‘Of course you can!’ Penelope’s face looked flushed, and as she lowered the dog to the floor I caught a glimpse of bare boobs beneath the robe. ‘We’re just off outside to paint. Sorry about the mess. We had a bit of a party last night.’
‘It’s fine,’ I said weakly, taking in the state of the cottage. Dirty dishes, empty bottles, goodness knows how many wine glasses … A party? A full-on rave might be more accurate; how two people could have created this mess was beyond me. ‘Absolutely fine, you go and enjoy yourselves. Theo says you’re working on a joint piece today.’
‘Yes,’ tittered Penelope, ‘we’ve entitled it Crescendo of Passion.’
‘Sounds amazing.’ I nodded as if I knew about these things and they ran barefoot outside, giggling like teenagers, followed more sedately by the long-suffering Tiger. I quickly got to work stacking the dishwasher, filling bin bags, plumping the cushions and wiping the kitchen surfaces. Finally, I shoved the lovely flowers in water and ran upstairs.
In the bathroom, I arranged the towels and folded the end of the toilet paper into a little triangle like I’d seen in hotels. As I went through to check on the bedrooms I heard Nigel’s incessant voice and two sets of footsteps crunching across the gravel towards me.
My time was almost up. I quickly smoothed the bed covers in the front bedroom and kicked a pile of shoes under the bed. I flung the door of the second bedroom open and did a double take – it was precisely as we’d left it on Monday morning. The bed was untouched and pristine, the covers turned down at the corner. Only the pile of towels had gone.
Pen-Pen and Brucey-darling had clearly been getting on even better than we’d thought.
‘You go, girl.’ I smiled to myself as I ran downstairs to greet the men.
Theo looked browbeaten and bored when I appeared from inside; Nigel was still talking.
‘Here she is!’ Theo interrupted him with a sigh of relief. ‘Kate will show you round. I’ll leave you two to it; lovely meeting you, Nigel.’
He shook Nigel’s hand and scuttled off before he could talk at him again.
‘Let’s start in here, our middle cottage,’ I said brightly as Nigel took the lens cap off his camera.
He was a thorough photographer but he knew exactly the shots he was looking for and all I had to do was point out the various features.
‘So what type of customers use Coastal Cottages to book their holidays?’ I said, leading the way up the staircase.
‘Upmarket professionals,’ he said, pausing on the landing to take a wide shot of the bedroom. ‘And families. Our standards are high and our prices reflect that so we …’
His voice drifted off and I assumed he was concentrating on taking the picture.
‘The bathroom has a separate shower cubicle and a heated towel rail,’ I said, flattening myself to the wall to make sure I wasn’t in shot. ‘And the views are truly unique.’
‘That’s one word for it,’ said Nigel faintly.
I turned to find that he was no longer behind me but leaning on the bedroom window sill.
‘I’ve never seen anything like that,’ he said in a choked voice.
I joined him at the window. ‘Oh heavens!’
Our two guests were butt naked and bent over a row of paint pots. A large canvas was spread out on the lawn and pinned down with a rock at each corner. I looked at Nigel, weighing up whether to shield his eyes, yell at the artists to put some clothes on or brazen it out.
‘Shall we go next door and photograph Kittiwake’s Cabin?’ I said, tapping Nigel’s arm gently. ‘You must need to get back?’
Nigel for once was lost for words and simply shook his head, rooted to the spot. Side by side we watched as Brucey-darling and Pen-Pen daubed each other with green and blue paint and then both dived head first, body-surfing across the canvas, finishing by jerking their arms starfish-style. Then Bruce pulled Penelope on top of him and began kissing her, much to her audible delight. At which point I dragged Nigel from the window.
‘That,’ he stuttered, visibly shaken, ‘is an image I’m unlikely to forget.’
‘No,’ I agreed, dabbing a line of perspiration from my forehead, ‘me neither, let’s move on. Did Theo tell you about our rainwater-harvesting?’
Nigel let out a sigh of relief. ‘No, tell me about that. Please.’
After our tour of the properties, I left Nigel taking photos of little details, like the cottage signs, and a couple of eggs I’d pointed out to him under the hedge which Theo must have missed and the new plants in their pots, while I went to find Theo, who was refreshing the hens’ water trough.
