Книга - The Once in a Blue Moon Guesthouse: The perfect feelgood romance

The Once in a Blue Moon Guesthouse: The perfect feelgood romance
Cressida McLaughlin


‘A wonderfully warm and witty novel from one of our favourite women’s fiction stars. We defy you not to love this’ HeatThe charming new bestseller from the No.1 bestselling author of The Canal Boat CafeRobin Brennan has come home to Campion Bay. Now her parents have retired, she’s set to become the new landlady of The Campion Bay Guesthouse.Bookings have been as thin as the hand towels, and it doesn’t take long for Robin to realise that the place needs a serious makeover. Perhaps throwing herself into the task will help to heal her sadness at the tragic end to her dreams in London.As she gives the guesthouse a new lease of life, Robin encounters old friends and new, including old flame Tim, who’d clearly like to reboot their romance. But what about Will, the new arrival at No. 4, who’s rocked up with the cutest dog ever?Caught up in a flurry of full-English breakfasts and cream teas, Robin’s never sure what, or who, the next check-in will bring…






















Copyright (#u20fbe70c-6da4-5a4b-8c74-cbc3bd8dd012)







Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

The News Building

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain as four separate ebooks in 2016 – 2017 by HarperCollinsPublishers

First published as one edition in 2017 by HarperCollinsPublishers

Copyright © Cressida McLaughlin 2017

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017

Cover illustration © Alice Stevenson

Cressida McLaughlin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008219284

Ebook Edition © June 2017 ISBN: 9780008219291

Version: 2017-05-15




Dedication (#u20fbe70c-6da4-5a4b-8c74-cbc3bd8dd012)


To Katy Chilvers, the best romantic hero research wing-woman a girl could hope for


Table of Contents

Cover (#u2993db4d-948c-5714-a036-a59ac38dc537)

Title Page (#u573243e9-de81-5f7f-9317-ea427ea10538)

Copyright (#udbf8a667-d422-5d2d-9b96-e877ccdd109a)

Dedication (#u8c6f183d-80e0-5a1a-be63-b677dcc912d2)

Part One – Open for Business (#u96f6c66b-e8a8-52d0-b7dc-80ec0e9ac372)

Chapter 1 (#ucaeff00e-0414-5a91-b0da-9a2fb8e2e1dc)

Chapter 2 (#u123bebbd-b677-532d-a397-96d9c3256b6d)

Chapter 3 (#uac0667f8-a0de-5152-be02-4914a1217fd7)



Chapter 4 (#uf31e8940-58b7-5b5a-9234-0cf29d87e327)



Chapter 5 (#u0fc879c6-ce5f-5ae9-bf9a-f3babea859f0)



Chapter 6 (#ua77ad01b-cbc4-5533-9032-9be796d13161)



Part Two – Fully Booked (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)



Part Three – Do Not Disturb (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)



Part Four – Wish You Were Here (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)



Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)



Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)



Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)



Also by Cressida McLaughlin (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)



About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)





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Chapter 1 (#u20fbe70c-6da4-5a4b-8c74-cbc3bd8dd012)


Even with its cloak of December grey, Campion Bay was beautiful. Robin Brennan tucked her gloved hand through her mother’s arm and slowed her pace. The sand was compact beneath their feet, and Robin wanted to take her boots off and feel it against her bare soles, despite the blistering cold.

She had been back here for three months; back in her childhood town, with its quaint teashops and Skull Island crazy golf course and the sea stretching out alongside them, never the same, today a dark, gunmetal grey with barely a hint of blue. It was the last day of the year, a time to think about starting afresh and promised resolutions, but Robin felt in some respects like she’d gone backwards.

‘It’s encouraging that we’ve got a full house for the New Year,’ she said to her mum. ‘We can celebrate properly tonight.’

‘Yes, darling.’ Sylvie Brennan patted her arm. She was trying to inject enthusiasm into her voice, but Robin could tell her mind was elsewhere. ‘No empty rooms for the first time in … well, months.’ She gave Robin a quick, unconvincing smile.

‘Maybe things will improve now.’ Robin bent to pick up a pebble polished smooth by the sea, the thin sliver of quartz running through it glinting in the weak sun. ‘I know there are going to be fireworks later, but it’s not exactly an extravaganza. Most people like to spend New Year’s Eve in big cities or at house parties, not the Dorset seaside, so the fact that people have booked to spend it here means that … that they want to come here.’ It was a pathetically obvious statement, but Robin was finding positivity as hard to come by as her mum was.

The Campion Bay Guesthouse, Sylvie and Ian Brennan’s pride and joy since the family had moved to the area when Robin was four, was in trouble. Robin had returned from London because of her own problems, feeling like she had nowhere else to turn, and had discovered that she wasn’t the only one who was suffering. She’d thrown herself into helping out, managing the changeovers, baking fresh bread for the breakfasts, setting up Twitter, Instagram and Facebook accounts. She’d used her experience to try and give the guesthouse a boost, and it had taken her mind off her own struggles for a time, but then her parents’ worries about the business – the worries they had obviously been trying to keep from her – had become her own. Now it was New Year’s Eve, they were hosting a party for their guests and for a few friends in the bay, and if her mum and dad were feeling anything like she was, it would be hard to muster up enough celebratory spirit to pop a single champagne cork.

Sylvie steered her daughter left, angling them towards the water, and the icy December wind met them head on. Robin felt her dark, shoulder-length curls tugging out behind her, her cheeks burning from the cold. She squinted against the assault, wondering why her mum had brought her out for an impromptu walk when the weather was so hostile, and whether she could encourage her back home, or perhaps to the Campion Bay Teashop. It was a few doors down from the guesthouse along Goldcrest Road, the seafront street of houses with an unimpeded view of the English Channel.

The seafront was colourful despite the December gloom. Most of the three- and four-storey buildings had, over the years, been converted to guesthouses, or businesses on the ground floor and accommodation above. As well as the Campion Bay Guesthouse and the teashop there was an Italian taverna, its façade in sunny greens and yellows, the candyfloss-pink door of Molly’s beauty parlour, and the cornflower trim and net-curtained windows of the Seaview Hotel, run by Coral Harris.

A couple of the buildings had remained single dwellings, and Robin could just make out the gleam of blue glaze on the clay plaque next to number four’s front door. Tabitha Thomas had lived there, observing everything that had happened on Goldcrest Road with a quiet watchfulness, until her death earlier that year. Robin felt the familiar twinge of regret when she thought of Tabitha, who she’d known so well growing up, but who had become a distant memory after Robin’s move to London.

‘Robin,’ Sylvie said, raising her voice to compete with the whistle of the wind, ‘I wanted to have a chat with you about something.’

‘Righto,’ Robin said warily, her shoulders tensing. ‘Fire away.’ Her mother was the more serious of her parents, but this tone was especially solemn, and Robin felt that whatever was coming was the reason Sylvie had brought her out here. It wasn’t likely to be about the fireworks. She tried to interpret the expression on Sylvie’s face but found that it was unreadable, her features scrunched up against the wind. Her mum was a couple of inches shorter than she was, her frame more fragile. She’d always said that Robin was lucky to have been gifted her delicate features and her dad’s long, lithe limbs in equal measure.

‘Your dad and I have had a talk,’ she said now. ‘To be honest, we’ve had thousands, on a daily basis, and long before you came back to Campion Bay in September.’

‘You are married,’ Robin said. ‘It would be strange if you didn’t.’ She smiled, but the joke remained unanswered. Robin bit her lip, dreading what was coming next.

‘We can’t run the guesthouse any more,’ Sylvie said bluntly. ‘Bookings are down too much, with no sign – despite your optimism about tonight – of picking up. Our advanced bookings for the spring are paltry, and by now we’d usually have a few full weeks in May and June. We’re both getting on and the truth is, darling,’ she turned towards Robin, grasping her hands and looking her square in the face, ‘we’ve made an offer on a house in Montpellier, and it’s been accepted.’

Robin stared at her mum, trying to let the words sink in as the winter gusts squeezed tears out of the corners of her eyes.

‘What?’ It came out as a hoarse whisper. ‘I knew you’d been looking, thinking about retiring, but … but you’re actually going? When? What will happen to – I mean, what about the guesthouse?’ She released a hand and flung her arm in the direction of Goldcrest Road.

‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Obviously we don’t want to leave you here without …’ She sighed, the sentence trailing off.

‘Anything to do?’ Robin gave her mum a quick, humourless smile, realizing how pathetic it was to depend on her parents to give her purpose.

‘You can’t spend the rest of your life helping us run our guesthouse,’ Sylvie said, her tone softening. ‘You’re destined for greater things. I know this was – is – a stepping stone, that you needed to come back here after what happened in London, but you were always going to have to think about your future.’

‘I know that,’ Robin murmured, turning towards the water. She hadn’t even started to think about what she wanted to do after London; she’d come back to Campion Bay to regroup and hadn’t realized she was working to a deadline.

‘We’re buying the house in France with the money your gran left me,’ Sylvie said, ‘so it’s not dependent on us selling the guesthouse. There’s no rush for you to move out, though I imagine you won’t want to stay in such a big place.’ She resisted adding ‘alone’, but Robin heard the inference.

‘But what about the business?’ she asked, choosing to focus on less complicated things than her emotions or her own future. ‘You can’t just close it. It’s been running for almost thirty years, it’s nearly reached its pearl anniversary.’

Sylvie smiled at Robin’s attempt to lighten the mood, but her tone was grim. ‘Yes, but it’s failing. It’s had some wonderful years, we’ve been very successful, but it’s not what people want any more. Sometimes you have to count your losses.’

‘Everyone wants to come to the seaside,’ Robin protested, flinging her arms wide. ‘The seaside never goes out of fashion.’

‘What we’re offering is behind the times, then. It happens. Your dad and I are past trying to keep up with newer, more fashionable hotels.’

‘Mrs Harris is still going,’ Robin said, as they turned away from the sea and began walking back. ‘She doesn’t show any signs of closing down, and she doesn’t even advertise it as a Bleak House hotel.’

‘Robin,’ her mother chided. ‘She caters for a different market; she has a steady, loyal clientele who return each year – often more than once. The Campion Bay Guesthouse is slipping through the gaps. We’re not traditional, but we’re by no means trendy any more.’

‘So renovate then,’ Robin said, whirling to face her as the sand gave way to shingle. ‘Give it a makeover. Don’t let it go so easily. When I was running Once in a Blue Moon Days I saw hundreds of amazing hotels – boutique and modern and classic and themed and, sometimes, downright bizarre. I’ve got some ideas, we could work on it together.’ The rug was about to be pulled out from under her feet, and she couldn’t get her head around the thought of having to start all over again quite so soon.

‘Robin, darling. If the guesthouse ran solely on your enthusiasm, then we wouldn’t be struggling at all. Things have been so hard for you over the last year, and you haven’t given up.’

‘I gave up on Once in a Blue Moon Days,’ Robin whispered, looking down at the pebbles.

‘No.’ Sylvie shook her head. ‘You kept working at it until the bitter end, until there was nothing you could do. A luxury event company like that can’t survive on one person’s energy and determination to keep it going. You’re a fighter, Robin, and we’re so proud of you. But your dad and I, we don’t have the energy, or the fight, left in us. We’ve spent a long time talking it over – we’re not taking this decision lightly – but this is right. I know it’s a shock, but we didn’t want to tell you until it was definite.’

Robin’s legs felt heavy as they made their way past Skull Island Crazy Golf, closed down for the winter, and back to the Campion Bay Guesthouse.

Robin had returned to Campion Bay after her London life had fallen apart because it was safe, because she knew what to expect and she could slip back into a familiar, almost mindless, routine. But now that, too, was coming to an end. As the shock started to dissipate, Robin discovered that what was underneath was panic. What would she do if she had no guesthouse to help out with? How would she cope without her parents’ gentle, unobtrusive comfort? She hadn’t felt like partying before their walk, but now the thought of putting on a dress and eyeliner and spending the evening socializing seemed impossible.

She understood why her parents had made their decision. She knew, as soon as her mum had told her, that it was the right time for them to retire. But that still didn’t answer the question thrumming through Robin’s head as she took her coat and gloves off and went to put the kettle on: what would she be left with?

‘Just open it,’ Molly said, thrusting two glasses underneath Robin’s nose and waggling them, her charm bracelet tinkling delicately in the quiet. They were standing in the Campion Bay Guesthouse’s huge living-room-cum-dining-room, the French doors at the back leading out to a small patio garden, the windows at the front looking out on to the sea. It was close to six o’clock and it was dark outside, the lighting low, the textured, teal-green wallpaper making it seem slightly gloomy.

‘The guests won’t be coming down for at least half an hour,’ Robin protested, trying to sidestep Molly and put the bottle of prosecco on the table.

‘But you’ve organized this party,’ Molly said, ‘we’re both here now, and you’ve had a shock. We’ve just got time to sink the bottle before anyone else turns up, and nobody’ll be any the wiser.’ She flashed Robin a grin, her teeth pearly white behind her bold pink lipstick.

Robin tried again, and was again blocked by her friend. She rolled her eyes and began to open the bottle.

‘At least you didn’t discover a secret talent for willpower while you were in London,’ Molly said. ‘That’s a relief.’

Robin laughed and then, realizing she couldn’t remember the last time she’d used those particular facial muscles, grinned at her friend.

She’d known Molly since she was eleven. The petite blonde had been two years above her in secondary school, but once they’d said hello in the short-lived school orchestra – Molly admitting she’d only started to learn the flute as a way to stay inside during the windswept winter lunchtimes – they’d become solid friends. When Robin had accepted a place at university in London, Molly’s daughter Paige was two years old and she’d committed to settling in Campion Bay, but their friendship had lasted the distance. While Robin had been seeking the unconditional love of her parents when she’d decided to come back to Campion Bay, she’d also known Molly would be here. If she hadn’t, the decision wouldn’t have been so straightforward.

‘I can be stubborn when I want to be,’ Robin protested, filling the glasses with bubbling liquid. ‘I just agree with your assessment of the situation.’

‘Assessment of the situation?’ Molly clinked her glass against Robin’s. ‘You mean I’m right, as usual. Let’s make a toast – to new years and new beginnings.’

‘Zero points for originality.’ Robin leaned against the table, which held an array of nibbles and glasses, and her mum’s crystal bowl full of homemade punch. She’d changed into a black, knee-length dress with a high neckline and swooping back, her curls loose – and slightly frizzy – around her shoulders. She looked a lot more prepared for a party than she felt, but she still wasn’t anything to match Molly, whose perfectly made-up face couldn’t hide the natural beauty underneath. Her friend was always immaculately turned out, but then, as the owner of Groom with a View, the beauty parlour two doors down from the guesthouse, she was bound to be. She was wearing a thigh-skimming plum-coloured dress and towering heels, her short blonde hair styled expertly into corkscrew curls.

‘It’s not meant to be original,’ Molly said, after she’d taken a swig of prosecco, ‘but it’s true, isn’t it? For you. You’ve been forced into a new start. You’re beginning to make a habit of it.’

Robin sighed and dropped her head forward. ‘What am I going to do? They’re moving just before Easter, to beautiful, sunny southern France. It should seem a long way off, but it feels like it’s hurtling towards me at a hundred miles an hour. Do you think they’d mind if I went with them? Robin Brennan, once a successful entrepreneur, now committed to life as a recluse, hanging on to her parents’ coattails at the age of thirty-two.’

Molly leaned against the table alongside her, and she caught a whiff of her friend’s heady, seductive perfume. ‘That is not an option,’ Molly said. ‘Firstly, you’ve got too much spirit to live such a humdrum existence, you’d be bored in ten minutes, and secondly, you’re not moving away again so soon. Not now I’ve just got you back.’

‘I’m not moving, not really. Mum and Dad have left me the house, when they could have legitimately booted me out and bought a chateau.’ Robin chewed her lip. ‘But it’ll be weird rattling around in this place without a job or a purpose or my parents.’

‘Right,’ Molly said. ‘So you need to do something. You don’t want to start up Once in a Blue Moon Days again?’ She asked it tentatively, shooting a glance in Robin’s direction then looking quickly away.

Robin stared at the floor, her chest squeezing at the mention of the upmarket events company she had started with her friend Neve. They had planned exclusive days for their clients – weddings, anniversaries, extravagant birthday celebrations. No request was too big or difficult; Robin and Neve would track it down, make it happen. It wasn’t cheap, but the experiences they organized were unforgettable – as rare as seeing a blue moon in the night sky.

‘No,’ she replied quietly. ‘I gave it up because it didn’t work without Neve. I couldn’t do it. Not just because I missed her, although that was a part of it, but because she was the organized one. She did the planning, made everything run like clockwork, and I kept the clients happy. She said that I was the shiny exterior, putting everyone at ease, and she was the frenetic back office that nobody wanted to see.’

‘You were the serene swan and she was the swan’s legs pedalling frantically beneath the water.’

‘Exactly. I tried to keep it going after she died, but without her to execute her meticulous plans, things went wrong. Sooo wrong.’ Robin winced and tried to shrug away the memories. ‘And London is so well-connected. You can get anything online these days, but lots of the bespoke orders we were placing needed to be negotiated face to face. I’d be starting with too many handicaps if I tried again down here.’

‘All very fair and logical,’ Molly said, waving her glass at her friend. ‘No more Once in a Blue Moon Days, and no more Campion Bay Guesthouse.’

‘Let’s try and keep it positive, shall we?’ Robin elbowed her gently in the ribs. ‘Frame it as an opportunity, rather than the end of everything.’

‘That’s what I’m trying to do, if only you’d keep up. So,’ she spun to face Robin, who jumped and spilled prosecco all over her wrist, ‘you can’t help your parents with the guesthouse any more, because they won’t be here.’

‘Right,’ Robin said, narrowing her eyes. ‘I’m still waiting for your positive spin?’

‘But you’ll be here, and so will the guesthouse.’

‘They’re closing it – it’s going downhill, not getting the bookings any more, making a loss. I see it every day. My tomato and parmesan bread is going uneaten, except by me, and that can’t go on for too much longer unless I take up triathlons.’ She sighed and sipped her drink. ‘And I don’t want to take up triathlons – sometimes getting out of bed is hard enough.’

