Page 21 of The Little Cottage by the Cornish Sea

Ohthankgodinheaven! I still had a job! I could keep the cottage! I didn’t have to run away again! Trust me to still assume the worst of every situation, when Starry Cove had shown me time and again that good things really could stick.

‘That’s very kind of you,’ I murmured, unable to muster a proper voice.

‘So, Jack tells me that you helped Nina with her work.’

‘Oh? Yes. She’s amazing. They both are.’

‘They think the same of you. As a matter of fact, everyone who knows you thinks the same.’

I felt my cheeks burn despite the cool air. I wasn’t used to compliments, especially from someone so important. I really must have done something right to impress someone along the way, but I couldn’t figure out what it could have possibly been. Of course I did my job, but who doesn’t?

‘They tell me that Dr Armitage seems to think the world of you, as well.’

‘Well, I think he’s great, too,’ I confessed. ‘He got the cottage sorted out so I could stay, even if it wasn’t in mint condition when I got there.’

He chuckled. ‘Old Nankivell is a dear. Batty, but a dear. Like grandmother, like grandson. Not that Robert is batty. He’s actually very competent.’

I wondered where this was going. ‘Is he your doctor too, I’m assuming?’ I asked, seeing as he was the only one in the village.

‘I haven’t seen a doctor in years,’ he said. ‘Are you seeing him?’

I stopped amidst the copse of evergreens. I’d already told him I was pregnant, so he must have meant… ‘Do you mean like that ? No. Dr A and I are only friends.’

‘Right. But you know, things happen. Sometimes friendships turn into something more.’

Where was he going with all this? It sounded like he was asking me how well I knew Robert. Why didn’t he ask him?

‘So you two aren’t friends, I take it?’ I asked.

‘It’s complicated. So, the two of you are not going out, then? Sorry, it was a bit naughty of me to ask out of nowhere. Apologies.’

I slid him a glance. ‘I’m not dating anyone,’ I said softly.

‘My life is a little complicated at the moment. I’ve no time for romance.

’ And yet, as I said it, I knew I was lying.

I wanted nothing more than to have someone caring to share my life with.

Yes, I was busy all day with the job and piano lessons and transcribing and all, but when I got home after a long day and closed the door behind me, it always sank in deep. I hated to admit it, but I was lonely.

He was silent, which was just as well as we meandered through the long and winding paths that weaved from copse to copse, stopping to admire this border or that bush.

In a romcom, this was the moment in which the bloke would have stopped and taken the girl’s hands, his eyes boring into hers, and he’d have given her the mother of all kisses.

Just for the sake of it. But because this was reality, and particularly my reality, every time Piers asked to speak to me in private, I was afraid the gig was up and that he’d send me packing.

‘These grounds are amazing,’ I said to distract myself as we came upon the ha-ha.

Piers stuffed his hands in his pockets. ‘Yeah, I guess it all kind of grows on you. Come this way.’

I followed him in silence until we reached a gazebo.

Although gazebo was an understatement. It was a round structure with a huge chimenea in the centre and lined with two half-circle-shaped sofas absolutely drowning in cushions.

In front of each sofa, there was a coffee table and foot stools.

All around were fairy lights and if ever there had been a winter wonderland, this was it.

I almost expected Santa to fly over us even if it was nowhere near Christmas.

‘Oh my goodness,’ I breathed. ‘This is beautiful!’

He grinned and took my arm. ‘Come,’ he said and we sat on the sofa as he began to divest the picnic basket of its contents.

‘I’m glad you’re starving, because I’ve got loads here. But first, a nice iced tea to cool you down?’

‘Ooh, yes, please!’ I chimed, wiping the sweat off my brow. Despite the summer storms, June was slowly starting to sizzle, catching me unawares. Plus this pregnancy thing was messing with my body every day now. I went from hot to cold, tired to energised, in two seconds flat.

‘Here you go, then,’ he said as he poured me a huge glass from a thermos and added a slice of lemon.

I watched, transfixed, as he pulled out a couple of deep ceramic bowls and silver spoons and linen napkins, crunchy bread, a selection of cheeses and quiches of every shape and size. There were also mini meat pies and an assortment of fancy vegetables on the side. How exquisite!

‘This is tabbouleh, an Arabic dish. I hope you like it?’ he said. ‘If not, there’s mushroom soup or simple tomato soup. Mrs Watts is an excellent cook.’

My stomach grumbled and I laughed. Now that my livelihood was no longer on the line, my appetite was back with a vengeance.

‘Tabbouleh is perfect, thank you. And so, so kind of you, Piers,’ I said as I took the tray from him.

He shrugged. ‘It’s nothing.’

Do you do this for all your employees? was a question that came to mind, but I thought better of it.

I couldn’t deal with either answer. It would be disappointing if the answer was yes, but also if it was no.

My unrequited need to be acknowledged and appreciated all these years had led me to be somewhat insecure about myself, I knew that.

