Page 15

‘Ow.’

The tiniest sliver of wood had penetrated her fingertip.

She sucked it and managed to dislodge it with the nail of her other hand, wincing in the process.

Much as she hated to agree with Matt, the building did need urgent repair work. What kind of impression did it present to their clients – both the artistes and the venues and customers wanting to book with them?

Yet, how much disruption it would cause too, and not only to the business. Having Matt invading her space on a regular basis was her worst nightmare. He could drop in at any time.

Outside, a man yelled abuse at a seagull who had sent his chips flying. Two pugs started fighting and the barking set her head throbbing.

With a sigh, Zennor turned away from the window and opened the contacts file on her desktop.

She’d deal with Matt when he came. Her immediate priority was to find a mermaid at short notice and some entertainment for the party.

An hour later, Zennor put down the phone, all avenues exhausted on the mermaid front. One had moved to Northumberland and the other said she’d have loved to do the party were it not for the fact she was eight months pregnant.

Zennor forced herself out of her seat, downed a large glass of water, locked up and headed into the streets. The mizzle had stopped and the sun was trying to break through.

She headed along the Wharf and up the Digey in the hope her favourite bakery still had some pasties left. Outside the hair salon, she stopped to take a call. It was Matt, saying he was tied up with something else and couldn’t make it until later in the week.

Zennor didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. She didn’t relish the work starting but if it had to be done, she wanted it over with. Her mind in a whirl, she spotted a familiar face in the chair next to the window.

Lips pursed in disgust, Sybil Brandon was leafing through a copy of a gossip glossy while her foils worked their magic on her long hair. Sybil, in addition to being a friend of Zennor’s mother and something of an honorary aunt to her – especially since her dad had died – was also Matt’s godmother and a distant cousin of his mum. Sybil, a professional storyteller, had also been one of the founding clients of Kernow Entz and they saw each other at least once a week.

Sybil caught sight of Zennor through the window, smiled, crooked a finger and beckoned Zennor inside the salon. Perfect timing, thought Zennor, replacing her phone in the pocket of her dungarees and following the siren’s call.

Zennor greeted Debs, the salon owner, who was blow-drying a woman’s bob. Probably a tourist by the look of her beetroot-red face. Zennor knew it wouldn’t stay straight for more than five minutes in the sea breeze and humidity.

‘Ouch,’ Sybil mouthed to Zennor. She’d seen Zennor’s slight eyebrow raise at the bob lady and had come to the same conclusion.

Zennor took an empty chair next to Sybil. ‘I’m glad I spotted you because I need a favour. A rather big favour. I was hoping you could get me out of a hole.’

‘If I can, you know I will, darling. What is it?’

‘Shilpa has asked me to organise some entertainment for a small charity that arranges “dreams come true” for children in need. She’s hosting a party at White Rocks and promised six little ones that they could meet a “real-life mermaid” but then the person they’d booked had to cancel. Now they’re left in the lurch.’

‘Well, I hope you’re not expecting me to step in – or swim in.’

‘No.’ Zennor laughed. ‘I was hoping you could help me with another part of the challenge. Shilpa asked me to source some entertainment pre the mermaid’s appearance.’

Sybil eyed Zennor warily. ‘And you hoped I might be able to act as a warm-up woman?’

‘If you could tell some stories to the kids, I’d be so grateful, but I appreciate it’s short notice. Next Saturday afternoon.’

‘Hmm. That is short notice but I had a cancellation too so I can probably fit it in, especially if it’s for a good cause. I could get the little ones going with some stories about mermaids and pirates. It sounds right up my street.’

‘I thought so, and I don’t expect you to do it for free. Shilpa is paying.’ Zennor was scrupulous about not expecting artistes to offer their services free of charge. There was far too much exploitation and devaluing of the arts in general and performers needed to pay their bills as much as any plumber or lawyer. ‘After all, Debs isn’t doing your hair for free, is she?’

‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’ Sybil scoffed. She tapped the foils on her head. ‘You have no idea how expensive it is to look this natural.’

Zennor laughed. Sybil cultivated her Cornish Storyteller image with great care, including getting her long hair highlighted in a beautiful array of silver and grey tones. Today, however, she was in her usual uniform of jeans, a white T-shirt and trainers.

‘Mind you, I’ll have to let the wind and salt air tangle it for a couple of days before the gig. Can’t be looking too polished for the punters, can I?’

‘No, definitely not. You’re one of my most in-demand clients and I want it to stay that way.’

Debs swept past with a tray of hair colour in her arms. ‘Won’t be long now, Sybil. Another couple of minutes and you’ll be done.’