‘Don’t get off topic, Robin. Listen. You seeiteveryday,’ Molly repeated, raising her little finger. ‘And you ran a successful luxury experience company.’ She held up the ring finger. ‘And you have your head around modern marketing and social media; Instagram, Periscope, Twitter.’ Her middle finger came up, and she waggled them triumphantly.

Robin’s stomach did a tiny somersault, competing with the prosecco bubbles. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Three valid points, if you discount the total disaster Once in a Blue Moon Days became when I was on my own.’

‘So take it over.’

‘What?’ She chewed her cheeks frantically as her friend’s eyes got wider, the seed of the idea planted firmly inside both their minds.

‘Take it over – the guesthouse.’ Molly put her glass on the table and clapped her hands together, her blonde curls bouncing. ‘Do all the things you told your mum to do. Give the place an update, refurbish the rooms, launch the new and improved Campion Bay Guesthouse with a killer marketing campaign. They’re not asking you to move, so why not just take over from them and bring the place up to scratch at the same time?’

Robin shook her head, more out of disbelief than refusal. It was a huge decision to make, but instantly she saw the possibility. She’d grown up in the guesthouse; she’d helped out all the time, slinking past strangers on her journey to or from her attic bedroom. She’d seen guests arguing with each other on the stairs, returning home in the dead of night giggling and covered in sand, complaining to her dad that their porridge was more like wallpaper paste. She’d seen it at its most popular and, more recently, at its most bereft. She drummed her fingers on the edge of the table.

‘I see those fingers,’ Molly said. ‘You think it could work, don’t you? I know you could do it. Luxury experiences, but all under the same roof – not to sound like Toys R Us or anything, don’t use that tag line. But it would be …’ Molly stopped, swallowed, held Robin’s gaze.

‘Carrying on Neve’s baby,’ Robin finished. ‘Keeping the idea of Once in a Blue Moon Days alive, but here in Campion Bay.’

‘Her dream, and your parents’ dream. The guesthouse won’t close, yours and Neve’s brainchild won’t be forgotten, and you’ll be making a living, running your own business again.’

Robin stared at her hazy reflection in the window, surrounded by the pre-party scene, the ideas buzzing inside her mind like fireflies. It was obvious when she thought about it. Her parents couldn’t keep the guesthouse going – they didn’t have the will to do it any more – but she did. It wouldn’t be the same as the events company. The groundwork was in place, the booking software, the rules and routines her parents had lived by. She wouldn’t be creating unique experiences from scratch on her own, and so was less likely to cause any disasters. She realized her glass was empty and turned towards the table to find Molly already holding the bottle.

‘Now,’ Molly said, her pink lips smiling, ‘we really have something to celebrate. Let’s get another glass down us before Mrs Harris arrives. I’m not sure I can face her sober, especially knowing that you’re going to crucify her in the local guesthouse scene.’

Robin laughed. ‘I am not going to crucify her, Molly. That’s not fair. But’ – and now she couldn’t help grinning as the idea, out in the real world for a few more minutes, began to take hold – ‘there’s nothing wrong with a bit of healthy competition, is there?’

‘The Seaview Hotel won’t know what’s hit it,’ Molly said, draining her second glass. ‘Not now Robin Brennan and her quiet determination are in the game.’

‘In what game?’ Robin’s dad asked, bustling genially into the room with a box of party poppers under his arm.

Robin exchanged a glance with Molly. ‘Nothing,’ she said quickly, deciding that pre-party was not the best time to spring this on her parents. She’d wait until the dust and the streamers had settled, and she’d had at least one night to sleep on the idea. ‘It looks like it’s going to be a great party, Dad.’

‘And all the better for having you here to celebrate with us,’ he said, reaching out to squeeze her hand. ‘Especially now, with all that’s behind us, and ahead of us.’

‘Hey,’ Molly said, ‘don’t start that. It’s too early in the evening for deep and meaningfuls.’

Robin saluted her friend. For the first time in what felt like ages, and – as her dad had said – despite all that was behind her, she could see a glimmer of hope in what was to come. The idea had been planted, and Robin could tell that it was already beginning to grow in the background, working quietly away in her subconscious. By the time midnight struck and the New Year had dawned, the seed might even have generated a few solid roots.

Robin watched the party guests from her prime position on the top step of the guesthouse. She could feel the warmth of the hallway at her back, seeping out through the half-open door to meet the cold night air, and the solid heat of Molly sitting next to her on the step, wearing Robin’s navy wool coat. She could see the backs of her parents, of Mrs Harris, of Ashley and Roxy from the Campion Bay Teashop, and the couples who had chosen their small corner of the south coast to celebrate the New Year. And then, as the bongs of Big Ben reached her from the radio in the kitchen, Robin watched the night sky light up with the first golden fireworks. She could just make out the boat they were being launched from, the smoke drifting through the air in the split seconds between one burst and the next. The pops and bangs were like a starting rifle in her mind. OnYourMarks, Robin.

‘Happy New Year,’ Molly said, slurring slightly, holding her champagne flute up to the sky, the strobes and chrysanthemums and brocade bursts reflecting in the glass.

‘Happy New Year, Molly.’ Robin clinked her glass against her friend’s.

‘I’m envious,’ Molly said. ‘You’ve already got your resolution. I’m still deciding whether I want to learn how to windsurf or take that tattooist course I’ve been threatening to do for ages.’

‘Why not both? They sound pretty challenging, but somehow still a lot less daunting than taking over the guesthouse.’

‘You’re having second thoughts?’ Molly sat up and turned towards her.

‘No, not at all. I’ve thought of nothing else all evening – not even when Dad threatened to give us all a rendition of “Mack the Knife” after his fourth glass of punch. It made me wonder if I should have the dining room redecorated to look like a fifties American diner. You’ll be happy to discover I quickly decided no, by the way.’

‘You’re thinking of having themed rooms?’

Robin gave a quick shake of her head. ‘Not themed, exactly. Styled, definitely. I want each room to have a name and its own individual look, but maybe that’s too ambitious.’ She scrunched her nose up, cross with herself for letting the doubt circle closer and closer, like a shark.

‘You know I can rope Paige in to help around her college course, don’t you? She’s tired of clearing up glasses at the Artichoke, and helping with refurbishments would play to her creative strengths.’ Molly’s daughter, Paige, was studying jewellery design at the local college, with ambitions of setting up her own studio. ‘And I’ve got a couple of builder clients I can talk to,’ Molly added, ‘depending on the scale of work you’re thinking of.’

Robin sipped her champagne and watched as a blue waterfall firework lit up the sky, shimmying down towards the water. ‘I don’t know. It depends how much money I can put into the refurbishment.’

‘Ian and Sylvie?’

Robin nodded. ‘I’ve not even mentioned it to them yet.’

‘They’ll be delighted. It’s a much happier bombshell to drop on them than the one they landed you with.’

‘It might be the bombshell I need. To get properly going again, after Neve.’ It sounded like a new era: After Neve, and that was exactly how she felt about the death of her friend. She had to get going again, to live on in this strange new world where a big piece of her existence was missing.

Molly threaded her fingers between Robin’s and squeezed. ‘You’re in the right place. Even when your mum and dad have gone, you’re not starting it all on your own.’

Robin returned the gesture. ‘I appreciate all of this – the encouragement, the not abandoning me when I first came back, when I was greasy-haired and in my pyjamas, getting through a box of tissues a day. I’m not sure I’ve told you how much.’

Molly dismissed her gratitude with a quick frown and headshake, carrying on as if Robin hadn’t spoken. ‘You’ve got me and Paige. Paige will rope in Adam, and if you want any expert advice, there’s always Tim Lewis, junior partner at Campion Bay Property. I’m sure he’d be keen to offer you a free consultation about your renovations.’ She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

Robin gave a shallow laugh, but her palms were suddenly slick. ‘Oh God, don’t.’

‘Have you seen him, since you’ve been back?’

She shook her head. ‘Sometimes I think I have, a head of blond curls in the supermarket or on the beach, but it always turns out to be someone else.’

‘He must know you’re here. The Campion Bay rumour mill would have spat that nugget of information in his direction. He’s obviously picking his moment.’

‘Or he’s decided to stay away.’

‘Oh, come on.’ Molly laughed. ‘That’s not exactly his style, is it?’

‘No,’ Robin admitted, her stomach churning unpleasantly. ‘No, it’s not.’

The patter of the fireworks was replaced by a meagre smattering of applause from the crowd as the display came to an end. Robin found herself searching through the darkness for that head of blond curls, wondering if Tim Lewis, the ex love of her life, would miss the one New Year’s Eve event that Campion Bay was putting on. Then she realized that he was more likely to be at an exclusive house party somewhere in the Dorset countryside, drinking Taittinger and fifty-year-old Macallan, if Molly’s updates over the years were anything to go by. But if her friend was right and he was choosing his moment to reacquaint himself with her, then what was that moment; why was he waiting? Suddenly it wasn’t just the thought of taking over the Campion Bay Guesthouse that was on her mind, and when she finally made it into bed, a sliver of pale moon glinting at her through the converted attic window, she slept fitfully.




Chapter 2 (#u20fbe70c-6da4-5a4b-8c74-cbc3bd8dd012)


‘This,’ Robin said, rolling out a piece of A0 flipchart paper on the king-sized bed and putting a selection of coloured Sharpies on top of it, ‘is going to be our project plan.’

Molly scooted up to the pillow end and grabbed a neon orange marker, cradling her coffee mug in the other hand. They were in one of the first-floor bedrooms, sadly unoccupied now that New Year had gone and the cold comedown of January had set in. The view through the window was of grey sky and greyer sea, the colours muted like a Lowry painting. Seagulls sat along the rail of the promenade, and Skull Island’s artificial greens looked too bright in the washed-out tableau. Robin shivered and pulled her oatmeal knitted cardigan around her. She scrunched her toes into the thick, aquamarine carpet, finding a crumb that she must have dropped the day before when she’d been touring the rooms with a packet of cheese TUC biscuits and dreaming up her ideal guesthouse.

‘No carpets,’ she said. ‘I want every room to have floorboards and rugs.’ She turned to the bed, knelt on the duvet and wrote Campion Bay Guesthouse in dark blue in the middle of the sheet. Then she picked up a red pen, drew a line branching out from the centre and wrote nocarpets.

‘That’s a big move to start us off,’ Molly said. ‘Do you know what the floors are like underneath?’

‘Not really.’ She sank further into the bed. ‘We took my bedroom carpet up when I was sixteen, but that was half my lifetime ago and I can’t remember what work was involved. But the dining room is polished boards and I think it looks classier, more contemporary.’

‘OK,’ Molly said. ‘No carpets, and no American diner-style breakfast bar. What do you want? Who do you want coming to stay here? Who used Once in a Blue Moon Days?’

Robin took a grey pen and doodled an image of a crescent moon in the corner of the page. ‘The days we offered were bespoke, so they weren’t cheap. We sourced the best hotels, restaurants, private planes, speedboat trips, one-on-one wildlife experiences, day trips to Lapland, Northern Lights tours with added personal touches. Special occasions that were more than a weekend away or a hired-out village hall.’

‘So wealthy people, then?’

‘People who were looking for something unique, often that they’d been saving hard for. Campion Bay has the crazy golf, but it’s also got some upmarket restaurants, and it has a classic feel with Ashley and Roxy’s vintage teashop and the picture-postcard seafront. It could be the perfect weekend by the coast if there was a luxurious, unique guesthouse in pride of place. It needs to be contemporary, but with a natural feel. And I want to decorate it using local products if I can.’

‘How local? Like beach scavenging, bits of driftwood into tables, that sort of thing?’

‘Maybe.’ Robin stared out of the window again. She thought she could see a dot of red, a small fishing boat on the horizon, bobbing alarmingly on the waves. ‘And I want my room – the attic room – to be themed around the night sky. It’s the closest to the stars, it has the best view and the tiny balcony.’

‘Suicide strip?’ Molly’s eyes widened innocently when Robin shot her a look. ‘Come on, it’s bloody terrifying up there!’

‘I’m going to get a telescope,’ Robin said, ignoring her. ‘I’ve always wanted one, and just imagine what you’d be able to see, the constellations, planets, the Milky Way. It’ll be breathtaking. But we’ll do that room last – we’ll have to wait until Mum and Dad have gone and I can move downstairs.’

‘You’re not keeping your bedroom?’

Robin shook her head. ‘The attic room will take us up to five chargeable rooms, all doubles, all with an en suite. The rooms downstairs will be more than enough space for me, and the attic could be really special if we do it right.’ If she closed her eyes, she could picture it. The telescope, the navy feature wall, pinprick lights dotting the ceiling and globe reading lamps set in snug recesses either side of the bed. She’d seen her fair share of luxury when scoping out Once in a Blue Moon Days projects, and she remembered Neve’s favourite. It was a five-star penthouse suite in Switzerland, its glass ceiling inviting the night sky in, as if you were sleeping on the edge of the world. For Neve, who had believed wholeheartedly in astrology, in finding truth and love by reading the stars, it was perfect. Robin couldn’t quite manage the penthouse-level of extraordinary, but she could capture the essence of what had made it so magical.

‘So,’ Molly said, leaning forward, speaking through a mouthful of pen lid, ‘let’s do the rooms in turn. What’s the attic room going to be called?’

Robin finished the doodle of the man sitting in the curve of her crescent moon, took her grey pen and wrote Starcross in large, swirling script. ‘There,’ she said. ‘Room number five.’

‘Starcross,’ Molly read. ‘Robin Brennan, you crazy romantic. Just don’t call one of the rooms Elsinore, or you’ll be tempting fate. What ideas have you got for the other bedrooms?’

They worked for hours, coming up with more and more ideas, words in minute writing squashed up to the edge of the sheet as the new and improved Campion Bay Guesthouse took shape, albeit just on paper.

‘And I was in charge of social media at Blue Moon Days, so I can get that working to promote us,’ Robin said, even after they’d declared their ideas banks empty. ‘I can make bread, I’ve got a mean kedgeree recipe and I saw this incredible wall in a hotel that was actually a fish-tank. How amazing would that look in the sea-themed room?’

‘It would look stunning,’ Molly said slowly, ‘as long as your parents have left you a million quid, which is about what we’ve spent already, judging by this.’ She waggled the sheet of paper.

Robin stood and stretched her hands up to the ceiling, undoing all the knots in her back. The sea had taken on a deep, inky hue as the weak January sun had emerged, and it winked on Molly’s Murano glass earrings. She thought that she could put stained-glass window panels in one of the rooms, taking advantage of the ever-changing Campion Bay light.

‘It’s not as bad as all that,’ she said, pushing away a wave of unease. ‘Mum and Dad have offered to invest a fair amount – I think partly they feel guilty about going to France even though I’m resurrecting the guesthouse.’ On New Year’s Day she had made a maple and pecan loaf cake, sat her parents down with that and a pot of Ceylon tea, and introduced the idea of taking over the guesthouse. She had expected them to tell her that they didn’t think she was ready, that it wasn’t possible, but instead they had cautiously embraced the idea, offering as much support – moral and financial – as they could. ‘Besides,’ Robin continued, ‘once we start investigating suppliers, putting the research in, we’ll find affordable options. And with your friends, Jim and Kerry, agreeing to help with the decorating, we’re going to make some savings. I can’t believe Jim was sold by the offer of free haircuts for life.’

‘It’s for his beard. He’s beyond proud of it, and nobody trims a beard better than at Groom with a View.’ Molly grinned and then, catching Robin’s eye, her expression became more serious. ‘When I met them in the Artichoke the other night to discuss your plans and see what bartering could be done, I did also, uhm, happen to see Tim.’

Robin went very still, one hand pressed between her shoulder blades, her elbow sticking up towards the ceiling. ‘You did?’ Her mouth was suddenly dry.

Molly nodded. ‘He was there with his boss, Malcolm. Tall, weaselly, gives me the creeps – you’ve probably not run into him yet. It looked like they were celebrating a deal.’

‘Right,’ Robin managed. ‘You didn’t speak to him – Tim, I mean?’

Molly shook her head. ‘But he flashed me one of those what-a-man-I-am grins, as if maybe he knew I was going to relay the encounter to you.’

‘That’s how he smiles at everyone.’

‘I had a feeling that this smug grin was extra special. I’m unnerved by the fact that he’s not dropped by to see you yet. It makes me wonder what he’s up to.’

‘Maybe he heard about London, about what happened to Neve, and thought he’d give me some space.’ Robin chewed her lip. ‘Actually, no, if he’d heard about it, he would have offered me a shoulder to cry on.’

‘His shoulder would be the best, obviously.’

‘Oh, of course,’ Robin said, smiling at her friend, ‘none better in the whole of Campion Bay – or on the south coast, for that matter.’ She turned away, thinking how wrong it felt to talk flippantly about her grief, even though she knew it was progress – returning to some semblance of normality, making fun of the darkness when you were relieved to be emerging into brighter days. There had been a time, not so long ago, when even smiling had seemed like too much of a stretch.

‘Lunch?’ she asked.

Molly rubbed her stomach. ‘If you’re offering, otherwise some of these Sharpies might mysteriously disappear.’

‘Make yourself comfortable downstairs and I’ll bring in some sandwiches.’

Robin boiled eggs, fried rashers of streaky bacon and brewed Lapsang Souchong in one of the ruby-red breakfast teapots. As she did, she found her thoughts turning unavoidably to Tim.

Tim Lewis had been her childhood sweetheart. The most irritating, prank-playing, arrogant little shit at school who, somewhere between the ages of twelve and fourteen, had become utterly desirable. He had still played the odd prank, but his ridiculous blond curls were tamed, and his arrogance had honed itself into a confidence and determination that he was going to do something with his life.

Robin had, like all the other girls, harboured a not-very secret crush on him, and was more surprised than anyone else in the school – though only by a small margin – when, on a balmy September day, aged fourteen, he had asked her out. She had never been a wallflower at school, but she hadn’t reached the heights of popularity that put her automatically within his reach, either. He’d seemed over-confident when he’d asked, accidentally spilling the can of Coke he was holding nonchalantly in his hand, and Robin liked him all the more for that. They’d travelled on the bus to Bridport cinema and watched There’sSomethingAboutMary, nervous at having got in a year too young. Towards the end of the film, Tim had slipped his hand in hers.

