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- Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
- Kategorie: Krimi
- Serie: St Ives Mysteries
- Sprache: Englisch
When tragedy brings Merrin McKenzie back to St Ives, she knows adjusting might take time, even with the comfort of Christmas back in her hometown. Stepping back from her career as a solicitor, she agrees to clean holiday rentals for her friends who own cottages nearby. She anticipates dirty laundry and sandy floors, but she didn't sign up for a dead body, neatly tucked up in one of the guest beds. The police are baffled by the young man's identity and the strangeness of his death. For Merrin, however, coincidences are beginning to stack up. Even though Inspector Louis Peppiatt is sceptical of her theories, something sinister is hiding beneath the festive surface of this charming seaside town. As the case unfolds, a dark side to the Cornish coast emerges. WHAT READERS SAY ABOUT DEBORAH FOWLER 'Once again Ms Fowler has surpassed herself' 'This author is so readable and the Cornish setting makes you nostalgic for your Cornish holidays' 'Wonderful stories with lots of twists and turns, all in beautiful Cornwall' 'Deborah Fowler is a very readable author. As soon as you start reading you are right into the plot' 'Set in the lovely town of St Ives in Cornwall it feels that the reader is there personally. A bewitching town with fascinating characters'
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A St Ives Christmas Mystery
DEBORAH FOWLER
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For Alan, in loving memory
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
Bristol, 12th April
Merrin McKenzie popped two pieces of bread into the toaster. Toast was not her breakfast of choice but the family’s African Grey parrot, Horatio, was watching her intently from his favourite morning perch on top of the wine rack. Horatio insisted on toast every morning, or else he sulked. It was Merrin’s firm belief that no creature on the planet could sulk so effectively and consistently as a parrot.
She walked over to the sink and gazed out of the window. It was a beautiful spring morning. In the last couple of days, the cherry blossom had flowered in the garden of the house opposite. The contrast of the pink blossom against the blue sky was lovely.
Her mobile rang. She smiled; it would be her husband, Adam, who had left for work that morning before she was properly awake. She picked up her phone. It wasn’t 8Adam; it was his sergeant, Harry. In all the years ahead, Merrin would never come to understand why she had experienced no sense of foreboding at that moment.
‘Hello, Harry,’ she said, ‘how are you?’
‘Mrs McKenzie, the guv’s had an accident,’ Harry said.
Still Merrin felt no real sense of panic. Adam, now a chief inspector, had been in the police force for over thirty years. Particularly in the early days of his career, he was often coming home with injuries of one sort or another. ‘What sort of accident?’ she asked.
‘I — I’m not sure,’ said Harry, ‘I wasn’t actually there when it happened. He’s in an ambulance on his way to Southmead. I’ve sent a car round to pick you up and take you to the hospital. It should be with you at any moment.’
And then it hit her. It was like being slammed against a brick wall – the breath forced from her body. Whether it was the tone of Harry’s voice, or a premonition borne of having known Adam her entire adult life, but she knew in that moment, with absolute certainty, that Adam was dead.
She put down the phone with a trembling hand. In the distance, she could hear the sound of a police siren, presumably the car on its way to collect her.
Mechanically, she went to the toaster, tore off a piece of toast and handed it to Horatio.
CHAPTER ONE
Seven months later, Merrin’s footsteps echoed as she walked across the kitchen to the window – for the very last time. She stood in her jeans and padded jacket and stared across the road. The cherry tree was bare, of course, which seemed fitting. All that was left in the house, apart from herself, was a small overnight bag, a tub of parrot seed and Horatio in his travel cage. He was absolutely furious.
Adam and Merrin had met in their first term at university and, apart from the odd falling-out in the early days of their relationship, had been inseparable ever since. They both read law, which had led Adam into the police force. On leaving university, Merrin had joined a firm of solicitors to do her articles and had specialised in family law. Without question, they had always known they would marry one day, and within a year of leaving university they had formed a plan. Adam’s parents lived 10in Argyll, just outside Oban, and Merrin’s parents lived in St Ives, West Cornwall. Being so far apart, neither family’s location seemed a practical place to settle and so they decided to stay in their university city of Bristol. They found a dilapidated Victorian terraced house, named Arcadia, close to the city centre but not on one of those roads that acted as a rat run during commuter hours. It was delightfully quiet. With help from both sets of parents and an eye-wateringly large mortgage, they moved in on their return from honeymoon and virtually camped for several years, both ambitious and therefore giving priority to building their careers.
It was the imminent arrival of their first and only child, a daughter, Isla, that prompted some serious repair and maintenance work. As a result, Arcadia had gradually morphed into a cosy and much-loved home for the three of them – no, four; one must not forget Horatio.
Standing now in the empty house, memories flooded back. Often, when Isla was tiny, Merrin would bring her down to the kitchen at night in order not to disturb Adam, who worked such long hours. She remembered so many nights, cradling her daughter in an effort to lull her to sleep, standing in front of this very window and staring up at the night sky.
