“Oh. Um… that’s what ‘kivi’ means. In Estonian. It’s street slang for cannabis. I had an Estonian friend at uni. And when we partook of the drug itself, he…”
“Stone!”Kivi burst out.What the actual fuck?“That’s what it really means. In Estonian. I’ve never touched cannabis in my life.”
Face on fire, she left, and the door slammed behind her. She hadn’t meant to slam it. But damn, it had felt good.
A search on Google showed her that Miss Saltmarshe had been right about her name’s other meaning. Kivi had never heard it before. If that was where Miss Saltmarshe’s mind had gone after being introduced to her, how many times had that happened in the past without her knowledge? How many people had thought of cannabis upon meeting her?
And why couldn’t the woman have kept it to herself?She and Miss Saskia Saltmarshe were not going to get on well if the woman really had as poor a filter as that. She huffed an aggrieved sigh as she descended the stairs, aware that she was probably overreacting, but recognising her reaction as one borne of stress.
It looked like it was going to be a long six weeks.
Chapter Five
Saskia
“Good one, Saltmarshe,” she muttered to herself as the door slammed and Kivi’s rapid footsteps grew fainter. “Great first impression. And second impression.”
So that was two apologies she owed her new temporary landlady now. One for being rude, and one… well, two for being rude. Her filter wasn’t normally that bad. There was just something about Miss Kiera Chadwick that had taken the wind out of her sails. Probably the shock of discovering Dog Woman was the same as the proprietor of the B&B. No, not B&B – guest house. She would have to go and apologise at dinner.
Now she slipped her shoes off, lay them neatly by the door, and observed the space. It was exactly as it had looked online: clean and homely, with a very nautical theme. A sandy-coloured wooden floor, the grooves of which tickled her feet pleasantly. Blue bedclothes and a blue chair, with white curtains, two white tables, and a white rug. She sat back down in the chair, and picked up the sheet of paper that Kivi had mentioned. There was actually two, so she selected the top one first.
Welcome to Sandy Dunes Guest House, Miltree!
We’ve probably just met, but my name is Kiera Chadwick, and I run this guest house with the assistance of my sisterEvangeline. Sandy Dunes has been open since 2017, and in that time we have received hundreds if not thousands of wonderful guests. If you’ve been before, welcome back, and if not, thank you for choosing us for your stay!
Now, here’s what you need to know…
Saskia skimmed through the following few paragraphs about mealtimes, technology and room cleaning. Partaking of the evening meal, albeit at an extra charge, would probably work out cheaper and more convenient than dining out every night. The document also contained instructions for the coffee machine, where to find the chalkboard detailing the evening’s offerings, and the WiFi code. All pretty standard, until she came to the final paragraph.
We are pleased to support a number of local businesses at Sandy Dunes. All of our baked goods are supplied by the Miltree bakery, and the floral arrangements around the house are supplied by Beachy Blooms, the local florist. The decorative plates on the walls were made by the children of the Miltree Primary School back in 2018, and many of the groceries with which our meals are made come from Elliot’s Greengrocer.
This was heartening to see. Community spirit had been such a big thing during the pandemic, and it appeared to be a central part of the sisters’ ethos. In fact, given that one of her articles was going to beaboutsmall businesses, she should probably talk to them both at some point to learn more. The village of Miltree seemed as good a place to start as any.
She set down the folder and looked around the room. It sounded like Kivi and Eva kept their place ship-shape – with an emphasis on the ‘ship’, if the ocean-themed accoutrements around the room were anything to go by. It was certainly a beautiful place. The chair she was sitting in enveloped her like awarm hug, and the bed – she reached over and pressed down on the mattress – was the perfect balance of solid and soft. The real test, of course, would come when she lay on it. Which – now she yawned – would probably be sooner than she’d expected. She’d been on the road since five o’clock, hoping to beat some of the rush hour traffic, and she hadn’t gone to bed until after midnight because of her mum’s party. Seven hours of driving after four hours of sleep was probably the reason for her lack of filter – and her short temper earlier that afternoon.
With that in mind, she removed her clothes and lay down on the bed. It was one of her idiosyncrasies – she couldn’t bear to dirty a clean bed with outdoor clothes. It did occur to her to shut the curtains, but she was on the second floor. Nobody was going to be peeping in, were they? So barring the obvious – fire alarms and window cleaners – she should be safe. Both of those were of such little probability, she didn’t see the need for covering up. Which was good, because her eyes were already shutting.
She hadn’t set an alarm, so it was of her own accord that she woke a few hours later. She almost rubbed her eyes before remembering that she still had mascara on, and rolled over to check her phone. Then she gave an audible gasp, and rocketed out of bed, upon seeing that it was twenty past six.Dinner was supposed to be at six! Another black mark for me, then.
As quickly as she could, she put back on her clothes from earlier, cursing herself for tossing them aside so carelessly because now they looked decidedly rumpled. But she hadn’t unpacked the rest of her clothes yet – and they’d be creased too, so she needed to locate an iron – so it was this or pyjamas. And that would not be appropriate. Not under any circumstances, and even more so since they’d thought she was some hotshot CEO.
She hadn’t exactly been shown where the dining room was, but as she got to the ground floor, all she had to do was follow the sound of cutlery. She tentatively peered around the door, to see two families sitting at tables of four, mid-way through what appeared to be delicious plates of fishcakes and salad. Her stomach grumbled, and her gaze landed on a table for one over by the window. Half expecting a furious Kivi to descend on her any minute, she slinked over towards it.
“Good evening, Miss Saltmarshe.” The woman was clearly trying to keep the froideur out of her tone and the professionalismin,but Saskia could feel it. She looked up at Kivi, who had appeared out of a side room that was probably the kitchen. “Are you ready for some dinner?”
“More than ready,” Saskia said, looking up at her, but before she could say anything, Kivi had disappeared back the way she’d come. A couple of minutes later, she reappeared with a plate – two fishcakes, some minted new potatoes and salad.
“I kept it warm for you. Sauces are available from the table by the door,” she said. “Will there be anything else?”
“Will you take a seat, for a second?” Saskia said. “I need to speak to you, but I don’t want other guests to overhear.”
Kivi shot a brief, longing look over towards the kitchen again, but she did as Saskia bid, pulling over a chair from a nearby table. “What can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to apologise,” Saskia said quietly. “Two – no, three times over. I was rude to you at the beach, and I was rude to you earlier when we were talking about names. And then I was late for dinner, which is unacceptable, particularly when you’ve gone to the trouble of preparing it. So I can only offer you my sincerest apologies, on all three counts. I’ve been-” She stopped herself before she could delve into anything more personal.
Kivi nodded. “You’ve been…?”
“Trying to work on myself,” Saskia said before she could filter it. “Trying to be less of a bitch. But it’s difficult.”
