Summer on the Little Cornish Isles: The Starfish Studio. Phillipa Ashley
and amazing view or not, she still had a huge amount of work to do to get her home and business up and running. Jake must have noticed the anxiety on her face because he spoke gently to her.
‘Look, you’ve taken a huge step and had a rough time. It will get easier, I promise you.’
‘I’m sure I’ll settle in when I get to know people,’ she said, embarrassed by his sympathy.
‘I meant that being on your own would get easier. At least, you’ll come to terms with it.’ He sounded bitter and as if he really did understand her. Whatever had happened with his fiancée must have caused him terrible pain.
Jake cursed silently as he jogged down the stairs and out of the studio. That was all he needed: the new tenant turning up on her own and almost bursting into tears of horror when she saw the studio. And – deep joy – a bloody collapsing bed.
He didn’t blame Poppy for being upset at what had greeted her. In fact, he’d have probably felt exactly the same. Even if she hadn’t been on her own, she had every right to be annoyed and dismayed about the condition of the gallery and flat. The fact that she’d just made a life-changing step only made things ten times worse.
He’d recognised her within a few moments of her stepping off the St Piran’s jetty. He’d had no reason to connect her with the new tenants, of course, as he’d never known her name. His reaction, after the initial surprise, had been a mixture of memories – good and bad. The bad ones had nothing to do with her, and yet he couldn’t entirely separate them.
He walked the short distance to Archie’s cottage, turning over the contrast between that summer’s day and now. Poppy was imprinted on his mind as a bubbly, thoughtful woman whose enthusiasm for life he’d once shared. She still came across as warm, if understandably a little defensive at times, and she was every bit as attractive, with her soft brown curls and those blue eyes, but her face was pale, probably as a result of a rough crossing on the Islander and sleepless nights before that.
He’d no idea what had happened between her and Dan, although from his five minutes’ acquaintance with the man, he’d have bet his new Canon on Dan having been the guilty party. Poppy seemed like a decent person to him. She also had a sense of humour, from the way she was giggling when she fell on the floor. She’d definitely need that over the coming months.
He’d half wanted to take out his camera and photograph her, which had been a bizarre thing to think. The comment about her knickers had made him smile to himself. He also remembered her reaction when he’d run after her with Grandpa’s painting on that hot August day that seemed like yesterday but also a century ago. Even then he’d felt a connection with her and had warmed to her instantly.
Grandpa Archie had noticed her looking at the painting and drawn his own conclusions about her. Jake couldn’t help being reminded of that day. He’d only popped in on his way to meet Harriet at the St Piran’s boatyard, where she’d gone on ahead while he told Archie where they were taking the yacht. The Hotspur had been bigger than the dinghy that Archie now owned; obviously, he’d sold it after Harriet’s death.
Once again, the events of that day slammed into him.
‘I’m in a hurry, Grandpa. Harriet’s waiting for me. She’s getting the Hotspur ready to sail and I don’t want to let her do it all herself.’
‘If you’re heading that way, run after that couple who were in here. Pretty young woman with brown hair and a pink T-shirt. She’s with that chap in the orange shirt. You can’t miss them. Give this picture to the girl. Not to him, mind, he’s a bit of a know-all, but I can see she fell in love with it.’
Jake took the hastily wrapped picture. ‘You’re a big softy, Grandpa.’
Archie’s eyes twinkled. ‘I know, but that’s why you love me.’
Jake had grabbed the picture and fled out of the studio past Fen, who told him to be careful on his sailing trip. He’d caught up with the ‘girl’ he now knew to be Poppy and the ‘know-all’, Dan, and handed over the painting.
He’d never forget the delight in her eyes or Dan’s assumption that he wanted payment for the picture. Jake had teased him a bit, the prat. Poppy had wished him a happy sail and congratulated him on his engagement. Her words were etched on his mind forever, along with the events that had followed.
Poppy had assumed, as any polite and generous person might, that he and Harriet were living in a state of pre-marital bliss.
It couldn’t have been further from the truth.
Everyone on St Piran’s had thought the same as Poppy, and why wouldn’t they? He and Harriet had put on a great show of hiding the darker undercurrents of their relationship. Even his grandpa and Fen hadn’t guessed the real truth.
The short break on St Piran’s was meant to be a last-ditch chance to try and save their relationship. They’d both said and done some deeply hurtful things in the weeks leading up to that last trip, but they’d both agreed to try one last time to work things out.
They’d never had the chance, and no one but himself would ever know what had really happened in those fatal few minutes before Harriet had lost her life.
Once Jake was out of hearing of the studio, he called the local ‘jack of all trades’ to fix the bed, then popped in to see Fen, to reassure her that the new tenant had arrived and to explain that she was on her own and he was helping her settle in.
‘Poor girl,’ said Fen. ‘Do you think I should go over and see how she is?’
‘Why not let her settle in for this evening?’ said Jake, suspecting Poppy might need a rest and some time to wallow in misery before she dusted herself off and came over to the cottage – if she came over. He didn’t mention the non-delivery of her stuff, or the collapsing bed or Fen would have been round the studio in a flash, fussing over Poppy and fretting over the state of the flat and studio. ‘I think she’s shattered after the journey and she hinted she wanted to get an early night.’
‘If you think she’s OK … How did she react when she saw the accommodation?’
‘Fine. She seems to be made of strong stuff to me. Why not pop over in the morning after she’s had a good night’s sleep?’
‘You’re probably right. Thanks for showing her round. I couldn’t have stood it if she’d taken one step inside and burst into tears.’
‘Like I said, she seems to know exactly what she’s doing,’ Jake fibbed, pecking Fen on the cheek by way of goodbye. ‘So, don’t worry.’
Making his excuses, he strode off to Archie’s cottage, calling his grandpa on the way to reassure him that Poppy had arrived and all was well. Archie made no mention of the crate of paintings addressed to Jake, so he decided not to let on he’d seen it.
Back at the cottage, he went straight upstairs to the spare room where he was sleeping. He had to edge round the crate in order to reach the airing cupboard. Grandpa Archie didn’t have much need for spare linen, but there was a faded but clean set on the shelf. He put the cover on the hardly used duvet from his bed and borrowed his grandad’s duvet for his own bed.
For a few mad seconds, he’d debated about offering the spare bed in the cottage to Poppy while he slept in Archie’s room, but dismissed the idea straightaway. There was no way he could make an offer like that without it seeming like he was coming on to her – and he assumed the last thing she wanted was any man within fifty feet of her, if, as he guessed, Dan had dumped her.
He found an old-fashioned bar of soap and a towel and smiled as he made up the ‘emergency kit’ for Poppy, thinking it was a shame there was nothing he could do about her missing knickers.