“I can hear you. The whole county can hear you. And of course I’m here. Where else would I be?” Tristan emerged from the cellar carrying two large boxes. He dumped them on the floor and rubbed his biceps. There was a streak of dirt on his cheek and his dark hair was in a state of disarray.
Evie stepped forward and hugged him. “I thought you might have escaped this place and be sunning yourself on an island in the Caribbean and drinking rum from a coconut. I’ve brought you a new guest—this is Abby. She’s going to be helping me at the hotel.”
Tristan wiped his hands on his trousers. “I wasn’t expectingcompany. I’ve been sorting out the cellar.” He nodded to Abby. “Tristan Penrose. You’d probably rather I didn’t shake your hand given what I’ve been hauling around down there.”
Evie felt guilty for not having called to warn him that they were on their way. “Shall I grab the key and take her up? We don’t need to bother you.”
He scowled at her. “I’m the landlord, Ev. It’s my job to make guests welcome.”
“Well, currently you’re wearing your grumpy face, so you might want to rethink your approach to customer relations.”
He ran his hand over the back of his neck and breathed out. “Long day and we still have the evening to go. You know what it’s like at this time of year.”
That wasn’t it. She knew that wasn’t it. She’d known him long enough to know when something was wrong.
“How’s your dad?”
“Doing fine, thanks.” He disappeared through a door that led to the bar and returned a moment later holding a key. “I’ll get Matt to take your luggage up.”
“No need,” Abby said smoothly. “I can handle it, thank you.”
Evie saw Tristan’s gaze travel from Abby’s face to her shoes. To his credit, his expression didn’t change.
“If you’re sure.” He gave a nod. “Settle in and then come and find me. There’s a small kitchen in the Lookout, but it’s not great for cooking anything substantial. I’ll arrange for you to have something to eat in the pub.”
“Thanks, but that won’t be necessary.” Abby was close to frosty and Evie didn’t blame her.
Tristan wasn’t exactly giving her a warm welcome. What was wrong with him? She wanted Abby to feel comfortable and at home. Right now she was neither. She was wary and distant and nothing like the woman who had been laughingover a scone in the garden and listening carefully to Evie’s work issues.
Evie felt a flash of sympathy. It must be daunting coming to a strange place where you knew no one. She was probably missing her friends, colleagues and family back home and Tristan being all growly and broody wasn’t exactly going to make her feel welcome.
Evie decided a rethink was necessary.
“If you have the energy when you’ve unpacked and settled in you could just come round to mine. It will probably be pizza and salad, but you’re welcome.” Her plans for a long soak in the bath and an hour in the garden with her book vanished into the ether, but she reminded herself that she could do that any night. The priority right now was to make sure Abby felt at home.
“That’s a kind offer,” Abby said, “but it has been a long day and I’ll probably just take a shower and collapse into bed.”
“You definitely need to eat something before you do that,” Evie said. “The food here is amazing. I recommend the fish pie. If you’re tired, Tristan can bring it up to your room, can’t you, Tris?”
He looked at Evie and there was a gleam of something in his eyes. “If you want the room to smell of fish, sure.”
Abby gave him a cool smile. “I don’t eat much in the evenings. Usually just an apple.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “An apple?”
“An apple?” Evie echoed him, appalled. “I’d die if all I ate was an apple.” She decided this conversation had gone on long enough and grabbed the key from Tristan. “Thanks for this. You’re obviously busy. We’ll let you get on with things.”
And scowl at someone else.
Without waiting for Tristan to respond, she headed insidethe inn and up a narrow flight of stairs. The walls were covered in black-and-white photos of boats. Fishing boats. Sail-boats. A lifeboat and crew.
At the top of the stairs she opened a door and took another short flight of stairs up to the Lookout.
“How old is this place?” Abby was staring at one of the photos on the walls.
“Old. Seventeenth century, I think. Maybe older. The cellars were used by smugglers. Some of the rooms still have trapdoors and hidden cupboards. They were good at hiding contraband. Sometimes they sank it in the harbour. This room—” she fiddled with the key and managed to unlock the door “—was used as a lookout. Hence the name.”
“What were they looking out for?”