Their kitchen was also their dining room and therefore their party room. And there had been so many parties; in the early days, when most of their friends were still single and childless, the parties involved much loud music accompanied by appropriate quantities of booze; 11there was Isla’s first birthday party, sitting proudly in her highchair; and the parties Merrin loved best, a myriad of family and friends of all ages – including grandparents, teenagers and rampaging small children. This room had a great many stories to tell.
‘Come on, Horatio,’ Merrin said, draping a cover over his cage. Normally, Horatio would have tried to tear off the cover, enraged at having the world blotted out. This time, he remained uncharacteristically silent. He’s just as nervous and apprehensive as I am, Merrin thought.
She put the cage and her bag in the car, then returned to the house and closed the front door. The door was painted a deep red and a small granite plaque alongside displayed the word Arcadia. She locked the door and then, after a moment’s hesitation, pushed the keys through the letterbox. She took two steps backwards, still facing the house. ‘Am I doing the right thing?’ she asked.
The house declined to comment.
CHAPTER TWO
Luckily, as it was now late morning, fighting her way out of Bristol was not too painful. Soon, Merrin was on the M5 and settled down for the long journey to the South West.
In many ways, Merrin knew her decision to move back to St Ives – the hometown she had left at eighteen – was an eccentric one. Her parents were both dead and her only sibling, a brother named Jago, now lived with his family in Australia. Brother and sister had been very close as children but distance now meant they saw one another infrequently. She still had contact with a few childhood friends from St Ives, including Max Richards, who had become an estate agent and was responsible for finding her the delightful little cottage she had just bought. She would be meeting him later to collect the key. Trying to keep positive, in between bouts of self-doubt, she felt sure there were still plenty of families 13with whom she could reconnect. Looking beyond the influx of tourists every year, St Ives was still a very small town.
It was just after 5 p.m. when Merrin started the descent into St Ives. She pulled off the road at the Malakoff, parking her car out of the way of the buses. She walked to the railings, the traditional place to view the town on arrival. It was completely dark, of course, but the Christmas lights were up already, illuminating Fore Street, the harbour and Smeaton’s Pier beyond. The tide was in and the sea was very dark, but quiet; there was no wind and so little surf. She took a deep breath of sea air. It felt good. She had spent less than a third of her life here – did it feel like coming home? Not yet, she decided, but the concept was not impossible.
She called Max. ‘Max, I’ve arrived; I’m at the Malakoff.’
‘Well done, welcome home, my girl. Have you much luggage?’
‘No,’ said Merrin, ‘just a small bag and a parrot.’
Max laughed. ‘A parrot! You never fail to surprise! I suggest you park at the Sloop for tonight. I’ll meet you there in five and then we can walk round to the cottage.’
The Sloop Inn, where Merrin, Max and their friends had spent many happy hours in their youth, stands conveniently opposite the slipway leading down to St Ives harbour. Cold and wet after a long day at sea, St Ives fishermen, through the centuries, had only to take a few steps to reach the haven of the bar. One of the oldest pubs in Cornwall, the Sloop began life in 1312. 14It is quaint and cosy, like many ancient pubs, but there are added dimensions - a sense of the sea and the huge role it plays in the life of the town. And then there is the art - paintings, old photographs, all with a story to tell.
Immediately behind the building, sits the small, somewhat eccentric pub car park, mostly used by the locals - for good reason. Presumably, in order to maximise the number of cars it can house, the marked-out spaces are so narrow that while it’s possible to park in one, it is often quite impossible to open the car door sufficiently in order to get out. Merrin, a veteran of this conundrum, parked sensibly at the end of a row. Max was waiting for her.
Back in the day, Max had always been a big success when it came to girls. He was good-looking, funny, sociable and one of life’s enthusiasts. Girlfriends came and went with monotonous regularity. Merrin’s moment in the sun came shortly after her sixteenth birthday – she was Max’s girlfriend, briefly and innocently, for about three months and then he dumped her. He broke her heart, of course, but, surprisingly, it only took a few weeks to mend. Thereafter, they became friends and had remained so through the years – Max was Isla’s godfather.
Despite being something of a lothario, Max could be very kind and thoughtful, as was demonstrated now. He unlocked the cottage door and stood back. ‘After you, m’lady,’ he said. The lights were on; so was the heating. A fire crackled in the grate and a camp bed was made up in the corner of the room. 15
‘Oh, Max, this is so kind,’ said Merrin. ‘I hadn’t booked anywhere to stay because I didn’t think any hotel would take a parrot and I didn’t want to leave Horatio alone in a strange house. Thank you so much.’
‘There’s a price you have to pay for all this,’ said Max, producing a bottle of champagne with a flourish. ‘I insist you share this bottle with me to celebrate your return home – only plastic glasses, I’m afraid.’
