As Theo turned away with a gratified expression, it was good to see his usual sadness replaced by a more positive emotion.
‘Well done, lad,’ Albie applauded under his breath.
‘I quite agree,’ a droll, well-spoken voice declared beside him. ‘She needed putting in her place. Those cottages have enormous potential.’
Turning, he found a glamorous silver-haired lady standing at his elbow, reminiscent of a sprightly Helen Mirren. ‘Oh. Hello, there.’
‘Hallo.’ She stuck her hand out, ‘I’m Clover. Pleased to meet you. Nice someone of my own generation’s here. Gets rather boring otherwise, with these younger people’s noses stuck in their phones, taking endless pictures or going on about what used to be twatter.’
Albie guffawed as they shook hands. ‘I think you’ll find it was Twitter.’
Grey eyes twinkling, her grip tightened. ‘My version’s much more fun.’
‘Agreed.’ There was something remarkably attractive about her attitude, and he blushed, ‘I’m A-Albie Curville. Pleased tomeet you too.’ He dropped his hand, clearing his throat. ‘Who are you here with?’
‘Granddaughter.’ She pointed to a girl in a lime-green dress doing joyful somersaults on the bouncy castle. ‘My son and his wife are away, so I offered to do the honours.’ She paused. ‘Curville, an interesting name. Any French in your family?’
He frowned. ‘I don’t think so. We all hail from Devon, as far as I know. Why?’
‘Devon. Very picturesque. I grew up there until I was twelve.’
‘You did?’
‘Yes.’ Her eyes became distant. ‘Near Mill Bay, across the water from Salcombe. I’ve many fond memories of sandy beaches, climbing rocks, and building dams.’ Smiling, she added, ‘Anyway, it sounds like the roots of your name could be French. Curville. Coeur de la ville?’
Raising an eyebrow, he stepped closer as a rabble of children ran past, Rosie in the middle, her little face shining with happiness. ‘Meaning?’
Eyeing him, she translated, ‘Heart of the town.’
‘Oh. Right. Well.’ He shifted under her scrutiny, feeling like a teenage boy. Silly, given the multitude of years behind him. ‘Don’t know about that.’
‘I could see it. Especially after what Kirsten told me.’
‘You know Kirsten?’
‘Yes. We recognised each other when I arrived. It’s a small world. I’m the coordinator for the local Happy Café. Kirsten donated cakes the other week. She was with a handsome bearded man who couldn’t take his eyes off her. It was sweet. Actually, he looked familiar?—’
‘I didn’t know she did that.’ He interrupted to prevent her musing over Harley’s identity. Was it the day he’d been hunched over the steering wheel in his van? It might explain a few thingsif he and Kirsten had spent time together alone. The chemistry between them crackled, even when they were arguing.
‘Yes. She seems a good egg. We had a chat earlier, and she mentioned you organised this wonderful party for Rosie. It’s very generous, making her birthday so memorable for her.’ She regarded him thoughtfully. ‘You should pop along to the next Happy Café. I think you’d fit right in.’
‘I had help,’ he said humbly, ‘but yes, maybe I’d enjoy it. The ethos is like a mantra I live by.’
Her eyes narrowed with interest. ‘Do tell.’
‘Choose kindness, every day. And I call my neighbours, our community here, my kindness tribe.’
‘Quite right. Lovely, in fact.’
‘It was something my wife taught me,’ he blurted, wanting to keep the conversation going but cursing himself for oversharing.
Her gaze dropped to his left hand, where he still wore his gold wedding band. ‘You’re married?’
‘Yes. No, I mean, I was.’ What on earth was wrong with him? ‘That is, she passed away. Quite a long time ago, but, well…’
‘Sometimes it feels like only yesterday?’
‘Yes.’
