The Little Shop in Cornwall: A heartwarming and feel good beach read

by Helen Pollard

  The Little Shop in Cornwall

  A heart-warming and feel-good beach read

  Helen Pollard

  Books by Helen Pollard

  The Little Shop in Cornwall

  La Cour des Roses Series

  1. The Little French Guesthouse

  2. Return to the Little French Guesthouse

  3. Summer at the Little French Guesthouse

  Available in audio

  The Little French Guesthouse (available in the UK and the US)

  Contents

  Prologue

  *

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  The Little French Guesthouse

  Hear more from Helen

  A Letter from Helen

  Books by Helen Pollard

  Return to the Little French Guesthouse

  Summer at the Little French Guesthouse

  Acknowledgements

  *

  In memory of Patricia

  Prologue

  Claudia sat stiffly in an armchair, waiting for Lee to get home from his Friday after-work drinks. She had declined to go. She’d had plenty to do.

  At the sound of his key in the lock, she took a deep breath. Since she’d made her decision, she felt remarkably calm.

  Lee stepped into the lounge, a frown on his handsome face. ‘Why are the cases in the hall? You didn’t tell me you had a conference this weekend.’

  ‘I don’t. I’m leaving you.’

  Lee’s frown morphed into confusion, then anger. ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me.’

  ‘I wasn’t sure I heard right, with you just sitting there like that! You’ve already packed? We haven’t even talked about this. What the hell are you saying?’

  ‘I don’t see how I can put it any plainer, Lee. I’m leaving. We’re done.’

  Lee threw his arms in the air. ‘Is this about the other day? Because if it is, you’re overreacting.’

  Claudia could have lost her cool at that point, but somehow, she kept her voice steady. ‘I don’t think it’s overreacting to end a marriage in which it turns out you’ve been lied to the entire time.’

  ‘For crying out loud, Claudia. We went through this. Call it a misunderstanding, a change of heart, if you like.’

  ‘No, Lee, I don’t like. It may have started out that way, a long time ago. Now? Outright lies.’ She sighed. ‘You knew all along that I wanted a family. You said you wanted the same. You kept putting it off. I went along with that. But overhearing you telling those oafish poker-playing friends of yours that you’d never had any intention, that I’d come around to it once time ran out…’ Her voice hitched, and she fought to control it. ‘I’d say that was the trump card, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I told you, I was drunk. I told you…’

  ‘You told me a lot of things, but for the first time, I listened to my gut instinct. This marriage might have been working for you, but I’ve come to realise it isn’t working for me.’

  ‘And what exactly do you think you’re going to do with yourself?’

  Claudia ignored the derision in his voice; the assumption that she couldn’t go it alone. ‘I’m going to listen to my gut instinct more often, for a start.’

  Lee snorted. ‘You and your gut instinct. That’s not the only skill you need in our business, Claudia. All your promotions at that firm are down to me. When I get promoted, you get promoted, because people know you go hand in hand with me. See how that works?’

  Claudia shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. I handed in my notice today.’ Lee’s eyes widened as she pushed on. ‘I’ll be filing for divorce. I don’t expect you to contest it.’ When he opened his mouth, no doubt to tell her where she could stick her divorce papers, with quiet threat in her voice she said, ‘I know your secrets at work, Lee. The way you operate. Nothing illegal but certainly morally underhanded. So I suggest you’re civil to me while I work out my notice, and that you play nice with the divorce.’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘I don’t suppose it occurred to you it’s the other way around, by the way? That you get promoted because I get promoted?’ The blank look on his face almost made her smile. Let him think that through at his leisure. ‘As for the flat? You can buy me out, or we can sell and split. I don’t care, but I do want my share as soon as possible. I have a life to live.’

  Lee’s features betrayed his struggle to process the turn of events since he’d walked through the door after a pleasant couple of hours in a wine bar. His eyes narrowed. ‘Is there someone else?’

  ‘No. Just most definitely not you.’

  ‘Charming! You don’t want to talk this through?’

  His question was half-hearted at best – the final proof Claudia needed that he simply didn’t care enough to fight for her.

  ‘Do we have anything to talk about?’

  Lee remained silent for the longest moment, then finally sighed. ‘Truthfully? No.’

  Claudia stood. ‘Then I’ll go.’

  ‘Go where?’

  ‘Debbie offered me a room. I’ll work out my notice while I look for another job. I only intend to stay in London until the divorce is settled and I have my share of the flat. Then I’ll live the life I want to live.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Honestly? I don’t know yet. But I do know it will be as far away from London as I can go. I do know I will wear what I like, eat what I like, never go near another gym again, never spend every morning battling with hair straighteners, just to please you. Never have to keep my mouth shut at work for the benefit of you blundering your way up that precious career ladder of yours. Most important of all, I won’t be spending my life with a man who promised we wanted the same things, promised me a family – the one thing I knew I did want – but had no intention of delivering on that promise. A man willing to sacrifice his wife’s wishes and happiness for his own selfishness and who could lie for years to do so.’ She moved into the hall and hefted a case in each hand. ‘Goodbye, Lee.’

