This was work to him, but he seemed to have as much fun as his client. And it must be lucrative – he drove a Porsche. She didn’t enjoy running the B&B nearly as much as Miguel enjoyed his job, and the B&B was seasonal; like swallows searching out warmer climates, tourists were scarce in winter. She wondered if this was a side angle she could dip into.
‘Yes, I don’t like the idea of a coat stand,’ she confessed.
‘Oh, darling, it’s hardly a statement piece of art, is it? I do hope we can do better than that.’ He removed his sunglasses from where they’d been pushed onto his head like an Alice band, releasing his hair, which flopped forward over his forehead.
‘Any ideas?’ she asked.
He waved the sunglasses at her, his face crinkling with a smile before purring silkily, ‘It’s a pity the previous owners put the boiler under the staircase. I agree that would be the best place to solve both problems, but there is an obvious solution.’ He stood to one side tapping his sunglasses against his leg.
Suddenly it came to her; Miguel was as much in thrall with his job as her husband had been with his.
Emily’s eyes roamed the hallway, then she shrugged. Maybe she wouldn’t make such a good interior designer. Miguel returned the glasses to his head and pulled out his notebook.
‘Darling, we simply build another staircase,’ he said.
There must be a more pragmatic solution. But Miguel knew hismarket. Should she follow his advice and redevelop the house for sale? Plenty of people earned a decent income from property development.
She’d never met them, but after a few weeks running her own B&B, Emily had developed a healthy respect for Fran’s parents. With weary steps, she lugged the laundry basket past the pool. Her legs felt like jelly; it was hard work mowing the lawn in this heat. There was a gap between B&B bookings, and she planned to recoup her energy, play tennis, read a book, just chill for the next few days. She heard her phone ringing and stepped up the pace, dragging herself inside and snatching up the phone.
Svetlana.
Emily shut her eyes, took a deep breath, then said as cheerfully as she could, ‘Hiya, how were the latest guests, everything OK?’
‘No! They were pigs!’ snapped the housekeeper.
Emily groaned, her stomach twisting as she was told about broken glass in her swimming pool, and pizza jammed into the treadmill in the gym, preventing the belt from working. Who eats pizza when they’re working out?
‘When are the next guests due?’
‘Friday.’
‘Have you called Blue Dreams?’
‘Yes. They are coming tomorrow, but they told me you must be here to authorize the works, because it’s so expensive.’
Emily huffed. ‘Right, see you tomorrow.’
‘No, I’ve got two days off, sorting my tooth, remember?’
Emily scrunched her eyes closed. ‘Right, I’ll catch a flight tonight.’ More of her precious tax days used up to deal with Mark’s business. She pulled out her phone and stabbed at the buttons.
‘Hi, Mary, flying to London tomorrow, fancy a cocktail?’
It was only when she was ringing Mary’s doorbell the following night that Emily had misgivings about accepting the dinnerinvitation. She hitched her handbag – heavy from the bottle of wine she’d bought as a last-minute gift – further up her shoulder. She should have checked who else was invited. She’d shoehorned her way into this party; it hadn’t been assembled with her in mind.
Charles let her in, pecked her on the cheek. ‘Mary’s thrilled you could join us. She misses you. She’s in the kitchen.’
‘Thanks, I’ll go give her a hand.’ She pushed the bottle of wine into Charles’ hands and sidled past.
Descending to the basement, Emily heard the extractor fan working overtime. The kitchen door was open, and she saw her friend, a white pressed apron round her middle, calmly slicing a bunch of herbs.
‘Hi!’ she called out.
Mary looked up but didn’t smile. Maybe she was behind on the cooking schedule.
‘Can I help?’ offered Emily.
‘I’m glad I’ve got you on your own.’ Mary pointed the knife at the rank of bar stools opposite her. ‘Take a seat. There’s something I want to say.’