They’d dated, declaring each other boyfriend and girlfriend, their relationship surviving against the odds right up until Robin went to London to study Sociology. They’d thought they could make it work; Robin had harboured ideas of Tim coming to join her in the capital – she was sure his ambition would outgrow their cosy Dorset town – but she had misjudged him. Tim was happy where he was, staying close to his family and being a big fish in a small pond, working for a local estate agent, graduating from first homes and small flats to manage country estate sales. Now, it seemed, he’d progressed even further.

Robin poured out the boiling water and ran the eggs under the cold tap, the smell of sizzling bacon filling the kitchen. Of course she’d thought about Tim when she’d made the decision to return to Campion Bay, but they hadn’t spoken for over ten years. They were both in their early thirties now. Molly had kept her updated with significant news while she was in London, and so as far as she knew he wasn’t married, but did he still leave his hair that bit too long, allowing those gorgeous blond curls to flourish? Robin bit her lip. It was only a matter of time before they bumped into each other.

There had been something magnetic about his confidence, something altogether irresistible. It was the thing that made her heart beat faster now, so many years later, and even after the way it had ended. The problem was that Tim knew how irresistible he was, and over time the kindness and warmth that he’d directed at her had begun to fade, especially once Robin had moved away and their relationship had become more like hard work. Maybe she hadn’t been there often enough, telling him she loved him, keeping his ego inflated. Whatever it was, he’d eventually found comfort and adoration with someone else, and had admitted it to Robin during an argument weeks later, as if wanting her to know what she was missing out on.

And yet the thought of seeing him again left her feeling more than just unease. There was anticipation there too, which she was trying to put down to simple curiosity. Robin found she was bashing the eggs into submission, her chunky mayonnaise becoming more of a purée. She scooped the filling into two rolls, emptied packets of Kettle crisps on to the plates and took them through to where Molly was waiting on one of the sofas facing the sea view.

This room, she had already decided, would be called Sea Shanty. The upright piano, its keys remaining dusty for years, sat in one corner, and Robin had plans to distress the long wooden table that ran down the room’s centre, buy a tea-chest coffee table and antique globe, and soften the room by replacing the teal wallpaper with ivory and adding navy and red rugs, curtains and sofa cushions.

She sat down, her breathing slowly returning to normal. Thinking about the guesthouse was becoming a balm to other, more troubling imaginings, somewhere comforting she could turn to when thoughts of Tim, or memories of Neve, tried to take over. But, it seemed, Molly wasn’t prepared to let the subject lie.

‘Something else I should tell you about when I saw Tim,’ she said slowly, scooping up some stray mayonnaise with her finger.

‘What?’ Robin asked, a little too sharply. ‘Sorry, what else? Was he with someone we know?’

‘Uh uh.’ Molly shook her head. ‘I didn’t speak to them, but I might have scooted close to their table on a couple of occasions, and I heard them mention Goldcrest Road. Specifically number four.’

Robin swallowed too quickly and started coughing.

‘Shit, Robin!’ Molly slapped her vigorously on the back until the coughing had subsided and Robin’s shoulder blades were throbbing. ‘I should have waited until you’d finished eating.’

‘They want to buy Tabitha’s house?’

‘I didn’t hear enough of their conversation – I could only pretend to be interested in last year’s New Year’s Eve menu for so long. But they definitely mentioned next door.’

‘Do they want to develop it?’ Robin asked. ‘What’s it like inside, is it sellable?’

‘No idea,’ Molly mumbled through a mouthful of crisps. ‘But Malcolm and Tim are moving on from straightforward sales these days – except for “high end” properties.’ She accompanied the last words with quote-mark fingers. ‘They’re all about the developments. Replacing the old with the new, smartening up the area, as if Campion Bay needs to be turned into a sea of luxury high-rise apartment blocks. No beach finds in their properties, and I expect the word “guesthouse” would be laughed at for sounding too quaint.’

‘Well,’ Robin said, ‘they can’t do that with Tabitha’s house. It’s got special status.’

‘The Jane Austen plaque?’

Robin narrowed her eyes. ‘I will fight you to the ends of the earth on this point, Molly. Ends. Of. The. Earth.’

‘Tabitha was eccentric,’ Molly said, in a tone that reminded Robin she’d said it all before. ‘She put it up there herself. I’ve always thought that, even though she denied it.’

‘No,’ Robin shook her head. ‘Tabitha was just lonely; she lived on her own in that huge house, and she liked to know what was happening with the neighbours and sometimes, sometimes, she would embellish the stories she told us, but that doesn’t mean she made this up. It’s a good quality plaque!’

‘Any sign-maker could copy it – you can probably buy them on gift websites and create your own slogan. And there’s no evidence that Jane Austen wrote a book here.’

‘A lot of Persuasion is set in Lyme Regis! It’s a few miles down the road. It’s so plausible and it’s been there for years, since before online gift shops existed.’

Molly turned her gaze towards the window. ‘Honestly, if that plaque being genuine meant the difference between number four staying as it is and Tim and Malcolm getting their hands on it, I’d swap sides. She was a laugh though, wasn’t she, Tabitha?’

Robin grinned. ‘She was amazing. I’m just sorry I lost touch with her when I went to London. I should have made more of an effort to visit her when I came back to see Mum and Dad. And now her house has been empty for nearly a year and, if what you heard is anything to go by, it’s about to be gobbled up and turned into posh flats that are only lived in for two months out of twelve, just to fill Tim Lewis’s pockets.’

‘See if you can borrow an extra million off your folks and double the size of the guesthouse.’

Robin rolled her eyes and polished off her sandwich. That idea was obviously well beyond her means, but maybe there was some other way she could prevent next door from falling into the hands of the developers. It had been years since she’d been inside Tabitha’s house, but as a child she’d spent hours there, playing Monopoly and Gin Rummy and being introduced to Tabitha’s strange taste in tea. She’d been devastated when she’d heard the old woman had died, but it had been too close to Neve’s death for her to fully absorb it.

It was only now that she was back in Campion Bay that she’d been reminded of the time she spent with her, wondering if the figurines she’d had, the sheep collection that, as an eight-year-old, Robin had adored, were still in the cabinet in the dining room, the glass front keeping out years of dust. She wondered what the house would look like to her adult eyes. Maybe if Tim did get his hands on the property – or the front door keys at least – and Robin plucked up the courage to see him again, he’d let her have one last look before he wiped out the original features in a fit of magnolia paint and stainless steel.

Campion Bay town centre, a twenty-minute walk from the guesthouse, was a mixture of chain stores, quaint seaside gift shops and independent cafés. Bunting was strung up along the brick weave, pedestrianized Seagull Street all year round, the pink, orange and blue fabric flapping enthusiastically in the January wind, and the warm glow of shop interiors beckoned Robin in out of the cold.

She pulled her large jute bag further up her shoulder and pushed open the door of Seagull Street Gallery, the bell giving an appealing ‘ding’ as she stepped inside. The gallery owner, a grey-haired man in his fifties with rimless glasses and a round, pleasant face, looked up from a desk in the corner and nodded her a greeting. She returned it and began a slow tour of the room. It had white walls and polished pine floorboards, each painting given its own space.

In London, when she and Neve had gone on fact-finding missions, or after an initial meeting with a client, Neve would often take Robin into the National Gallery, dragging her by the arm to look at the latest exhibition and always, without fail, the room that housed Turner’s seascapes: TheFightingTemeraire and TheEveningStar. Her friend could stand in front of them for hours, absorbing them, though she’d usually limit it to ten minutes in deference to Robin’s waning interest.

Buying one of the Turners was about a hundred times less plausible than Robin being able to purchase Tabitha’s house in an act of preservation, but she had the idea that one of the bedrooms in the new guesthouse would celebrate the work of local artists, with seascapes and portraits on the walls, the understated furniture giving it the feel of a mini gallery.

Her boots echoed on the floor and she stilled her movements, walking almost on tiptoe as she looked at the paintings; vibrant still-life acrylics in chunky frames; oil portraits with bold brush marks and, as she’d been hoping for, a wide array of seascapes. She stood in front of a large painting of the sea at dawn. The sky was burnished with golden streaks against the first, pale beginnings of blue, the water a dark turmoil beneath and a single smudge of colour on the horizon that, despite its lack of detail, was undoubtedly a boat. It was mesmerizing, an image to be stared at for hours. Robin felt her throat tighten, closed her eyes and willed Neve to be standing alongside her, to whisper to her all the reasons why she liked it.

When Robin opened them again, tears had squeezed themselves into the corners of her eyes and it was the gallery owner who was standing next to her. She hadn’t heard him approach.

‘Oh!’ Robin jolted and wiped at her eyes. ‘Sorry, I didn’t see you there.’

‘Spectacular, isn’t it? A new artist, Arthur Durrant. This is the only one we have of his at the moment, though we’ve more on commission. It’s a special introductory price.’

Robin nodded. It wasn’t cheap, but if it was the centrepiece of the room, on the wall facing the bed, then she could make it work within budget. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she managed, her voice croaky. ‘If I pay for it now, can I bring my car down later to collect it? I’m not sure it’ll fit in here.’ She gestured at the jute bag and smiled.

‘Of course. We’ll package it up for you when you’re ready to pick it up.’ He remained quiet, his movements small, but she could see the gleam in his eye – whether at a large sale or someone else appreciating the art that he loved, she couldn’t tell.

She stepped outside and took a deep breath, which turned into embarrassed laughter. She took the bag off her shoulder and swung it as she walked. Did she really think she could buy a few original paintings and pop them in a shopping bag? Shaking her head at her own ridiculousness, and distracted by an orb lamp glowing at her from its matt silver stand in a shop window, she wasn’t looking where she was going.

‘Whoa,’ said a familiar voice, and Robin turned just in time to see an overcoat-clad man take a quick sideways step.

‘Sorry, I—’ she stopped as the breath left her in a single exhalation. Overcoat man had a crop of blond curls, very blue eyes and, as their gazes met, a winning smile. ‘Tim?’ He didn’t belong in her reverie about Neve and paintings and the guesthouse. He belonged in a different part of her thoughts altogether – one that she was trying not to visit too often.

‘Robin Brennan. I was wondering how long it would take for us to bump into each other, though I hadn’t expected it to be quite so literal.’

His hand was on her arm, and he applied gentle pressure. For a horrifying moment she thought that he was going to hug her, but instead he leaned down and kissed her cheek. His skin was smooth, as always – he’d never sported even a hint of designer stubble in the time she’d known him – and she could tell that his overcoat, and what she could see of the suit beneath, was expensive. She had to admit that, despite the years that had passed without her seeing him, he looked as good as ever.

‘You look well,’ she managed. ‘Things are – OK?’

‘They’re great. Really good.’ He was appraising her unashamedly, his blue eyes taking her in, which she supposed was only fair as she was doing the same to him. ‘It sounds like you’re heading in a new direction, too. Back from London for good, and taking over your parents’ guesthouse?’

She nodded, cursing the Campion Bay rumour mill, though Molly had reminded her it was still in full swing, and she shouldn’t be surprised that Tim knew about her plans. ‘It’s a work in progress at the moment. I’m refurbishing the rooms. Bookings are always down in the winter, so we can concentrate on one room at a time, working around any guests we do have.’

‘Your parents are still here?’

‘They’re moving to France in April.’ She found she was stuck on a constant nod, the encounter having more of an effect than she had been prepared for. She’d spent a lot of time thinking about him but the reality was altogether different, somehow exhilarating and claustrophobic all at once. He’d cheated on her, had seemed almost proud of it at the time, and yet here he was without a hint of embarrassment or shame, acting as if it was only the distance that had ended their relationship.

‘Robin, you look incredible. Let me buy you a coffee, I’d love to hear how you’ve been.’

‘You don’t have to get back to work?’

‘Not for a while.’ His gaze lingered on her, his smile hinting at some secret between them, his ability to make her seem like the most important person in the world returning in a flash. ‘Half an hour, Robs. You can’t deny me that.’

Robin looked away, watched a seagull strutting down the street as if on patrol, and realized that she couldn’t say no. She wanted to hear about Tim as much as he seemed to want to know her news. ‘Half an hour,’ she agreed. ‘But only if you take me somewhere they have Bakewell tart.’

Tim laughed; a loud, open laugh that Robin had always loved. ‘It’s a deal. You haven’t changed, Robs. Not one bit.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ she said, but she let him take her arm and lead her up Seagull Street towards an independent café called Cool Beans, and tried not think about how the closeness of him was making her feel.




Chapter 3 (#u20fbe70c-6da4-5a4b-8c74-cbc3bd8dd012)


‘I can’t believe you’ve brought me to a café called Cool Beans,’ she said after they’d sat in rounded, chocolate-brown leather armchairs, and the waiter had taken their order. Their table was low and very small, almost an afterthought, and Robin felt exposed without anything significant between them. She made a mental note that her guesthouse shouldn’t lose sight of practicality for the sake of style. Not that this place was stylish, but it definitely thought it was.

‘Hey,’ Tim said, eyes wide with mock hurt. ‘You set the parameters. This is the only place in town that’s guaranteed to do you a slice of Bakewell tart, and it’s good tart, too.’

‘The Campion Bay Teashop does Bakewell tart. Roxy and Ashley were telling me that they make all their own cakes and pastries.’

‘The place just along from you?’ Tim wrinkled his nose and sat back in his chair, elbows on the armrests. Robin could see the shimmer of silver cufflinks as his shirt protruded from the expensive grey suit. ‘We’re in town, and I don’t have time to head out to the seafront.’

‘So you do have to go back to work? I heard that you were doing well, that you’ve moved up to junior partner in your property firm.’

He ran a hand over his jaw, but he couldn’t hide the smile. ‘Things couldn’t be better, if I’m honest. I’m working on my own portfolio of sites, looking to develop them, bring Campion Bay a bit more up to date.’

‘You’re not a fan of the quaint seaside feel any more?’

‘Quaint is fine, but there are too many buildings – domestic and commercial – that are unlived in, unloved, and it has an effect on the whole area. Malcolm’s firm is working hard to eradicate those, to turn them back into desirable accommodation. I’m proud to be a part of that.’

‘Not least because it’s lucrative, I’ll bet.’ She gave him a quick smile, but Tim wasn’t offended. He never was. He was entirely sure of himself and of his place in the world, and wasn’t afraid to let people know it.

He spread his arms wide. ‘I’m not going to apologize for being successful. And isn’t that what you’re doing, just on a smaller scale? Taking your parents’ fading guesthouse, renovating it, smartening it up and looking to make a profit?’

‘Yes, but without me doing all that the guesthouse would close.’

‘And these buildings would become dilapidated if we did nothing, having an effect on adjoining properties. It’s no different.’

Robin narrowed her eyes, but she knew he was right. ‘Is that what you’re planning with number four Goldcrest Road?’

He gave her an amused, almost admiring look. ‘Nothing’s been confirmed about that site yet.’

‘But it’s on your radar?’

‘We’re looking into who owns it, seeing what options we have. And, if I’m honest, the thought of working on the building next to yours has moved it near the top of my wish list. But no decisions have been made, as yet.’

He was as charming and confident as ever, and despite the alarming admission that he wanted to get his claws into Tabitha’s house, Robin felt a tug of the old emotions, the headiness of first love that, a long time ago, had been strong enough to knock her sideways. As their coffee and cakes arrived – Tim had opted for a slice of brownie that looked about as impressive as the table – she noticed that the initials TL were inscribed on his cufflinks, and also, confirming what Molly had told her, that he had no ring on the fourth finger of his left hand. Tim thanked the waiter and turned just in time to see her looking. His gaze was penetrating, a hint of a smile on his lips.

‘Tell me about London,’ he said. ‘What made you come back here after all this time? Your plan was always to stay in the big smoke. Unless of course you couldn’t resist your feelings for me any longer?’

Robin stuck her fork in the Bakewell tart and tried to organize her thoughts. Someone cycled past, ringing their bell to scatter the seagulls. He was being flippant, she knew, but she felt the flush of her cheeks all the same. ‘We didn’t exactly end on the best of terms, did we?’ She met his gaze with her own. She wasn’t going to let him overwhelm her. She waited for a flicker of unease, but none came.

‘And if we hadn’t,’ he said, leaning forwards, ‘we’d still be together today, nearly fifteen years later.’

‘You sound like you actually regret what you did.’ She sipped her coffee, eyeing him over the rim.

‘I do. Seeing you again, Robs, here in Campion Bay, it …’ He shook his head. ‘I’d heard you were back, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been looking forward to us meeting again, to seeing you in the flesh.’

Robin’s stomach fluttered unhelpfully. She’d been lost in Tim’s blue-eyed gaze and his carefully crafted compliments for five years. At the time it had been the most real thing in her life, but after what he’d done to her, it had all seemed like an act. He was gorgeous and charismatic and successful; he had many good things going for him, but she had to remind herself of the negatives. She had to remind her senses that feeling betrayed and heartbroken made the rest worthless.

‘It’s good to see you too,’ she said, keeping the emotion out of her voice. ‘Are you still surfing?’

He grimaced. ‘I haven’t for a while, but I’m hoping to get back into it. I broke my coccyx a few months ago, landed badly on a submerged rock. It was a real pain in the ass.’

Robin rolled her eyes, resisting the laugh. ‘It sounds awful. But at least you didn’t do it slipping on a banana skin or falling drunkenly out of a taxi.’

‘What’s your point?’

‘I don’t think you can lose any cool points for a surfing injury.’

‘Pretty sure your dignity is affected when you can’t sit down for three weeks.’

‘Oh, come off it, Tim, you’re—’ She stopped, caught herself. She would not feed his already overinflated ego. ‘You’re lucky it wasn’t a worse injury,’ she said instead, and then wished she hadn’t, her thoughts drawing the inevitable, unhelpful comparisons. She cut off a slice of Bakewell tart with her fork, but before she could bring it to her mouth Tim’s hand was over hers. The contact was warm and familiar, and unsettling in the unspoken comfort it provided.

‘Did something happen in London, Robs?’ He was suddenly sincere, his bravado hidden behind concern, and she felt herself being drawn towards it.

‘My friend died,’ she said, not shrugging his touch off. ‘Neve.’

Tim’s eyes widened, and for the first time since she’d seen him he looked less than composed. ‘Neve, who you met in your first year? The – your business partner?’

She nodded, her throat closing as Tim’s features clouded with shock. He’d met Neve on a couple of occasions while he and Robin were still going out, and he’d travelled up to London to see her in her first-year halls of residence.