While Max opened the champagne, Merrin removed the cover from Horatio’s cage. She topped up his water and seed and whispered a few words of comfort. To no avail, Horatio turned his back on her and fluffed up his feathers in disgust.
They sat on the floor by the fire, backs against the wall. Max handed Merrin her champagne. ‘I’m glad you’ve arrived in time for Christmas, my dear girl. So, here’s to you and your new life in St Ives,’ he said.
‘New life?’ said Merrin. ‘That sounds daunting.’
‘I’m absolutely certain you’ve done the right thing, Merrin. After such a terrible tragedy, in order to cope without Adam, you have to start a completely new sort of life. Trying to continue living the same life without Adam, I truly believe, just wouldn’t have worked. I know it’s a dramatic change, leaving your job and your home, but it’s something you need to do to stand any chance of moving forward – though I expect at this very moment, you haven’t a clue as to whether St Ives is where you want to be. Enough lecturing, apologies – tell me, how are you coping and how is Isla?’
‘One has to cope; most people do eventually because 16there’s no alternative – the world over, nearest and dearest are being lost all the time,’ said Merrin. There was a defiant edge to her voice and a very clear message to Max: don’t go there.
What followed was a long, very awkward silence, during which they sipped their champagne. Surreptitiously, Max glanced at Merrin, who was frowning into her glass. She had always been slim, but now she was definitely thinner than Max ever remembered. Otherwise, she had changed very little through the years; her colouring was typically Cornish, dark hair, which she wore to her shoulders, and a bright, fresh complexion, pink cheeks and big blue eyes. She was not beautiful but now, even in her fifties, she was very pretty – a pleasure to look at. Finally, Max pulled himself together. ‘Look, my girl, you and I have been friends all our lives. If you can’t talk to me about Adam, then I doubt you can talk to anyone. Come on – spill.’
CHAPTER THREE
There was another long pause and Max was starting to think he had made a serious mistake in raising the subject of Adam, when Merrin suddenly started to speak.
‘You must know how he died from the newspapers.’
Max nodded.
‘He was stabbed, just once. Whoever was responsible must have known what they were doing; the knife went in between his ribs and straight into his heart. I think the doctor was telling me the truth when he said Adam would have known very little about it. Death was virtually instantaneous.’
She was trembling slightly. Max topped up her glass and threw another log on the fire. ‘Surely, he should have been wearing some sort of protection – what are they called – body armour?’
Merrin rallied. ‘Yes, of course he should have. And 18more to the point, he shouldn’t have been chasing after some villain in the first place, given his age and rank. That’s what constables and sergeants are for – it was ridiculous. The trouble is, he was always the same: he had to muck in; he couldn’t stand by and just give orders.’
‘From what you have just said, I assume they haven’t found the person responsible? I bet everyone is trying hard; the police look after their own, I believe?’
‘No arrests as yet – apparently there was a scuffle between two criminal gangs and Adam ended up in the middle. I very much doubt they will find the perpetrator now; it’s been too long. Anyway, I’m not sure it matters – losing Adam is the only issue so far as Isla and I are concerned. We don’t, or maybe can’t, look beyond that.’
‘So,’ said Max, ‘are you ever going to answer my question: how are you coping?’
Merrin hesitated. ‘In a practical sense, I’m doing OK. I’ve sold a house, bought a cottage, made the decision to move back to St Ives and given up my job. Having been a solicitor all these years, I had no problem sorting out all the associated paperwork; the police force have been good and granted me Adam’s full pension, so financially I will be able to support Isla until she leaves Oxford and lead a modest but comfortable life down here.’
‘So, what about emotionally?’ Max asked gently.
‘I loved him, he was my life, but strangely, it’s not the big happenings in our life that I miss; it is the minutiae.’ Merrin frowned in an effort to explain herself. ‘Sharing a beautiful sunset, a goldfinch in the garden, Isla being 19impossible but infinitely lovable all at the same time.’ She glanced fondly at the cage. ‘Horatio’s antics. The list is endless, Max, but it is the interwoven fabric of two people’s lives together – just gone – which I find so hard to take.’
‘This, without doubt, is a completely stupid and inappropriate thing for me to say.’ Max hesitated. ‘It sounds crazy, but I envy you. I have never felt like that about anyone. To have lost him is terrible, I can’t even imagine the pain, but to never have experienced that sort of love – that’s a tragedy, too.’
That silenced them both again but it was Merrin who recovered first. ‘This is dreadful; we need to cheer up – fill our glasses and let’s talk about something happy. As soon as I have unpacked everything, my guests of honour should be you and Bridget. Why don’t we fix a dinner date now and then I’ll have a deadline to work towards?’
‘I’m afraid that’s another drama,’ said Max. ‘Bridget has gone.’
