NINE
When he opened the door, Mark was wearing a red-and-white checked apron over jeans and a T-shirt. Aretha Franklin’s voice belted towards Ellie from inside.
‘Hi. I was just tidyin’ up. Come in.’ Mark stepped aside as Ellie entered the hallway. ‘Leave your shoes ’ere if you want.’
The hallway was neat and tidy, and Ellie tried to mask her surprise that the whole wall on one side was covered with a purpose-built bookshelf stuffed with novels.
‘You read a lot,’ she said, then kicked herself for stating the obvious.
‘Yeah. I’m on a crime kick at the mo. Used to be history. I try and read the big prize shortlists, but I don’t always get the time.’ He picked up a heavy hardback Ellie had seen advertised in magazines as one of the big literary hits of the year. ‘This one almost beat me. Worth stickin’ with it, though. You read it?’
‘No. I don’t read a lot of fiction,’ she confessed. ‘I work long hours, and when I get home I usually go to the gym or out with friends. I spend a lot of my day reading legal briefs, so it takes it out of you a bit.’ Ellie kicked herself for not reading more important novels. Or any novels, come to that.
‘Fair enough. You should, though. It’s really good.’ He put it back on the shelf. ‘Come in, anyway,’
Ellie followed Mark through a winding hallway. The house was one of the terraces that overlooked the cove, and while some of them had been converted into flats, Mark’s seemed to be just one house.
‘So is all this yours?’ she asked, looking around. A wide staircase led upstairs from the hallway which featured what looked like an original Victorian tiled floor. Everything was painted white.
‘All mine. It’s a four-bedroom house.’ He led her into a surprisingly large, open-plan kitchen-diner which had obviously been extended: three large windows were built into the ceiling, and wide, floor-to-ceiling windows and doors led out onto the garden.
‘It’s lovely.’ Ellie looked around at the state-of-the-art kitchen and fashionable décor.
‘You didn’t think someone like me ’ad a KitchenAid.’ He observed her as she took in Mark’s expensive gadgets.
‘That’s a really nice coffee machine,’ she said. ‘I’ve got the model before this one, at home. They’re really expensive.’
‘Good coffee’s worth payin’ for.’ He grinned. ‘Want one?’
‘I’d love one, thanks.’ Ellie went over to the sliding doors, which were open, and stepped into the garden. Clearly, running your own garage in Cornwall paid well. She didn’t want to ask if all of this just came from whatever Mark had made in his business, or whether he’d had an inheritance, perhaps, but she was dying to.
‘I’ll bring it out,’ he called.
Outside, the garden stretched easily a hundred feet long and about the same in width. Mature trees lined the edges alongside a high hedge, but there was still plenty of sun on the lawn, even though the garden was north-facing. A black rattan garden furniture set with cream cushions sat on a large deck overlooking the lawn. A profusion of summer flowers lined the beds on the right-hand side.
Ellie sat on one of the chairs and took it all in. You would never have known that any of this existed behind the façade of the terraces overlooking the beach. It was like its own little world out there: an English garden oasis. She took in a deep breath and let it out again. There was no noise except for birdsong and Mark’s radio in the background. Peace entered her body, and she breathed it in again, gratefully.
‘One coffee.’ Mark stepped out onto the deck, holding a tray with two cups, a milk jug and a sugar bowl that held the rough-edged sugar cubes she knew were the premium kind, because she bought them too – one of the few sweet treats she’d ever allowed herself had been one cube in her coffee when she made one at home.
He set the tray down on the glass-topped table and sat down, allowing a space between them.
‘Didn’t know if you took sugar, or wanted it black. I frothed the milk,’ he indicated the jug, ‘if you want,’
‘Thanks, Mark.’ Ellie took the mug and added a sugar cube, then a splash of the milk. She sipped it. ‘Aaagh. That’s good,’
‘I get the beans from Worthington’s, in London,’ he said. ‘You probably know it. Best I’ve found.’
‘I love Worthington’s.’ Ellie sipped her coffee again. ‘I go to the one in Borough Market most weeks,’
‘No way! I’ve always wanted to go.’ He smiled at her over his mug.
‘I’ll take you, some time,’ she said, without thinking. ‘Oh. I mean… if you ever come to London.’
‘I’d love that,’ he said, quietly, his mouth turning up at one corner as he sipped his coffee.
There was a brief, comfortable silence, which Ellie broke by saying, ‘Your garden is gorgeous, by the way.’ It wasn’t that she felt she needed to – it was actually nice, sitting quietly with Mark.
‘Thanks.’
