‘One of your Harrods clients?’
‘My best client.’
‘I love you, Trudy!’ My heart tweaked with joy. Having a reservation would be a real boost to our otherwise empty diary and maybe Theo would get his free word-of-mouth advertising sooner than planned.
Trudy pulled a face. ‘Hear me out first; you might not be so keen. I told her all about you in your exclusive hideaway, about the sea salt facials and al fresco clean eating last week and she wants to hold her hen party there.’
‘That’s great!’ I said, before registering what she’d just said. ‘Oh. You know, I didn’t really have a facial, it was just the bracing air and we only ate breakfast al fresco because the kitchen wasn’t finished.’ And I was no expert but I didn’t think bacon sandwiches constituted clean eating.
‘I know that now!’ she said in a panicky voice. ‘But I’d already told Sapphire Spencer by then.’
‘The Sapphire Spencer?’ Eliza and Molly immediately forced their faces next to mine to see the screen.
That was what I was striving for, I thought wryly, a reaction like that at the mere mention of my name.
‘From Maidens of Mayfair?’ Eliza squawked.
‘She’s my favourite,’ Molly exclaimed.
Trudy’s eyes widened as the women moved closer to the screen. ‘Shush! She’s the other side of the counter waiting for the go-ahead. Nina could literally save her life. Who are you two?’
I introduced everybody, at which point Trudy noticed we were dressed as mermaids and we had a short discussion about the practicalities of being half woman, half fish, like how to slip elegantly from the rocks into the sea without pulling a muscle and what to do if you need a wee, until Trudy was tapped on the back by her co-worker and forced to serve a customer.
‘I’ll be right back,’ she whispered. The screen went black as we disappeared into her pocket.
Eliza and I flopped on the bed while Molly took out her own phone and texted her neighbour to extend Ellis’s play date again.
‘I can’t leave now, not while we’re in Harrods talking to Sapphire Spencer. And just so you’re not in any doubt, Nina,’ she said solemnly, ‘we are definitely friends.’
‘And if Brightside Holidays is going to host a hen party, you are definitely going to get the contract to do our laundry too,’ I said, feeling more pleased with myself by the second as Molly kicked her tail in the air with joy.
‘This is the best day of my life,’ said Eliza.
‘I met Sapphire at a party once,’ I said. ‘She’s got a doctorate in entomology but the producers make her pretend to be dim on screen.’
Sapphire Spencer was as glamorous and gorgeous as her name suggested. She and the rest of the cast of the reality show about rich girls living in luxury in London had been at the same X Factor after party as me last Christmas.
‘We met by the vodka luge and Sapphire confided that research had been conducted on ice cubes in public places and had found eleven strains of bacteria including E. coli, listeria and campo-something. I stuck to wine after that.’
Eliza was speechless. I wasn’t sure what had shocked her more: Sapphire’s brains or ice-cube germs.
‘The nearest I’ve ever been to a celebrity is Big Dave,’ said Molly. ‘Until I met you, of course.’
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask what his claim to fame was, but just then Trudy FaceTimed us again, still hiding under the counter.
‘Right. Down to business. Sapphire is starting to flap and her driver is waiting outside.’
‘Then just tell her yes,’ I said simply, ‘she can come whenever she likes, how many are in her party?’
‘Are they filming it for TV?’ Eliza whispered, gripping my arm in her excitement. ‘Cos that’s absolutely fine.’
‘No, no, no. This has to be top secret. Total media blackout until after the wedding. Promise?’ Trudy wagged a finger at us until we promised. I made a mental note to make sure Eliza’s brother understood too.
‘Okay, here are the details: she gets married in two weeks to a Canadian called Brad. Her hen weekend has to start tomorrow because her friends are packing as we speak, expecting a stay in a luxury Scottish hotel.’
‘Tomorrow?’ I echoed, mentally baulking at what still needed doing.
‘Yes,’ Trudy continued, ‘and the location has been leaked to the media and the hotel manager has called to say he can’t guarantee her privacy. So she’s had to cancel due to a press exclusivity clause with the wedding magazine My Dream Day. She needs somewhere else: undiscovered, with a pamper package and excellent food. For twelve guests. I thought of you.’