But I was no good at flirting in general, let alone with my own boss.

Not happening. That was how I’d got into trouble in the first place.

I’d tried to resist Will’s charm, but he’d been an avalanche of wooing and roses and fancy dates.

In the end, I’d simply capitulated, convinced I had feelings for him.

Well, that had served me right. This time I’d be careful.

Piers and I ate and chatted, touching every topic in the book.

He asked me about my childhood and my family, where I went to school and where I used to vacation.

Hobbies, likes, dislikes, he asked me everything.

Piers was incredibly charming, and him felt natural, as if I’d known him for a long time; I had to be careful not to get too comfortable, lest I revealed anything that could tie me back to London.

When, in turn, I asked him about his childhood, he was a little reticent of sharing too many details.

I guessed he’d had a terrible time growing up and didn’t want to relive it.

I knew, from looking at Will’s life, that money did not perform miracles.

He’d had a terrible childhood and it showed in everything he did and said.

It was only later in our relationship that this anger was turned on me.

‘You okay?’ Piers asked. ‘You’ve suddenly gone quiet.’

‘Oh!’ I said. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just that I haven’t spoken about my childhood in ages.’

‘Do you still miss your mother? Have you forgiven her for walking out on you and your father?’ he asked softly.

I sighed. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever forgive her. But now that I’m expecting, I wish she were here. I wish I could talk to her, but she’s disappeared off the face of the earth.’

‘Have you tried hiring a private investigator?’

I shook my head. ‘No. If she doesn’t want to be found, I have to respect her wishes.’

‘So you’re telling me that you’re not angry with her?’

‘I was. I was livid. I couldn’t understand why she left, and I still don’t. Dad was a lovely man. Also, I don’t think I would be able to look her in the eye. I’m just too hurt. The divorce was a huge shock to me.’

‘I know how you feel.’

‘Thanks, Piers.’

‘Talking to you is very easy. Everyone loved you at the meeting.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh yes. Major consensus!’

For the umpteenth time that day, I blushed while he grinned, his eyes searching my face as if he wanted to say something, but thought better of it.

And you? My words seemed to hang in the empty space between us. Are you part of the consensus? But of course I didn’t. That would have been all kinds of conceited.

*

Thursday, June 11 th

After nearly two weeks of running the tightest ship I could, gently getting a couple of the slackers to pull their socks up, I allowed myself a ten-minute breather by looking out the window onto the beautifully landscaped grounds.

I loved this place, with its ornamental trees of every kind, but also fruit trees that were beginning to yield.

As I took in all the beauty, a tiny robin flew straight through the open window, landing on my windowsill, blatantly staring at me just like the one that had visited me on my kitchen windowsill in Tulip Cottage.

‘Well, hello,’ I whispered. ‘Look at you. My, you’re cute, aren’t you?’

It had something in its beak that appeared to be stuck. I couldn’t understand if that was the case or if he was just carrying his food somewhere else. But he began to flap his wings wildly and I soon saw that he was indeed in trouble.

On instinct, I grabbed a letter opener from the desk and gently caught him in my left hand while I pried a tiny cherry pit from his mouth as he patiently waited.

‘There you go, my friend. You’ll be okay.’

But instead of flying off, he just stood there, slumped. The poor thing! What could I do?

I grabbed some tissues and lined the smallest drawer of my desk and gently put him in it, leaving it open.

Then I removed the cap from my bottle of water and filled it for him to drink.

He seemed too exhausted or perhaps still in shock, so I gently caressed his little feathered head to reassure him.

After a few moments, he lifted his wing and tucked his head under it.

I knew how he felt. Dazed. Scared. Exhausted. But he’d get over it, I hoped. We all have to. It’s the way of life.

The day went well, except for a hiccup with a Californian company that bought our gooseberry jam.

All day, I waited for them to get back to me as I had a deadline and needed confirmation of their final order before I expedited it.

No biggie, if they hadn’t been the last order of the month which needed to be included in the monthly reports.

Of course they were eight hours ahead of me so I waited.

And waited. Until I fell asleep. And woke up to find that it was 3 a.m. and that I had a blanket on me.

Justin must have come in and not wanted to wake me. How embarrassing!

And the next morning, I got a text from Piers:

I heard about last night. That wasn’t necessary, but thank you. Let Justin take you home to catch up on your sleep. You won’t be needed for the rest of the day.

Piers.

OhGodohGodOhGod . Had I just got a warning? Was he going to fire me? I couldn’t afford to get fired! I rubbed the sleep out of my face and texted him back.

I apologise. I’m mortified. No need to go home. I can keep working, no problem.

To which he answered:

Absolutely not. Go home.

Then, as if he’d read my mind and wanted to reassure me I wasn’t out on my arse, he added:

Next time you’re expecting a call, we can arrange a guest room for you. No need to stay up to wait. See you tomorrow.

So my livelihood was safe after all! At least for now.