She and Neve had hit it off instantly, and Robin had often wondered what would have happened if their rooms hadn’t been next door in halls, if they would still have found each other and come up with the idea of Once in a Blue Moon Days. She’d thought a lot about fate and destiny, and not only since Neve’s death. Her friend had been a big believer in those intangible things, in finding meaning in the cosmos, divining who you were meant to end up with from a horoscope. It was part of the reason Starcross was so special, with its focus on stars, on looking beyond the immediate.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked softly, wondering if she’d been callous in firing this bombshell at him, for using it, somehow, as a shield against his charm.

‘God, I’m so sorry, Robin.’ He moved his chair closer to hers, squeezed her hand. ‘I had no idea.’

‘Why should you have?’ She thought of the rumour mill, which had clearly kept him informed of some, but not all, of her news. She waited a few beats, grateful that he didn’t try to fill the silence, allowing her composure to return and her heart rate to settle. ‘I hadn’t planned to come back here, but then, afterwards, it was where I needed to be. And when Mum and Dad said they were moving away …’ She shrugged. ‘Molly’s helping out. She’s roped Paige and Adam in, and offered some builder friends haircuts for life if they’ll help with the redecorating. It’s a long way off being finished, but I’m excited. I’ve just bought a painting.’

‘A painting?’ Tim raised his eyebrows, matching her new enthusiasm, the solemn moment gone. It felt good, talking about the guesthouse again. It had become her safe place. Of course it would be hard work, it would be challenging, but she was ready for that. After all, Once in a Blue Moon Days hadn’t always been easy. The clients had been demanding, wanting – understandably – sheer perfection. As she told Tim some of her ideas, her mood lifted. The coffee and the sugar gave her a boost of energy, and she felt suddenly, overwhelmingly excited about the future. She was embracing the guesthouse as if it was her salvation. In lots of ways, it probably was.

‘When can I come and see it?’ Tim asked once Robin had finally run out of steam.

‘Not yet, it’s not ready.’

‘I don’t get a sneak peek?’ He pouted, looking so ridiculously crestfallen that she laughed.

‘No. What made you think you would?’

‘Our history.’

‘Not all good history,’ she reminded him, but she felt a flutter of unexpected longing. She risked looking at him. He was sitting perfectly still, his blue eyes trained on her.

‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’ he said quietly.

She shook her head, incredulous, but her heart was racing. She stood, catching her fork with her knee and knocking it to the floor. She bent to pick it up, but Tim was already there. They rose to standing together, so close that she could feel his breath against her cheek.

‘I have to get back,’ she said quickly.

‘Repurposing some furniture?’

‘Endlessly, for about the next four months.’

‘It’s been great catching up.’

Tim refused to let her pay the bill and walked her to the door. The cold was bracing, and Robin welcomed it; she needed to clear her head.

‘When can I come and see the rooms?’ he asked.

‘When they’re finished, not before.’

‘Robin Brennan, ever the perfectionist.’

‘Takes one to know one.’

‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’ He smiled, their eyes catching hold of each other’s. Tim was first to look away.

‘I’d best get on,’ Robin said. ‘Thanks for coffee.’

‘Next time let’s make it a glass of something celebratory to toast your new business.’ Before she had a chance to protest, Tim’s arm was around her and he was kissing her cheek, smelling of spicy, no doubt expensive, aftershave and filling Robin’s senses with heady nostalgia.

She watched him stride away and thought again about fate. She’d known that seeing Tim was inevitable once she moved back to Campion Bay, and she’d also known that their five-year, first-love relationship would always hold a special place in her heart, but she hadn’t been prepared for her heart to be quite so keen to see him again. Was this what was destined for her, what was written in the stars? Could she forgive his indiscretion, aged nineteen and with her too far away for their relationship to flourish? They were both so much older now, both with their own histories and heartaches behind them, but still with an undeniable chemistry. Could it be rekindled? As she started to walk back to Goldcrest Road, Robin chided herself for even entertaining the thought.

‘Where is she?’ Robin heard her dad’s voice, always on the right side of amiable, drifting up the stairs.

‘Up here!’ Paige called, and then glared at her mother as Molly made a loud shushing sound. Robin tried not to laugh. Paige was sixteen, Molly thirty-four, and they often acted more like sisters than mother and daughter. Paige’s hair was the same, expertly applied blonde, only three times longer than Molly’s.

‘This is a delicate operation,’ Molly hissed at her daughter.

‘Why?’ Paige asked. ‘Will the fish get scared?’

‘Not sure we’ll know if they do,’ Jim said, his back towards them, intent on securing the large fish-tank into the newly cut hole in the wall of Robin’s Rockpool room. Molly had been right, the wiry but – as Robin had discovered over the last few months – ridiculously strong builder and glazier had a very neat, impressive beard, and in her head he’d instantly become Beardy Jim. She was worried she’d say it out loud, but on voicing her fears to Molly had been led to understand he’d probably be quite pleased with the nickname. He’d worked solidly and cheerfully alongside his partner Kerry, and Robin knew that free haircuts for life would not be enough for all they’d done. But she’d held back some budget for labour costs, and was confident that she could pay them for their time.

Right now, they were making Robin’s vision of a fish-tank wall come true. Between the main bedroom and en suite bathroom of Rockpool, instead of plasterboard there would soon be a beautiful aquarium, reflecting the light from the window opposite, filled with colourful discus, rainbow fish and fantail guppies. It was a risk, she knew, but she couldn’t imagine a better feature for this room that, along with its bleached floorboards and hints of turquoise, held the essence of the sea.

Her mum and dad appeared in the doorway and the room, now full of bodies, seemed suddenly too small. Ian Brennan glanced at the large polythene bags on the floor, the assortment of fish waiting for their new home, and looked anxiously at his wife.

‘Ah.’

‘What’s wrong, Dad?’ Robin asked. ‘Has something happened with your ferry?’

It was the first week in April and her parents were about to leave for France. Robin had been working harder than ever, while also trying to ward off the encroaching panic that she would soon be in sole charge of the guesthouse. Not to mention that her mum and dad, who had been such a comfort to her after Neve’s death, would be hundreds of miles away, for good.

Sylvie approached her daughter, her narrow face pinched. She was holding a red, fleecy blanket. On closer inspection, Robin could see that the blanket was wriggling.

‘Mum, Dad?’ She looked from one to the other, then back at the blanket, and then at Molly who shrugged her shoulders. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Maybe this isn’t the best room,’ her dad said.

‘For what?’

Without answering, Sylvie thrust the blanket into her hands and Robin looked down at it. A tiny black paw emerged from the fleecy material, claws finding and holding on to the cotton of Robin’s paint-splattered jumper. She pushed back the blanket and found the fuzzy head of a kitten. It let out a huge yawn, exposing a tiny pink tongue.

‘A kitten?’ Paige yelped. ‘Oh my God, it’s adorable.’

Through her confusion, Robin felt a surge of love for the helpless creature. She looked at her mum. Sylvie Brennan had her hands clasped together, the look in her dark eyes both defiant and tentative, ready to accept either congratulations or rebuke for the decision she and Ian had made.

‘Mum,’ Robin started, ‘what is this – he, she – for?’

‘He’s for you,’ Sylvie said. ‘For when we’ve gone.’

‘A perfect replacement, I’d say,’ her dad chuckled and put his hand on Sylvie’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

‘I don’t need a kitten,’ Robin said softly, though already she knew that she wanted him, that he was hers, and she would struggle even to release him from his temporary bed in her arms.

‘We don’t want you to be lonely,’ Sylvie said, shooting a nervous glance at her husband, the two of them sharing tight smiles. ‘Now that you’re taking this on all by yourself.’

‘Does this look lonely to you?’ Robin asked, giving them a warm smile. ‘I’ve got Molly and Paige, Jim and Kerry, and—’

‘About a hundred fish,’ Kerry added.

‘Which I’m sure Mr Kitten here is going to absolutely adore, aren’t you, Mr Kitten?’ Molly stroked a small black paw, her voice taking on a soppy tone.

‘I promise, Mum,’ Robin said, ignoring her friend, ‘you don’t need to worry about me.’

Sylvie nodded but her hands wrung together, the knuckles white, and Robin could see the gleam of tears in her eyes.

‘Oh, Mum, don’t cry.’ Robin stepped forward, carefully removing one arm from the kitten, holding him tightly against her with the other hand, and gave her mum an awkward, one-sided embrace.

They looked at the small, black bundle to avoid seeing the emotion on each other’s faces.

‘We’ll look after her, Mrs B,’ Molly said, patting Sylvie on the shoulder.

‘I know you will,’ Sylvie said.

‘What if the guests don’t like cats?’ Paige asked, stroking the kitten between the ears. His purr increased as if she’d found the volume button. ‘Some of them might be allergic,’ she added, though her gaze was adoring.

Robin grinned. The kitten was magic. Anything small and soft and vulnerable had a powerful effect on people. ‘I’ll make sure I put it on the website – the guesthouse comes with a cat – and a couple of the rooms are going to be dog friendly anyway.’

‘I’m still not sure that’s the best idea.’ Sylvie’s voice was sharp through her sniffs. ‘It’ll mean an awful lot of extra work.’

‘I don’t think it will,’ Robin countered. ‘Why would people with dogs have less respect for the guesthouse than those without? And as long as we clean the rooms thoroughly in between, I can’t see how it’ll be a problem.’

‘There’s always the possibility of accidents,’ Sylvie said.

‘Accidents happen in every walk of life,’ Molly added sagely. ‘You just have to be as prepared as possible.’

‘Exactly.’ Robin took a deep breath and turned away. ‘Now, where am I going to put him? I can’t leave him in here.’

‘We’ve set up a basket in the kitchen,’ her dad said. ‘We’ll take him back down now, love. Just packing the last bits into the car.’

Robin nodded and went to pass the kitten back, then realized she wasn’t ready to give up either the furry bundle or her parents quite yet. She followed them to the doorway, then turned.

Jim waved her away. ‘Go on, we’ll be fine with the fish.’

‘All under control,’ Molly said, smiling. ‘Bye, Mr and Mrs B, have a great trip. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t!’

The three of them stood on the front step of the Campion Bay Guesthouse. The April day was crisp but clear, the wind buffeting Robin’s curls around her face, the chill snapping at her fingers and cheeks.

‘So you can start on the attic room now, then?’ her dad asked wistfully. ‘What’s that one going to be called?’

‘Starcross,’ Robin said. ‘I’m going to get a telescope for the balcony.’

‘You’ve worked wonders,’ her mum said. ‘It looks like a new place before it’s even finished. I can’t imagine …’ She shook her head. ‘We just didn’t have the fight any more, but with all that you’ve done, I wonder if we should be staying, helping you. It’s a huge task, running this place on your own, my darling.’

‘You’ve already helped me so much, though,’ Robin said, a lump forming in her throat, ‘with the renovations over the last few months. And you know I wouldn’t have been able to do any of it without some of Grandma’s inheritance.’

‘You’re keeping the Campion Bay Guesthouse going, love,’ her dad said. ‘You have no idea how proud we are that you’re taking it over, what it means to us to see you here – to think of you running it – and to see how far you’ve come since you lost Neve.’ He embraced her, his hug solid and comforting. For a moment, Robin wondered how she’d ever be able to survive without it, but then she steeled herself. Now was not the time to fall apart.

‘I’m doing it for you,’ Robin said, ‘and for her. For all of you. And I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.’

‘You’ve got The Bible?’ her mum asked. ‘It’s got all you need to know, all our tips and tricks. Though of course you have your own ideas, and you’ll probably end up adding to it more than you refer to it.’

‘It’s got pride of place,’ Robin said. ‘I’ll use it all the time.’

‘And Skype us, won’t you?’

‘You too,’ Robin said. ‘Call me once you’ve arrived.’ Their goodbyes seemed far too short for such a permanent departure, but once she’d watched the maroon Volvo estate disappear down Goldcrest Road and turn the corner, her cheeks streaked with tears, she couldn’t feel her feet for the cold. She turned to see Molly standing on the top step, the kitten in her arms.

‘No time for tears,’ Molly said gently. ‘We’ve got the last room to transform. You, me, and this bundle of fun. Any idea what you’re going to call him?’ Robin joined her friend in the hallway, accepting the kitten from her and bringing his warm, purring body close to her face. There was a tiny half-moon of white beneath his chin, but other than that he was a perfect, silky black. She thought of her inspiration for Starcross, thought of Neve and how much she would have loved a cat – a mascot for Once in a Blue Moon Days.

‘Eclipse,’ she said, kissing the kitten’s nose. ‘I’m going to call him Eclipse.’

It was the last day of the old Campion Bay Guesthouse, the last day before Robin opened up her doors and invited in her guests. The website was up, with images of all the new rooms. On the first floor was Rockpool, with its aquarium feature, and Wilderness, the reclaimed wood furniture offset by subtle, outdoor hues in sage green and powder blue, injections of colour coming in the form of stained-glass murals on the walls. On the second floor was Canvas, her gallery-inspired room with Arthur Durrant’s CampionBayatDawn as the feature painting, set against a white and pine background, and Andalusia, which was in the style of Neve’s favourite region in Spain, her home country. For this room, Robin had concentrated on textures to create the effect she wanted. There were fabrics in warm reds and golds, a terracotta feature wall stood out from the clean white of the other three, and the furniture was polished walnut save for the black wrought-iron bed frame.

Starcross had had to wait until last, when her parents had gone and she could move into their old rooms downstairs. They had worked solidly, finishing it in less than a month. It was the room she was most proud of, and most apprehensive about. While the other rooms were influenced by either her or Neve’s passions – Wilderness and Rockpool signifying her return to Campion Bay, the beach and the exposed wild land along the top of the cliffs; Canvas and Andalusia representing Neve’s love of art and of her home country – Starcross belonged to them both. It was about her fascination with the stars and Neve’s compulsion to find meaning in them. It had been Robin’s childhood bedroom and was modelled on the luxury suite Neve had fallen for. It held more meaning than she would ever reveal to anybody else, because it held pieces of both their hearts.

The new, pealing doorbell resounded through the guesthouse and Robin stopped grappling with the GuestSmart software to go and answer it. On the doorstep she found Molly, Paige, Paige’s boyfriend Adam, Mrs Harris from the Seaview Hotel and Tim, wearing an expertly crumpled white linen shirt, a pair of sunglasses wedged in the open collar. A black gleaming Audi was parked against the kerb.

‘Surprise!’ Paige shouted.

‘What’s going on?’ Robin glanced behind her to check that Eclipse, three months old and adventurous despite his tiny legs, hadn’t followed her to the doorway.

‘Your social media campaign must have worked,’ Molly said, ‘because everyone seems to be aware that you’re relaunching tomorrow. Paige, Adam and I wanted to have a shufty at the finished rooms, and we picked up these stragglers on the way.’

‘Tim’s brought champagne, so Mum said we’d best let him in.’ Paige grinned and Tim caught Robin’s eye, nodding her a greeting. Robin returned it with a nervous smile.

‘Well then,’ she said, ‘you’d better come in.’ She let them file into the wide hall and showed them into Sea Shanty, which ran the whole length of the house, the sea view at the front, French doors to the patio at the back. The garden could be reached through Sea Shanty or through the kitchen, and similarly Sea Shanty had two doors – one straight into the kitchen, and one into the hall. When she was much younger, Robin and her school friends had made a game out of running in a loop through the kitchen, living room and hallway, until one of her friends, too giddy from going round and round, had broken her toe by running into the doorframe instead of through the gap.

The room was split into two areas, the fireplace acting as a divider, and the long table was towards the back of the house, nearest the patio garden. It had wooden benches rather than seats, and Robin had decorated it with flowers in vases, lighthouse-shaped salt and pepper shakers, and a ceramic bowl filled with interesting shells and pebbles she had picked up on the beach.

Towards the front of the house the room became a cosy living area, with navy sofas looking out on the sea, blue-and-white striped cushions and a patterned rug over the floorboards. Hints of postbox red added brightness; the shade of a reading lamp, a print on the wall of a rainy city scene, monochrome apart from red umbrellas. Against the near wall was Mum and Dad’s ancient upright piano, freshly tuned for whenever Robin found the time – and courage – to play it again.

‘Can I give Mrs Harris a tour?’ Paige asked.

Robin looked at the older woman, wondering what her motive was. She had always been friendly with Robin’s mum and dad, and had never shown signs of being outwardly competitive. Now she looked somewhat disgruntled, her beady eyes trained on Robin, her arms folded over a green flowery apron.

‘Let me come with you,’ Robin said slowly. ‘I’d like to show Mrs Harris myself.’

‘And I have to show Adam Starcross,’ Paige said. ‘It’s my favourite room, and we’ve not seen it finished yet. We’re going to stay in it when—’ She stopped abruptly as she caught Molly’s eye, and Robin saw the look that passed between them.

‘Come on then,’ Robin said, hoping to defuse the tension, ‘let’s all go together.’

‘Tim and I will sort out the champagne.’ Molly took the bottle from him, and while Tim showed no signs of being upset, Robin imagined he hadn’t expected to share it with quite so many people. He gave Molly an amused smile and followed her into the kitchen.

Robin let Paige lead the tour, her and Adam’s enthusiasm at the rooms they’d worked on together giving it the kind of positive sales pitch that Robin had dreamed about, but Mrs Harris remained resolutely silent. She peered closely at everything – the spotlights and sound-systems built into the walls, a stained-glass mural in Wilderness, the freestanding bathtub in the rustic en suite of Andalusia – the only bathroom big enough for more than a drench shower. As the tour continued and Mrs Harris didn’t utter a single word of delight or approval, Robin’s nerves took hold. Was this how everyone was going to react to the new bedrooms? After a fortnight without bookings to make sure she had time to get everything finished, she had four out of the five rooms occupied from lunchtime tomorrow. The thought that they might not like what she’d done was too traumatic to contemplate.

Paige pushed open the door of Canvas and Mrs Harris stepped inside, her attention immediately turning to CampionBayatDawn. Robin held her breath, and a quick glance in Paige and Adam’s direction elicited uneasy shrugs from them both.

‘Where did this come from?’ the older woman asked, failing to turn round.

‘Uhm, well, it was painted by a local artist. Most of these were, actually,’ Robin said, gesturing at the other paintings. ‘Some Mum and Dad had dotted throughout the guesthouse, and others I’ve been buying in the run-up to today.’