‘He’s slightly traumatized.’ I explained how Bruce and Penelope had achieved the impossible and shut Nigel up. ‘But I think he likes it. He says Brightside Holidays definitely has a place on the Coastal Cottages website.’
‘Really?’ Theo’s face lit up.
‘Yes.’ I beamed. ‘You are officially in business.’
‘Thank you; you made this possible,’ he said, his eyes sparkling.
‘Look at you,’ I said, patting his cheek affectionately. ‘I feel like we’ve got the old Theo back.’
‘I know, I know. If only I’d been more like this before, Kate might never have left.’ He sighed. ‘She hoped leaving me would shock me into action and it did.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ I said, conscious of the thud of his heart through the fabric of my T-shirt. ‘You were bereaved and overwhelmed with the thought of starting afresh.’
‘So was she. But she managed to keep going.’
‘You got there in the end,’ I said with a grin. ‘And I’m so pleased for you.’
I hugged him, pressing my cheek against his. Reminding myself as I did so that Theo was someone else’s husband and I was only supposed to be acting the part.
‘Lovely!’ The shutter clicked on Nigel’s camera and he stuck his thumb up. Neither of us had heard him approach. ‘That’s me done. Thanks, both of you. I’ll be in touch with contracts, etc., in the next few days.’
He walked back to his car, stowed his camera in the boot and climbed in.
I waved politely but Theo frowned.
‘He just took a picture of us.’
‘Don’t worry, you look fine,’ I said with a laugh as we waved Nigel off. ‘You’ve brushed your hair and everything today. Oh look, someone’s coming!’
‘Not another visitor,’ Theo said as we squinted through the midday sun to see who was walking towards us, waving madly.
‘It’s Eliza from the Mermaid Gift and Gallery,’ I said, recognizing the pink hair as she got closer. ‘Perhaps her brother wants a date with me after all.’
Theo’s mouth opened and closed in astonishment.
‘And look happy,’ I added, ‘she seems to think you’re very miserable.’
‘What?’ He looked horrified.
‘Hey there!’ Eliza looked from Theo to me slyly. ‘Am I interrupting something?’
‘No!’ I said hastily. Although we were standing very close. I took a step back. ‘Theo, you know Eliza?’
She beamed at us both and shifted a wicker basket from one arm to the other.
‘Sort of. Hi.’ He pulled his lips back in the scariest smile I’d ever witnessed.
There was a hoot of laughter from where Penelope and Bruce were creating their Crescendo of Passion followed by a squeal and the crash of paint pots.
‘Ooh, sounds like you two are not the only ones having fun.’ She giggled, wagging a finger at us.
Theo turned pink. ‘Please excuse me, I’m going to go and email my wife. Who’s in South America.’
‘Ah, poor thing,’ she said in a stage whisper as Theo strode away. ‘Anyway, ta dah!’
Her eyes twinkled and she reached a plump hand under the wicker flap of her basket. ‘I think this was the one you wanted.’
She brought out the kitten I’d fallen in love with last weekend and handed it to me. It was still tiny and fluffy and adorable.
‘Oh hello,’ I cooed, kissing its
head.
‘It’s a boy,’ she said confidently. ‘I think. What are you going to call him?’
‘Gosh, Eliza, it’s very good of you, but I haven’t confirmed it with Theo and I’m not allowed to have animals in my flat in London—’
‘I insist,’ she said, adding shiftily, ‘it’s the least I can do.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked cautiously.
‘I’d better get back to the shop.’ She bent over the kitten and tickled his head. ‘Bye-bye, little one.’
‘Stop right there, Eliza,’ I said sternly. ‘Out with it. What have you done?’
‘I’m really, really sorry.’ She stared down at her canvas pumps, which looked like she’d hand embellished them with bits of shell. ‘I couldn’t help it; last night I told my brother, Danny, who you are. I’ve done well, really; I’ve lasted almost a week without letting on to anyone that you came into my shop.’
My heart began to thump and I stroked the kitten for comfort. ‘And? Has he kept it a secret?’
