The Cornish Guest House (2 page)

Hazel hesitated. It just so happened that she did have ten thousand in a savings account. Lucky, that. Barry had set it up years ago and she hadn’t touched it, not one penny; as a matter of fact she’d earmarked it for her funeral and a great big knees-up afterwards.

She’d be glad to help the police. She was full of admiration for what they did but, really, he’d picked the wrong person.

‘I’m eighty years old. It’d take me half the day to get to the bank and back by bus, I’m that slow. You’d be best off finding someone younger.’

But the nice constable wasn’t to be dissuaded. ‘You’re ideal for the job, they’ll never suspect.’ He even promised to send a taxi to take and bring her home.

She was all set to go, already thinking that she’d dig out her special dress for the occasion. After all, it wasn’t every day that the police asked you to help with an investigation, but he wasn’t quite finished.

‘You’ll want to check my credentials, to verify who I am. You can’t be too careful.’

To be honest, it hadn’t occurred to Hazel to verify anything, but he waited while she shuffled off to fetch her glasses from the bedside table. Then she wrote down his name and badge number in big letters on the pad that she always kept by the phone. She couldn’t believe this was happening!

After hanging up, she followed his instructions and dialled 999. The operator, with a foreign accent, didn’t seem at all surprised by her request.

‘DC Harry Pritchard?’ Yes, I’ve got his name and number here. Shall I put you through?’

It was all very efficient.

‘Are you sure you can do this?’ DC Pritchard asked when they spoke again. ‘I know it’s a lot to ask.’

For some reason, Hazel was reminded at that moment of her dad. She seemed to think about him a lot these days. He had adored her, his only daughter. He’d taught her to swim and ride a bike, used to tell her she could achieve anything if she put her mind to it.

She pulled back her shoulders and took a deep breath. ‘’Course I can.’

*

‘Just look at that view!’

Luke snaked an arm round his wife’s shoulders and pulled her close.

‘We’ll buy a boat in spring,’ he said happily, ‘when the weather improves. I’ll take Oscar fishing.’

Tabitha gazed up at the wheeling seagulls and out at the murky, tossing water, and shivered. All she could think of was the snug under-floor heating in their old house that warmed you right through, from the soles of your feet to the tips of your fingers. The tall windows that let in so much light, the trendy, L-shaped sofa in the first-floor sitting room that she and Molly used to lounge on, sipping wine and laughing till their sides hurt.

She wanted to cry.

‘Just think,’ Luke went on, ‘no more traffic roaring past our front door, no more litter and pollution. We’ll have peace and quiet here, lots of space for Oscar to play. We’ll see more of each other. We can have a proper family life at last. We should have done this years ago.’

Tabitha swallowed. Her eyes were pricking and she was afraid that Luke might see.

‘We should go home—’ she started to say, but the familiar pressure of his hand on her shoulder, squeezing just that little bit too tight, told her that he wasn’t ready, so she hung back, willing the tears away.

She watched the waves whoosh up the beach towards them then slowly recede, rattling pebbles as they went. It
would
be good for Oscar, she told herself, and in time she’d adapt; she’d have to. It was either that or go under. She must put on a brave face for her son’s sake, and for Luke, of course. He’d be angry if he knew what she was really thinking…

A small dog seemed to appear from nowhere, running in circles round their feet and scattering her thoughts hither and thither. Luke turned to look for its master or mistress and Tabitha followed his gaze, but there was no one about. It was after closing time and the doors to the gaily painted shops behind were tightly shut. Only the pub, The Lobster Pot, was open for business, but there was no sign of life inside.

‘D’you think it’s lost?’ Luke asked, frowning at the yapping animal and trying, without success, to nudge it away with his toe.

Tabitha shrugged. ‘I can’t see its owner.’

In truth, she was a bit nervous of dogs, though Luke disliked them more. This one, however, seemed very friendly. She found herself thinking it was a shame that they hadn’t brought Oscar; he would have been enchanted.

Luke loosened his grip on her shoulder and scanned left and right once more before giving the dog another push. It was a Jack Russell, white with a tan face and ears and brown spots on its back. Undeterred, it wagged its stumpy tail.

‘It’s very persistent,’ he muttered. ‘I wonder where it lives.’

‘I think it’s rather sweet.’

He swung his leg, as if preparing to boot it off.

‘Don’t!’ Tabitha pleaded, then they heard a cry.