‘It’s very modern,’ Mrs Harris said, turning. Her hands were squeezed into tight fists on her hips, and her iron-grey hair was piled up on her head, accentuating the sharpness of her features. ‘What’s the point of having so many paintings in here?’

‘Because they’re beautiful,’ Paige rushed, and Robin was touched by her loyalty. ‘The whole room is. All the rooms are. Whether you want the calm and quiet of a gallery, or to be transported to rural Spain, or get to sleep under the stars or on the beach without the cold or sand in your pyjamas. You get all the experience but with comfort to match. Don’t you see, Mrs Harris? I would pay all I had to sleep in one of these rooms, to have an unforgettable experience.’

Robin inhaled, a lump forming in her throat at Paige’s explanation, at the way she had understood her vision for the guesthouse so completely. ‘Paige—’ she started, her voice a whisper.

‘Why change it?’ Mrs Harris asked, cutting her off. ‘Sylvie and Ian had these rooms lovely and simple. Why all the fancy-pants arty stuff?’

‘I wanted to refresh the guesthouse, to try something a bit different.’

‘Change is unnecessary,’ Mrs Harris said. ‘And mark my words, the grass isn’t always greener; the sky could be just as grey, the tea just as weak on the other side.’

‘Right,’ Robin said, wondering if Mrs Harris was about to launch into a cliché-ridden song. ‘But it can be positive. And everything moves forward, whether we want it to or not. Why not be in control of it?’

Mrs Harris gave her such a long, piercing look that Robin felt her skin prickle.

‘Do you want to come and have a glass of champagne?’ she asked, an edge of desperation in her voice.

‘At eleven in the morning? Good Lord, no. This is what I mean. You with your crazy rooms and your drinking in the morning and your fancy bathtubs. Why is that man here? That developer? You’re conspiring with him, aren’t you? I know what he wants to do, and you’re a part of it. If he had his way, Goldcrest Road would be razed to the ground and replaced with a huge, seaside shopping complex. This,’ she said, jabbing her finger at Robin, ‘is the first step.’

‘No, not at all. How could—’ But the older woman walked straight past her. ‘Mrs Harris?’ Robin hurried after her.

‘I’m going home now,’ Mrs Harris called up. ‘I’m going to see to my own guests. They know what to expect, they know they can trust me.’

Mrs Harris swept down the stairs and out of the front door, leaving a trail of sweetly floral perfume in her wake. Molly appeared in the doorway of Sea Shanty, a glass of champagne in her hand, and Tim peered out over her shoulder.

‘Mrs Harris didn’t like the rooms, then?’ Molly asked. ‘Don’t pay any attention to her, she’s just jealous because her hotel’s stuck several centuries back.’

Robin stopped on the bottom step and leaned her arms on the banisters. ‘She accused me of being involved in some huge, destructive plot to demolish Goldcrest Road and replace it with a shopping complex.’

‘What?’ Molly’s eyes widened. ‘What planet is she on?’

‘Planet suspicion,’ Robin said, her gaze going to Tim, who looked as relaxed as ever, no suggestion that Mrs Harris had touched a nerve. ‘She thinks I’m in cahoots with you.’

‘Me?’ Tim’s eyebrows shot up.

‘You. You’re responsible for this plan, apparently, and me taking over the guesthouse is the first step.’

‘Because launching a brand new seaside B&B is definitely the right course of action when the building’s about to be demolished.’ Molly rolled her eyes and tapped her toes against the floorboards.

Robin sighed. ‘She’s nervous. She feels threatened – not by this place, specifically, but by any kind of change. Apparently things should just carry on, exactly the same as they always were.’ She caught Tim’s gaze and he flashed her a knowing smile. Robin swallowed. ‘I’ll go and talk to her later,’ she rushed. ‘See if I can reassure her that Goldcrest Road isn’t about to disappear in a cloud of fancy restaurants and TK Maxx stores.’

‘God, I’d love a TK Maxx in Campion Bay. This playsuit came from the Bridport store.’ Molly did a slow twirl in the hallway, and Robin nodded approvingly. The playsuit was hot orange, Molly’s lipstick matching, the overall effect with her blonde hair and smooth skin was tanned, summery and utterly gorgeous. From Tim’s expression, she could see he was also a fan.

‘Don’t give him any ideas,’ Robin said and then, realizing how that might sound, tried to clarify. ‘About building a TK Maxx, not about …’ She gestured lamely at Molly’s outfit. ‘Though of course it’s up to you what you … It isn’t any of my …’ She stalled, mortification presenting itself as a red flush across her cheeks, her friend and her ex staring at her with confusion. ‘Is there a glass of champagne for me?’

‘Of course!’ Molly thrust one into her hands. ‘Where are Adam and Paige?’

‘Still upstairs.’ Robin clinked her glass with Tim’s, and then Molly’s, her toast lodged in her throat as she saw Molly’s expression.

‘You left Paige and Adam alone in one of the bedrooms? It wasn’t Starcross, was it?’

‘What’s Starcross?’ Tim asked. ‘When do I get a tour?’

‘They’re in Canvas,’ Robin said. ‘And I don’t see why you’re worried. It’s daylight, and it’s not like they’ve booked the room, is it?’

Molly shook her head, pityingly. ‘They’re sixteen, Robin. I find it hard to trust them alone together in any room with a soft surface – or a wall, for that matter.’ Molly hurried up the stairs, her low heels tap-tapping on the wood. ‘We need to watch those two, it’s worse than when she was a toddler. I thought her getting into the biscuit cupboard was bad enough, but now when I compare it to Adam getting in – well, you get the picture.’

‘I heard that, Mum!’ Paige screeched. ‘Oh my God, could you be anymore embarrassing? We’re just Snapchatting!’

When they were alone, Tim took a step towards Robin. ‘She’s worried about her daughter losing her virginity in one of the guesthouse rooms? Wouldn’t that be a turn-up.’ Robin focused on his chin, on how close his shave was, rather than meeting his gaze. But she couldn’t help smiling, the memory distant but still there – the excitement, nerves, the clumsiness, the fear of being discovered by her parents as they snuck into the bedroom – now Wilderness – when it was unoccupied. At the time her attic bedroom hadn’t seemed exciting enough for what they were planning, and there was more chance of them being discovered there, despite it being at the top of the house.

‘You brought your dad’s homemade wine,’ she said, the smile becoming a grin as she finally caught his eye. ‘It was awful. And those Superman boxer shorts.’

‘Hey,’ Tim said, but he was smiling too. ‘I seem to remember you had made an effort as well. Lilac matching underwear.’

‘From Debenhams,’ Robin said. ‘I loved that underwear. I felt so grown up.’

‘I was fond of it too. God, it was awkward, wasn’t it?’

‘It was,’ Robin admitted. ‘But somehow perfect.’

‘You’d better not let Molly know that you’re an advocate of losing your L-plates at sixteen, or she’ll never let Paige round here again.’

‘I’m not an advocate, you’re the one who brought it up.’

‘It was hard not to,’ Tim said. ‘This house is full of memories.’ He glanced around the hall, as if picturing how it had looked all those years ago. ‘I seem to remember we had lots of opportunities to get better.’

Robin swallowed. ‘We did.’ While the memory of their first time together was sweet and nostalgic, and held no lingering feelings of passion for her, there were plenty of memories that did. She was finding that, though she’d spent less than an hour with him since she’d been back, those feelings were being brought to the surface, like a stick churning the mud up from the bottom of a lake. They were swirling through her, clouding her thoughts, not entirely welcome.

‘Robin,’ Tim murmured, his face close to hers.

‘I need to get on, I need to check everything’s ready for the guests.’

‘You’ve not shown me the rooms yet.’

‘Another time,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m sorry, I know you’ve come here specially, that you’ve brought champagne.’

‘I can bring more,’ he said easily. ‘Just tell me when.’

She nodded. ‘I appreciate you coming round today.’

‘I wouldn’t miss it. Now that we’re reacquainted, I feel like I want to know more about the last fourteen years. I want us to get to know each other again.’

‘I do too,’ Robin whispered, his eyes on her suddenly uncomfortable. She forced herself to look at him, at the linen shirt, his blond curls and his open, easy expression. She wanted to move forward with her life, to start a new chapter, but Robin was in danger of being dragged backwards by her ex-boyfriend, whether deliberately or not. As he said goodbye, giving her another warm, lingering kiss on the cheek, and Robin was left standing alone in the hall, she wondered how much danger she was actually in.

Robin had never been able to resist Tim. Only the pain of him being unfaithful while they were trying to make long-distance love work had been devastating enough to sever her attachment to him all those years ago. Now, despite the growing up she’d done, and all that she’d been through, she felt herself weakening in his presence. But she wasn’t convinced the feelings were real, as opposed to simply the cosy nostalgia of happy memories. She felt all at once like the grown-up, thirty-three-year-old Tim was a complete stranger, and equally, that she knew every inch of him.

But she had to push thoughts of Tim aside. In twenty-four hours’ time her first guests would be arriving at the new and improved Campion Bay Guesthouse, landlady Ms Robin Brennan, ably supported on breakfasts and changeovers by Paige Westwood, with Eclipse the kitten adding the cute factor. Suddenly worried that the kitten had strayed somewhere he shouldn’t have, Robin left Molly and Paige quietly bickering upstairs and went to seek out the newest member of the Brennan household.




Chapter 4 (#ulink_b57a39ec-f87f-527f-a853-803eacd49feb)


‘Mr and Mrs Barker.’ Robin smiled up at the couple as she stood in front of the computer and clicked through to their reservation. ‘So lovely to see you.’ Her palms were sweaty, as they had been all day, and she felt like she’d had a whole pot of coffee to herself, despite having stuck to a single cup when she’d woken at six o’clock after a restless night. This was it, her guests were checking in; there was no time to turn back.

‘Sea’s looking pretty choppy today,’ Mrs Barker said in response. ‘Bracing.’

‘It is,’ Robin agreed. ‘The wind’s up a bit.’ She clicked that her guests had arrived, and a confirmation sheet printed out on the sleek black printer behind her. ‘Are you planning on swimming?’ She placed the paper in front of them. ‘If you could check the details and give me a signature, I can show you to your room.’

‘Love to swim in the sea,’ Mrs Barker confirmed, while her husband leaned his wide frame over the paper, squinting slightly. ‘It’s always biting where we live in Wales, so the south coast should be a welcome change.’

‘You have lovely beaches in Wales, though.’

‘Oh yes,’ Mrs Barker said. ‘Some of the best.’

Robin filed the completed confirmation sheet, and took the keys to Andalusia out of the drawer of the wooden desk. The hall had never been wide enough to house a proper reception area, so she’d continued her parents’ tradition of having a desk and computer station in the living room – now Sea Shanty – where the keys and paperwork were kept. Mr and Mrs Barker stepped back, allowing her to lead the way.

‘We have got a tiny lift,’ she said, ‘or we can take the stairs up to the second floor.’

‘Stairs are fine,’ Mr Barker confirmed, hefting his Barbour bag on to his shoulder.

‘Can I take anything?’ Robin asked.

‘Oh no, we’re fine, aren’t we, love?’

‘That we are.’

They both had tanned, weatherworn faces, and their clothes were smart but practical, their jackets and boots indicating that they worked outside, riding or gardening or managing country estates. Robin wondered if they owned a huge, secluded mansion in North Wales, with meticulous rose gardens, acres of grassland and a river running through a woody copse. ‘Good-oh,’ she said quickly, snapping herself back to reality. ‘If you’d like to follow me, then.’

When she opened the bedroom door, allowing Mr and Mrs Barker to go in first, she couldn’t help but grin. Mr Barker’s reaction was subtle, his eyebrows shooting skywards, but his wife clapped her hands together in glee.

‘It’s even better than the photo,’ she said, turning in a slow circle.

‘I’m so glad you approve,’ Robin rushed, her heartbeat beginning to return to normal.

Andalusia was the boldest of her bedrooms, with its rustic styling, red and burnished orange fabrics and dark wood furniture. The sun was streaming through the window, adding to the impression of being in another country, and Robin thought she couldn’t have picked a more perfect moment to invite her guests in.

‘This is incredible,’ Mrs Barker said, running her hands over the red-and-gold runner at the end of the bed. ‘You’d hardly believe you were in Dorset if it wasn’t for the view outside. Have you spent lots of time in Andalusia?’

‘I’ve never been there,’ Robin admitted, ‘but I’ve heard a lot about it.’ Neve had promised to take her there, to show her the narrow streets and old churches of the Pueblos Blancos, but with Once in a Blue Moon Days getting off the ground, it had never happened. ‘A friend of mine was born in the area, and she made it sound so magical. I know you don’t have the amazing Spanish hills outside the window, but Campion Bay beach is beautiful in its own right, and this way you get a sense of the exotic alongside the English seaside.’

‘I don’t suppose it comes with a Spanish breakfast as well?’ Mr Barker sat in the nook in the window and peered out at the sea. Robin had made sure that the window seats, a feature of every room except Starcross, were as snug as possible, but she thought Mr Barker was perhaps too big to make full use of this one. She couldn’t imagine him leaning back against the cushions, his feet up on the padding, reading glasses perched, owl-like, on the end of his nose.

‘I’ve got tostadas on the menu, with tomato and olive oil,’ Robin said. ‘Or you can have your scrambled eggs with avocados, chorizo and a dash of Tabasco sauce. All the information is in the folder on the chest of drawers: fire procedures, breakfast times – as well as the menu – and ideas for things to do in the area. If you need anything at all, or have any questions, then please ask. I’m usually around, but my mobile number is in the folder if you can’t find me. I hope you enjoy your stay.’

‘Thank you,’ Mrs Barker said. ‘I’m sure we will.’ Mr Barker nodded from the window seat.

Robin stepped out of the room and pulled the door closed behind her, then did a little dance on the landing. This was the fourth positive reaction she’d had to the rooms, from people who were actually staying in them. A couple who looked almost as young as Paige and Adam had checked into Rockpool, and had been instantly mesmerized by the wall of fish; and the middle-aged couple in Wilderness, Ray and Andrea, had seemed very taciturn, but as Robin had closed the door behind them, she’d heard Ray say: ‘Well, this is pretty bloody nice.’

Dorothy, who had checked into Canvas for the week, had stared at the painting of CampionBayatDawn for so long that Robin had simply closed the door behind her, without giving her prepared spiel about breakfast times and mobile numbers. She’d noticed that, along with her suitcase, she had a fold-up easel and an A3 portfolio case.

Now Robin glanced up at the narrower staircase, the one that led to Starcross. It was the most personal room, the one that was most precious to her, and part of her was glad she hadn’t booked it out immediately. She had been nervous enough as it was, but now the hurdle of having happy guests – at least on first impression – was out of the way.

She had many more challenges ahead; cooking successful breakfasts, coming up with new ways to promote the guesthouse and keeping on top of the finances. Actually making a profit would be preferable, and balancing everything with only Paige to help with the breakfasts and changeovers was going to keep them both busy, but she was prepared to expand if it got too much. At least that would mean the bookings were continuing.

She made herself a cup of tea and checked that she’d booked everyone in properly on the GuestSmart software. The sea beyond the window was choppy, though not quite enough to release the white horses, and the sun scattered rays on the water, creating a patchwork of light and shade.

Robin realized she had dipped her pen – instead of her digestive biscuit – in her tea, and was holding the biscuit absent-mindedly aloft, scattering crumbs all over the keyboard. She didn’t need to be here now the guests were all safely booked in. They had keys to the front door as well as their rooms, and could come and go as they pleased, but part of her felt like she should just sit there, waiting to see if they needed anything.

She wiped her pen down her trousers, locked the door of Sea Shanty and wrote on the hanging whiteboard she’d placed below the name sign: Poppedoutforhalfanhour, callmymobileifyouneedanything.

The wind buffeted Robin’s loose hair around her face as she walked along the pebbly sand with her ballet pumps in her hand. Campion Bay beach was a mixture of sand and pebbles below Goldcrest Road, good for barefoot walking if you didn’t mind the odd, sharp wake-up call, and a treasure-trove of shells and stone peppered with quartz. But stroll for ten minutes in an easterly direction, to the beach below the cliffs, and you had thick, pebble-free sand that you could bury friends in up to their necks, and forget that civilization existed save for ships passing as grey shadows on the horizon. Robin loved that there was a tame beach, close to the crazy golf and ice cream hut and parking spaces, and a wild beach that was narrower, more prone to disappearing underneath a high tide. A beach that felt exciting because it was never entirely safe, cliffs that harboured small, intriguing caves, a place where the sea was vast and all consuming.

For now, Robin walked along the tame beach, listening to cries of triumph from Skull Island, imagining the owner, Maggie Steeple, sitting in her hut, passing out clubs and balls, score cards and miniature pencils, all the while with a cryptic crossword book open on the desk.

Spray buffeted Robin’s face as she walked closer to the water, digging a pale pink pebble out of its sandy surround with her big toe. London had been fun – energetic and wild and breathless – but it didn’t have the beach.

She remembered one of the ‘Once in a Blue Moon’ days she had organized with Neve, for a woman called Janine whose passion was being close to the sea. It was a fiftieth birthday present from her husband Artem, and it turned out to be more of a challenge than they had first thought. She and Neve had sat at the round table in the tiny London flat they shared, Robin’s back pressed against the wall, and tried to work out how to do it. Because beaches are easy, but making a beach visit truly memorable, truly Once in a Blue Moon, was trickier.

She had called up a hotel that owned a stunning, private beach in West Cornwall while Neve arranged for a top-class chef to cook them a Michelin-starred meal and serve it on a table close to the waves. They arrived by speedboat, had a day’s uninterrupted access to the perfect sand and magnificent Atlantic Ocean, and then a night in the luxury hotel with a bay-view suite and a hot tub on the balcony. Artem had been ecstatic when they’d shared their plans with him, and they’d received a thank you card and box of chocolates from Janine, alongside a photo of the two of them on the beach – a snapshot of pure, undiluted happiness.

‘This,’ Neve had said, thrusting the photograph up towards the ceiling, her dark eyes wide with the joys of success, ‘is why we do this. To create moments and memories like this. Look at their faces.’ They’d hugged it out, as they always did, and then celebrated by sharing a bottle of prosecco and watching six episodes of Don’tTelltheBride back to back, Neve always saying it was research for how not to surprise people.