‘Gone?’ said Merrin. ‘But she adored you!’ She studied Max for a moment or two. ‘You cheated on her, didn’t you?’
‘Well, yes,’ said Max, having the grace to look ashamed.
‘You’re a bloody idiot,’ said Merrin. ‘Bridget was a keeper; she was just what you needed.’
‘I am a bloody idiot, I can’t deny it,’ said Max.
Merrin smiled. ‘How many times have we had this exact conversation over the years?’ 20
Max smiled back. ‘I don’t know but please don’t try to count.’
‘I couldn’t possibly,’ said Merrin. ‘There are far too many.’
Suddenly, they were both laughing. Max raised his glass. ‘To life,’ he said, ‘with all its twists and turns.’
‘To life,’ Merrin echoed.
CHAPTER FOUR
The following morning, as good as their word, the removal men arrived promptly at nine-thirty, and an hour later, they had gone. Selling, or giving away, most of the contents of Arcadia had been the hardest part of the move for Merrin. It had been necessary since she was moving into a space that, in its entirety, was about the same size as Arcadia’s kitchen. Her new home was called Miranda’s Cottage but it was not really a cottage. To reach it, you had to climb up a flight of outside stone steps, for the cottage was actually perched on top of a baker’s shop – so it was, in reality, a flat. It consisted of a small kitchen/dining room, complete with log fire, a tiny sitting room and, upstairs, two small bedrooms and a bathroom. What had sold the property to her was that leading out of the larger of the two bedrooms, there was a balcony with stunning views of the harbour, and which enjoyed nearly day-round sunshine. 22
With the removal men gone, it was to the balcony that Merrin was drawn, a cup of coffee in hand. A garden table and four chairs had been unloaded from Arcadia, but she did not sit down. Instead she leant against the balcony rail, looking this way and that, to see what she could spy from her own personal crow’s nest. Immediately below her was Fore Street, the main shopping street of St Ives, and although it was not yet eleven, crowds were out in force, presumably hunting for Christmas presents. Although there were one or two chain stores dotted around the town, it delighted Merrin to realise that every single shop, bar and bakery she could see from where she stood was privately owned. Directly in front of her was the harbour, the tide now way out, revealing a large expanse of golden sand, dotted with fishing boats. It was the particular colour of the sand, Merrin knew, which had attracted artists to the town over several hundred years. Not only was the sand itself amazing but it was the effect it had on the water which was so special. The sea flowing into the harbour, on a sunny day, was an extraordinary colour combination of deep blues and greens, translucent and sparkling – quite unlike anywhere else.
She could already imagine that this view from the balcony was going to be a serious time waster. ‘Pull yourself together,’ Merrin said out loud, ‘there’s work to be done.’
By lunchtime, the kitchen/dining room was unpacked and Horatio had been moved into his big cage, as a result of which, Merrin now sported a plaster on her 23finger. Horatio did not normally bite his family and just this once, Merrin had found it in her heart to forgive him since moving house was known to be stressful for everyone – so why not for a parrot? She moved his cage into the window, which gave him much the same view as that from the balcony. ‘There you are,’ said Merrin to Horatio, ‘this should be much more interesting for you than the view from Arcadia.’ She was rewarded with an icy stare.
She was just contemplating the idea of going out to get something to eat when there was a knock on the door. Before she could even reach to answer it, the door was flung open. ‘Pearl, my dear little Pearl, welcome home.’ Merrin was swept into a huge hug.
‘Clara, how lovely to see you. Do I smell pasties?’ said Merrin.
‘You do, my Pearl. Let me have a look at you.’ Clara studied her friend. ‘Thinner but we can soon put that right. One thing we Cornish are good at is providing the means to pile on the pounds, aren’t we, my love?’
Clara and Merrin had met at nursery school and had been friends ever since – indeed inseparable friends until Merrin had left St Ives to go to university. Clara had always been tall for her age; Merrin had always been tiny, hence Merrin’s nickname ‘Pearl’, because ‘merrin’ is the Cornish word for ‘sea pearl’. Although they had seen very little of one another in the intervening years, whenever they met, it was like they had never been apart, and Clara was Isla’s godmother.
‘I have plates and glasses and a bottle of white wine 24in the fridge,’ said Merrin triumphantly, delighted to see her friend.
‘Perfect,’ said Clara and then did a double-take. ‘Who’s this?’ she asked, staring at Horatio.
Clara and her husband, Tristan, had never been to Bristol so had never met Horatio. Every summer, Adam, Merrin and Isla had come down to St Ives for a couple of weeks but Clara and Tristan were never free to leave town. As well as a fish restaurant, they also had two holiday lets to manage.
‘This is Horatio. Normally, he behaves like a perfect gentleman when meeting new people but he is very upset and angry about the move and is going to sulk, I imagine, for some days.’