‘Sally!’ And a small, blonde woman in a navy coat came flapping down the road towards them. She was in her late forties, probably, and looked terribly flustered. Luke put his leg down quickly, coughed and gave a wide smile.

‘Naughty girl!’ the woman scolded, stooping to grab the dog by the collar. She didn’t seem to have noticed anything amiss. ‘Oh, dear, my husband left the door open for one minute and she was gone.’

Luke bent down to stroke the Jack Russell while she fastened a leather lead on to the collar, then she straightened up and looked at her pet crossly.

‘Bad dog!’

Sally, oblivious, was peeing on a pile of dried-out seaweed, still wagging her tail.

‘I’m sorry.’ The woman collected herself and extended a hand first to Luke, then Tabitha. ‘I’m Jenny Lambert. I live in Gull Cottage, just round the corner.’

She gestured to her right, indicating a turning at the end of the seafront. ‘My husband, John, runs Oliver’s, the fishing-tackle shop. Are you the couple that bought The Stables? I heard you were moving in today.’

Luke nodded. ‘Actually, I’ve been in the area for a few weeks, setting up my office in Plymouth, but Tabitha and our son arrived this morning.’ All afternoon, he explained, they’d been humping bits of furniture around and unpacking boxes. They’d come to the beach for a spot of sea air as they were exhausted.

Jenny made a sympathetic face. ‘Moving’s such a to-do, isn’t it? That’s why we’ve stayed put for twenty years. Couldn’t stand the thought of more upheaval!’

Luke grinned. ‘I don’t think we’ll be moving again for a long, long time.’

He shot Tabitha a look and she forced out a small smile.

‘As you know, we’ve done a lot of work already – new roof, new plumbing and electrics,’ he went on. ‘The kitchen’s new, too, and all the bathrooms, and we’ve almost finished re-decorating, but being a listed building there were limits to what the council would let us do with the outside, of course, and we can’t change any of the windows, not that we’d want to.’

The wind was whipping and he pushed the fringe of his jaw-length fair hair off his face. ‘We’re nearly there with it now. You and your husband must come for a drink. We’d love to show you around the place, wouldn’t we, Tabby?’

The woman – Jenny – looked expectantly at Tabitha, who felt herself shrink in the spotlight.

‘Oh, yes,’ she replied. ‘You must come for dinner – once I’ve managed to locate the pots and pans.’

Jenny beamed. ‘That would be lovely!’ Then, lowering her voice, ‘I should warn you, there’s been a lot of talk. People are very interested in your plans. You’ll be quite the celebrities around here for a while. You’d better get used to it!’

When she’d gone, they walked slowly back in the direction from which they’d come, past what they now knew to be John Lambert’s fishing-tackle shop, displaying an assortment of rods, waterproof jackets and waders, past the harbour and the big white house on the corner, and up cobbled Fore Street.

Just after the Hole in the Wall pub, currently closed and awaiting new management, they came to their property, still displaying a ‘Sold’ sign outside. Long and squat, the building, once an old coaching inn and stables, dated back in parts to the late fifteenth century and was white, with eight small, black, timber-framed windows on the top floor and four on the bottom that had recently been re-painted.

The heavy wooden door through which you entered was surprisingly low, so that Luke, who was over six feet tall, had to stoop. Once inside the narrow hallway, he straightened up and took a deep breath, inhaling the musty scent of wood and dust mingled with fresh paint, of a building in a state of upheaval that hadn’t been occupied for some time.

‘Home!’ he said, hanging his coat on a peg and sighing contentedly. ‘I still can’t believe it’s ours, can you, Tabby?’

He spun round to find his wife but she’d disappeared already, up the creaking, as-yet uncarpeted stairs, to look for her son.

*

Oscar was in one of the new bathrooms to the right of the building, in the section that they’d chosen as their own family quarters. It was separated from the rest of The Stables by a corridor with a peeling brown door at the end that was to stay firmly shut at all times. Tabitha intended to put a notice on it saying ‘Private’. She didn’t want guests wandering in by mistake.

The room was airy and minimalist, much lighter than downstairs, which lifted her spirits slightly. She’d chosen the fresh white tiles and modern chrome fittings herself, and she smiled at the sight of her two-year-old son in the bath, carefully lining up a row of yellow ducks and toy boats, unaware of her presence.

Pilar, the au pair, was kneeling beside him on the grey tiled floor, swishing warm water over his back and shoulders. She looked up at Tabitha, still in her coat by the door.

