It was a formal way to finish the conversation, but something about the woman warranted the courtesy. With a half-wave, thewoman picked up her handbag and started walking back the way Kivi had come. She didn’t look so angry any more, but the set of her body was glum. Kivi wondered what she was here for. In her peplum blouse, trousers and wedge boots, she implied more ‘corporate’ than ‘holidaymaker’. But then, not much could be gleaned from a person’s outfit. Not down here. She needed to lay off the fashion magazines.
Once she was sure the woman was a good distance away and out of Toto’s remit, she unclipped his leash again. All that wagging and attention-seeking must have worn him out, for he didn’t stray far this time as she continued to walk up the beach. It wasn’t long before they came to the steep, winding set of stairs that would spit the two of them out at the top of the village. She needed to step on it, though, if she had any hope of being ready for her next guest, who was arriving sometime after three.
“Come on, dorky dog,” she shouted, and upped the pace. Her mind was already racing, thinking of everything she had to do when she got home – relieve Eva of her duties, make sure the new guest’s room was set up, have a shower…
But the forlorn look on the beach woman’s face stuck in her mind, even as she headed for home. Somewhere, while she was fussing Toto, there had been a chink in her armour. Kivi silently wished her well, that her pain would end soon. It had been palpable, even by a stranger.
Chapter Three
Saskia
“Nosy… bloody… woman…” Saskia grumbled to herself as she tramped back along the beach the way she’d come. “Sticking her nose into my business. Does she think I’m off my chump, or something? She’d do well to stay out of people’s private lives. Not everyone might be quite so nice about it.”
So much for becoming a nicer person.
Her thoughts continued to roll around in this manner for the entire walk back to the car. She’d been so lost in thought – unhappy thought – when she’d initially been walking, she’d ended up going much further than she intended. Ordinarily, she might have panicked that she was lost, but at this point she didn’t really care. She’d get to the guest house eventually; she still had an hour and a half to spare. Enough time for a spot of lunch from the bakery she’d driven past on her way down to the beach, and to practice her ‘nice face’ again.
Half an hour later, she had acquired a prawn-laden ciabatta, and was sitting in her car attempting to eat it. They certainly didn’t stint on the seafood – she should have guessed by the disposable wooden spoon the guy had given her with a wink. She wasn’t entirely sure where her next meal would be coming from – probably from the pub, unless this B&B somehow did dinner as well as breakfast – so she forced herself to eat the whole thing.Prawns were protein, after all, and lettuce was a vegetable, so she needn’t feel too bad about the carbs in the bread…stop it, Saskia,she told herself firmly.
Having worked in fashion for the last eight years, she still had yet to retrain her brain from the harmful thought processes that she had once regarded as normal. It didn’t take a genius to work out why eating disorders were so common in the industry. When a person’s value was based on the number they produced on the weighing scales, that number had to go down, the two primary methods for this being restriction of calories and maximisation of exercise. Saskia had been ardent followers of both until she left the industry. Now, being freelance, she could pick and choose her work, and she had picked and chosen her lifestyle in the same way. A healthier lifestyle. Treating her body the way it deserved to be treated.
By the time she’d eaten the sandwich, and followed it by an apple she’d picked up at a service station along with her morning coffee, it was a quarter past two. The guest house was only a few minutes up the road – she’d driven past it on her way down to the beach – and so she pulled her laptop from its case beside her. She was down here to work, after all.British Livingmagazine weren’t commissioning her to sit on her backside and take in the view.
Actually, no. That was exactly what they were paying her to do. To soak up the Cornish atmosphere, then channel it into six articles, each exploring a different facet of Cornish life. They’d told her to go wild, make it her own. Currently, the topics she had were: Fashion (naturally); Beaches; Animals/Wildlife; Events; Local Businesses; and Food. She’d already had her first taste of the latter – no pun intended, as she noted with a quirk of the mouth – and so she wrote a couple of sentences underneaththat heading, which she could flesh out later. Then it was a case of scouring her brain for ideas, little titbits to get her started.
Rain jackets in June!!she noted underneath the heading of Fashion, thinking of Kiera from the beach. She rolled her eyes at herself –why are you thinking of her again?She supposed it was the sheer bizarreness of the woman’s outfit that had stuck in her mind. Not only a jacket most suited to autumn or spring, but Wellington boots too! Did she intend on walking through a swamp? Saskia’s wedge boots had fared just fine with the sand, if with a little discomfort from the shingle. Was this a Cornish thing, unseasonable attire? Or just a Kiera thing? She supposed she’d never find out. Not unless she bumped into Kiera again – at which point an apology would be required before anything else. Now the hangriness had passed, she realised how rude she’d been to the poor stranger. Sure, she’d been in a mood, but that was no excuse.
She couldn’t exactly write that in any of her articles, though, so it was with some exasperation that she looked at the clock again to see that she’d been staring at her screen for nearly half an hour. The time had disappeared while she’d been thinking. A quick trip to the bin to stretch her legs, and then it would be time to go to the B&B.
The bin was attached to a wall, so she headed over and put her rubbish in it. Then, out of curiosity more than anything, she looked over the wall, and flinched. It was a sheer drop beneath it. And it was only at navel-height for her… what if a kid were to climb it? What then?
Health and safety perhaps isn’t such a big thing down here in Cornwall,she thought to herself on the return trip.Best not write that either, though.
Chapter Four
Kivi
“Okay,” Kivi breathed, skidding to a halt in the guests’ lounge. “We’re done. Everything’s done. Bang on time. We’re good.”
“You talking to yourself again?” Eva said from the dining room. Kivi jumped out of her skin.
“Jesus Christ, Ev,” she said. “What are you still doing here? I thought you left half an hour ago.”
“You think I was going to leave this place unattended while you were in the shower?” Eva raised her eyebrows as she appeared in the doorway. “What if one of the guests had come looking for you? I know I’m a poor substitute, as your sister, but I still work here. Even if they rarely see me because I’m always behind-the-scenes.”
“True.” Kivi scrubbed at her blonde hair, still damp because she hadn’t had time to dry it properly. “That’s why I never normally shower during the day. I just got so sweaty on my walk with Toto, and I didn’t want to greet the new guest looking like I’d been pulled through a hedge backwards. Not if she’s staying for six weeks. And especially not with the nameSaskia Saltmarshe –I mean, did you everhearof such a posh name?”
“Ah. I see the problem. I see why you were running around this place like a human whirlwind before you went out. You’reworried that this place won’t be good enough for her. But didn’t you say that the booking was made by some secretary at a magazine?”
“Yes, that’s exactly it!” Kivi turned to her, panic gripping her again. “British Livingmagazine. It’s like theVogueof lifestyle magazines. This Saltmarshe lady is probably the CEO! Far too important to make such a booking herself. She’ll probably be arriving in a bloody limo, or a fancy new BMW, or a-”
“Ten year old Honda Jazz?” Eva interrupted. She was looking out of the window, and Kivi followed her gaze to where a small silver car was bumping across the gravel.
“That’s probably her personal assistant, or something.” Kivi felt almost electrocuted. “Oh, shit, there was only one room booked, right? She’s not coming with a whole entourage?”
“You took the call,” Eva pointed out. “But at no point did you mention more than one woman coming. Did you Google her?”
“No, of course I didn’t Google her! I’m nervous enough already, without finding out any more about her.” Kivi wrung her hands, watching the car outside come to a stop in a free space. But Eva stepped in front of her, blocking her gaze.