Clara went up to the cage. ‘I don’t normally like the idea of caged birds but he is rather splendid. Slightly odd name, though. Horatio is not very . . . well, not very Amazonian.’
Merrin laughed. ‘Actually, his species originates from Central Africa, but I agree, Horatio is a very English name. I didn’t much like the idea of caged birds either, although he will be let out to fly about once he is used to his new home. He was a rescue parrot; that’s how he ended up with us.’ She began laying out plates and glasses.
‘What’s the story?’ Clara asked.
‘Ages ago, while Isla was still little, in fact Adam was still a sergeant, he was called to a house where an old lady lived. The neighbours had rung in because they were worried they hadn’t seen her for a couple of days. Adam 25had to break in and, unfortunately, the poor old dear was dead. Horatio was sitting in his cage in a corner of the room, looking very forlorn. The suggestion was that the parrot should be carted off to some rescue centre but Adam got it into his head that the parrot was very sad about his mistress’s death and needed some TLC, at least until the relatives could be contacted.’
‘Typical Adam,’ said Clara.
‘Yes, indeed,’ Merrin agreed. ‘Anyway, the relatives were contacted, and no one wanted the parrot. We learnt that his name was Horatio because the old lady came from Norfolk. In fact, she was born and brought up in the same small village as Lord Nelson – Burnham Thorpe – so obviously she thought she should name her companion after the great man.’
‘Nice story,’ said Clara. ‘He’s looking quite perky now.’
‘That’s only because he knows we’re talking about him.’
They toured the cottage, not a lengthy process, but Clara clearly loved it, particularly the balcony. ‘I can just see us out here on a summer’s evening, watching the sun go down over a bottle of cava.’ They then returned to the kitchen and gossiped over their pasties. They had met briefly when Merrin had come down to view the cottage but otherwise had not seen one another since Adam’s death.
‘Max was surprisingly helpful last night,’ Merrin said.
‘Did he tell you that he and Bridget have split up?’ 26Clara asked. Merrin nodded. ‘Well, you watch it, my Pearl, he will be after you next.’
‘He won’t,’ said Merrin firmly. ‘We did all that nearly forty years ago and anyway, there is never going to be another man in my life, not after Adam; it’s just not possible. Also, even if I was tempted, which I shan’t be, Isla would go absolutely mad if I even looked at another man. She is cross enough about the move as it is.’
‘So,’ said Clara, ‘tell me about my goddaughter and how she’s doing.’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘OK,’ said Merrin, ‘she’s doing well at university; she’s a clever girl, always has been.’
‘That’s my excellent influence, absolutely nothing whatever to do with her parentage,’ said Clara, helping herself to another glass of wine.
‘Naturally,’ said Merrin. ‘Actually, it’s good to be able to talk to you about her. I’m worried; we seem to be drifting apart just at a time when we should be particularly close and supporting one another.’
‘Why is that, do you think?’ asked Clara.
‘We used to be so close and share everything; we were each other’s best friend really. But since Adam’s death, there is a sort of distance, between us, as if we don’t know what to say to one another. Also, she’s furious about me moving down here. I can completely understand that. It was easy to pop home to Bristol from Oxford but it’s too far to come down here just for 28a weekend. Also, Arcadia is the only home she has ever known so, of course, she didn’t want us to leave it.’
‘The fact that you are not as close as you were could be nothing to do with Adam – it could just be that she’s growing up, a natural process, living away from home, making her own life. What made you decide to leave Bristol anyway?’
‘I had become increasingly fed up with my job even before Adam died. The family court process almost exclusively deals with marriage and relationship break-ups. It is extremely stressful always dealing with other people’s problems and so many of the parents drove me mad. They are so often consumed with the desire to score points off one another and to fight over the family assets; they do not even consider their children’s feelings. The whole process has become so selfish and ugly and many solicitors advise the clients very badly, just adding fuel to the fire – to increase their fees, no doubt.’
‘Oh, dear Pearl, it sounds awful. I’m surprised you stuck it so long.’
‘I am too,’ Merrin admitted. ‘I suppose I just kept putting off making a decision. Then Adam was killed and I just knew I couldn’t continue with the job without his support, nor could I bear the idea of living alone in that big old house, the home Adam and I had created. I have friends in Bristol, of course,’ she smiled fondly, ‘but not like you, obviously – much more sensible and therefore a little dull, by comparison. Anyway, as a result of the move, Isla is threatening not to come home to St Ives for Christmas, which is awful. Our first 29Christmas without Adam; I just can’t bear it.’
‘She’ll come, I promise, she’s just flexing her muscles in protest. So, tell me, if you’re not going back to being a solicitor, what are you going to do? You’re not the sort to sit around.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Merrin.