‘Nice walk?’ she asked, in her faltering Spanish accent. She had a round, pale face, no make-up and jet-black hair tied back in a plait.

‘Bit cold.’ Tabitha bent down to stroke Oscar’s dark curly hair, and hearing her voice he twisted round and stretched out two pudgy arms.

‘Mamma!’ he said urgently, no longer interested in his ducks or boats, forgetting that he’d been perfectly happy a moment before. He stood up, splashing water on to the floor, and repeated the command, quite crossly this time. ‘Ma-mma-a!’

The sight of his naked little body, pinkish and dripping, tugged at Tabitha’s heartstrings.

‘I’ll take over now, thanks, Pilar.’ She reached for a white towel on the rail behind and wrapped it round her son as she lifted him from the tub. ‘Come on, little man, let’s find your pyjamas, then we’ll go and get your milk.’

Back downstairs, Luke was already in the kitchen, fetching a bottle of champagne from the stainless-steel fridge-freezer.

‘I think this calls for a celebration, don’t you?’ he said, smiling at his wife and son, now dressed in soft blue and white stripy pyjamas, his curly hair still damp.

Oscar struggled out of his mother’s arms and ran to his father, who scooped him up and kissed his cheek. ‘You smell lovely. Nice and clean for a change!’

Still balanced on his father’s hip, the little boy watched, fascinated, while Luke untwisted the cork, which flew out with a loud pop. The noise made Oscar’s brown eyes widen with fright but he was reassured by Luke’s chuckle and, instead of crying, clapped his hands.

‘Bang!’ he said excitedly. ‘Bang bang bang!’ Then hurried off to find the cork, which had landed a metre or two away.

‘First night in our new home,’ Luke said, handing Tabitha a glass and chinking his against it. ‘Here’s to many more!’

Tabitha, dismayed to find her eyes filling again, was careful not to meet his gaze.

She was about to say that she’d take Oscar upstairs for his bedtime story when a tentative rap stopped her in her tracks. Not even positive that someone
had
knocked, she would have ignored it but Luke cried ‘Visitors!’ and hurried down the hallway. Oscar was soon hot on his heels, toddling as fast as he could on short legs with a bulky nappy in between.

Hovering by the silver range cooker, shiny through lack of use, Tabitha listened, ears pricked, to see if she could make out who it was. She thought that she could detect a woman’s voice but it was so soft that she wasn’t sure. Then she heard another, higher and younger, and it was getting nearer. Luke was bringing them in!

Dismayed, she hung back, her hands wrapped round the oven handle. ‘Compose yourself,’ she was muttering under her breath. ‘Don’t show him up.’

Luke pushed open the door, which had swung shut, and in walked a slight, dark-haired woman carrying a large pot plant, followed by a smaller girl of about twelve or thirteen, wearing rectangular, pale blue glasses, her fair hair cut in a chin-length bob. She had a limp – you couldn’t miss it.

‘Tabitha, this is Liz Hart,’ Luke said, ‘and her daughter, Rosie.’

The woman, who was very pretty, with round, chocolate-brown eyes that seemed to fill her face, smiled shyly.

‘Her husband runs the fish restaurant in South Street, A Winkle In Time,’ Luke went on. ‘They’ve brought us a housewarming present. Isn’t that kind?’

Tabitha stepped forward to shake hands, except that Liz’s arms were full so they laughed awkwardly instead.

‘You shouldn’t have,’ said Tabitha, eyeing the plant suspiciously, as if it might bite. She didn’t offer to take it. ‘How thoughtful of you.’

Liz looked around for a spare surface and put the gift, in a round, terracotta pot, on the island in the middle of the kitchen.

‘It’s only a token.’ She glanced at her daughter, who smiled, revealing funny, gappy teeth. ‘It’s not just from us. Quite a few of the locals chipped in – Pat and Jean, Jenny and John, Tony and Felipe. And Esme, of course.’

She hesitated, reddening slightly. ‘Sorry, you’ve got no idea who I’m talking about. We agreed it would be better if just Rosie and I came. You won’t want to be bombarded with visitors when you’ve just arrived. Anyway,’ she went on, ‘everyone was so nice when Rosie and I moved here and we wanted to say welcome. We hope you’ll be very happy in Tremarnock. We certainly are.’

‘Thank you.’ Tabitha picked up Oscar, who was tugging on her jeans, still brandishing the cork in a fat little hand. ‘That’s very generous. Please thank your friends, too.’