Christmas on the Little Cornish Isles: The Driftwood Inn. Phillipa Ashley
country a few days and here he was, staying for half a year.
If he made it that far, of course. If Maisie didn’t throw him out first, or he quit in sheer frustration.
Hazel and Ray Samson had been – how could you put it – ‘taken aback’ when Maisie had delivered the news and introduced him. Ray had shaken his hand warmly and seemed relieved that there would be an extra pair of hands around the place. The guy wasn’t well, his face was pale and drawn and he’d been breathless and sweating while he was up on that roof. Hazel was trickier to read. She’d recovered from the initial shock quickly and joked that Maisie hadn’t wasted any time in taking on new staff, yet there was something about the way she’d watched him, when she thought he wasn’t looking, that made his hackles rise. She didn’t trust him: and he didn’t blame her. If Hazel had been thinking that Maisie could do with a man, for practical and other purposes, he definitely wasn’t the right one in Hazel’s eyes. Patrick suspected that they might be bothered about his criminal record.
He could understand their concerns and was prepared to live with Hazel’s distrust but there was an even bigger hurdle to get over. Even as she was introducing him to her parents, he suspected Maisie was already kicking herself for giving him the job. Her discomfort radiated from every pore and showed in her tight smile as she introduced him; in the way she stood with her arms wrapped around her chest while her dad shook his hand and her mum made jokes about kangaroos and boomerangs. He had a feeling Maisie Samson was regretting letting him into her home, her business and her life and he didn’t think that was entirely down to his chequered past.
So why had she agreed to take him on?
And what bloody stupid idea had made him ask?
Six months he’d signed up for. Half a year at this tiny pub with this determined woman who already occupied his thoughts far too much. He’d never seriously thought she’d say yes to his offer to work for her. He’d been amazed when she’d agreed, even after he’d told her the worst of him: the jail, the drink, the drugs.
And yet a voice nagged at him. Gnawed at him. He still hadn’t told her the very worst about him, had he? He’d kept back the part that would freak her out. It would have got him thrown out of the pub, and off the island too, if she knew.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’
Patrick glanced up to find Hazel Samson standing a few feet away. She’d walked into the bistro from the upstairs flat and was carrying a plastic bucket with cloths and cleaning products.
‘They’re not worth as much as a penny.’
She gave Patrick a hard stare. Her red hair was greying at the temples and her face was weathered from long years working in the sun, but she still had her daughter’s slight frame and sharp green eyes that missed nothing. ‘I bet they are,’ she said.
He pointed at the laptop, aware the screen was dimmed from lack of recent use. ‘I’ve been letting a few people know I’m staying on.’
Hazel’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Maisie says you don’t have any family?’
Wow. Straight to the point. Maisie had shared at least some of his ‘colourful’ history with her parents, then. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised as the Samsons were going to have to work and live very closely with him. He didn’t mind.
‘A cousin I’ve lost touch with, some distant relatives in the UK who have probably forgotten I exist. I do have a few mates, though, who might be interested to know I haven’t been kidnapped by an irate Brit who took exception to me taking a bar job … the current climate towards foreigners being what it is.’
Hazel’s smile was about as sincere as a croc’s. ‘I don’t think you’re in any danger from the locals here on Gull.’
You could have fooled me, thought Patrick, freezing his rocks off under Hazel’s sub-zero glare. Winning her trust was going to be harder than he’d thought. ‘I wondered if there was no wife or girlfriend in Oz that you had to break the news to. She won’t be very happy you’ve decided to extend your stay here, will she? Don’t tell me there’s no woman waiting back home? You’re still young and not exactly the Hunchback of Notre Dame, now are you?’
‘What makes you think it’s a woman?’
She smiled for about a nanosecond. ‘Call it a wild guess.’
Well, thought Patrick, he had to admire Hazel’s directness. Now he knew who Maisie had inherited her feistiness from and perhaps it was better to be honest with each other than enduring months of suspicious looks.
‘You don’t have to answer if I’m being too nosy, but I look out for our Maisie. She’s had enough heartbreak lately,’ she added, although Patrick didn’t think she gave two hoots whether she was being nosy or not.
‘You’re right: there’s no partner on the scene at the moment,’ he said mildly. ‘Of either sex.’
‘Hmm. I suppose that makes sense, or you wouldn’t have come halfway round the world and left her for six months. Unless you had to leave Australia of course, and I doubt that’s the case.’ Hazel paused. ‘As for partners, you said “at the moment”. Am I right in thinking there was someone special?’
Maisie would cringe at this line of questioning but Patrick couldn’t blame Hazel. It was obvious she saw him as a threat to the equilibrium of the household. She might be right about that too, he thought, but perhaps not in the way she suspected.
‘You’re right. There was a woman, but that was a while ago now.’ The image of Tania walking out of the door slid into his mind. He waited for the slice of pain low to the gut but he felt as if he was watching that movie now, not living it. But still, an enigmatic smile was all he was prepared to give Hazel.
She nodded slowly. ‘Fine. I should mind my own business, though you’ll appreciate I like to know a little about the people who’ve come to live in our house and share our lives.’
‘I don’t blame you, though I’ve already discussed my reasons for wanting the job with Maisie. Your daughter gave me a thorough grilling when she interviewed me,’ said Patrick, still wondering exactly which details Maisie had shared with her parents.
‘I know she did. I wanted to hear it direct. Oh well, you never know who you might meet while you’re here on Gull Island,’ she said and flashed him a smile that told him Maisie was off the menu – or else. ‘Do you want another coffee or a soft drink?’ she asked, nodding at his empty cup.
‘Thanks for the offer, but no. I’ve got some more emails to send before I get ready to learn the ropes in the bar tomorrow night.’
‘OK, I’ll be getting on with my jobs, then.’
Hazel picked up the bucket and headed downstairs. Patrick waited a moment until the footsteps quietened before padding down to the bar himself. He heard the door to the staffroom open, crept forward and peered around the edge of it. He could see Hazel walking across the patio to the staff studios where Maisie was outside the first cottage with her sleeves rolled up and a pair of Marigolds on. Hazel handed over the bucket and the two women exchanged some words. They had their backs to him so Patrick ventured further into the staffroom. The window was open a crack but he couldn’t hear their conversation. He suspected from Hazel’s grim expression that it might have been about him.
He almost jumped out of his skin as the phone out in the office next to the staffroom rang out.
Maisie and Hazel immediately turned and Patrick just had time to duck out of sight. Maisie pulled off her rubber gloves before she marched towards the office. Patrick made a hasty exit back into the bar, listening around the door as Maisie answered the phone in a breathless voice. His own heart thumped. That would teach him to eavesdrop, but this was his only chance. He had to hope that Hazel wasn’t still in the garden or coming round the side of the pub, although even if she was, he could make up some kind of excuse for being outside.
As quietly as he could, he slipped out of the