‘Why do we need gay relationships in soap operas? Don’t we have enough of them irl? Ramming down our throats much??’
‘Majority support gay rights, new poll finds apparently. Well I am proud to be one who DOES NOT!!! aka SANE!!!’
Kivi’s heart lurched upwards into her throat. It was a physical sensation, a full-body blow, as if Saskia had just walked in herself and given her a punch square to the gut. The phrasing and the punctuation were very young and immature, but the invective behind it was not. That was a rock-solid foundation of homophobia right there, and it made Kivi feel sick to her stomach.
And I’m planning a gay wedding with her. Why? What possible motive could she have for doing this, if she hates gay people so much?
At that moment, over in his bed, Toto rolled over onto his back with a grunt. He hadn’t noticed her presence, but his movement brought her back to Earth. She slammed the laptop shut, hands shaking, and her body moved back to her own bed on autopilot, only just remembering to turn the lights back off.
It seemed she had been very wrong about Saskia as a person. Not just about her eating.
Very wrong indeed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Saskia
Over the next day, it became abundantly clear that something was wrong with Kivi.
At first, when she was distant at breakfast, Saskia put it down to a bad night’s sleep. She certainly looked pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes that she had clearly tried to disguise with too much concealer. Only someone who was looking would have noticed. She kept up her usual stream of cheery chatter with the rest of the guests, but barely said two words to Saskia. Trying to be optimistic, Saskia decided that it was a question of comfort levels. Kivi knew her better than she did the other guests, so she was prioritising them, knowing that Saskia wouldn’t kick off or walk out if she felt neglected.
It was a grey morning outside, so Saskia decided that her trip to Truro could wait until tomorrow. Today was a day for writing. Her Cornwall series was really starting to take shape, and she had sent an early draft of the Fashion article to Frankie atBritish Living,who had given it a double thumbs-up. So she closeted herself in her favourite chair in the guest lounge, noise-cancelling headphones on, and got to work. She had a very boring article about the 2007 subprime housing crisis to write.Never mind the fact that she had only been a teenager back then, and an impudent chit of one at that.
Not that the bosses ofFinance Gone Byknew the latter. Luckily, nobody did. If the world found out just how nasty she had been, her career would be over.
After a little while, she spotted Kivi going for a walk. Toto seemed his usual lolloping self, but even Kivi’s rear view looked angry. Her strides were large and heavy, and she seemed to bristle with tension. She must have had an argument with Eva – although when Eva herself came through the guest lounge to vacuum, she looked unperturbed. Kivi didn’t seem any happier when she came back forty-five minutes later – her body language was still the same, and now Saskia could see her face, set into a scowl.
When Saskia got up to make herself a cup of coffee with the guest lounge’s machine, she discovered that her favourite coffee pods were out. There was a little gap where they should have been. Saskia debated the success of seeking Kivi out, but her need for caffeine won over, so she made her way through to the kitchen and poked her head around the door. She had really hoped to find Eva, but no such luck. Kivi was there, beating at a bowl of cake batter vigorously. She didn’t spot Saskia straight away, but when she did, her scowl only darkened.
“What did that cake batter ever do to you?” Saskia commented lightly, hoping to see at least a glimmer of a smile. No such luck. Kivi only huffed, then finally looked up, her movements halting.
“Can I help, Miss Saltmarshe?”
Ouch.The formality was like a blow. Saskia didn’t have time to think any further, though, because Kivi was looking at her expectantly.
“Do you have any…” Her words failed her.
“Any what?”
“Uh… um… coffee pods. The caramel ones.”
Kivi looked like she was about to huff again, but clearly stopped herself. She wiped her hands on the towel at her waist, then went to a big walk-in pantry that Saskia hadn’t noticed before. She came out after a couple of seconds, then re-emerged with the white and orange box, which she practically launched at Saskia.
“Thanks.”
“You can fill it up yourself, can’t you? Just collapse the box and put it in the bin. Eva will empty it later.”
“Sure thing,” Saskia said, but her feet wouldn’t move. Kivi returned to her former spot and picked up her spatula again, then looked back over at Saskia.
“Was there anything else?”
“Uh… no. Thank you.” Finally, her feet co-operated.
By the time she had made the coffee and sat down with it, Saskia had decided that the fire flickering through her body was mostly borne of indignation. There was simply no need for such rudeness, particularly with no clear motive. Yes, Kivi had clearly had a bad night or a headache or something, but she was an adult, with paying guests partaking of her business. There was a time and place to display such petulance, and it wasn’t when a guest was around.
Kivi’s mood had not improved by dinner time. Luckily, the weather had, the grey mist of the morning giving way to brilliant sunshine and much more seasonable temperatures – fitting, it being the summer solstice. Saskia spotted Toto frolicking about in the back garden when she sat down for dinner – other guests had spotted him too, and they were all smiling and commentingto each other at how happy he was. There was a lovely sense of camaraderie in the dining room, until Kivi walked in, and the atmosphere was suddenly cut with a knife.
She didn’t even say anything. It was just her presence. Her energy – or lack of it. Saskia had always thought that auras were something that only hippies or witches could see, but something about Kivi screamedred.What that meant, she had no idea, but it didn’t suit her. Although perhaps that was because she was wearing orange today.