‘Well, Tristan and I are really up against it at the moment. Costs keep rising and our profit margins keep shrinking. We have laid off our chef in the restaurant; Tristan does it now and I do front of house, with one extra waitress to help out at busy times. Tristan just manages with a kitchen porter to help him. Then there are our two letting cottages and to crown it all, our changeover cleaner, Jenny, has left us with absolutely no notice. She left this morning, the weekend’s coming up and then we are into the Christmas rush. Honestly, we’re going mental.’
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ Merrin asked, falling neatly into the trap.
Clara regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. ‘You could do the changeovers; that would be an absolutely marvellous help – except, as I recall, my dear Pearl, you’re not very domesticated, are you?’
‘I could learn,’ said Merrin valiantly. ‘What’s involved, exactly?’
‘We have two cottages; the changeover is on Friday for one, that’s Rupert’s Cottage, and on Saturday for the other, which is Elsie’s Cottage.’
Merrin smiled. ‘Named after your parents, that’s lovely, Clara.’ 30
‘When Mum died, she left me enough money to buy outright both cottages. Since then, sadly, we’ve had to mortgage them both but we still make money from the holiday lets, though obviously not as much. I know it’s supposed to be bad luck to change the name of a house but I see them as a sort of memorial to my parents, who were so great.’
‘They certainly were, like second parents to me,’ agreed Merrin. ‘I think it’s a lovely idea. Now tell me what’s involved in this cleaning lark?’
‘It’s just a question of cleaning up after the last visitors and making up the beds and putting out clean towels. It’s all pretty obvious, really, and I can show you what to do. We’d pay you too.’
‘OK,’ said Merrin, much to her own surprise and to Clara’s. ‘I’ll give it a go as long as you promise to sack me if I’m no good, or allow me to leave if I hate it.’
‘A deal,’ said Clara. ‘I am very grateful, if a little bemused.’
‘Me too,’ said Merrin. ‘I mean I’m bemused, definitely not grateful. My good nature has been taken hideous advantage of, obviously.’
CHAPTER SIX
Tristan and Clara were quick to demonstrate their gratitude by helping Merrin settle in. Tristan arrived with screws and a drill. The walls of the cottage were all made of granite, at least two foot thick, so picture hooks were out of the question. He put up all Merrin’s pictures, which immediately made the cottage feel more like home. He also strategically fixed the wine rack to a piece of wall that both Merrin and Horatio thought would be a suitable location for his morning perch. In fact, Horatio took to Tristan in a big way. He had been Adam’s parrot, always preferring men to women, and he clearly approved of Tristan. ‘See,’ said Merrin to Horatio, ‘you’re going to love it here; you’re already making friends.’
On Friday morning, feeling surprisingly nervous, Merrin presented herself at the front door of Rupert’s cottage, which, like her own, was really a flat with 32outside steps leading to the first floor, and was just round the corner. She had weaved her way through the crowds on Fore Street, turned right into the Digey and then veered off left into Virgin Street. Immediately, the years rolled away because further up the street on the opposite side from Rupert’s was the home in which she and Jago had grown up. It had been a fisherman’s cottage but her family had occupied all three floors so there was plenty of room for the four of them, and the beach was their garden. While at school in St Ives, she had never been teased about living in Virgin Street, which was named after St Ia, the patron saint of St Ives. It was just a street like many others in St Ives, which sported some truly eccentric sounding names – like Teetotal Street, Salubrious Place and Court Cocking.
Actually, Merrin would always be deeply grateful for the somewhat unusual name of her street. In her first term at university, she was in the student bar having a drink with her roommate. A particularly odious boy, named Martin Thomas, had been in her year at school and had also been granted a place at Bristol University. So far, she had managed to avoid him until that night. He was drinking with a rowdy group when he suddenly spotted her across the bar. ‘Look,’ he shouted, ‘there’s Merrin, she lives in St Ives, near me. In fact, she lives in Virgin Street. Are you still a virgin, Merrin?’
‘And are you still a plonker, Martin?’ Merrin shouted back.
There was general laughter, clearly aimed at Martin. A young man detached himself from the bar and came 33over to Merrin. ‘It would give me enormous pleasure to give the plonker in question a good hiding, if you would like me to.’
‘Thank you, but no need, he’s not worth it,’ said Merrin.
‘Then let me at least buy you a drink to congratulate you on dealing so brilliantly with such an idiot. My name’s Adam McKenzie, by the way.’
This was the reason why Merrin would always think on the address of her childhood home with the greatest fondness.
Clara was waiting for her with a big bundle of bedding and some cleaning materials. Merrin immediately felt daunted.
Clara clearly picked up on her friend’s apprehension. ‘So, when did you last clean your house and change the sheets on the bed?’ she asked, not unkindly.
‘It’s not really what I do,’ said Merrin, ‘or rather, did,’ she corrected herself. ‘Both Adam and I worked very long hours so we had this wonderful mother’s help, called Betty. She was in charge of all that, fetched Isla from school and looked after her in the holidays. However, since Isla went to university, Betty has been working only three mornings a week, so I have been doing quite a lot more domestic stuff,’ she added, a little defensively.
