne and seafood under cloudless skies. Did he miss that big-city buzz, the heat and the long sunny days? Yes and no. He loved Melbourne, the Fingle, Judy and his mates, but there was a different kind of joy in seeing Maisie’s smiling face.
He’d never seen her so happy. All her worries about Hugo’s plans for the Driftwood and Gull seemed to have been temporarily set aside, and it was obvious she was thrilled to be back in her home for Christmas. He was delighted to see her in such high spirits but he also felt like a cuckoo in the nest more than ever.
The little nativity group and their adult supporters stopped to collect money for local charities. Patrick discreetly added some notes and then they moved on. It was low key but, Patrick thought, charming and touching in its simplicity. People spoke to him, made a few cracks about how he was enjoying the sunny weather, adding the usual jokes about crocodiles and beach barbecues he’d heard a hundred times before. He didn’t mind the jokes, and his laughter was largely genuine. He realised that he felt happy too, but every time he caught himself feeling too content, a chill of guilt immediately replaced the glow. He’d been drawn into this community – lured onto the rocks by lights shining on the cliffs – and now he wasn’t sure how he could escape without causing terrible damage to himself and all around him.
‘Where do they go next?’ Patrick asked.
‘To the chapel for a carol service, but I assume we’re going to the rugby club for a drink and a curry? For once neither of us will have to worry about being behind a bar, eh?’
Will slapped him on the back. ‘Right, been there and done that. Now let’s go and have a pint, shall we? Or in your case, a nice cup of Earl Grey.’
‘Ha ha,’ said Patrick, glad to be shaken out of his maudlin thoughts by his mate’s ribbing.
A few minutes later, Patrick collected a steaming mug of tea from the urn in the clubhouse while Maisie helped herself to mulled wine.. The place smelled of spices and Deep Heat, which was strangely soothing,
and Patrick would take any form of comfort, however weird, at this moment. There were a couple of dozen people milling around the room, which had been hung with homemade garlands and tinsel. A tree stood in the corner decorated with glittering paper rugby-ball ‘ornaments’ made by the kids of the players and friends. Someone had set up their iPad and connected it to the speakers and the usual Christmas hits were belting out so loudly that people were having to shout. Everyone was getting into the Christmas spirit and imbibing it too while they caught up with friends and family who had been away at university or working on the mainland.
Maisie sidled up to him. ‘Shall we pop outside for a breath of fresh air? I want to talk to you in private,’ she said with a solemn tone. ‘I think you’ve got something to tell me, haven’t you, Patrick?’
He followed her out to the car park. His heart pounded like a jackhammer. ‘What would that be?’
‘You paid for all those building materials for the Hell Cove Cottages. None of them were washed up or scrounged.’
‘Who told you that?’
Maisie hesitated. ‘Please don’t blame him but I heard it from Will. I know they cost a fortune. You didn’t need to do that.’
‘It’s not a crime, is it?’ Patrick said the words with a cheery smile while his stomach churned like a cement mixer.
‘No, but I don’t want you wasting your hard-earned cash on strangers.’
‘Two things. One, my cash wasn’t wasted, and two, I don’t see Una and Phyllis as strangers, I don’t see anyone who’s given their time and energy to help out with the renovations as strangers.’
She shot him a puzzled look. ‘Oh … OK. That’s really generous of you, but you could have told me about it from the start.’
‘Well, I thought you might have stopped me if I’d told you the plan.’
‘I would! You’re not made of money.’
‘I had a bit saved up. Greg left me a small legacy and it seemed a good use of it. What else am I going to spend my wages on round here?’ So far, Patrick reminded himself, he hadn’t actually told Maisie an outright lie.
He kissed her.
‘Someone will see!’
‘So?’
‘Patrick. No.’
‘I thought you didn’t like us having secrets.’
‘I can understand why you did it, and that it might not seem important but I’d rather you shared it with me.’
‘I didn’t want it to be a big deal. I don’t want thanks or gratitude or people treating me any different from the way they do now.’
‘They wouldn’t.’
‘People treat you differently if you have money,’ he said. ‘Look at Hugo,’ he added.
‘Hugo is treated differently because he’s a prat, not because he’s loaded, but I wouldn’t know, to be honest. I’ve never been in a position to find out …’ She glanced at him as if she was waiting for a similar comment from him but then nodded. ‘I can understand what you’re getting at. My ex, Keegan, never fitted in, he wanted to be one of the boys but he was still the boss’s son among the rest of us.’
‘Yet he impressed you. You knew the real bloke.’ Patrick seized on the switch in direction of the conversation, on any thread that led away from him or would force him into an outright lie – or a confession.
‘Correction. I thought I knew the real bloke … I was obviously wrong.’ She let him hold her and shook her head. ‘I’m sure the Bartons would be really grateful if they knew you’d forked out for those slates.’
Patrick was plunged back into agony. ‘But they don’t. Only Will and a couple of the lads who helped unload them from the boats do.’ And Hugo now, of course … maybe it had been naïve of Patrick to think he could keep the truth about the materials from Maisie, but it was too late for her to stop him now. ‘I’d be embarrassed if anyone thanked me, especially the Bartons. I don’t want anyone to think they owe me anything.’
She picked at the zip on his coat, toying with it. Then looked him full in the eye. ‘And you don’t want to owe anyone anything either?’