  *

  Three years later…

  Chapter One

  Claudia looked up as the doorbell jangled and peered at her potential customers. A teenager in substantial biker boots and a purple tie-dye dress over black leggings clomped across the threshold, her long, black hair streaked with purple, an air of sadness and anger advancing with her into the shop. Trailing behind, a man perhaps in his mid-thirties glanced warily at the goods on display.

  Claudia went back to the friendship bracelet she was weaving. She didn’t believe in approaching customers. They would stay awhile or not; buy or not. If something was meant for them, it would catch their eye. Their purchase may only bring them fleeting pleasure, but Claudia always hoped it would bring them something more.

  Surreptitiously, she watched as they browsed her Aladdin’s cave of crystals, beads, jewellery, textiles; scented candles, handmade soaps, essential oils; coastal wall art.

  The teenager was antsy, picking everything up as though s
he would only know what she wanted once she held it in her hand. As that was often true in life, Claudia didn’t mind her handling the goods. Healing Waves was intended as a sensory space.

  The girl’s reluctant companion remained a few paces behind, his facial expressions alternating between puzzlement and outright disapproval. His appearance – short, sandy-brown hair; conventionally dressed in jeans and collared T-shirt – was the opposite of the teenager, but their shared lean height and startlingly-pale blue eyes told Claudia they were father and daughter.

  Claudia got the impression the man would rather have waited outside but didn’t dare, in case his offspring bought something unsuitable. Glaring at the small selection of fantasy figures she stocked, he picked up a mermaid embracing a dragon and stared at it as though he’d never seen the like. When he reached the shelf of self-help books and read the blurb on a pack of shamanic-themed oracle cards, she thought he might spontaneously combust with disapproval.

  The girl gravitated to the counter to browse a stand draped with pendants of crystals and tumblestones.

  ‘What’s this one?’ she asked, holding up a smooth circlet of purple on a black leather lace, her Scottish accent suggesting she was an early-season tourist.

  ‘Amethyst.’ Claudia nodded her approval. ‘Good choice.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s an all-rounder. Calming and peaceful.’ Taking a chance, she added, ‘Good for anxiety.’

  The father narrowed his eyes in cynicism, but the girl gave an unconscious jolt.

  Smoothly, Claudia said, ‘And it matches your hair.’

  ‘I’ll take it.’ The girl gave her a tentative smile, but Claudia sensed it was a struggle, as though she hadn’t tried it for a while. As she handed over her money, the girl spotted Claudia’s cat curled in his basket at the back of the counter. ‘Oh, he’s lovely! Can I stroke him? Is it a he?’

  Claudia smiled. ‘Yes, he’s a he. This is Pudding. He’s safe to stroke.’

  The girl reached out black-painted nails to carefully stroke between the cat’s ears. Pudding opened one eye, decided she was acceptable, and closed it again.

  ‘He’s an unusual colour,’ the girl pronounced.

  Claudia chuckled. ‘That’s the understatement of the year!’

  Pudding was a mottled character, his fur a mishmash of ginger and black and brown and white. Depending in which light he languished, he could look like a tortoiseshell or a tabby, or sometimes, just a mongrelly mess. His half-ginger, half-black nose gave him a quizzical expression, and his white bib made him look like he was always ready for his next meal – which he usually was, and he could be quite vocal about it. His yellow-green eyes were, as with all cats’ eyes, rather mesmerising. Claudia could spend hours returning his steady gaze, lulled by his engine-loud purr, if she allowed herself to.

  The girl took her change, and Claudia watched as they left, the father clearly relieved to be on his way out, taking his frown lines and pervading sense of weariness with him. She could have suggested something for him, too, but she doubted he’d be willing to wear a crystal in any shape or form.

  Ah, well. You win some, you lose some.

  Strolling back along the beach road towards the harbour, Jason already knew he would come to love the setting for their new home on the south coast of Cornwall.

  On their left, the beach was uncrowded – for now – and inviting, the sea still and sparkling and undoubtedly too cold to toy with. On their right, grey stone or whitewashed buildings lined the opposite side of the road that ran alongside the beach, old and characterful, with tasteful shops and cafés interspersed among the houses.

  As they walked, Jason tried to engage his daughter in conversation. ‘Do you like your new necklace?’

  ‘Wouldn’t have bought it otherwise, would I?’

  ‘Do you believe what that woman told you? About it having… abilities?’

  Millie shrugged. ‘Dunno. I like the colour, anyway.’

  Another sparkling exchange. Jason had been making allowances for Millie for a year now. Her mother’s death, her teenage angst… He’d thought that if he was patient things would improve, but it seemed to get worse rather than better. Over the past few months, Millie had got into some kind of goth mode he wasn’t keen on – dyeing her hair; wearing clumpy boots and dark clothes that either clung tight, emphasising her skinny frame, or dangled off her like rags.