I exchanged glances with Molly and Eliza. Sapphire’s original plan sounded very high end. Driftwood Lodge was lovely, but the potholes in the drive and the second-hand garden furniture and budget kitchen utensils didn’t really scream luxury.
‘What do you think, girls?’ I said to the others. ‘Theo can certainly use the money.’
‘And Kate would be really impressed.’ Molly’s eyes shone. ‘I can do Indian head massage.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Sort of.’
‘And we can concoct some sort of salt-water facial between us,’ said Eliza. ‘How hard can it be?’
I didn’t answer; I was doing a bed count. We could just about squeeze them in. ‘What about the excellent food bit? My repertoire runs to pasta and cakes, and Theo isn’t much better.’
‘It’s two for one on mussels at The Sea Urchin on Saturday, remember,’ Eliza suggested.
‘How could I forget,’ I said.
‘There’s a company in Thymeford that delivers dinner party food called Deliciously Devon,’ Molly said.
That was more like it. We could buy the food in; it would cost more, but at least the quality would be guaranteed. I gave Molly a thumbs-up.
‘We can do it but it will cost a lot of money,’ I warned Trudy.
‘So that’s a yes.’ Trudy exhaled and fanned her face. ‘Hallelujah. I’ll put you on to Sapphire.’
There was a flurry of yelps and hair smoothing beside me as Sapphire Spencer appeared on the screen. Her white-blonde hair was styled into a sleek pixie cut and a lace bra strap peaked out from her off-the shoulder top. I held my phone at arm’s length to get all three of us in view for her.
‘Hey, everyone.’ She gave us a little wave.
‘Hey, Sapphire!’ Molly and Eliza chorused coyly.
‘Nina, how are you coping with all the media attention? Takes some getting used to, doesn’t it?’
I smiled. ‘I’m glad to be away from it, to be honest; I don’t know how you do it.’
‘Trudy told me all about your secret location,’ she said in a low voice. ‘And I just knew it would be perfect for us.’
‘We’d be delighted to have you and your hens as our guests at Brightside Holidays,’ I said. I didn’t like to tell her that since being revealed by Danny, it was no longer exactly ‘secret’. ‘It’ll be a bit more rough and ready than your planned Scottish weekend, but the welcome will be warm.’
‘Oh, we can do rough, that’s no problem,’ said Sapphire airily, ‘and all we want is a total getaway from the hurly-burly of London.’
‘We can certainly offer you that,’ I said.
‘I shouldn’t really say this,’ Sapphire leaned closer to the screen and lowered her voice, ‘but the magazine is footing the bill, and they’re blaming an internal leak for the press intrusion, so money is no object.’
Behind Sapphire I could see and hear the hubbub and the opulence of Harrods, the elegant clientele passing through the beauty department and the glamorous staff wafting bottles of perfume. Then I looked up and caught sight of the three of us in the mirror in our bikini tops and fish tails. The situation was so ridiculous and surreal that the urge to laugh was almost too much to bear.
‘I’ll bear that in mind when I put the menus together,’ I replied.
‘I am so grateful.’ Sapphire pressed her slim fingers to her chest. A rock almost big enough for a
mermaid to dive off glinted from her ring finger and it distracted me so much that the phone in my hand dipped showing Sapphire our outfits.
Sapphire’s jaw dropped. ‘Are you …? Did I just see …?’
‘Yes. You did just see three mermaids.’ I began to laugh.
‘We’re the Siren Sis— Ouch.’ Eliza rubbed her ribs as Molly jabbed her.
‘My sister loves mermaids; she is going to adore this!’ Sapphire squealed. ‘This is going to be fabulous!’
Within minutes the deal was done: Trudy had made her best client very happy, the mermaid school had officially accepted its first students, Brightside Holidays had taken its largest, most lucrative booking ever and Molly, thanks to the promise of a significant amount of laundry, was going to have some money left over from paying the bills this month. Theo, who’d never heard of Sapphire Spencer or Maidens of Mayfair, was nonetheless blown away by his sudden change in fortune and didn’t even notice we were dressed as mermaids when we called the men upstairs.
