Page 100 of The Weekend Getaway

“Do you reckon he’ll ever get around to renovating his house?” Noah asked.

“Probably one day.” Trystan’s demeanour changed as they approached the studio.

“This place could probably do with a lick of paint too,” Noah pointed out. “Does he still sell stuff directly from the studio.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s not exactly welcoming. You’d hardly know it was a shop at all.” He raised an eyebrow. “It must be all right to be a millionaire and not have to worry about whether you get customers or not.”

Irritation flashed in Trystan’s eyes as he stopped outside the door to the studio. “He sells enough in the shop on St Mary’s to keep him busy. If he tried to attract more customers here, he’d spend all of his time serving them and wouldn’t actually have time to make anything.”

“He could hire someone to man the shop, so he could still spend his time in the workshop.”

“Maybe you should suggest it.” Trystan raised an eyebrow in amusement. “I’m sure he’d love to get business advice from you. Which one of you is a millionaire again?”

Noah stifled a laugh. “Obviously I’m not brave enough to mention it to Lowen.” Nudging his brother out of the way, he pushed the door open, stamping the sand from his shoes as he stepped inside.

Before they could close the door behind them, a ginger cat shot through their legs and outside.

“Does Lowen have a cat?” Noah asked.

“It belongs to Maddie at the hotel but it likes to visit here.”

“At least someone enjoys Lowen’s company.”

Through the archway to the workshop, Lowen’s voice called out, telling them he’d be out in a minute and they should feel free to look around.

Noah did just that, gazing at the ceramics on display on the shelves and sideboards. Given the large windows, the studio should have been bright and airy, but the layer of dust on the panes made it difficult for daylight to get in.

Following Trystan, they wandered through to the workshop to find Lowen wiping his hands on his clay-smattered jeans as he crossed the room.

“Oh, it’s just you.”

“Just us,” Noah echoed. “Great to see you, too.”

Without further greeting, Lowen leaned against the sideboard, which was littered with clay mugs and bowls in various stages of creation. “What’s going on?”

A hum came from the massive kiln in the corner, and a tap dripped into a stainless-steel sink, the draining board of which was littered with plastic pots, paint brushes, sponges and various paraphernalia.

“Not much.” Trystan hopped up to sit on the dusty table in the centre of the room. “We both have women troubles. Thought we’d come here and escape it for a while.”

“What’s going on with Jenny?”

“She’s taking some time to figure out what she wants for her future … and whether it includes me.”

Lowen picked up an unfinished mug from the sideboard beside him, running his thumb over the rim before setting it down again. “I’m sure you’ll figure things out.”

Catching the subtle bob of Trystan’s Adam apple, it dawned on Noah that he hadn’t been invited along for purely selfless reasons. Trystan had invited him as back-up.

With no one speaking, the sound of the tap dripping increased in intensity. Noah pulled on his sleeve and cleaned a circle on the window pane to look out over the peaceful beach.

“Mum said you’ve got a lot of work on at the moment,” he said to break the silence.

“It’s a busy time now, with tourists on the islands.”

“Don’t you stockpile over winter to take the pressure off?”

“Yeah. But I sell stuff online too. I get custom orders from time to time as well.”