Robin had seen that look on several faces already today. Maybe a uniquely designed bedroom wasn’t quite as special as having a private beach and a Michelin-starred chef to yourself for the day, but in her own small way she was carrying on the Once in a Blue Moon Days legacy. She turned the pink pebble over in her hands, and then thrust it forward into the water. It made a loud ‘plop’ before the ripples were swallowed up by a wave, crashing forward and, in all likelihood, depositing the pebble back on the beach. ‘Everything goes in circles,’ she muttered to herself and then, unhappy with how that soundbite could relate to her own life, turned away from the sea.

‘Coming for a round, Bobbin?’ Maggie called as Robin climbed the steps and walked around the edge of the golf course.

She narrowed her eyes, giving the older woman a practised glare. Maggie had called her Bobbin since Robin, aged five or six, had bounced her way round the golf course with her parents, swinging wildly and gasping at the pirates and skeletons that decorated Skull Island. Maggie had been in her thirties then – close to Robin’s age now – and was as much a part of Campion Bay’s fabric as the sea and the promenade.

‘I’m on my own,’ Robin said. ‘Competing against myself would be sad.’

‘So bring Molly with you, but tell her not to wear heels or it’ll ruin the course.’

‘That’s not a rule, is it?’ Robin asked, peering at the Howtoavoidwalkingtheplank sign pinned to Maggie’s hut.

‘It should be,’ Maggie said. ‘And I have asked a couple of women to do it barefoot in the past, though the majority realize before they come that skyscraper heels are not the best footwear for a game of golf.’

‘And I’m sure Molly will too; she wears flats at work.’

‘So you’ll bring her? You’ve not been on the course since you’ve been back, and I’ve installed a great new water feature.’

Robin folded her arms. ‘Which hole?’ A water feature in this case meant that all who walked in the path of the new installation would get a soaking.

‘You think I’m going to tell you? Where’s the fun?’

‘I’ll remember to wear my cagoule, then. Bye, Mags.’

‘Catch you later, Bobbin.’ She waved a fond farewell as Robin turned away, back towards the Campion Bay Guesthouse and, she smiled at the thought, her guests.

‘So congratulations,’ Molly said, pouring a generous amount of Pinot Grigio into Robin’s glass. ‘You’re going to smash this place – no offence to Ian and Sylvie. I’m sure they could have stepped up to the challenge if they’d wanted to, but you deserve this.’

Robin frowned, wondering what her mum and dad ‘smashing it’ would look like. ‘No disasters so far,’ she agreed. ‘No mishaps with any of the rooms, people running out in horror at the décor, leaking aquariums or cats on the bed. Though I think Catriona in Rockpool would quite like Eclipse warming her feet from the way she was looking at him when they checked in.’

‘You’re doing great,’ Molly said, clinking her glass against Robin’s, ‘even if your nails are appalling. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.’

‘It wouldn’t have been worth it while I was decorating.’

‘But now? That side’s all done with, isn’t it? And if you’ve got otherthings on the horizon …’ Molly let the sentence trail off and gave Robin a firm look.

It was after eight and they were sitting on the navy sofas in Sea Shanty. The sea was a dark mass with a hint of late-sunset glow, mostly hidden behind the reflection of their interior, the fairy lights that Robin had strung up like constellations on the glass.

Guests were able to use the room when Robin was at home. She had a small living room at the back of the private area of the house, behind her bedroom, but it wasn’t anywhere near as cosy as Sea Shanty, and she wanted her guests to feel comfortable in the house, rather than hide away and leave the downstairs feeling deserted.

‘Other things?’ Robin asked lightly.

‘Don’t think I didn’t notice the chemistry between you and Tim yesterday. I know you were apprehensive about seeing him, but it didn’t look like you were having a totally horrible time. If I lit my cigarette between the two of you …’

‘You don’t smoke.’

‘Just don’t wear hairspray around him.’

‘I’m not going to go back there.’ Robin tried to look out of the window, but was faced with a faded, blurred version of herself. ‘It would be the least sensible decision ever, even if I wanted to – which I don’t.’

‘Not even a little bit?’ Molly asked, holding up finger and thumb close together.

Robin knew her friend was testing her. ‘I can’t forget what he did to me. I know I was in London by then and you didn’t get the full force of the fallout, but you know how much it hurt. You’ve been through it yourself – and you had a baby on the way when Simon left you.’

‘It just proves that teenage guys are unfaithful bastards, and we should never commit to anything until the men involved are at least thirty.’

Robin laughed. ‘The sad thing is, I don’t know if that would help in Tim’s case. He’s so similar to how I remember him. I think anything I am feeling towards him—’

‘Lust, you mean?’

Robin gave her friend her best scowl. ‘It’s just nostalgia. I loved Tim with that wide-eyed, first-love enthusiasm. And he’s still so confident about everything, reminding me of our relationship – the good parts – without any hint of embarrassment or regret. It’s a bit overwhelming.’

‘You’ll get past it. It’s strange seeing him again, I get that, but when you’ve bumped into him a couple more times you won’t feel a thing. He’ll go back to being ex-boyfriend, love rat, arrogant try-hard.’ Molly finished her wine and refilled their glasses.

Robin sighed. ‘I hope so. Tim is in the past. We may manage to be friends in future, but revisiting what we had would be a bad idea.’ She shook her head vigorously, trying not to think about the way he had placed his hand over hers in the coffee shop.

‘So we turn our attention to the rich male pickings of Campion Bay?’ Molly held her glass up.

‘You’re being ironic, right?’ Robin grinned, happy to stop talking about her ex-boyfriend. ‘Or did Campion Bay become a hotbed of male loveliness while I was away?’

‘Oh, you just wait, Robin Brennan. Though,’ Molly added, ‘you might be waiting a long time. I’m going to get another bottle of wine.’

‘No,’ Robin said as Molly stood up, ‘I’ve got to cook breakfast for seven guests in the morning. I can’t be hungover.’

‘You’ll cook a better fry-up with a hangover than without one, because you’ll be more invested in it. It’s the perfect cure. Besides, Paige will be there to help if you need a break.’

‘Molly,’ Robin said, a warning in her voice as her friend, shoes discarded next to the sofa, danced lightly to the door.

‘What? We don’t have to drink the whole bottle, do we?’

‘You’re a bad influence on me.’

Molly waved her away with a hand and disappeared into the hall. Robin sat back on the sofa and closed her eyes, grateful that Molly was there to talk things over with, to make her laugh, and to make light of the worries that she was storing up inside.

A loud bang from outside startled her eyes open, and she sprung up and turned the lamp off in a single movement, pressing her face to the glass. A blue car pulled up between Robin’s Fiat 500 and the Barkers’ Land Rover. Robin squinted. It was an Alfa Romeo; it looked old and rather battered, and not just because of the exhaust fumes puffing out into the night-time air. She watched as the driver’s door opened and a man unfolded himself, then stood and peered up at the house fronts. He was tall and broad-shouldered and probably around her age, though Robin couldn’t see his features clearly. He walked round to open the passenger door and a small curly-haired, caramel-coloured dog hopped on to the pavement. The man wrapped the lead around his wrist, pulled a holdall out of the boot and then, to Robin’s astonishment, walked up the stairs of Tabitha’s house.

Robin’s nose was completely squashed against the glass as she tried to keep her eyes on him, but the angle was too acute and he disappeared from view as soon as he’d reached the top step. She saw the dog’s tail for a few more seconds, and then they were both gone.

‘What on earth are you doing?’ Molly asked, returning with a fresh bottle of wine, a lurid pink rosé that had been on offer in the supermarket but Robin hadn’t yet plucked up the courage to open.

Robin rubbed her nose, listened for the sound of Tabitha’s front door closing, and then flopped on to the sofa. ‘Someone just went inside next door. Someone who arrived in a battered old Alfa.’

‘Who?’ Molly asked, sounding as shocked as Robin felt. ‘Squatters? More property developers?’

‘It’s after nine,’ Robin shook her head. ‘He had a holdall and a fluffy dog and … and I don’t know what else. But he’s gone inside, or at least he disappeared up the stairs and I heard the door close.’

Molly made a ‘come on’ motion with her hand and Robin finished her wine, then allowed her friend to refill her glass. ‘Borrow some sugar.’

‘What?’

‘Let’s go round and ask to borrow some sugar.’

‘No. No way.’

‘Why not? I bet Mrs Harris would.’

‘Don’t lump me in with her,’ Robin warned. ‘How would it look? Someone goes into a house that’s been empty for a year, and then someone else who lives in an open, functioning guesthouse asks the new person for a cup of sugar. It’s completely back to front. I may as well scrawl nosyneighbour on my forehead.’

‘So go and say hello. Introduce yourself.’

‘Why me?’

‘Because you’re next door.’

‘You’re on the other side,’ Robin protested. ‘You’re a neighbour too.’

‘But I’m not at home right now.’ Molly clutched her wine to her chest and pulled her legs up on to the sofa.

Robin sighed. ‘I am not going to go and knock on the door. Not until at least tomorrow, otherwise he’ll know I noticed him arriving.’

Molly whooped and let out a loud peal of laughter. ‘I knew I could rely on you.’

‘Shush. Now, how’s this wine? Is it as toxic as it looks?’

It was after midnight, and the doorbell was ringing. Robin looked up from the sink and glanced down the hallway as if that would give her clarity. All her guests were safely tucked up in their rooms. She knew this because as they’d come in throughout the evening she had invited them to have a glass of wine with her and Molly. Catriona and Neil had accepted, and the four of them had spent an hour in Sea Shanty, Robin and Molly extolling the virtues of Campion Bay to the young couple, who turned out to be on their first holiday together – paid for with Neil’s work bonus – and had travelled from just outside Birmingham.

But now it was officially tomorrow, and the doorbell was definitely ringing. Robin had had it replaced, having spent far too long listening to sound-snippets on a website before picking the perfect chime, so there could be no mistaking it. She padded down the hallway, wondering whether Molly had, in her slightly tipsy state, left her phone behind, but as she got closer to the door and turned the outside light on, the figure behind the coloured glass became clearer, and it wasn’t Molly-shaped.

Robin pulled the door open and tried not to gasp. ‘H-hello,’ she stuttered, ‘how can I help?’

It was the man who’d gone into Tabitha’s house. He had the same tall frame and broad shoulders, and the same small dog at his feet. A closer look confirmed he was her age, or perhaps a couple of years older. He was blinking at her under the outside light, and he was soaked. Robin peered behind him to check there hadn’t been a sudden, silent downpour, and when she was satisfied, turned her attention back to him and the dog who, she realized, looked equally bedraggled. It was adorable, the kind of breed that could be mistaken for a cuddly toy, and she had to resist scooping it into her arms.

‘There’s been a leak,’ he said. ‘I mean, there is a leak, next door.’ His voice was deep and slightly breathless, his expression was apologetic, and his eyes, Robin couldn’t help noticing, were very green. He had a spread of freckles across a straight nose and tanned cheeks, and his short hair, which was plastered to his forehead, gave a suggestion of being chestnut brown when it wasn’t wet. The dark stain on his grey jumper looked like he’d been dumped under a bucket of water rather than an impromptu rain shower.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, I – have I caused the leak?’

He frowned. ‘What? No, I don’t think so. I think the roof needs repairing.’

‘My roof?’ Robin stepped outside and peered up at the front of the guesthouse, her heart hammering with alarm. She was very close to him now. She caught a whiff of mildewed water and something else, something much more pleasant that brought back a childhood memory: full paper bags from the traditional sweet shop in town.

‘No,’ the man said, his voice now with a hint of frustration. ‘Next door. Look, I’m not accusing you of anything, and I’m sorry to knock so late, but you are still a guesthouse, aren’t you? The sign says so.’ He pointed upwards. Robin resisted the urge to look up at her own name sign, and instead stepped back inside, facing him.

‘Sorry.’ She rubbed her forehead. Damn Molly and that second bottle of wine. ‘Sorry, yes I am. You’re staying next door?’ she asked tentatively.

‘Well,’ he said, giving her a wry smile. ‘I was trying to, but it seems the house has other ideas. I can’t … I mean, I could stay there. It would probably be the manly thing to do, style it out on the floor in another of the rooms, do the whole Bear Grylls thing, but the place needs a complete overhaul. Then I remembered that, as luck would have it, my aunt lived next to a guesthouse.’

‘Your aunt?’ Robin had been about to tell him that she was pretty sure Bear Grylls grappled with terrains a bit more hard-core than seafront houses, but now she was distracted. ‘Tabitha was your aunt?’

The man’s eyes widened, and then his smile registered something that was either genuine happiness, or possibly relief now that he was finally getting some sense out of her. ‘Yes, yes she was. Hi.’ He held out his hand. ‘Will Nightingale.’

Robin took it. It was warm and firm and – unsurprisingly, given the rest of him – slightly damp. ‘Robin Brennan,’ she replied, trying to find similarities with the woman she had lived next door to for most of her childhood. Tabitha’s eyes had been hazel rather than startling green, but, along with a growing spread of grey, she’d had the woody, mid-brown hair that Robin suspected Will’s would be once it dried. And Robin remembered her neighbour once telling her that her maiden name was Nightingale, and that the only sadness she’d had in getting married to the love of her life was losing such a beautiful surname for the mundanity of becoming Mrs Thomas.

‘Hi, Robin.’ Will dropped his hand. ‘I don’t suppose, by any chance, you’ve got any rooms going? Just so I can be a wuss in comfort and deal with the leak tomorrow, in the daylight. And I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you also accept my dog? I don’t want Darcy to be left in a strange, empty house on her own.’

‘Yes,’ Robin said, ‘of course. Please come in.’ Will grinned, his shoulders dropping in relief. He picked up his bag from the porch and stepped into the hallway. ‘Darcy?’ she asked tentatively.

‘Long story.’ He was standing close to her, looking around him, failing to meet her eye all of a sudden. ‘This place is great,’ he said. ‘A far cry from what Tabitha’s left me with. Look,’ he turned towards her, ‘I do appreciate this. I know it’s after midnight, and you’re probably not in the habit of accepting guests – and dogs – so late. So if you just tell me where my room is, I’ll dry Darcy off, get out of your hair and we can regroup in the morning.’

‘Sure, sure. No problem,’ Robin managed, her head so full of questions about Tabitha, and how come he’d appeared now, and why had Robin never met him while she was growing up, and did he know about the plans that Malcolm and Tim had for the house, and had they found his number and got in touch with him, that for a moment she forgot the reality of the situation. ‘Your room. Yes, of course – let me show you.’

‘Please don’t put yourself out. I’m sure I can find my way. I’ve got navigational skills like Bear Grylls, even if I don’t have his stamina.’ His face fell as he caught Robin’s eye and she didn’t return the smile. It had just dawned on her, through the shock of the unexpected situation, which room she was going to have to put Will in for the night.

‘I’d like to show you if that’s OK?’ She hurried into Sea Shanty and took the key from the top drawer, the icon of GuestSmart winking accusingly at her from the desktop. She would check him in later. ‘My rooms are a bit … unique,’ she managed, taking a towel out of the bottom drawer and handing it to him.

‘Oh?’ Will raised his eyebrows, suddenly looking slightly nervous. They stood in the hallway, facing each other, as the rest of the guesthouse settled into darkness around them. ‘Unique in what way?’ He crouched and rubbed Darcy with the towel. She stood perfectly still while she was dried into a caramel puffball.

‘You’ll see,’ Robin said. ‘Come with me.’ Without asking, and with her heart pounding in her chest, she picked up Will’s holdall and started climbing the stairs towards their destination at the top of the house.

She was going to have to put Will Nightingale, Tabitha’s nephew, and his little dog Darcy, in Starcross.




Chapter 5 (#ulink_c036da27-c7a6-55fb-adb5-59887fc05bb4)


‘Here we are,’ Robin said, her chest tightening as she stopped on the tiny landing outside Starcross. Will stopped on the top step behind her. There wasn’t enough room for both of them on the landing, and she could feel his breath on her ear, but for some reason she couldn’t open the door. She had a mental block. She looked at the nameplate, pearly white with Starcross written in swirling blue, as with all the other name signs, and wondered if she could do this. Put this tall, imposing, though so far very nice-seeming man in this special room. A room full of dreams and hopes and finding meaning in the stars.

‘Uhm, is everything all right?’ Will asked.

‘Yes, of course.’ She put her hand on the door handle. Pushed it down. And he had a dog. A very cute dog, some kind of poodle-cross, though she wasn’t sure exactly what. She had only ever intended for dogs to go in the rooms on the first floor. Not up here.

‘Robin,’ Will prompted, ‘if this isn’t convenient or … or if the room is really specialist, then I can always—’

‘No no,’ she said, not wanting to encourage his mind to wander. If she hadn’t wanted guests here, then why had she designed it in this way? Angry with herself, she pushed the door open quickly, forcefully, almost falling into the room. She turned on the light and took another two steps, allowing Will to follow her. Darcy ran ahead and put her paws up on the duvet.

‘No, Darcy.’ Will covered the room in a couple of strides and gently lifted her paws off the fabric, stroking her fuzzy coat. He stood up straight, his eyebrows rising as he noticed her looking. ‘Are you sure this is OK? You’re not bending your rules for me, are you?’

Robin shook her head, enamoured by how softly he spoke to his dog. ‘Not much,’ she admitted. Will’s attention turned to the room, to the telescope in front of the balcony doors, a framed map of the constellations next to the glass, the modern, slate-grey furniture with subtle silver accents. She chewed the inside of her cheek. She’d put solar-powered sun and moon jars on the chest of drawers alongside the mini Kilner jars containing teabags and sugar sachets, but realized that unless she turned the LEDs on, guests wouldn’t know what they were.

‘The bathroom’s in there.’ She pointed to the only other door in the room. ‘And details about breakfast, and all the other information about the guesthouse, is in the pack on the dressing table.’

‘It’s a beautiful room,’ he said, as she put his holdall on the floor. ‘Are you a bit of a stargazer, then?’

‘Not at much as I’d like to be,’ she admitted. ‘I have good intentions, but never seem to take enough time to learn what everything is. But I do love the stars, and this room has a perfect view of them on a clear night.’

‘No light pollution over the sea.’ Will was moving slowly around the room, looking at everything. He stopped at the balcony doors, the curtains still open, and flipped the light switch that Robin had put there for that very purpose. The room was plunged into darkness, and she held her breath as Will peered out. After a moment, he turned. ‘It’s too cloudy tonight, so – oh!’

