Chapter One
2017
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In the back seat of the family’s aging Bentley, Cat Trevelyan closed her eyes and relaxed into the soft grey leather. Moving at a sedate pace the vehicle had left the craggy landscape and tors of Dartmoor behind some time ago. Now it carefully negotiated narrow country lanes; high banks filled with budding spring vegetation interspersed with the rich green canopy of trees overhead. Behind the wheel, his concentration fixed firmly on the road, Harry, her father’s ancient odd-job-man-cum-chauffeur, was busily relating all the latest news from Carrenporth. He took his time, imparting each new piece of information in his slow, warm Cornish burr.
She had spent the last three weeks in Provence helping out at the newly opened luxury boutique hotel run by her grandparents. Champs de Lavande,an eighteenth century farmhouse with a mixture of pale stone and whitewashed walls, had kept them occupied for the last two years and Cat had been eager to see it. Her father, Ruan, had already visited, returning full of admiration for what his parents had managed to pull off. With an abundance of untapped energy, Gerren and Jenna Trevelyan had thrown themselves into this development– a doll’s house in comparison to the responsibilities they had left behind, they told him. Ruan, who had now taken over the running of Tarwin House, the family hotel, had initially thought it the worst idea possible. After all, they’d been planning a quiet retirement in the sun, hadn’t they? Then, quite by accident, they stumbled upon this beautiful old building and everything had changed. Now open for business it boasted five double bedrooms and two stunning suites. A beautiful setting too, in three acres of lawned gardens surrounded by vineyards and lavender farms and bordered by a distant smudge of terracotta hills. Of course, once she arrived Cat had become totally smitten. Having to leave such a magical place with its bougainvillea covered walls and nightly serenade from cicadas had proved quite a wrench. But now she was coming home, linking up with friends, looking forward to the summer with its beach parties, sea, sun and surf, and settling back into her events management job in her family’s hotel.
The coastal road they had been travelling on for the last ten minutes took a sudden sharp sweep to the left, allowing her a first glimpse of Tarwin House. In the late seventeenth century, Cat’s ancestor, Jago Menhenik, had built this place. Not for him the traditional Cornish materials of slate or granite. Instead, on the headland overlooking the small fishing port of Carrenporth, he commissioned a huge pale-stoned, gothic style mansion. There were rumours he had built it for his wife Rosa. However, many believed the real reason was to flaunt his impressive wealth, accumulated through profitable tin and copper mines and, later, china clay. Originally at odds with its environment, it had now mellowed beautifully into the landscape.
In the early 1950s Cat’s great-grandfather, Edgar Trevelyan, decided to open Tarwin House as a hotel. As its popularity and reputation grew, another guest wing was added, followed later by a spa with indoor pool, a fully-equipped gym and,finally, a luxury-banqueting suite. With her grandparents gone and Ruan taking over responsibility, Cat and her twin brother, Nathan, became part of his team, fully committed to helping him maintain its status as one of the best four-star hotels in the south-west.
On this late spring morning, set against the contrast of sea and sky, the light walls, wrought iron balconies and conical tower of this great house were striking. Cat drew in a deep breath as sunlight briefly touched the windows with its fiery brilliance. Familiar landscapes passed by the window: golden clumps of gorse, outcrops of rock and short scrappy patches of grass. Then it was there, the sign at the side of the road, black letters on a white background announcing they were on the outskirts of Carrenporth. As the coastal road opened out in front of them, Cat had her first glimpse of the fishing port where rows of multicoloured houses clustered against the steep hillside. Below it the quayside and protecting arm of the breakwater embraced the dark waters of the harbour where a collection of trawlers and small boats were moored. At the next bend Harry slowed before taking a sharp right, easing the car effortlessly between huge stone pillars, one of which bore the sign: Tarwin House Hotel and Spa, with four gold stars sitting neatly beneath the glossy black lettering.
Harry coaxed the Bentley the last few hundred yards down a tarmacked driveway bordered by mature shrubs and neatly-tended lawns, finally pulling the vehicle to a halt outside the hotel entrance. From the shadow of the large canopied doorway, two large blurs of brown tail-wagging energy appeared – the family dogs, Gussie and Gulliver – followed closely behind by the tall, fair-haired figure of Ruan Trevelyan. Dressed in a light grey suit he halted for a moment to call them to heel. Cat frowned. He looked tired and impatient. The dogs were his babies, he was always easy-going with them, but the crease inhis forehead as he brushed his hair from his eyes told a different story. Something had upset him. The dogs reluctantly returned to his side, flopping down on their bellies, their heads resting on their paws, and seemed to sense his mood. Satisfied they were under control, Ruan continued towards the Bentley.
