Rita bit her lip. It had cost more to get the ones with bases included. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Don’t say anything; Jago provided the materials, and we haven’t put the buggers together yet.’ Stan grinned. ‘I think it’ll take us at least a couple of days to get you right with the five.’
Rita was just perusing a YouTube video she’d found the night before on yurt erecting and positioning, when she heard the distantchug of a tractor drifting over the meadow, growing louder until Jago Jenken came into view, perched proudly at the wheel of Archie’s smart Massey Ferguson, a sheepdog by his side. Behind him, a battered trailer rattled along, piled high with the heavy wooden bases for the yurts. He gave a theatrical wave as he approached, his grin as wide as the ocean below.
‘Good morning, Rita. You didn’t think me and Meg would miss out on this great erection, did you?’ Jago called out, jumping down from his perch, while Meg barked and ran towards Henry, who was now off towards the gorse hedge at the edge of the field.
Stan gave a grateful nod. ‘Perfect timing.’
Rita felt herself blushing. ‘Err. Thanks for bringing these up, Jago, but me and Stan can manage, thank you.’
‘If I’m paying for Stan to help, then getting the job done quicker is a benefit to us both, don’t you agree?’ Jago clapped his hands together. ‘Let’s raise some yurts, shall we?’
Archie had always told her never to assume. She also realised that pride or no pride she needed this help. Maybe the Jenken family weren’t all bad. Maybe Hilda’s opinion was a skewed one. Like she did with bookshop Jude, she would take Jago Jenken at face value. Innocent until proven guilty and all that.
As the two men began unloading the bases, Rita gestured to where she wanted them positioned. The whole ethos of the retreat was about connecting with nature, so it made sense to have all the yurts facing the breathtaking ocean view. Not too close, for privacy, but near enough to suggest a gentle sense of community. It was a sweltering May day, and as Jago peeled off his T-shirt to reveal a tanned, toned torso, he threw Rita a lopsided grin.
Rita was unable to stop her words, or a smirk from escaping. ‘Who do you think you are, Ross bloody Poldark?’
Jago stopped what he was doing, shook his dark curls out of his eyes, and wiped his now-sweaty brow. His green eyes were twinkling. ‘I’ll be whoever you want me to be if it earns me a cup of tea and a scone later.’
‘That easy, eh.’ Rita laughed, shaking her head. ‘You’d betterget on with it then, Jago Jenken. These yurts won’t build themselves.’
‘Right you are, Demelza.’ He tossed her a wink before hefting one of the circular base panels effortlessly. ‘But I’ll expect extra jam on mine.’
Rita took a breath. Unchaste thoughts of a topless Jago Jenken smearing jam all over her began to circle her mind. ‘If you’re lucky,’ she stuttered as she hotfooted it to the Jimny, her face as red as a strawberry.
Rita had headed back down to the farmhouse and was in the kitchen making a large flask of tea and putting ice in water bottles when she heard footsteps on the gravel outside. Expecting to see Zenya or Hilda, she was surprised to spot a young man, with a huge travel backpack, looking into the sky as if trying to decipher where exactly he was.
At just over five foot seven, the dark-eyed, dark-haired, and undeniably handsome twentysomething carried himself with the easy confidence of someone twice his size. He had the kind of sun-kissed skin and sculpted cheekbones that you could only wish to be born with. He wore a pair of beige tailored shorts, effortlessly chic in that way only European men seem to manage, and a black fitted vest that clung to his impeccably toned physique. What did look slightly out of place, though, was one of those geeky transparent plastic map cases designed to be worn over the head, hanging flat against his chest on an adjustable strap.
With a raised eyelid from Henry, who was asleep on his bed in the kitchen, Rita opened the front door before the young man got to it.
‘Hey, you OK?’
The man jumped. ‘Hola,’ he called out, slightly out of breath but beaming. ‘Perdona, I mean, sorry, can you help me, please? I think I am… how you say, completely lost.’
Rita raised an eyebrow, slightly amused. ‘Where are you looking for?’
‘I am on tour of Europe. I was hiking.’ He gestured vaguely behind him. ‘So beautiful, here.’ He looked to his map again. ‘So, this is Seahaven Farm, yes?’
‘That’s right.’
‘OK,bueno. But now I look for the harbour and for some fish and chips. And it has disappeared, I think.’
Rita laughed and pointed to the left. ‘It’s about a mile down the hill that way. So, you’re not far. Is it your first time here?’
He nodded eagerly. ‘Sí. First time here, and I love it already. The sea, the air, the English boys.’ He cocked his head to gauge Rita’s reaction. It came in the form of a smile. ‘I want to stay. Maybe find work if I am lucky.’
Rita’s ears then pricked. ‘What kind of work are you looking for?’
‘I am fitness trainer now.’ He puffed out his chest. ‘Before, I was jockey. Horses, racing… since I was sixteen. But I fell and my shoulder is how you say, fucked. But now I train people instead. No saddles,’ he added with a wink and held out his hand. ‘Mateo Serrano, but everyone can call me Teo.’
Thinking that her upcoming guests, female and possibly even a few of the men, would absolutely adore him, Rita shook his hand.
‘Rita. Rita Jory.’
‘Ree-tah,’ he repeated slowly, letting the syllables roll off his tongue. ‘Now that’s a pretty name. And also, the name of myabuela.’
