‘What did Horace and Walter say about the book?’
‘Neither ever commented on it publicly. They felt that if you don’t fuel the fire, the flames go out, and that’s exactly what happened. This book went unnoticed.’
‘This all sounds very cloak and dagger.’ Pippa’s curiosity was thoroughly piqued as she picked up the book and turned it over in her hands.
‘We don’t know how it got into my shop,’ shared Amelia. ‘It’s not one of mine.’
‘You think someone planted it here on purpose?’ Pippa threw the comment out there.
‘Possibly.’ Amelia looked thoughtful. ‘There’s been a buzz on the island ever since they announced Horace was coming.’
‘Maybe someone thought it was time to stir up the past. Literally,’ added Pippa, putting the book back in her bag. ‘It was lovely to meet you,’ she said, turning back to Pete, ‘but I need to grab some lunch before the convention starts again.’
‘There’s a possibility tomorrow’s schedule of events may be cancelled, as visitors would have to leave the island tonight if the causeway is going to be shut,’ observed Pete, as they all looked through the window.
The sky was dark and the rain was heavier than before, if that was even possible. A set of headlights edged its way cautiously down Lighthouse Lane, illuminating the streams of flood water.
‘That looks a very posh car…’ Pippa began before catching sight of Horace Vale sitting in the back seat. ‘It’s Horace!’ Her heart was suddenly tapping against her ribs like a tiny metronome. ‘He’s actually here.’ She could hear the excitement in her own voice.
‘You’d think you’d just seen royalty,’ teased Amelia.
‘Heisroyalty in the clock world. I can’t wait for this interview.’
Back out on the lane after saying her goodbyes, Pippa pulled her hood back up and watched as the car vanished from sight. Feeling famished, she cut across to Beachcomber Bakery, where she picked out a warm cheese and onion pasty that was still steaming gently in its little paper bag, then she carefully navigated the flooded road towards the bay.
That’s when she saw it: a tiny wooden beach hut tucked into the path in front of the bay. Rain beaded on its painted roof and a string of fairy lights glowed warmly against the grey afternoon. A hand-painted driftwood sign swung gently above the serving hatch, the cheerful, curling letters announcing:
The Cosy Kettle
Hot Drinks for Rainy Days
Beneath it, a chalkboard propped in a sand-filled bucket listed the menu in cheerful, looping handwriting:
Sea-salted caramel dream
Coconut cocoa
Orange zest
Raspberry ripple
Honeycomb crunch
Dark chocolate & lime
Someone had doodled little raindrops, cocoa beans, and a smiling mug sheltering under an umbrella, clearly enjoying itself despite the weather.
Pippa hovered, dithering– because how was one supposed to choose between raspberry ripple and salted caramel?– before finally settling on the sea-salted caramel dream. The rich, velvety hot chocolate was poured into a recyclable paper cup, and crowned with a swirl of whipped cream, a caramel drizzle, and a single mini truffle tucked into the lid like a secret.
‘That looks amazing,’ Pippa said, genuinely impressed.
‘Thank you,’ the woman behind the hatch laughed. ‘Owning this hut is terrible for my waistline. But honestly, all these flavours are worth every extra mile I end up walking along the beach. I’m Becca, by the way. Are you here for the convention?’
‘I am. Pippa,’ she said, reaching out to shake Becca’s hand.
Recognition flickered. ‘Ahh. The runaway bride.’
‘Is there anyone who doesn’t know?’
