The Newcomer. Fern Britton
‘Probably not. She looks a bit mousy. No, that’s unfair. Shall we say, natural. No make-up. Very petite. I think she might be one of those women who run for fun.’
‘But her husband is a dish.’
‘Did I tell you that?’
‘Several times.’
‘Well, he is. When we met them at Bishop William’s, I couldn’t believe how handsome he was. Think Cary Grant with a drop of George Clooney.’
‘I am.’
‘And he’s nice. Charming. Very attentive to Angela.’
‘What does he do?’
‘I think he said he was a political writer. To be honest, I was so busy looking at him that I forgot to listen to what he was saying. I’m expecting you to get all the lowdown and Skype me with every detail.’
‘What about the daughter?’
‘I didn’t meet her. But I think she’s around fourteen or fifteen. Something like that. Probably at the fat and spotty stage.’
Helen gave Penny a knowing look. ‘You’re feeling better. I can always tell. Your inner bitch comes out.’
As they laughed together as only old friends can, a wave of homesickness overwhelmed Penny.
‘Oh, I do hope we’ll be OK, and that they will be happy here – this house, this village … well, I couldn’t have been happier here and–’
Helen interrupted her before she could get into a panic. ‘You’ll be home before you know it. What could possibly go wrong in a vicarage?’
And with knowing smiles, they settled in for a good old gossip.
‘Don’t use the sitting room,’ Penny yelled four days later as Simon put his hand to the door handle.
He blinked. ‘I only want to watch the news.’
‘You’ll have to watch it on the little telly in the kitchen.’ She steered him away. ‘Also, no using the downstairs loo, or either of the spare bedrooms or your office.’
‘But I need my office.’
‘Out of bounds, I’m afraid,’ said Penny, pushing him towards the kitchen. ‘Helen and I scrubbed this house from top to bottom. Forensics would never know we lived here.’
‘This is slightly ridiculous. Angela and Robert don’t arrive until the day after tomorrow,’ Simon said, exasperated.
Penny shrugged. ‘Them’s the rules, I’m afraid. And tonight’s supper is fish and chips from the chip shop because I’ve cleaned the Aga. And tomorrow night, Helen and Piran are cooking for us. Our last supper.’
Simon took Penny in his arms and squeezed her. ‘I haven’t said thank you, have I?’
Penny tipped her head up to look at her husband. ‘What for?’
‘For doing all this for me.’ His chocolate eyes behind their glasses took in her deep blue ones. ‘For taking on this huge upheaval and not complaining once.’
‘Haven’t I? I’m sure I have.’
‘Shut up. Just, thank you.’
‘My pleasure.’ She reached up and kissed him. ‘Now go and get the fish and chips.’
The following evening, Simon, Penny and Jenna trooped across the village green to Helen’s little cottage. Gull’s Cry was as welcoming as always, sitting in its beautiful garden, the path lined with lavender from gate to front door. Wisteria was starting to break into flower around the eaves and, as ever, a fat candle sitting in a bell jar shone in each of the two downstairs windows. The thick front door with its heavy metal dolphin knocker opened before they got to it and a small Jack Russell bounded out to greet them.
The silhouette of Piran Ambrose stood framed in the glow spilling from within.
‘Come in, come in, me ’andsome.’ He shook Simon’s hand. They were old and unlikely friends, who had grown up together.
‘’Ello, maid, come in out of the cold,’ he said to Jenna, putting his huge fisherman’s hand onto the little girl’s shoulder. ‘The fire’s lit.’
‘Hello Uncle Piran.’ She smiled shyly at the man she adored and bent down to tickle the little dog. ‘Hello, Jack.’
Penny entered last and Piran kissed her cheek. ‘All right, Pen? All set for the big day?’
‘I think so. Too late if we’re not.’
Helen came from the kitchen drying her hands on a tea towel and welcomed them all. ‘Piran, open the wine, would you, and there’s a bottle of elderflower cordial for Jenna.’
‘Something smells good,’ sniffed Simon appreciatively.
‘Piran has made his famous lobster curry for you,’ Helen told them. ‘Couldn’t let you go without a proper Saturday night supper in you.’
‘That was delicious,’ Simon said, putting his knife and fork together neatly on his plate.
‘You’ll be eating some different kind of grub in Brazil, I ’spect,’ said Piran, wiping up the last of the curry sauce with a slice of French bread.
‘I’m going to miss you, Uncle Piran.’ Jenna had eaten every scrap. ‘I love your cooking.’
‘Now listen, maid, it won’t be too long before me and thee are back on Trevay harbour pulling in those mackerel.’
‘Can I gut them when I come back? I’ll be eight by then.’
‘Eight, is it? You’m growing up fast. I tell you what, when you get back I’ll have a proper fisherman’s knife waiting for you. How about that?’
Penny butted in, ‘Is that a good idea?’
Simon stopped her. ‘It’s a very good idea. Jenna is growing up a Cornish woman and a Cornish woman knows how to use a knife and gut a fish.’ He turned to Jenna. ‘It’s in your blood.’
‘Is it?’ she asked, looking at her hands and spreading the fingers. ‘Cool.’
‘Absolutely,’ agreed Piran. ‘Now, there’s a little tube of Smarties in the sitting room waiting for you, as long as Jack hasn’t had ’em. You can sit on the sofa and watch some telly together.’
Jenna needed no further encouragement and skipped off, calling Jack to join her.
‘It’s going to be a big change for her,’ said Piran, watching them, ‘but it’ll do her the world of good. Growing up in a little village ain’t always a good thing.’
‘It was good enough for us.’ Simon reminded him. ‘You couldn’t wait to come back after you got your Ph.D. Cornish history is in your DNA.’
‘True, true. But where would I be if I didn’t have you to keep me on the straight and narrow? My best mate a vicar. I’m still in shock.’
Helen placed a cup of coffee in front of him. ‘You’d be a bloody rogue without Simon acting as your conscience. He’s your Jiminy Cricket.’ She handed Penny and Simon their coffees and sat down. ‘So how is tomorrow shaping up? Angela and Robert still coming to be introduced to us all?’
‘Yes.’ Simon spooned some brown sugar into his mug. ‘They’re staying over in Lostwithiel tonight with an old friend of Robert’s. I think they were at school together. Then they’ll drive over. Should only take half an hour at that time on a Sunday morning.’
‘The handover will be the hardest thing,’ said Penny. ‘But better to keep it short.’
‘You’ll have a full church tomorrow, mind,’ said Piran, smiling. ‘They nosy lot round here will be breaking their necks