The pinprick lights that Robin had installed in the ceiling began glowing softly, casting the room, and Will, in an eerie bluish hue, like moonlight.

‘Nice touch,’ he said quietly. ‘So you get stars, even if they’re hiding behind cloud cover.’

‘They fade after a while. You can set the time they stay on, so you don’t have to sleep with it like this.’ She pointed to a small timer on the wall behind the headboard, then hugged her arms tightly around herself. It was close to one in the morning, but she felt as tight and fidgety as a wind-up toy desperate to be released. She hadn’t quite prepared herself for a guest staying in Starcross, and had definitely not been ready for Tabitha’s nephew to turn up and be so imposing. Was he imposing? He was certainly making his presence felt, but then Starcross was the smallest room, and there were three of them in it – if you counted Darcy.

‘Does she need some water? I’ve got a bowl downstairs.’

‘I’ve got that covered, at least.’ Will pulled a metal bowl out of an end-pocket of his holdall. ‘I didn’t know what I’d be faced with when I arrived. Clearly, I didn’t account for all eventualities.’ He indicated his sodden shirt.

‘I’d better leave you to it,’ Robin said, backing towards the door. ‘Let you get some sleep.’ She realized she hadn’t given him his keys. ‘Here you go. One key for this room, and one for the front door.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, his voice weighted with sincerity. ‘This room is perfect. Unique, granted, but not in the way I was imagining.’

‘What were you imagining?’

His green eyes fixed on hers for a moment, the smile there rather than on his lips. ‘Maybe I’ll tell you when we know each other a bit better. I’m not sure you’d appreciate it, and the last thing I want to do is get kicked out now I’ve found a great place to stay.’

Robin gave a nervous laugh. ‘OK, sleep well, then. I’m on the ground floor if you need anything. You or Darcy.’

‘Thank you, Robin. For coming to my rescue.’

‘You’re very welcome.’ She backed up to the door, slid through it and closed it. No dancing on the landing this time; she fled down the stairs as quietly as she could, scooped Eclipse into a hug as he pattered into the hall, and then went to bed herself, pulling the cover up to her chin, her kitten buzzing gently, his soft fur warming her feet.

Most of her guests appeared for breakfast at the same time. Officially, Robin ran it from seven thirty to nine thirty, though she was prepared to deal with requests that deviated from her plan. On her first morning everyone picked eight thirty to appear, and so she led them, en masse, out to Honeysuckle, the patio garden where she would serve breakfast on days the weather allowed it.

Robin was prepared for this. She had learnt much of it by osmosis, by just being there during her teenage years, and now she had her mum and dad’s bible. Runningtheguesthouse, Sylvie and Ian assured her at the top of the first page, was completelydifferent to being on the periphery.

Robin kept her focus, staying in the kitchen while Paige served and cleared the tables. Molly’s daughter was the perfect balance of polite and cheerful with the guests, and Robin could hear chatting and laughter through the open door. She had baked sourdough and parmesan bread, and had found a recipe for shredded hash browns. Outside, each room had its own table, so Robin could keep track of any food requirements or allergies included on booking forms. Mr and Mrs Barker both went for full fried breakfasts with extra hash browns, Neil had the vegetarian version and Catriona picked scrambled eggs and smoked salmon on toast. Ray and Andrea, the guests in Wilderness, opted for croissants, and Dorothy seemed happy with muesli and toast.

The only empty places were at the Starcross table, but Robin thought Will was probably having a lie-in after his late arrival.

Robin could have done with a lie-in too. She was usually a morning person, and had pictured herself rising at five thirty during the summer to walk on the beach before breakfast, but after dealing with Will she had lain in bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering how long he had set the timer and watched the gently glowing lights above him. She had known that her first guest in Starcross would feel strange; she would care what anyone thought of it, regardless of who that person was. If it had been an old married couple, instead of Tabitha’s nephew, with the broad shoulders and green eyes and that way of being completely present, even in the long, high-ceilinged hall, she would have felt equally anxious. That’s what she told herself as, the cooking finished, she took a pot of Marmite out to Dorothy.

‘Thank you,’ Dorothy said, squinting as she turned her face up to the sun. ‘The weather seems to have welcomed our arrival.’

‘This is the first properly warm start we’ve had in a while,’ Robin said. ‘It feels like summer is almost here.’

‘It always feels closer by the sea, somehow,’ Dorothy said. ‘Probably because summer memories are beaches, sandcastles and ice creams. Down here you get a bigger summer quota than in big cities.’

‘I don’t know,’ Robin said, picking up an empty juice glass, ‘there’s something lovely about sitting outside a city pub and soaking in the atmosphere and the heat from the tarmac after a long day at work.’ As she said the words, she contemplated whether she still felt that way. She’d loved doing that with Neve and other friends in London, but had it ever come close to being by the sea?

Dorothy was looking at her closely, her pale eyes unblinking. ‘It’s not the same though, is it?’

Robin shook her head. ‘No, you’re right, it’s not. I should be promoting Campion Bay, not sending everyone scurrying back home.’

‘Nobody wants to leave once they come here,’ Paige said, wiping down the Barkers’ table. ‘Campion Bay ticks all the boxes.’ Robin stared at her for a moment, searching for signs of sarcasm, but couldn’t find any. She’d wanted nothing more than to escape when she was Paige’s age, not because she hated the seaside town, but because she felt there was so much more to explore. Maybe Paige was made from the same mould as Tim, finding everything she wanted in the quaint Dorset town, seeing no need to look further afield for her future.

‘Birmingham has its moments,’ Neil chipped in as Robin wove through the tables, ‘but it doesn’t have the views.’

‘A sea view is pretty unbeatable,’ Robin admitted. ‘It’s never the same, from one day to the next. Can I get either of you anything else?’

Neil shook his head. ‘I’m going to have to think hard about lunch at this rate. I couldn’t eat another mouthful. It was delicious, thank you.’

‘It’ll keep our energy up round the wildlife park,’ Catriona added.

‘Oh, you’ll love it.’ Robin’s thoughts drifted back to the times she’d been there growing up, with her parents and then friends. ‘It’s got a great petting zoo.’

‘And monkeys,’ Paige added. ‘Though don’t take your car through that bit, or you’ll lose a wing mirror.’

‘I’m heading straight for the penguins,’ Catriona said.

‘Too smelly for me, even if they are cute.’ Neil wrinkled his nose and Catriona gave him a playful slap on the arm.

Robin left them to their excitement, and was stacking plates in the dishwasher as she heard the front door close. She peered down the corridor and saw Will walking towards her, wearing knee-length black shorts and a faded blue T-shirt. He had a red towel looped around his shoulders and Darcy at his feet, which were only half in a pair of battered trainers, his heels pushing them out of shape at the back. ‘Hi,’ he said, giving her a quick smile. ‘Am I too late for breakfast?’

‘Not at all.’ Robin saw that his hair was, again, damp. ‘Been for a swim?’

He nodded. ‘The water’s freezing, but it’s the best way to wake up. And Darcy loves it.’

Robin laughed. ‘You take your dog swimming with you?’

Will shrugged. ‘I couldn’t go without her. There aren’t any restrictions, are there? I didn’t see any.’

Robin shook her head. ‘No, not yet. Campion Bay is dog friendly, but you won’t be able to take her on the main beach from June. You’ve still got a month, though.’

‘That’s good to know, thank you.’ Will looked down at Darcy, who was standing obediently beside him. Robin couldn’t help but smile. They seemed so out of place next to each other, as if Darcy had adopted Will without him having any say in the matter. She could imagine the little dog following him around until he got bored with trying to shoo her away. ‘So, I’ll just …’ He pointed upwards and Robin nodded, trying not to laugh. She heard him tread lightly up the stairs, the patter of Darcy’s paws following closely behind.

As Robin went back to her work, she wondered if she’d ever get the chance to see Will with dry hair. Then she wondered why she was even thinking about it.

By the time Will and Darcy came down to breakfast, the other guests had left to start their days, exploring Campion Bay and beyond. Robin had let Paige go home, and was tidying up the last of the crockery.

‘Where do I go?’ Will asked, peering into the kitchen. ‘Can Darcy come into the breakfast room, or should I take her back upstairs?’

‘Out here.’ Robin dried her hands on a tea towel and led him into the garden. ‘And of course Darcy can come – it’s just me now. Take your pick of the tables and see what you fancy off the menu. Tea or coffee to start?’

‘Coffee, please.’ Will sat at the table closest to the kitchen door. He was still wearing the faded blue T-shirt, but the shorts had been replaced by dark jeans that emphasized his long legs, and the trainers exchanged for tan Wrangler boots.

‘Does Darcy have dry or wet food?’

He looked slightly surprised. ‘Dry. But I’ve fed her already, upstairs. I didn’t realize you actually catered for dogs, I thought you just agreed to have her because I didn’t give you a choice.’

‘I could easily have said no to both of you.’ Robin said it with a smile, and Will narrowed his eyes as she disappeared inside.

‘Coffee coming right up!’

She cooked her last breakfast for the day: scrambled eggs, Cumberland sausages, grilled tomatoes, local smoked bacon and homemade hash browns, and took a photo of it for the guesthouse Instagram feed before she gave it to Will. She left him to eat and cleaned and wiped down the kitchen, then went outside to offer him more coffee. His plate was clean and he was intent on his phone, Darcy lying a few feet away in a wide patch of sun, her head resting on her paws. Robin noticed with amusement that Eclipse was sitting beyond the French doors looking out at the dog, and that Darcy’s large brown eyes were trained on the kitten, her tail wagging gently.

‘More coffee would be great.’ Will put his iPhone in his pocket. ‘I’ve got a long day ahead of me.’

‘What are you doing down here? If you don’t mind me asking,’ Robin added hastily.

‘I’ve come to clear out Tabitha’s house,’ he said with a sigh, glancing up at the building next door and squinting slightly. His hair had dried in the suntrap of Honeysuckle and Robin saw she had been right; it was a toffee-brown colour with a few natural blond highlights.

‘You’ve got to clear out the whole place on your own?’ She took a step closer to the table.

He shrugged and turned to look at her. ‘There’s nobody else to do it.’

‘What will you do with it once you’re done?’

‘Sell it, I suppose. I haven’t thought that far ahead.’

Robin’s stomach clenched as she thought of Mrs Harris’s scorn at the prospect of a modern development on Goldcrest Road. Even if her assumptions of a shopping centre were way off, this was likely to be the easiest negotiation Tim had ever done.

‘You’ll sell it?’ She hadn’t meant to sound so stunned, but Will looked at her closely.

‘I’m going into this blind,’ he said. ‘I know nothing about Campion Bay, about what’s in my aunt’s house and really, I have no clue what I’m going to do. I only know it falls to me, and the longer I leave it the worse things will get. Hence the impressive leak.’

‘I’ll get your coffee,’ Robin said quickly. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.’

‘Hey’ – he reached his hand out towards her, palm up – ‘why not make enough coffee for both of us? You can give me a crash course in Campion Bay – if you’ve got time.’

Robin smiled, relieved that he hadn’t taken offence at her intrusiveness. ‘Give me five minutes.’

When she sat down, Robin’s knees, clad in orange skinny jeans, briefly pressed against his before he moved them.

‘You don’t seem too happy that I might sell the house,’ he said, after Robin had added milk to both mugs.

Robin kept her eyes focused on the table. ‘It’s not up to me,’ she said. ‘It surprised me, that’s all. Tabitha has owned the house as far back as I can remember, and then, after she died, it stayed empty.’ She glanced at him but his gaze was steady, no flicker of emotion at the mention of his aunt’s death. ‘I hadn’t thought about what happens next,’ she added, pushing her coffee shop discussion with Tim from her mind.

‘You and me both.’ Will rested his elbows on the table. ‘I’ve known about the house – that it would fall to me – ever since her will was read, but this is the first chance I’ve had to come down here and take a look at it.’

‘What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?’

He pressed his lips together, seeming to weigh something up before he answered. ‘I work – worked – at a historic house, in Kent.’

‘Doing what? It – you don’t own it, do you?’

Will shook his head, giving her a rueful smile. ‘No, nothing like that. I do a bit of everything – help to manage the estate, odd jobs, pitching in as a tour guide. It’s not a large house, not English Heritage or National Trust, but it’s open to the public so there’s always work to keep on top of.’

Robin tried to imagine him wearing a Barbour jacket and Hunter wellies, striding across a manicured lawn with a lurcher at his feet. She couldn’t do it, and not least because when she tried to picture it, the lurcher was immediately replaced with Darcy, scurrying to try and keep up with Will’s long strides, unprepared to let him out of her sight. ‘But you said worked. You’ve quit?’

Will sighed, his chin dropping to his chest. ‘It’s obviously not something I can do freelance. I’ve known for a while that I’d need to come and sort out Tabitha’s house and it – it was suddenly the right time.’

‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘I did. No two days were the same, always a new challenge, always meeting new people. Being a guide is fun, as long as the guests are vaguely interested. You can measure your success by how many of them are still maintaining eye-contact at the end of the tour.’

‘Did you make things up?’ Robin took a sip of her coffee but it was too hot, and she spluttered, spilling some over her hand. She put her mug on the table and sucked at the scald.

‘Here,’ Will said, pressing a paper napkin into her free hand. ‘Are you OK?’

Robin nodded, stopped sucking the injury like a small child and wiped at it with the napkin.

‘Make things up?’ he asked. ‘You mean on the tours?’

‘You know, embellish the stories, add a few more juicy details.’

Will shook his head slowly. ‘I can’t believe you’d even ask that. Of course not. People come to find out about the history of the house, not hear some sensation-filled fabrication.’

Robin felt a flush of shame, but she could see that he was amused by the suggestion. She took another, tentative sip of her coffee. ‘At least your love of old buildings will help you today,’ she said softly.

Will winced, lines forming at the edges of his eyes. ‘Clearing out an empty house isn’t quite the same thing.’

‘So do you know how long you’ll be down here? Will you have to find another job, or can you focus on next door?’ Robin knew that she was firing too many questions at him, that it was none of her business, but she had such a strong desire to know. Now he was sitting at her table, he could give her more insight into Tabitha and into her house, which suddenly seemed the object of so many people’s attention.

Will leaned down to stroke the top of Darcy’s head. ‘I have no idea how long it’ll take, but if it stretches into months, if I’m making slow progress, then I’ll have to start looking for something round here. I knew I’d need space away from everything to make a proper start. I didn’t want the pressure of employers waiting for me, however reasonable they were about it.’

‘I can understand that,’ she said quietly. She watched him sip his coffee, drawn to his forearms, tanned and with a dusting of pale brown hair. It looked like he spent a lot of time outside, and Robin could picture him leading a group of awed tourists across a beautiful garden, an impressive stately home behind them – it fitted much better than the Barbour and the wellies, though Darcy was still in place, trotting loyally alongside. He had the presence to be a tour guide. She could see him commanding everyone, holding their attention with his green eyes. Especially, she thought wryly, the females of the party.

‘Have you run the guesthouse for long?’ Will asked, startling her out of her reverie.

‘Nearly twenty-four hours,’ Robin said, laughing at Will’s confused expression. ‘It reopened officially yesterday, with me at the helm. My mum and dad ran it for years, but they’ve moved to France and … well, now it’s my turn.’

‘Wow.’ Will’s eyebrows went skywards. ‘So this morning was your first time cooking everyone breakfast? You look like you’ve barely broken a sweat.’

‘I helped Mum and Dad out over the years, so I was more prepared than someone starting from scratch, and I’ve got my friend’s daughter working with me. Your breakfast is actually an Instagram star.’ She took out her phone and showed him.

‘That’s an accolade I never thought I’d get – devourer of a famous breakfast.’

‘You’d better remember this moment,’ she grinned.

‘Pretty sure I will,’ he said quietly, and her smile faltered under the weight of his stare. ‘Unflappable even when I turned up at midnight on your first day. But it must have been much more of a disruption than I imagined. I’m sorry.’

‘Stop apologizing. I had a room, I was still awake, and you didn’t put me out at all. Though I can’t claim to have been entirely unflappable.’

Now it was Will’s turn to grin. ‘Maybe not. The room is great. Very calming. The pinprick lights especially. Did you know that if you stare at them for too long it looks like they’re twinkling?’

‘I didn’t,’ she said. ‘But maybe that suggests it’s not a good idea? I don’t want you suing me for eye damage. I haven’t actually spent much time in there, it was the last one we finished and it went right up to the wire. What did you think it was going to be like – when I told you my rooms were unique? You didn’t want to say last night.’

Will held her gaze, his fingers drumming on the glass tabletop. ‘Honestly?’

Robin nodded.

‘I was imagining, y’know, red satin sheets and a heart-shaped bed, maybe some fluffy handcuffs.’

Robin gasped. ‘Handcuffs?’ she squealed, and then, remembering how small the garden was, lowered her voice. ‘Is that the impression I gave, answering the door to you last night?’

‘No, of course not,’ Will said, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. ‘But you looked so panicked when I asked about a room, and then you said they were “unique” in this mysterious voice and then stood outside the door for so long, as if you didn’t want me to go in. What was I supposed to think?’

‘Well, now I know which direction your mind wanders, I’ll be more careful.’ She shook her head scornfully, but a smile was threatening. She could see how she had come across as over-concerned, perhaps even a little bit unhinged.

‘Hey,’ Will laughed. ‘Come on. I was glad to be proved wrong. It would have been too much, on top of the late drive down, Tabitha’s house and the leak, to then be offered a different kind of service when you let me in. I slept like a baby, and I’m looking forward to using that telescope to check out the real stars later, if you’re happy for me to stay another night?’

‘Of course,’ Robin said. ‘I have no bookings in that room immediately, so stay as long as you need to. Though, I should remind you that Bear Grylls would have any leak fixed within twenty-four hours.’

‘Yeah,’ Will said, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head, ‘but I’m not under as much pressure as he usually is. And now I’ve got this cosy guesthouse bedroom to stay in, with fantastic cooked breakfasts every morning, I’m wondering if maybe the leak will turn out to be really difficult to repair.’

His face lit up with a lazy, easy grin, his eyes catching hers and holding on, and Robin felt her cheeks bunch into a smile. She wondered if, maybe, she wanted the leak to take a long time to fix as well.

‘So what happens now, Bear?’