Archie did. Or rather he noticed how ravishing Molly looked, and I had a feeling we’d be seeing him quite a bit more regularly in Brightside Cove from now on.
My head was still spinning when I climbed into bed that night. Tomorrow, all three cottages would be full to bursting with twelve women all ready for a good time, all expecting the weekend of their lives. Brightside Cove might be tiny compared to London, but there was never a dull moment …
Chapter 16
Dawn at Brightside Cove was my favourite time of day and the next morning I ventured down on the beach to greet it. The air was still and the sea was calm. The tide had washed away yesterday’s footprints from the sand and I tiptoed over it to perch on a rock and wait for the sun. There was no one else around but at the far end of the cove in the distance, a dog that could possibly have been Mabel the spaniel sniffed around in front of the lifeboat house, wagging its tail like a rudder. I shielded my eyes and searched for the owner – the man who’d shouted at me for not looking in my rear-view mirror – but the dog appeared to be alone.
I pulled my knees up to my chin and focused on the sound of the waves as the water whispered gently against the rocks. And, as the sun began to rise, I closed my eyes, feeling rather than seeing the start of a brand-new day, of new beginnings and almost certainly the most exciting thing to happen in Brightside Cove for a very long time: the Maidens of Mayfair would be here in less than twelve hours and we were going to give them a weekend they’d never forget.
At eleven o’clock I pulled on a jacket and shut Mittens safely in the kitchen before heading into the village. Theo had been dispatched on a shopping expedition to stock up on thick towels, scented candles and twelve towelling robes, and Molly and I had given all three cottages a thorough clean and made all the beds.
She had strong views on our choice of bedding. We had, it seemed, made several errors from a laundry expert’s point of view.
‘Better to get larger flat sheets than fitted ones,’ she said as we stretched corners under the master bed in Penguin’s Pad. ‘They take up less room in the linen cupboard because they fold flatter and they’re quicker to iron. And quicker,’ she added, ‘means I charge you less.
‘And polyester cotton rather than pure cotton,’ she commented about the lovely Egyptian cotton pillowcases that Archie had chosen during that mad dash when we were waiting for our first arrivals. ‘It takes less time to dry, and on a wet weekend in November, you’ll thank me for it.’
By then, I was hoping that it would be Kate doing the thanking, but I took her point.
Molly had strong views on men too, ‘all men are knobs’ being a favourite. Her ex-husband, Steve, now lived thirty miles away with the twenty-three-year-old trainee from his architect’s practice.
‘And thirty miles on Devonshire roads is equivalent to sixty anywhere else. He only sees Ellis twice a month,’ she said, flapping towels furiously, adding, ‘the knob.’
But at least he did see him, I thought with a pang, wondering for the millionth time why my own father had disappeared so completely from our lives.
Before Molly left, we’d worked out how to make our own beauty treatments using store-cupboard ingredients and she’d given me a quick demonstration of her Indian head massage, which apparently did something to my chakras. Whatever it was, it sent me to sleep and when I woke up she’d gone and had scribbled the number of Deliciously Devon, the catering firm she’d mentioned, on a Post-it note and told me to ask for Angie.
I checked my watch as I headed into the village. The hen party was arriving in six hours but I wasn’t worried; everything was coming together, all I needed was alcohol and food …
Seafood would wow my sophisticated guests and Brightside Cove had its very own supplier. What could be more delicious than freshly caught crab for our lunch tomorrow?
I found Big Dave inside his shack, mending one of his lobster cages. He was nailing lengths of plastic plumber’s pipe into a wooden pallet.
The smell of fish was overwhelming and only my good manners prevented me from holding my nose. I’d only seen him from a distance before. Close up he looked like a grizzly bear with an enormous grey beard and a mass of straggly hair squished under a woolly hat.
‘Hi,’ I said, not quite knowing whether to call him Dave or Big Dave.
He gave the nail one final bash and looked up.
‘Nina Penhaligon.’ He eyed me with curiosity. ‘I’ve been hoping to meet you. How are you bearing up under the glare of the public eye? Takes its toll, doesn’t it?’
I remembered Molly referring to him as a celebrity, perhaps he’d had his fair share of unwanted attention too.
‘I’m feeling a lot better now I’m away from it.’