‘It sounds like it’s Betty I really need,’ said Clara. ‘Still, a steep learning curve is what we’re facing and I am sure you will be up to the task.’
‘Of course I will,’ said Merrin crossly, to cover up her mounting panic. 34
Clara unlocked the front door and let them in. It was a cheerful cottage, full of colourful pictures, rugs and curtains and painted white throughout, which made it feel bright and airy. However, in the hallway, the floor was covered in sand and through the open door into the downstairs bathroom, Merrin could see a huge pile of towels left on the floor.
‘What’s with all this sand in December?’ she asked, turning to Clara.
Clara sighed. ‘It goes with the territory. People who don’t live by the sea rush to the beach regardless of the weather – you must remember that. Children make sandcastles all year round and this is the result. Listen, before we start, I have something to tell you, Pearl. Isla called me last night to see how you were.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ said Merrin. ‘I bet you called her.’
‘OK, I admit I was going to, but she beat me to it. Honestly, she called me.’
‘Is everything alright?’
‘Yes,’ said Clara. ‘She’s absolutely fine but worried about you, oh, and Horatio as well. I told her all about the cottage and I was very enthusiastic, which was not difficult – Miranda’s Cottage is lovely. I told her that Tristan had put up all her favourite pictures in her bedroom, being careful not to call it the spare room. I also said Horatio was fine, loving Tristan and his new view of Fore Street. I did say you were missing her very much and I said we were all looking forward to seeing her at Christmas, as if it was a done deal. She didn’t 35disagree, which has to be a good sign. Then, I slightly blew it.’
‘You were doing so well, Clara, how could you possibly have messed it up?’
‘I told her you were helping me by doing the changeover cleaning in the cottages.’
‘So what?’ Merrin asked.
‘She went ballistic; she said you must have gone mad to go from being a solicitor to becoming a cleaner. Unfortunately, that annoyed me; there is nothing wrong with being a cleaner. I told her that in Japan, everyone’s job is equally respected. A good road sweeper is valued as highly as a good CEO of a huge public company, and valued much higher than a bad CEO, and that’s exactly how things should be in this country. I told her she needed to get over herself and not be such a snob and just because she is an Oxford University undergraduate, it doesn’t give her the right to look down on cleaners.’
‘Blimey!’ said Merrin. ‘How did that go down?’
‘Well, being your girl, she put up a good defence. She argued that she wasn’t being derogatory about cleaners, just about you being one. I have to say, she was not very polite about your domestic skills and she said I would be regretting my decision to employ you within the week.’
‘She could be right,’ said Merrin.
‘So, let’s prove her wrong,’ said Clara, with more confidence than she felt. ‘You start brushing up all this sand and I’ll get the towels in the washing machine.’
The two women worked fast and furiously for two hours. It was a messy changeover. It took three 36washing machine loads just to clean the towels. ‘Why did four people need thirteen towels?’ Clara grumbled. Everywhere was covered in sand – on the sofa, the chairs and even the children’s beds. There was washing-up in the sink, the oven needed cleaning and the fridge was full of out-of-date food.
‘It’s not usually this bad,’ said Clara. ‘Look, I’m sorry but I am going to have to leave you to it now. The restaurant is just opening and I can’t leave Tristan on his own.’ She handed Merrin two sets of keys and became suddenly very business-like. ‘I’ve checked that there are keys in the key safe for the guests, so these keys are yours, for Rupert’s today and for Elsie’s tomorrow. I won’t be able to join you tomorrow. As it’s Saturday, it will be very busy in the restaurant and so I have to prep for Tristan. Anyway, you know what to do now. Tomorrow, Elsie’s sleeps four but only one couple have been staying there this last week so you may only have to change one bed. Clean sheets are in the airing cupboard. Today, all that’s left to do here is the oven to clean, clear out the fridge and put away the last lot of towels that are in the dryer. Oh, and there’s the bathroom. I’ve done the floor but not the loo, shower and basin. You must be out of here before three. Good luck.’
After Clara had left, Merrin felt overcome with weariness. Then, concentrating on the very unappealing thought that her daughter believed she would be hopeless at the job, she set to. The oven took over an hour to clean; it took her a while to work out that she had to turn the dryer to ‘off’ before being able to open 37the door; the contents of the fridge filled a whole dustbin liner, which then burst all over the kitchen floor, and, in Merrin’s eyes, the bathroom looked slightly worse than it had done before she started cleaning it.
