Clemmie raised an eyebrow. ‘Pete. Why, what did you do?’
‘I thought the cottage was abandoned so I peered through the window.’
‘And you survived?’ She laughed. ‘Pete’s harmless but he likes his privacy.’
‘What’s the story there?’ asked Verity. ‘Does he actually live in Cliff Top Cottage all by himself?’
‘He does. He’s lived there all of his life.’ Clemmie stabbed the chunkiest chip with her fork.
‘Alone?’
Clemmie nodded. ‘Never married or had children. He was the island’s vet but has now retired and the nearest practice is over at Sea’s End, which can be very trying if you can’t cross the causeway. But Pete is an animal person through and through. He adores those puffins, watches them for hours. And if any domestic animals are poorly, he’ll go out of his way to get them back to good health.’
‘The cottage doesn’t look how I remember it.’
‘“Remember it”?’ quizzed Clemmie. ‘I thought this was your first visit?’
‘It is. I remember it from my granny’s stories when I was a child. In her tales it was beautiful, the most sought-after cottage on the island. Everyone wanted to live there.’
‘Your granny was right. My grandmother told me the same. But sadly it’s been dilapidated for as long as I can remember. For some reason, it seems Pete just fell out of love with his home. He may like his privacy up on the cliff but he’s still a big part of this island and, believe me, if he has something to say, he doesn’t hold back. His voice is heard within the community if he wants to put his point across.’
‘I’d love to have met your grandmother,’ said Verity.
‘Which means you must come back and visit us again. I’ve messaged her about the postcard. As soon as she replies, I’ll let you know. She can bake the best scones and cakes but trying to get her to answer a text is a totally different ballgame. Doesn’t like any sort of technology. It took me the best part of a year to talk her into trying an electronic till instead of writing every order on a piece of paper and skewering it.’
‘But you still have an old-fashioned till in the tearoom.’ Verity remembered the till and how vintage it looked.
‘The electronic till lasted a week. Puffin Island is prone to power cuts and on the very first week the till went down – so we had to return to our prehistoric accounting method of balancing the till at the end of the day. You can imagine my grandmother’s delight. We’ve never changed back again. Still skewering those receipts and using a calculator.’ Clemmie rolled her eyes.
‘Clemmie told me about the postcard. How intriguing,’ said Amelia as she rejoined them, folding her arms and leaning on the bar. ‘Tell me everything.’
Clemmie shot Verity a playful but warning look. ‘You just remember that whatever you say now could end up in a book.’
‘That sounds like it’s happened before,’ said Verity.
‘On many occasions,’ replied Clemmie.
Verity retold the story of finding the long-lost postcard and how it had led her to Puffin Island. ‘And I just thought that maybe I could track down who’d sent it. But the more I think about it, the more I suspect it will remain a mystery.’
‘And there was a secret,’ added Clemmie.
‘What kind of secret?’ asked Amelia, totally absorbed in the conversation.
‘That we don’t know, but the postcard suggests the secret was too much to bear.’
‘Do we think it was a resident? Had your granny visited on holiday?’ Amelia was throwing out the questions that Verity had already asked herself.
‘Again, we don’t know.’
Amelia looked like she was thinking hard. ‘Who’s our oldest resident? It has to be Betty. What she doesn’t know about the comings and goings of this island isn’t worth knowing and she remembers everyone.’ Amelia looked at Clemmie.
‘I said exactly the same thing,’ Clemmie replied. ‘Not that we’re implying my grandmother is nosey and makes everything her business…’ Both women were quiet for a second.
‘But that’s exactly what we’re implying,’ they chorused in unison, making Verity laugh.
‘And what about the record book?’ suggested Amelia.
‘I thought about that, but surely that stopped long before 1972?’
