‘That is so romantic. Was there no name at all?’
Verity shook her head. ‘That’s where the mystery deepens, it’s only signed with the initial “W”. But whoever it was, it seems he may have thought my granny was his one true love.’
‘And what does your granny say about it all? Does she know you’re here?’
‘No, she passed away.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’
‘That’s okay, it was a long time ago. Still, I’m intrigued to know who W is. I know this is a long shot, but do you know of anyone, at a guess possibly between the ages of sixty-five and eighty, that lives on the island and has the initial W? I’ve got the postcard with me. Would you like to take a look?’
‘I would!’
Verity delved into her bag and pulled out the postcard, which she handed over to Clemmie.
‘I recognise this! This postcard is still sold in the Nautical Nook, the local gift shop. But the initial W isn’t ringing any bells. Let me have a think.’ Clemmie wafted the postcard in front of her face whilst looking deep in thought. ‘No one springs to mind but now I’m just as intrigued as you are to know what the secret is.’
‘It could possibly have been a holiday romance, in which case I’ve not got a cat in hell’s chance of discovering anything, with the number of tourists that must pass through here each year. I just thought that if my granny had stayed here for a while…it’s a long shot but someone may remember her.’
‘If there’s anyone who knows everything about this island, that would be our very own Puffin Island Google.’
Verity looked at Clemmie, puzzled.
‘My grandmother Betty. Believe me, she knowseverythingthat goes on on this island and what she doesn’t know isn’t worth knowing. Someone could walk through that teashop door from fifty years ago and she would still recognise them, know their name and remember all their past history. Sharp as a knife and nothing passes her by. What’s your granny’s name?’ Clemmie took out her pen and pad from the front pocket of her pinny.
‘Henrietta Callaway, Hetty for short.’
Clemmie scribbled down the name on the pad. ‘And when are you leaving?’
‘I’m heading for Amsterdam early tomorrow morning.’
‘So, we have less than twenty-four hours to solve the mystery of W. Unfortunately, my grandmother is away for a couple of days. Shall I take your number? If, on her return, she knows anything, I could drop you a text.’
‘Would you? That would be perfect.’
Clemmie was poised with her pen as Verity gave her the number.
‘I’ll let you know one way or the other as soon as I’ve spoken to her. Now, you enjoy your afternoon tea and before you leave you do have to go and see the puffins. It’s unbelievable when you see them for the first time…’
‘I will and thank you.’
Clemmie placed the pen and pad back in the pocket of her pinny before returning behind the counter. Verity devoured the finger sandwiches in a matter of minutes and as she sat back in her chair sipping prosecco, she watched the world outside the window pass her by and wondered if Betty Rose could shed any light on the postcard from the past. And if she could, what exactly she might say.
ChapterFive
An hour later, Verity walked towards the bay and kicked off her shoes. Paddling at the water’s edge she embraced the sunshine that had finally followed the dismal weather of the morning. She looked across to the lighthouse that was guarding the scenic coastline and wondered whether it was still in use. She began to walk across the bay towards the sand dunes, which led to a coastal path that meandered to the top of the cliffs where the puffins could be found.
Thankful for the sea breeze, Verity powered her way to the top of the cliff and stood in amazement. Clemmie was right. She hadn’t seen anything quite like it before. Thousands of comical creatures, each in its glossy black dinner jacket with a crisp white bib and a brightly coloured, parrot-like bill, and with orange feet, covered the rocky cliffs. A sign informed visitors that they couldn’t touch or feed the puffins, and it was clear that this part of the island belonged to the puffins and the puffins only. Verity was in awe. Perching on the edge of a rock she pulled out her phone and began to video them so she could remember this moment. This was the first time she’d ever seen a puffin up close. They were incredible. She sat still, watching the adults return from fishing at sea, sand eels hanging from their mouths, to feed their pufflings. She could happily have sat and watched them for hours, but she wanted to stretch her legs and she knew exactly where to head. She was curious to discover the real-life Cliff Top Cottage, which, according to her map research, should be just a little further on up the cliff path.
The most sought-after cottage on the island (according to Granny’s stories) stood three hundred metres above the sea with fantastic views of the Puffin Island coastline, including Blue Water Bay and Castaway Cove, where lobster boats and fishing boats bobbed on the waves. Fish were clearly plentiful in these waters, something welcomed by puffins and locals alike.
Verity took the gravel track towards the top of the cliff, excited to be greeted by the most gorgeous-looking cottage, just like in her granny’s stories…but was surprised to find there wasn’t much picturesque about Cliff Top Cottage. In fact, it looked as if it had been abandoned years ago.
It definitely lacked tender loving care. The garden around it was a little overgrown, the front door and windows rotting away but miraculously still intact. Verity knew this could be transformed into a place of beauty as it once had been, according to descriptions from the past. Knowing she was trespassing but too curious to pass up this chance, she walked up to the front window. Surely it wasn’t possible for anyone to still be living here? Cupping her hands against the grimy window she peered into the gloom.
The room was sparsely furnished. A battered old sofa and an armchair stood beside a rug in front of an open fire. Verity nearly jumped out of her skin when she noticed an elderly gentleman asleep in the chair, a flat cap on his head and what looked like a glass of whisky in his hand. She took a deep breath and watched him for a second. Then, just as her pulse began to settle, his eyes flicked opened and he stared straight at her. She stumbled backwards as his eyes widened, and before she could do anything he was up and out of the chair. The look on his face wasn’t welcoming but she couldn’t blame him. She shouldn’t have been snooping. Within seconds the front door had been flung open and the man was charging towards her. ‘You tourists think you can come onto my land whenever you like but you can’t!’ He pointed to the wooden sign hammered into the ground. ‘Private Property, Keep Off. Just like it says. Now shoo.’ His voice was gruff, and he wasn’t anywhere near as welcoming as the other islanders she had met.
Verity began apologising profusely. ‘I’m so sorry, I was just curious to see this place.’
