it.’
‘Is that why you want to stay in Polperro by yourself? To grieve for Joey even more?’
I heard the slightly impatient note in his voice. He obviously thought I’d done more than enough mourning to appease the gods of grief, who knelt keening in the skies with their requiems, black robes and crucifixes.
‘It’s hard to explain. I need to be in Polperro alone with Joey’s… spirit. I’m hoping if I stay here for a while, where it all happened, I’ll get some kind of… closure.’
Oh horrible, horrible word, implying that grief and death come in a neat parcel, to be wrapped and sellotaped, and, who knows, even tied with a bow and a consoling little label advising you your ‘closure’ has arrived at last. Enjoy!
But right now I had to comfort Danny, had to tell him what he wanted to hear. And he had to accept it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
We left the Peugeot in the car park and walked the short distance to the Crumplehorn Inn, the big ancient pub with an old watermill in the front courtyard which marked the top end of Polperro before the lane slopes languorously down to the harbour. The Inn is just across the road from the attractive row of little houses, roses wreathed round every door, known as the Crumplehorn cottages – where Ben now lived. I felt nervous. Ben was the last person I wanted to see at the moment. Later, yes, but right now, with Danny at my side knowing nothing of my previous meeting with him, I hoped the fact that it was only ten-thirty in the morning meant he wouldn’t be in the pub.
We could tell immediately that our appointed guest had arrived; he was sitting by himself in the Inn’s front courtyard drinking coffee. We’d never met him before, but Eric Mayhew Esq. couldn’t possibly have presented a more flamboyant picture of a seaside estate agent, specialising in properties in quirky historic villages such as this one. He wore a crumpled beige linen summer suit, a paisley cravat and a battered Panama hat. He would have managed to look slightly louche and arty, were it not for the mousey little moustache on his upper lip, which he fussily kept dabbing with an ornate art nouveau handkerchief. He sprang to his feet as soon as he saw us.
‘You must be Mrs Gabriel,’ he drawled in an unconvincing upper-middle-class accent. I acknowledged that I was, and introduced Danny.
‘Aha! The protective son, come to keep an eye on Mummy. That’s the ticket,’ he said offensively. I watched him sourly, said our time was short, and could he show us what he’d got.
‘But of course, of course, although I had hoped to buy you a coffee first and tell you all about this wonderful, unique village of ours.’
I told him I was very familiar with Polperro, had been coming here for years with my family, and so I didn’t need an introduction. He looked disappointed, then arch. He wagged his finger at me like Leslie Phillips in an old black and white movie. I half expected him to wink and say ‘Ding, dong !’
‘Don’t you even want to know about our pride and joy – the Miniature Village and Merlin’s Land of Legend?’ he twinkled.
I smiled thinly. ‘Mr Mayhew, I think Danny here could tell you more about the Land of Legend than you could bear to hear. Added to which, we’re hardly the target audience, knocking on a bit as we undoubtedly are.’
‘Ah yes, Mrs Gabriel. But a lady of your age is bound to be expecting grandchildren soon, don’t you think?’ And he actually winked at Danny. ‘I’m sure this fine young man has a twinkle or two in his eye, don’t you, lad?’ And he actually nudged Danny with his elbow.
Danny, more patient than I, was trying hard not to laugh. I, on the other hand, had had enough. I drew myself up to my unimpressive full height of five foot five, and said in my most school-marmish voice, ‘I’d like to see these properties now, if you don’t mind, Mr Mayhew. We don’t have much time. I believe you said there were two I might like?’
All the time
‘Is that why you want to stay in Polperro by yourself? To grieve for Joey even more?’
I heard the slightly impatient note in his voice. He obviously thought I’d done more than enough mourning to appease the gods of grief, who knelt keening in the skies with their requiems, black robes and crucifixes.
‘It’s hard to explain. I need to be in Polperro alone with Joey’s… spirit. I’m hoping if I stay here for a while, where it all happened, I’ll get some kind of… closure.’
Oh horrible, horrible word, implying that grief and death come in a neat parcel, to be wrapped and sellotaped, and, who knows, even tied with a bow and a consoling little label advising you your ‘closure’ has arrived at last. Enjoy!
But right now I had to comfort Danny, had to tell him what he wanted to hear. And he had to accept it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
We left the Peugeot in the car park and walked the short distance to the Crumplehorn Inn, the big ancient pub with an old watermill in the front courtyard which marked the top end of Polperro before the lane slopes languorously down to the harbour. The Inn is just across the road from the attractive row of little houses, roses wreathed round every door, known as the Crumplehorn cottages – where Ben now lived. I felt nervous. Ben was the last person I wanted to see at the moment. Later, yes, but right now, with Danny at my side knowing nothing of my previous meeting with him, I hoped the fact that it was only ten-thirty in the morning meant he wouldn’t be in the pub.
We could tell immediately that our appointed guest had arrived; he was sitting by himself in the Inn’s front courtyard drinking coffee. We’d never met him before, but Eric Mayhew Esq. couldn’t possibly have presented a more flamboyant picture of a seaside estate agent, specialising in properties in quirky historic villages such as this one. He wore a crumpled beige linen summer suit, a paisley cravat and a battered Panama hat. He would have managed to look slightly louche and arty, were it not for the mousey little moustache on his upper lip, which he fussily kept dabbing with an ornate art nouveau handkerchief. He sprang to his feet as soon as he saw us.
‘You must be Mrs Gabriel,’ he drawled in an unconvincing upper-middle-class accent. I acknowledged that I was, and introduced Danny.
‘Aha! The protective son, come to keep an eye on Mummy. That’s the ticket,’ he said offensively. I watched him sourly, said our time was short, and could he show us what he’d got.
‘But of course, of course, although I had hoped to buy you a coffee first and tell you all about this wonderful, unique village of ours.’
I told him I was very familiar with Polperro, had been coming here for years with my family, and so I didn’t need an introduction. He looked disappointed, then arch. He wagged his finger at me like Leslie Phillips in an old black and white movie. I half expected him to wink and say ‘Ding, dong !’
‘Don’t you even want to know about our pride and joy – the Miniature Village and Merlin’s Land of Legend?’ he twinkled.
I smiled thinly. ‘Mr Mayhew, I think Danny here could tell you more about the Land of Legend than you could bear to hear. Added to which, we’re hardly the target audience, knocking on a bit as we undoubtedly are.’
‘Ah yes, Mrs Gabriel. But a lady of your age is bound to be expecting grandchildren soon, don’t you think?’ And he actually winked at Danny. ‘I’m sure this fine young man has a twinkle or two in his eye, don’t you, lad?’ And he actually nudged Danny with his elbow.
Danny, more patient than I, was trying hard not to laugh. I, on the other hand, had had enough. I drew myself up to my unimpressive full height of five foot five, and said in my most school-marmish voice, ‘I’d like to see these properties now, if you don’t mind, Mr Mayhew. We don’t have much time. I believe you said there were two I might like?’
All the time
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