‘What’s happened?’ Cat wrenched her gaze from the approaching figure to focus on Harry, currently in the process of unclipping his seat belt.
‘Not for me to say,’ came an almost grudging response. ‘Best Mr Ruan tells you. All I will say is it weren’t her fault.’
Cat pondered on the reason for her father’s mood. The ‘her’, she gathered, must be Aunt Em. She wondered what she’d got herself into now. After her grandparents’ departure for France, and left alone, her grandfather’s sister, Aunt Emelia, had become involved with a gaggle of local elderly women known as the ‘Gossip Girls’, led by Rosalind Myers, one of the village’s most dreadful rumourmongers. With Rosalind’s reputation for causing trouble there was no doubt in Cat’s mind she’d been involved in this too.
Thoughts of the large wobbly-chinned matron dissolved as the car door opened and Ruan leaned in, bringing with him the familiar tang of his citrus aftershave.
‘Welcome home, Cat,’ he said as he helped her out of the car. A faint smile touched the edges of his mouth but then his expression was lost as she found herself pulled into a fierce hug. ‘I’m so glad you’re back,’ he said, his voice muffled by her hair. ‘I’ve missed you. In fact, we’ve all missed you.’
‘It’s lovely to be home,’ Cat said as he kissed her cheek. ‘Although I absolutely fell in love with Champs de Lavande.’
‘Me too.’ Ruan’s smile quickly disappeared, replaced by something more thoughtful and serious, which brought his lips together in a tight line.
‘Come on, let’s get you settled in,’ he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and guiding her towards the short flight of semi-circular steps leading to the front door. Gussie and Gulliver joined them, padding quietly in their wake, while Harry trailed behind with her cases.
‘Dad, is there something wrong?’ As they crossed the marble floored foyer she looked up at him, noticing his expression was still sombre.
‘I’ll tell all in a moment,’ he said, squeezing her hand. ‘First, let’s go up and join your brother.’
They took the private lift to the top floor where the family’s apartments were situated. Her grandparents had this part of the hotel converted just after her parents’ marriage. It gave them total privacy and massive living space, not to mention spectacular views from the tower balcony. As the lift travelled upwards she stood quietly, the silence broken only by the low hum of the mechanism and the panting of the dogs.
Ruan took her through to the lounge before disappearing to help Harry take her luggage to her room. As the dogs settled in their baskets, Cat spotted Nathan, his hands in his pockets, staring out of the window.
‘Cat.’ He spun around, his face lighting up with a smile as he saw her. She watched him approach, his features an exact copy of her own yet so different; so individual. His dark hair and blue eyes had been inherited from their mother, while Cat’s fair hair and deep brown eyes were classic Trevelyan.
‘Welcome home, sis,’ he whispered into her hair as he wrapped her in a welcoming hug. ‘It’s so good to have you back. Did you enjoy your stay with grand-mére and grand-pére?’
‘Oui.’ She nodded, reaching up to give her twin a quick peck on the cheek. ‘The hotel is fabulous; they’ve done amazing things there.’
‘I can’t wait to see it.’
‘Nathan, what’s happened?’ she asked, stepping back from him. ‘I can see Dad’s upset about something. Is it to do with Aunt Em?’
‘Is it ever anything else? Trouble seems to follow her everywhere,’ Nathan said, rolling his eyes, clearly unimpressed with their great-aunt, ‘especially since she became friends with the Gossip Girls. Harry didn’t mention anything then?’
‘No, I heard all his news on the way back from the airport but nothing relating to the hotel. And when I saw Dad’s face and asked Harry what was wrong, he went very quiet, said it was best he told me, although he did add it wasn’t her fault.’
‘Typical Harry. In his eyes she can’t do anything wrong.’ Cat didn’t miss the disapproval in Nathan’s voice. To him, Aunt Em was a constant source of aggravation. She couldn’t resist interfering in the running of the hotel, something that at times drove her brother, in his role as Deputy Manager, crazy.