Of course he hadn’t. Stupid question. The cat was quite literally out of the bag.
She fiddled with the strap of her dungarees. ‘He couldn’t help it. Neither of us has met a proper celebrity before, unless you count Big Dave. Well, we wouldn’t, would we, living down here?’
‘So who has Danny told?’ I asked. Perhaps he’d just mentioned it to the lads at the pub. Perhaps I was worrying about nothing. And wasn’t Big Dave the name of the local lobster man?
‘Just Facebook.’ Two pink spots appeared on her cheeks. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger nervously.
‘Just?’ I spluttered. I made that about 1.8 billion people.
‘His timeline went bonkers. He’s had five hundred friend requests overnight. He can’t keep up with the comments.’
‘Oh God! Eliza! This is crazy.’
I stared at her numbly. Okay, so I’d mistakenly blabbed the Victory Road storyline and tipped ice on Cecily Carmichael’s head before disappearing. Get over it, people; move on.
She bit her lip. ‘But then the press got in touch and asked where you were.’
‘Did he tell them?’ I demanded. ‘Do they know I’m staying here, with Theo?’
Eliza squirmed. ‘I think so. In fact, yes. Theo was tagged by someone. Sorry. Has anyone called you yet?’
I shook my head. To be honest, I’d hardly looked at my phone for ages. There was no signal here and even when I went out I rarely took it with me.
‘Well, that’s that,’ I said resignedly. ‘My period of lying low is well and truly over.’
At least that was the decision made for me. No more prevaricating. I had no choice now but to go back to London and face the music … Oh hell.
‘I need to leave Brightside Cove. Immediately.’
‘Oh no!’ Eliza pouted. ‘I wanted you to help me with my mermaid school. Now you’re no longer incognito.’
Just then Theo appeared from inside. ‘There’s a call for you on the landline, Nina … Oh,’ he groaned. ‘Now who’s this? It’s like Piccadilly Circus today.’
A car was trundling up the drive towards us. A camera lens was poking out of the passenger window and I could hear the shutter whirring. My stomach began to churn.
‘Nina Penhaligon?’ the driver shouted. ‘South Devon Echo. Are we the first?’
‘First what?’ muttered Theo, folding his arms.
‘Journalists,’ I said, swallowing hard. ‘I hope Bruce and Penelope have put their clothes back on. Who did you say was on the phone?’
‘A lady called Maxine Pearce and she sounded quite agitated.’
Maxine. Oh God. My legs turned to mush.
‘I’d better take it.’ I handed the kitten to Theo. ‘Wish me luck.’
‘I’ll go and talk to the press!’ Eliza offered.
‘Okay,’ I agreed, against my better judgement, ‘but just say “no comment” or something, just … just keep it simple.’
‘I’m on it,’ Eliza shouted and scampered up to the car.
My pulse was racing as I stumbled inside and I genuinely thought I might be sick. ‘Nina Penhaligon speaking.’
‘For pity’s sake, Nina! What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’
‘Hi Maxine,’ I stammered, ‘I’m lying low. Sebastian told me to.’
‘He what? The bloody idiot. He said he didn’t know where you were.’
‘He doesn’t. Didn’t. He banished me from London.’
‘Arrgghh! Unbelievable. You do realize what a completely bloody trail of disaster you left behind you?’
‘I’m beginning to.’ I cringed.
‘If you’d stuck around, given a statement and come to see me, all of this could have been sorted out within twenty-four hours, but disappearing made it worse, apparently Cecily Carmichael is baying for your blood, the Victory Road PR team is chomping at the bit to put this story to bed and the producers are foaming at the mouth like rabid dogs.’
That was ironic because right now mine was as dry as a bone.
‘So,’ I said tremulously, ‘what shall I do?’
‘Get back to London! We need you on set.’
‘But … Nurse Elsie is dead.’
‘Not any more, she’s not.’
I screwed up my forehead in confusion. ‘How can that be?’
‘See you tomorrow. Noon sharp for a press briefing. We film on Monday.’
I stared at the receiver. She’d gone.
I slumped against the wall and looked up to see Theo standing under the porch stroking the kitten. Judging by the serene look on his face, he hadn’t heard a word of that exchange.