Her tone had changed. Still light but her bubble had burst. He had done that: brought her down to earth, hurt her with a thoughtless remark. He did that to women he loved, though he had always thought it was never his fault. He was beginning to realise that it was always his fault.
‘I didn’t mean you, Maisie. I only meant that I haven’t come here looking for thanks or applause. The Bartons had a need and I could help. That’s it. It was a spur of the moment decision.’
‘Really?’
Patrick moved closer and took her back in his arms. She let him hold her but she looked and felt brittle. ‘I only meant to help,’ he said.
‘Can you two just get a room or something?’
Maisie leapt out of his arms like a scalded cat.
‘Bloody hell, Will. You almost gave me a heart attack.’ Her face was bright pink. Patrick was relieved.
Jess appeared. ‘Guilty consciences? Why don’t you two go public … oh wait, could it be because your lives will be impossible to live with for the next three months and everyone will drive you mad, ask when you’re getting married and should they be ordering a hat?’
Maisie laughed. ‘Something like that.’
Will grinned. ‘If you’ve finished, some of the lads wondered whether you fancied a quick game before we go for a turkey curry?’
Jess tutted. ‘A game? What are you like, eh? Can’t you see that Patrick had other things than rugby in mind?’
‘It’s OK. We were finished.’ Maisie laughed but avoided Patrick’s eye.
Patrick was relieved, but knew his reprieve was temporary. He had to make a decision soon about everything. Bloody everything … ‘Sure. Sounds good,’ he said.
Will swept him into the clubhouse. Patrick’s mind raged with so many thoughts and emotions. Hugo had scared him, even though Hugo had got the wrong end of the stick – for now. How long would it be before Hugo – or someone else – got the right end?
Chapter 30
Christmas was coming up fast and since the Nativity Parade the Driftwood had been quiet apart from a handful of small scheduled functions. Although they planned to open in the week after Christmas for the sake of locals and visitors, the main event was to be New Year’s Eve – Maisie’s birthday – with a band, buffet and fireworks.
Maisie and Patrick spent a lot of time working on repairs, and gardening at the pub or joining in the renovations at Hell Cove. Jess and Will’s mum was back from her visit to Cornwall so the Flower Farm was off the menu as a lust nest for the time being. Maisie resigned herself to a few snatched hours with Patrick while her parents were out at Christmas lunches or visiting friends.
Then, before she knew it, it was Christmas Eve itself. As if sensing that Maisie wanted some time with her parents, Patrick had accepted an invitation from Javid and Katya to join them for dinner, but he called into the flat later and shared a glass of apple juice while the Samsons enjoyed a midnight toast with something stronger. After a snatched kiss with Patrick as Maisie tidied up the kitchen, it was time for bed.
Maisie lay awake longer than she’d expected after all the physical work she’d been doing over the past few weeks. The darkness was profound: no light pollution of any kind filtered through her curtains. She thought of Patrick, hoping he’d be lying awake too and thinking of her. How much she’d love to be sharing his bed now – or that he was sharing her double.
It was ridiculous, she thought as she thumped her pillow, to carry on in this secretive way. No matter what the gossip they would have to endure, and how worried her parents would be about the future – or lack of it – of her relationship with Patrick, it was surely time to get things out in the open so they could enjoy what time they had left together properly? That prospect kept her tossing and turning until the chapel bell tolled one a.m. and she fell asleep to the sound of the waves rolling onto the beach outside the Driftwood.
For the first time in eight years, Maisie woke up on Christmas morni
ng with no pub to open. By the time she drew the curtains, daylight – already half an hour old in London – had reached Scilly.
There was no sign of Patrick at breakfast even though he’d been invited the previous evening, he said he’d have ‘too much to do’. Over bacon butties, and still in her pyjamas, Maisie opened her gifts with her parents. The contrast between her putting on her uniform and opening a massive pub ready for the most hectic day of the year couldn’t have been greater, but the happiness of sharing the day with her parents was still tinged with the bitter memories of the previous year.
Worries about the renovations, finances and Patrick’s departure at some point were pushed aside, but her pleasure was laced heavily with sadness when she thought that she might have been a mum herself this year. There should have been gifts for a little one under the tree and a baby at the table.
A gentle hug from her father and a look from her mother let Maisie know that they were all too aware of her wistful thoughts. Yet it was Christmas and this year she was utterly determined that nothing would stop her from making the most of it and having a lovely family day. She pushed the bad times to the back of her mind and threw herself into the fun of Christmas morning. Her mum had ordered a top and jeans that Maisie had hinted she loved, plus a matching bracelet and necklace that Maisie had spotted in one of the galleries on the off-islands. Her father produced a carved French-style dressing-table mirror and stool, which he’d managed to have delivered and hidden away under sacks in his shed all without Maisie’s knowledge.
Maisie had a lump in her throat as she opened the large, gift-wrapped box and saw the furnishings. These gifts had significance beyond their practicality. The main items of furniture in her rented flat in St Austell had been the landlord’s, but even the smaller personal items had had to be pared down, not to mention the general ‘stuff’. And she’d left the flat in a hurry so much of it was given away, or went to the charity shop. A kind friend had also held a garage sale for her while she was sorting herself out and sent the proceeds on to Maisie by PayPal but the personal items she’d been able to salvage were precious to her.
Christmas on the Little Cornish Isles Page 23