  Shops like the one they’d just been in didn’t help. Whenever they passed one of those hippie-dippy places, in she wandered like a moth drawn to a flame. Incense that made him feel nauseous, colourful garments from exotic places, statues of Buddha everywhere… He often took to waiting for her outside.

  To be fair, Healing Waves wasn’t like that – it had a light and airy atmosphere – but Jason still wasn’t keen on the merchandise. What he was keen on was his daughter growing out of this weird phase of hers as soon as possible, before they both lost their sanity.

  ‘She’s pretty, don’t you think?’

  Startled that Millie had initiated a topic of conversation with him, he asked, ‘Who?’

  ‘The lady in the shop where I got my necklace.’

  His daughter was giving him a curious sideways look, and Jason wondered what to say. ‘Pretty’ wasn’t the word he’d use. Striking, maybe? Wild curls in every colour from gold to red around an attractive face; a floaty turquoise top to match the sea outside her shop.

  Not keen on having an awkward discussion with his fourteen-year-old daughter about which aspects of women he found attractive, all he said was, ‘I suppose so.’

  They reached the harbour, its boats bobbing with the tide almost in. Narrow side roads led uphill towards the wooded hillside that acted as a deep green backdrop to the bay.

  Porthsteren was enough to serve their needs, Jason reckoned, with the Smugglers’ Inn at the harbourside, the General Store opposite, a cluster of other small shops here, and the few dotted along the beach road.

  Leaving Millie sitting on a bench to watch the boats, he crossed the road to the General Store, low and white and long – presumably two or three cottages knocked into one at some stage.

  They’d had fish and chips for supper the previous night, after waving the removals men off, and they had bought pasties for tonight. He would do a proper shop tomorrow, but for now, they needed bread and milk.

  Plucking a carton of milk from the fridge, he headed to the counter where fresh bread sat on the shelves behind – slim pickings, so late in the day.

  ‘You must be our newbie,’ the woman at the counter said, holding out her hand. ‘I’m Libby.’

  Jason took in the stout, middle-aged woman with greying hair and a friendly face.

  He shook her hand. ‘Jason Craig.’ How does she know I’m not a tourist?

  ‘I saw the moving van puffing its way up the hill yesterday,’ Libby said in answer to his unspoken question. ‘The men popped in for snacks after, so I interrogated them.’ She winked, as though this were perfectly acceptable. ‘Is that your daughter over there?’

  ‘Er. Yes. Millie.’

  ‘You’re both very welcome here in Porthsteren. It’s always good to have permanent residents to swell our numbers, and not just second-homers. Settling in alright, are you, my lover?’

  Telling himself he would have to get used to this overfamiliar – to him, anyway – Cornish greeting, Jason said, ‘Yes, thanks. The house is still topsy-turvy, though. Boxes to unpack. But we’ll get there.’

  ‘Where have you moved from?’

  ‘Edinburgh.’

  ‘You don’t sound Scottish.’

  ‘No, but we lived in Edinburgh for the past ten years.’ Why am I telling her all this?

  ‘Millie will be starting school after the Easter holidays, I take it?’

  ‘Yes. She’s looking forward to it.’ About as much as if I were pushing her into the fiery pits of hell in a uniform.

  Libby gave his hand a reassuring pat. ‘She’ll be fine. Kids are resilient.’ At
that, she looked stricken. ‘Oh dear. That wasn’t the best thing to say, was it? We’re all so sorry to hear about your loss.’

  Jason wasn’t sure who she meant by ‘we all’. Presumably the entire population of Porthsteren. He had no idea how these things got around without you imparting them. Had he mentioned it to the movers? Had his solicitor mentioned it to the sellers’ solicitor?

  With Libby waiting for a suitable reply, he said, ‘Don’t worry. We’ve had time to come to terms with it.’

  ‘Ah well. A new start will do you both good.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’ I’m also sure I only came in for bread and milk, but it seems I have to endure the Spanish Inquisition to get it.

  ‘Have you explored today? Been in any of our little shops yet?’

  Knowing it would be wise to show that he was making an effort, Jason told her, ‘We walked along the beach road. Bought pasties. Had a quick peek in the bookshop.’

  ‘Oh, I could spend hours there, if I had the time. Sarah and Evelyn have run that place for years. How about next door to them? Healing Waves?’

  Jason tried not to make a face. ‘My daughter wanted to go in.’

  ‘You’ve met Claudia, then. She’s newish, too. Well, she’s been here a couple of years now, but that’s new to an old-timer like me. We all love her to bits,’ Libby gushed.

  Jason’s cynical side kicked in – not that it was ever too far away. He didn’t believe in people who were as bright and shiny on the inside as they appeared on the outside. Everyone had their weaknesses, their flaws, their demons. Some were just better at putting on a front than others.