‘Tell me about it. Dave, pleased to meet you.’ He dropped the hammer and grabbed my hand to shake it. His hands were rough and warm, his T-shirt bore the slogan ‘Catch of the Day’ and there were what looked like shreds of lobster shell in his beard. ‘Nurse Elsie’s not really going to die, is she? I read all the articles but I can’t work out whether you’re bluffing or not.’
‘You’ll have to keep watching to find out, I’m afraid,’ I said with a grin. ‘I’m sworn to absolute secrecy.’ And this time I meant to keep my promise.
‘Oh, I will watch. So,’ he pointed to a piece of blackboard suspended from the door on orange twine, ‘what you after – crab, lobster? What is it – romantic meal? Dinner party?’
‘Lunch for twelve tomorrow,’ I said. ‘I’ve got guests coming who are expecting excellent food. I thought I’d serve crab salad.’
Food for guests in the past had been a takeaway from The Hot Wok in Clapham. This was catering at a whole new level for me. I felt hot just thinking about it.
Big Dave straightened up proudly. ‘You won’t get better live crabs in Devon. Guaranteed.’
‘Live crabs?’ I baulked, conjuring up an image of a pot of boiling water and a bucket full of innocent crabs … I gave myself a shake. I’d be fine. Probably, and Theo could help.
Dave laughed, which made his belly shake and his eyes crinkle.
‘I can prepare and cook them for you, if you like? Perhaps garlic and chilli crab salad served with local crusty bread?’
My mouth was watering just thinking about it. ‘You could do that?’
He scratched his beard. ‘I couldn’t do dinner, I’m already booked up tomorrow, but lunch is possible. Pricey but possible.’
I waved a hand; Sapphire had made it clear that money was no object.
‘Deal,’ I said happily, and we shook hands again. ‘So you’re a chef as well as a fisherman?’
‘Don’t you recognize me?’ He pushed up the edge of his hat to reveal an extra inch of face. ‘Dave Hope? I was a finalist on MasterChef years ago. My steamed razor clams with oyster sauce made the judges cry.’
Happy tears, I presumed, given Big Dave’s beam of pride. His name was ringing a bell now; I had a vague memory of a winner who opened a fine-dining restaurant, won
every culinary prize going but then went bankrupt and lost everything.
‘Of course!’ I said. ‘Didn’t you open a seafood restaurant?’
‘Yeah. Hope on a Plate. East coast of England. My home turf.’
‘And now you’re in Devon. Quite a long way from home,’ I said.
I picked up an oval stone from his work bench and turned it over in my hands. It was smooth and flat. The perfect skimmer. A sudden memory hit me of a hot summer’s day standing ankle deep in foamy water, a large warm hand over mine, showing me how to make stones kiss the surface of the sea. And my eyes, something about the colour of my eyes … But as quickly as it came the picture faded and I was back listening to Big Dave’s tale of woe.
‘… so getting away from everything seemed like the best solution. I’d dreamed of opening my own bistro for years. But …’ He stroked his beard wistfully. ‘It turned out to be Hopeless on a Plate. I was to blame, of course; I coped really badly with fame. That’s why I asked how you were doing.’
‘What do you mean by coping badly?’ I asked, feeling a pang of recognition.
Big Dave stared out to sea.
‘I’m a walking example of how not to deal with success. I’d spent years honing my skills as a chef. It was all I ever wanted to do from being a kid.’
‘Sounds like me and acting.’ I smiled.
‘Winning the TV show propelled me into the spotlight. I opened the restaurant and I was living my dream. But I played up to the cameras, I forgot I was just a chef and I became a man about town, attending every party, rubbing shoulders with the stars. I spent so much time chasing press coverage to keep my profile high that the business floundered.’
‘Do you regret taking part in MasterChef?’
He shook his head. ‘No, but I regret losing sight of what I loved, which was cooking. I should have remained true to myself.’
‘But if your fame was linked to your culinary skills, that was okay, surely? I long for the day I’m an instantly recognizable actress.’
Big Dave pulled a face. ‘I thought it was great to begin with. I was the first famous person ever to have come from my town. There was talk of a statue at one point. Everyone was so proud.’
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