By three o’clock, Merrin was done. On her return home, Horatio was subjected to a tirade on the horrors of changeovers. She opened a can of soup, lit the fire and collapsed in front of it with her mug and a piece of slightly stale bread. Remembering Clara’s story about Japan, in Merrin’s view, cleaners should be paid at least double the earnings of the world’s most efficient CEO. Suddenly, being a family solicitor seemed positively attractive.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Merrin was woken the next morning by a text message. Clara informed her that she’d forgotten to mention the guests staying at Elsie’s Cottage had booked to leave the previous morning, rather than stay the full week. Merrin, therefore, could start cleaning as early as she liked. ‘Oh great,’ muttered Merrin. She lay in bed for a few minutes and then realised the sooner she attacked the cleaning, the sooner it would be over.
She found the cottage easily enough in one of the streets leading down to Porthgwidden Beach. It’s bound to be full of sand, being so close to the beach, she thought, but to her delight, when she opened the front door, the cottage looked immaculate. She checked the ground floor to find practically nothing needing doing, other than a quick wash of the kitchen floor and a bit of dusting. She chose some 39bedding from the airing cupboard and was about to go upstairs when her phone rang. She looked at the phone – it was Isla.
‘Darling, how lovely to hear from you. How are you?’
‘I’m fine, thanks, Mum. I spoke to Clara yesterday and she says you are fine too, but I didn’t believe her. What’s all this about you cleaning her cottages? You’re not having a breakdown or something, are you?’
‘I nearly did yesterday,’ Merrin admitted. ‘The guests had left the place in an awful mess but today’s guests are absolute saints; there is practically nothing to do.’
‘Mum, you’re not making me feel any better. You hate cleaning and you’re very, very bad at it. This can’t be a job you’re enjoying. Tell me you’re just suffering from a temporary blip in your sanity and in a moment you will return to your normal self.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, darling,’ said Merrin, without rancour. ‘I am just helping out Clara and Tristan in the run-up to Christmas. Their cleaner left suddenly, giving no notice and the poor things are rushed off their feet. As soon as they find someone permanent to do the changeovers, I’m out, and I will admit to you, and to you alone, I can’t wait.’
Isla laughed. ‘That sounds more like you.’ There was a pause. ‘Mum, I am sorry for being so angry about your move. It’s just that I didn’t, still don’t, understand it. Bristol has so much to offer – you had 40a great career, plenty of friends, a lovely home and you were close to your only child’s university.’ There was a slight catch in her voice.
‘I’m sorry, too, for hurting you, Isla, which is the last thing I would ever want to do. I just couldn’t stay on in the house, with Dad gone and you at university. And, if I couldn’t stay in the house, I felt I couldn’t stay in Bristol. It would have been awful to live in the city but not in Arcadia. St Ives just seemed the right place to go; though, of course, I realise now I should have talked much more to you about the idea before making the decision to move. It feels odd being here, like I’m on holiday, but I think I have done the right thing. I am very tired all the time, at the moment, as I don’t sleep well but that’s no excuse for not consulting you properly about the whole idea – Arcadia was your home, too.’
‘I miss him so much, Mum,’ said Isla.
‘Me too, darling. When you come down, can we have a proper talk about Dad? I’m frightened to ask but are you coming down for Christmas? Only it being our first Christmas without him, it feels like we should be together.’
‘Yes, of course I’ll be down. I was only lashing out. I can be with you the week after next, on Monday, 19th, I thought. Would that suit?’
‘It’s your home, Isla, come whenever you like, the sooner the better. Monday the 19th will be wonderful. I can’t wait.’
Merrin pocketed her mobile and felt as if an 41enormous weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She had lost her husband and, for a while, it had seemed as if she might lose her daughter, too. Now, she felt more positive than she had done in some months. She had Isla back and this changeover was not going to take long. She would go back to Miranda’s Cottage and unpack some more boxes. The place had to look perfect for Isla’s arrival.
She picked up the bedding and headed up the stairs. The bedroom on the left contained a double bed, which had obviously been slept in. Suddenly full of energy, she stripped the bed and remade it in double-quick time. The carpet needed vacuuming, plus a quick dust, and then the room would be done.
Hoping that the other bedroom had not been used, as Clara had suspected, she crossed the landing and opened the door. The room was in semi-darkness as the curtains were drawn.
It was a twin-bedded room. The first bed was perfectly made up. Merrin walked into the room and pulled back the curtains. She turned to look at the second bed and gasped. There was someone in it. She moved closer; it was a young man, not much more than a boy, lying on his back. He was neatly tucked into the bed, so neatly that the duvet was completely uncreased. It looked almost as if he had been laid out after death. Images flashed unbidden into her mind of the moment she had identified Adam’s body. Adam had looked just like this, so perfect, only very cold. She had longed to take him in her arms to warm 42him and bring him back to life.
She shook her head to clear the image and moved to the bedside. He was a very good-looking boy but he was too pale and his lips very slightly blue. Carefully, she leant forward and put two fingers to his neck, just below his ear. His skin was icy to the touch and there was no pulse. He was quite dead.
