I want to do with it. It tells you itself if you give it a chance. This one has been a bit more of a challenge. I’m out of my comfort zone over here on the wild north coast and on the moor. Up until now I’ve stayed in the same area around St Mawes and I’ve got a trusty network of chaps who always work with me – a plumber, an electrician and an amazing carpenter – so this was a bit of a chance. I live in whichever cottage I’m working on until it’s absolutely right. It’s very exciting when you get just the right materials or design of some particular feature. Then I either put it into my renting portfolio or I might sell it, or put in a tenant on a long let, depending on the market. We did a whole barn complex once.’
She longs to ask how it worked with his wife; how she’d coped with such a peripatetic life, but she doesn’t have the courage.
‘I thought you might come and look at it with me,’ he says. ‘This cottage. It’s not very far away. I’m meeting the agent there at five o’clock and I’d value your expert opinion. Why not?’
She tries to think of some reason why not. The pressure of his leg unsettles her and she is glad when the girl brings the tray of tea and so that she can move, sit upright and draw in her legs, without looking as if she’s been conscious of the contact.
‘I could, I suppose,’ she says casually, ‘if we’re not too long. It might be fun,’ and she smiles at the girl and thanks her, and begins to pour the tea.
Mo watches her go. She clips a few more stems and puts them into the wheelbarrow and then goes to sit on the wrought-iron seat on the flagstones outside the drawing-room windows. It’s hot just here, out of the light north-easterly breeze, looking south-west across the garden and the fields to the low line of hills behind St Austell. John the Baptist comes to sit at her feet; sighing heavily he curls up, eyes closed. She nudges him very gently with her foot, just so as to acknowledge his presence without disturbing him, and he sighs again with contentment.
Mo sits quietly, ankles folded beneath the seat, but she frowns a little. What is Dossie up to? For a little while now she’s been in an odd mood; scatty, effervescent, distracted. She’s always been a cheerful, positive, outgoing girl. Even after poor Mike died in that ghastly motor accident she tried so hard to remain strong and positive for Clem. Dossie isn’t the sort to whinge and mope around, though there were times when she found it very hard indeed to cope with work and Clem and widowhood.
Of course, she met other men but – rather like darling Mike – they were always … well, a bit off-centre. Mo frowns again, remembering Mike: tall and loose-limbed, just like Clem. They all loved him; even Pa was touched by Mike’s warm-hearted extravagance. How he loved speed! Motorbikes, Formula One, speedboats. It wasn’t surprising that he’d come unstuck so tragically, given the way he risked himself. Mo shakes her head, sadly: poor Mike – and poor Dossie and Clem.
Then, later, there was the fellow who loved sailing. Dossie fell quite heavily for him, and little Clem adored him, and then, just when they were all wondering whether something might come of it, he announced that he was off to sail around the world. He asked Dossie to go with him, and Clem, too, but after a few weeks of agonizing over it she refused.
‘I can’t, Mo,’ she said miserably, hunched on her bed, curled in the angle of the wall. ‘How can I risk it? Clem starts school next term and we have no idea how long this voyage might last or how dangerous it might be. Anything might happen. I know people do take their children on long sea trips but … I simply can’t bear the thought of any more accidents.’
Mo, sitting on the bed, watching her, felt so helpless. Her heart filled with anguish for her child but she simply nodded, agreeing, and then she lightly touched Dossie’s knee as a gesture of comfort, and went
She longs to ask how it worked with his wife; how she’d coped with such a peripatetic life, but she doesn’t have the courage.
‘I thought you might come and look at it with me,’ he says. ‘This cottage. It’s not very far away. I’m meeting the agent there at five o’clock and I’d value your expert opinion. Why not?’
She tries to think of some reason why not. The pressure of his leg unsettles her and she is glad when the girl brings the tray of tea and so that she can move, sit upright and draw in her legs, without looking as if she’s been conscious of the contact.
‘I could, I suppose,’ she says casually, ‘if we’re not too long. It might be fun,’ and she smiles at the girl and thanks her, and begins to pour the tea.
Mo watches her go. She clips a few more stems and puts them into the wheelbarrow and then goes to sit on the wrought-iron seat on the flagstones outside the drawing-room windows. It’s hot just here, out of the light north-easterly breeze, looking south-west across the garden and the fields to the low line of hills behind St Austell. John the Baptist comes to sit at her feet; sighing heavily he curls up, eyes closed. She nudges him very gently with her foot, just so as to acknowledge his presence without disturbing him, and he sighs again with contentment.
Mo sits quietly, ankles folded beneath the seat, but she frowns a little. What is Dossie up to? For a little while now she’s been in an odd mood; scatty, effervescent, distracted. She’s always been a cheerful, positive, outgoing girl. Even after poor Mike died in that ghastly motor accident she tried so hard to remain strong and positive for Clem. Dossie isn’t the sort to whinge and mope around, though there were times when she found it very hard indeed to cope with work and Clem and widowhood.
Of course, she met other men but – rather like darling Mike – they were always … well, a bit off-centre. Mo frowns again, remembering Mike: tall and loose-limbed, just like Clem. They all loved him; even Pa was touched by Mike’s warm-hearted extravagance. How he loved speed! Motorbikes, Formula One, speedboats. It wasn’t surprising that he’d come unstuck so tragically, given the way he risked himself. Mo shakes her head, sadly: poor Mike – and poor Dossie and Clem.
Then, later, there was the fellow who loved sailing. Dossie fell quite heavily for him, and little Clem adored him, and then, just when they were all wondering whether something might come of it, he announced that he was off to sail around the world. He asked Dossie to go with him, and Clem, too, but after a few weeks of agonizing over it she refused.
‘I can’t, Mo,’ she said miserably, hunched on her bed, curled in the angle of the wall. ‘How can I risk it? Clem starts school next term and we have no idea how long this voyage might last or how dangerous it might be. Anything might happen. I know people do take their children on long sea trips but … I simply can’t bear the thought of any more accidents.’
Mo, sitting on the bed, watching her, felt so helpless. Her heart filled with anguish for her child but she simply nodded, agreeing, and then she lightly touched Dossie’s knee as a gesture of comfort, and went
Similar Books