‘Eliza was very forceful with the press,’ he chuckled. ‘Told them you’d gone to fetch your gun. They left pretty smartish.’
Great, so now I’d be able to add crazed markswoman to my list of crimes.
‘I’m keeping the kitten,’ he said brightly. ‘I think it will show Kate that I’m ready to love again … Nina, what on earth’s the matter, you look like you’ve seen a ghost?’
‘Almost; it appears Nurse Elsie has come back from the dead.’
He looked bemused. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It means I can’t stay and help you, after all; I’ve got to go back to London. Today.’
‘I see.’ His shoulders slumped and the look of disappointment etched into his face broke my heart.
‘Theo, I’m sorry.’
‘Of course,’ he said, finally meeting my eye. ‘It’s selfish of me to keep you here any longer; I’m sure you want to get back to London.’
‘I do,’ I said. ‘I really do.’
And if that wasn’t worthy of a BAFTA, nothing was.
I couldn’t think of anything else to add, so I ran upstairs to pack. Now the decision had been made, I wanted to leave as soon as possible.
My brain was skittering all over the place as I stuffed my things into my case. What sort of reception would I get in London? How on earth were they going to bring Nurse Elsie back to life? Would there be a wedding in Victory Road after all?
Of course I had to go back, I told myself, resolutely not looking out of the window at the shimmering sea. I was an actress; London was my home. So why was I already counting the days until I could come back to Brightside Cove …?
PART TWO
The Hen Party
Chapter 11
All my life I’d secretly yearned to one day put on such a poignant performance that the audience was so blown away, so in the moment, that it was incomprehensible to them that I was only acting. It would be the turning point in my career, the role that propelled me into household-name status, an actress people remembered. So that maybe, possibly, the person who’d long since forgotten me might feel compelled to seek me out.
Never once did I daydream that a video of me blurting out Victory Road’s cliffhanger, tipping ice on Cecily Carmichael’s head and punching my ex-agent Sebastian in the stomach would make me famous. The quarter of a million views on YouTube, the i
nternet memes and the 10,000 new followers on my Facebook page were not a source of pride; I was mortified.
‘So, Nina, thank you for agreeing to talk to Entertainer’s News.’ Ross Whittaker stared wolfishly at me. ‘Again.’
I was back in London. It was Saturday lunchtime in the middle of April and outside the skies were blue but inside Ginny Walsh’s office the atmosphere crackled as if there was an electric storm on its way. My insides were feeling pretty stormy too. This press interview, organized by Ginny – who clearly despised me for several reasons, including being hoiked back into work at the weekend – was an exercise in damage limitation. If I managed to pull this off, I really did deserve an Oscar.
‘My pleasure,’ I replied, inclining my head. ‘It was the least we could do given the prank we pulled on you.’
I hoped he couldn’t spot the line of perspiration on my forehead from the other side of the table.
‘So you’re sticking to the April Fool line, then?’ Ross sneered, as if the whole thing was a farce.
Which incidentally it was. But Ginny, the head of publicity for Victory Road, was adamant that the only way to get me out of this PR fiasco was to lie. And because I was firmly in everyone’s bad books, Maxine, the show’s director, had advised me to toe the party line.
Ginny batted her eyelashes. ‘Now, now, Ross. Let’s all play nicely.’
She passed an official statement to him across the desk; he ignored it. I didn’t blame him; it was pure fluff.
‘Nina, please tell Ross what you told me,’ said Ginny in clipped tones. ‘And then we can put these silly rumours to bed once and for all.’
Ross leaned his elbows on the table and fixed his eyes on me as I cleared my throat.
‘Sorry, Ross,’ I said, my tone contrite, ‘but Cecily and I played a joke on you. The whole thing was a set-up.’
‘I’ve seen Cecily act.’ Ross rubbed his nose as if hiding a smile. ‘She’s not normally that good.’
I sucked in my cheeks, trying not to react. ‘I bet her she wouldn’t go through with it.’
Ginny coughed.
‘When I say, bet,’ I corrected swiftly, ‘I mean that I offered to make a charity donation if she let me tip ice over her.’
A Match Made in Devon Page 11