Will dropped his arms, running a hand through his short hair and leaving it tufty like an unruly hedgehog. ‘Now I have to stop sitting in the sunshine chatting to you, and go and see what Tabitha’s house looks like in daylight. I can’t say it’s the most appealing prospect.’

‘Well.’ Robin stood and picked up the empty mugs and the milk jug. ‘This is not a service I was planning to offer, but I’m not going anywhere today, so if you need a refreshment break I’ll do you tea or coffee, maybe even lunch if you’d like it.’

‘You will?’ He stood too, bending briefly and holding his hand out towards Darcy, who got slowly up and padded after him, obedient as ever. ‘That would be beyond generous.’

‘It’s only until you get a kettle set up in the house.’

‘Of course. You’ve just made today a lot brighter.’ He followed her inside. She could sense him behind her, could hear the patter of Darcy’s paws on the linoleum.

‘It’s just a sandwich and a cup of tea,’ Robin said, leaning against the kitchen counter.

Will stopped in the doorway, almost filling it. ‘Believe me, when you’re faced with clearing out your dead aunt’s four-storey house that’s been empty for over a year and has accumulated a leak and at least fifty thousand cobwebs, a cup of tea isn’t “just” anything.’

Robin began to dry the mugs, soaking up his gratitude and, if she was honest, the pleasing sight of him standing in her doorway. ‘If you’d gone down to Mrs Harris at the Seaview Hotel you wouldn’t be getting this treatment.’

‘I picked the right place then,’ he said. ‘Thank you, Robin. Is it OK if I come begging for my first cup of tea in about twenty-five minutes?’

‘Don’t push it,’ she warned, but as she listened to her unexpected guest climb the stairs, followed by his curly-haired and completely adorable companion, she realized she would be happy to make him as many cups of tea as he wanted. Not only because she’d enjoyed the brief amount of time she’d spent in his company, but also because she hadn’t been inside Tabitha’s house for years, and she still felt bad about not making more of an effort to see her on her fleeting return visits from London.

She wanted to see the task that Will was faced with. She wanted to see if the house brought back any childhood memories, to find out how her loving and eccentric neighbour had lived the last years of her life, and whether there were any clues, any proof as to the origin of the plaque on the wall. Despite the promise of fifty thousand cobwebs, she was desperate to see inside number four Goldcrest Road.




Chapter 6 (#ulink_654db3b5-cdfe-5ab6-9592-bd213f496bc2)


Robin pressed her hand against the blue plaque next to the tall, black front door with the brass knocker and remembered, when she’d been much smaller, standing up on tiptoes to try and touch the cool, smooth surface. Now it was level with her shoulder. She read the familiar words: JaneAusten, 1775–1817, Noted Novelist, stayedhereduringthesummerof1804.

Why would it be here if it wasn’t true? Why was everyone so sceptical about it? It wasn’t just Molly who laughed it off whenever she mentioned it; her mum and dad had never entirely believed it, and Tim had always rolled his eyes. She’d read Persuasion, and lots of it was set in Dorset. Lyme Regis with its Cobb wasn’t far away, so surely it was plausible. And what reason could Tabitha have had to fabricate it? Maybe, now that Will was here, with his knowledge of historical houses, they would be able to get to the bottom of it. Maybe he knew the truth already.

She lifted the brass knocker to announce her arrival, but the heavy door moved forward a fraction and Robin realized it wasn’t closed. She pushed it slowly inwards, peering into the gloom.

The first thing that she noticed was the dust. The air was thick with it, dancing in the shaft of sunlight she’d let in, and there was a pervading smell of damp.

‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Door-to-door tea service?’ She stood in the hallway, listening, her eyes drawn to the telephone table below a gold-framed mirror hanging over thick green wallpaper, a white, rotary-dial telephone almost glowing in the sunlight. She had a vivid memory of lifting the heavy receiver, dragging the dial round with her finger, calling random numbers purely because it was so much more exotic than her parents’ push-button telephone.

‘Hello?’ she tried again, and this time she heard a series of clunks and bashes from upstairs, and then Darcy appeared, padding slowly down the stairs as if she wasn’t used to such a steep descent.

Robin crouched and put the cup of tea on the floor, already rehearsing her counter-argument for when Will finally made an appearance and discovered his drink was no longer hot. ‘Darcy,’ she whispered, holding out her arms as the small dog came towards her, and gathering her into an embrace. ‘You’re so cute,’ she whispered. The dog licked her chin and, putting a paw up on her shoulder, let out a sound that was halfway between a bark and a whine. Robin laughed, kissing her on the head, her fur impossibly soft.

‘Where’s Will?’ she asked. ‘Where’s your master?’

‘Master? I like the sound of that.’ She heard him before she saw him, his boots heavy on the stairs, and when he appeared in the dim light of the hall he was drying his hands on a piece of old sheet. Robin could see that he was soaked again, and also filthy, with dark streaks on his T-shirt and black smudges across his forehead and cheeks.

‘I brought you tea,’ she said, pointing at the mug but refusing to release her grip on Darcy. ‘What happened? Did you find the leak, or have you been investigating the chimney?’

He ignored her last remark. ‘I’ve found one of them. The roof is in serious need of repair, but I think the plumbing’s shot too. I doubt if Tabitha had any maintenance work done here in the last five, or even ten years. This place is a mess.’

Robin nodded slowly, glancing around. ‘How do you know that?’

Will frowned, crouched in front of her and picked up his tea, nodding his gratitude as he sipped it. ‘Thank you for this. What do you mean?’

‘I mean,’ she said, ‘how do you know it’s a mess when everywhere’s so dark? It’s like a classic haunted house.’ She winced when she realized what she’d said. ‘Sorry, that was insensitive.’

Will shook his head. ‘I get your point, but I blew the fuses when I tried to turn on the light last night, and one of them needs replacing before I can get the electricity working.’

‘So why not use that most exciting and recent of inventions?’ Robin let go of Darcy, stood and moved towards the room on the right of the hallway, but tripped on something she couldn’t see and bashed her shoulder against the wall.

‘What’s that?’ Will asked, following her. He touched her arm gently, whether to get her attention or steady her, Robin wasn’t sure.

Undeterred, Robin found the edge of the curtain and pulled it dramatically backwards. ‘Sunlight,’ she announced, the word becoming a splutter as the movement released at least a year’s worth of dust into the air. She turned away, coughing into her hands.

‘Great reveal,’ Will said, deadpan. ‘Go as well as you’d planned?’ His cough was deep but efficient, and Robin thought he was probably used to clearing his throat in rooms full of dust.

She tried to give him a withering look, but her eyes were streaming. She blinked just in time to see Will’s jaw tighten, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the room.

Robin did the same.

It was Tabitha’s living room. The solid, green, William Morris-patterned sofas facing each other, the lace runners along the backs discoloured an unappealing yellow, the cherry wood coffee table matching the dresser on which were a number of small china sheep. The rest of the collection, she knew, were in glass cabinets in the dining room on the opposite side of the hall. Robin had played cards in here, eating Tabitha’s homemade scones thick with unsalted butter. Gin Rummy, Snap, sometimes dominoes. Even Tim, she remembered, liked coming round to see Tabitha, and they’d often stayed until they were called back next door for dinner.

Why hadn’t she kept in touch with her properly? Robin felt a surge of anger at herself. The older woman had been so much a part of her childhood, but had quickly become out of sight and out of mind once she’d moved to London, rarely seeing her on her return visits to Campion Bay. Either she’d been too caught up with Tim, or – after they’d broken up – the fledgling business she was starting with Neve. Planning, researching locations and luxuries, her head in London even if, physically, she was spending a weekend in her parents’ company. Time had passed almost without her noticing, a part of her thinking that Tabitha would always be here. But of course that wasn’t true, and now it was too late.

She pushed the anger aside. Tabitha hadn’t been her relative; this must be so much harder for Will, and he hadn’t moved a muscle.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked.

‘Yeah.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘Yeah, of course. It’s just strange, seeing it now, like this.’

‘When was the last time you saw her?’ Robin asked, running her fingers along the back of a sofa.

‘About six months before she died. And I didn’t even know she was ill. I couldn’t get down as often as I wanted to – I didn’t come as often as I could have. And I should have …’ He shook his head, hands on his waist as he looked around the room. The bedraggled sheet was sticking out of the back pocket of his jeans, looking like a ridiculous tail.

‘Should have what?’

‘I should have come here before now. It wouldn’t have seemed so …’

‘Intimidating? Difficult? Monumental?’

He flashed her a look that could have been irritation, but it disappeared in a smile of resignation. ‘Impossible. It’s going to take months to get anywhere.’

‘So you will have to look for work round here?’

He nodded. ‘I’ve got some money set aside, but it looks like I’ll need to supplement it. I can turn my hand to whatever’s needed – odd jobs, estate management – and tourist season on the south coast should throw up some possibilities. Once I get the electricity sorted out, clear a small patch of calm in amongst all this, I can start looking at job sites.’

‘You can do that next door,’ Robin said. ‘You’ve got Starcross, or Sea Shanty, the room downstairs. Guests will come and go, and I’ll be there a lot of the time, but it shouldn’t be too distracting. I can see you wouldn’t want to spend every day working on this – it’ll be draining.’

Will nodded, his eyes narrowed as he looked over his aunt’s belongings. ‘Thank you.’

Robin bit her lip. ‘And I could … I could help you, here. Sometimes.’

Was she really offering this? She’d just opened up a new guesthouse, and should be spending all her time and energy getting comfortable with the routine. But, perhaps because she didn’t have the same weight of responsibility as Will had, because Tabitha had been a neighbour and not a relative, a happy part of her childhood, she saw the task as intriguing, a treasure-trove of the past to investigate. Something Will might relish in his usual line of work, but which he was too close to see without feelings crowding in on top of him. There were bound to be spiders and grime and mess, but Robin wasn’t bothered by any of that. Molly would probably be more upset because Robin would have to delay her manicure.

Will turned to face her, his arms dropping to his sides. ‘I can’t ask you to help me.’

‘You’re not asking, I’m offering.’

He took a step towards her. ‘I could just sell it, leave it to whoever buys it to sort out. If a developer was interested, then none of this would matter.’

Robin pictured Tim rubbing his hands with glee, his blue eyes alight at the prospect. ‘But would that be doing justice to your aunt? Leaving everything like this, not going through it? It’s not going to be easy, but maybe if it’s not just you and Darcy, then it will seem more manageable.’

They both watched as the dog explored the room, her short tail sticking up excitedly, wagging as she delved into the darkest corners.

‘Where did Darcy come from?’ Robin asked. ‘I know I’m being judgmental, but I wouldn’t have put the two of you together. What is she, a cockapoo?’

‘Cavapoo,’ Will said, giving her a quick glance. ‘And no offence taken. I had a neighbour, when I lived in Beckenham. Selina. We exchanged pleasantries, but nothing more than that. She was going to Seville for three weeks.’ He ran his hand back and forward through his hair, absent-mindedly. ‘She couldn’t take Darcy with her, and asked if I’d be happy to look after her while she was gone. She told me Darcy’d had a bad reaction to a previous kennel visit, that she couldn’t bear the thought of her being locked away. I didn’t have much experience with dogs, my family were never pet people, but she’d always seemed well-behaved. As you can see, she’s not much trouble.’

As he said this, Darcy tried to back out from underneath a table and knocked a vase off the top of it.

‘Perfect timing,’ Will said, smiling gently. The vase seemed to have survived its fall to the thick carpet, but neither Will nor Robin moved forward to be certain.

‘What happened to Selina?’ Robin asked, her voice almost a whisper. ‘Why didn’t she come back for Darcy?’ A catalogue of horrendous things fired through her head, culminating in a memory rather than a fantasy; a night that still replayed itself to Robin in flashbacks and nightmares. The ambulance, blue lights in the darkness, screams and shouts and running feet.

‘She met someone,’ Will said, shrugging. ‘She said he was her soul mate, and that she wasn’t coming back to London. She’d organize her belongings, but could I take Darcy to a rescue centre?’ He shook his head, sucking air in through his lips at the memory, and Robin tried to hear him past the pounding in her ears. ‘I’d spent nearly a month with Darcy by this point, and it … well, there was no way I could see her going into a cage, however temporary it might be. So’ – he flung his arms wide – ‘me and Darcy, BFFs forever. She came with me when I moved into Downe Hall. She thinks she’s in charge of the gardens.’ He turned to her, his smile dropping as he saw her expression. ‘Are you OK? You look pale.’

‘I – I’m fine,’ Robin managed. Her heart was thumping, her mind swirling with unwelcome emotions. It had been a long time since she’d been overcome so unexpectedly with the horror of that night. She thought she had reached a place of control, able to access the memory and the grief when she chose to, then put them neatly back in their box. She stared down at her shoulder, realizing the weight she felt was Will’s hand. She thought about blaming the dust, but he didn’t seem like the kind of person who could be easily fobbed off.

‘Do you want to get some fresh air?’ he asked. ‘You don’t have to help me. It was an offer over and above the remit of guesthouse owner, or friend, even.’

Robin peered out of the window, but it was so smeared she could only see a hazy approximation of the promenade and the sea beyond. ‘Fresh air would be good. But that doesn’t mean I’m bailing on you so soon after offering. What time do you want your next break?’

Will glanced at his watch, but before he’d had a chance to reply Darcy started barking, her yelps short and high-pitched. She raced across the room, weaving between table legs, and sat behind Will, her tongue sticking out.

‘What was all that about?’ Will’s tone was more curious than anxious.

‘Ah.’ Robin pointed to the far corner of the room, giggling with relief as her composure began to return. ‘Not a great hunter, then?’

Will looked in the direction of her finger, then raised his eyebrows and shook his head slowly. ‘It’s not even a rat, Darcy. It’s just a mouse. A tiny, helpless little mouse.’ The dog whimpered in response. ‘Come on then, let’s get some fresh air as well.’

Robin stepped into the sunshine and waited for Will and Darcy to join her on the top step. ‘When shall I bring you more tea?’

‘You don’t have to, Robin. You’ve helped me enough already.’

‘I’m only next door, and I’ve got full access to a kettle and electricity.’

Will looked down at her, his eyes searching her face. ‘Let me sort out my own lunch. I’ll take Darcy along the prom and see what I can find, but maybe later this afternoon?’

‘Done,’ she said, pleased with the compromise. ‘I have a feeling that it’s easy to get lost in that house if you spend too long inside.’

‘I might risk opening a few more curtains when I get back.’

‘Brave move, Mr Nightingale.’

‘No less than Bear Grylls would attempt.’ He flashed her a quick grin and then jogged down the stairs, leaving Robin standing on Tabitha’s top step with only the plaque for company, wondering why she was being quite so helpful to a man she’d only just met.

‘Tabitha’s nephew?’ Molly asked, leaning over the white desk in her airy reception area and pouring another sugar sachet into her tea. ‘Where did he come from? I didn’t know about any of Tabitha’s family. Mind you, she wasn’t the chattiest to me, always bright and breezy but never that forthcoming.’

Robin screwed her nose up, thinking back. ‘I’m not sure she was ever like that with me, though I guess it’s different when you’re young. I never looked for moods or motives, just took advantage of her friendliness. But I’m almost certain she never mentioned a nephew to me either.’

‘And you didn’t even have to offer him a cup of sugar,’ Molly said, grinning. ‘He played right into your hands. And what did he think of Starcross? Think its magic will work on him?’

‘Magic? What do you mean?’

‘All that astrology stuff. It’s not just a room for stargazers, is it?’

‘It’s a room for whoever wants to stay in it,’ Robin replied sniffily. Neve’s influence on the room had collided with her thoughts about Will even though she’d known him for less than twelve hours, and that was after thinking that Tim’s return to her life was significant. She was going to wish she’d never picked cosmic destiny as part of the room’s inspiration – or at the very least she would have to do some research into how it worked, instead of believing every encounter with a person of the opposite sex had a special meaning.

‘Get you, Robin!’ Molly laughed. ‘You’ve already thought about it, haven’t you? I want all the details. What’s he like? What’s he going to do with the house, and on a scale of one to ten, how sexy is he?’

Robin sank back into Molly’s white leather sofa, wondering briefly if any of the grime from Tabitha’s house was still clinging to her and was about to upset the pristine simplicity of Groom with a View.

‘He’s nice,’ she started, noncommittally, ‘and his dog is adorable. I think he’s a bit overwhelmed by having to deal with Tabitha’s house on his own – I have no idea where the rest of her family is. If he’s her nephew, then she’s at least got a brother – or a sister who kept her own surname – somewhere.’

‘Unless they’re dead, and it’s all been left to Will.’

Robin tipped her head on one side, considering. ‘Possibly. Anyway, he’s not sure what to do with the house. He’s made noises about selling it, but I think he’s a long way off making that decision.’

‘So you have time, then.’ Molly made a few swift clicks with the mouse, and then joined Robin on the sofa.

‘Time for what?’

‘To get him to change his mind, to convince him not to sell.’

‘Why would I want to do that?’ Robin asked, although she knew what Molly was going to say, and she had a couple of reasons of her own that had nothing to do with Tim or Malcolm.

‘To protect Goldcrest Road, of course. God, Robin, haven’t you been paying attention to anyone? To Mrs Harris’s mad tirade, to Tim’s blue-eyed, weaselly charisma.’

‘That’s not how you described him last night!’

‘Oh come on, he’s gorgeous, but we both know he has his sights fixed firmly on number four. If Will’s there dealing with his aunt’s stuff, all vulnerable and confused, Tim’s going to pick him off like a duck at a fairground. We need to launch a campaign, and you need to be at the heart of it, because you’ve already wormed your way in. He’s in your guesthouse, under your roof, drinking your tea.’

Robin pressed her fingers to her lips. ‘I offered to help him with Tabitha’s house,’ she murmured. ‘Why did I do that? I don’t have the time.’

‘There you go, then,’ Molly said triumphantly. ‘You’re already doing it. You’re in the perfect place to prove to Mr Nightingale just how great Campion Bay is, and that Tabitha’s house, once it’s been put right, is an ideal second home for him – or first home – whatever.’ She sipped her tea and beamed at Robin.

‘Why do you care so much?’

‘Because I’m here too, silly. I don’t want Tim turning this place into some swanky seafront apartment building, or a bloody Costa Coffee.’

‘Even if you end up with lots more rich clients on your doorstep?’





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