JFK Airport is buzzing. Sitting in the departure lounge, Cara waits for her flight to be called. It’s been a whirlwind five days and only now is she able to catch her breath. Greg has spared no expense and has shown her the best of what New York City has to offer, plus a glimpse of life in the Hamptons. His property at Sag Harbor is glorious. She now knows what he wants. He told her this morning at breakfast while presenting her with a twenty-four-carat gold-and-diamond-encrusted bracelet. Absent-mindedly, she fingers it now. The bracelet is so not her – much more in keeping with Marietta – but it would have been rude to appear ungrateful. In fact, throughout her stay she’s had to curb her natural responses. As Cara looks down at her wrist, although the bracelet glitters enticingly back it feels like a handcuff and she’s surprised to see her hands are shaking. It must be the pressure –shoehorned into an image from Greg’s imagination. A square peg in a round hole, that’s how she feels. She frowns. If she accepts his offer will her corners be chipped away to become a rounder peg? Will that ever feel natural? She sighs and glances around at her fellow passengers. A mix of businessmen and women, backpackers and families. Once she boards the plane and takes the seat Greg has purchased for her she knows the backpackers and families will disappear.
A young man in his mid-twenties sits down in the seat next to her. He is wearing denim jeans and a sweatshirt, and his dark hair is swept off an open face into a man bun. Clear brown eyes take her in and he smiles.
‘Are you travelling to Heathrow?’ His accent is American.
‘Yes.’ Cara smiles back.
He pulls out a magazine from his hand luggage. ‘Have you been on vacation?’
‘Visiting a friend for a few days.’ Inadvertently, Cara fiddles with the bracelet again.
‘New York?’
‘And the Hamptons.’
‘My folks live in the Hamptons,’ he says, assessing her again. ‘It’s a great place to visit but I like to travel. I’m taking a year out to see Europe.’
‘Lucky you, taking a year out,’ Cara comments.
‘Family money helps,’ he says with a grin. ‘I’m Johnny, by the way.’
‘Cara,’ she says. ‘What do you do, Johnny?’
‘Illustrator. Freelance. How about you?’
‘Artist. Gallery owner,’ she says, in the same vein.
‘In London?’
Cara shakes her head. ‘Cornwall.’
‘That’s a beautiful place, so I’ve heard.’
‘It is,’ she says, ‘and as much as I’ve enjoyed seeing the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, the Empire State Building, the Museum of Modern Art, Central Park, Times Square and Broadway, I can’t wait to get back.’
‘That’s some itinerary!’ he says.
‘It was for four days. I’m shattered just talking about it!’
He laughs. ‘Perhaps I’ll find time to visit Cornwall while I’m in the UK.’
‘You should. It leaves its mark.’
‘Sounds like that’s our flight being called.’ He rolls up the unread magazine and stands, slinging his hand luggage over one shoulder.
Cara rises to her feet and picks up her bag.
‘Where are you sitting on the plane?’ he asks.
‘Upper Class.’ Clear brown eyes assess her again. ‘A gift from the friend,’ she quickly adds.
‘Must be some friend!’
Companionably, they walk together through boarding control to the plane where an air hostess and steward welcome them on board.
‘Enjoy the flight,’ Johnny says, as he turns right and heads off into the belly of the plane.
Cara laughs and turns left.
*
‘Deanna, darling, how’s my favourite soon not to be “out-of-towner”?’ Pins asks.
Deanna laughs. ‘Doing well, thank you.’
‘How’s the am-dram coming along? Any disasters?’
‘Touch wood, none so far. Every performance has gone well. We’re sold out most nights.’ A thrill of excitement courses through her. Very soon, she will be doing this for real, as a professional… at last!
‘When can we expect you to grace us with your presence?’ Pins asks.
‘I plan to come up on Friday. That way, I’ll have the weekend to settle in before reporting for duty on Monday.’
‘Marvellous. What time do you think you’ll arrive?’
Deanna looks down the hallway and up at the galleried landing, making sure Sebastian and Jamie are out of earshot. ‘I will do the school run in the morning and then leave after lunch. I should be with you by mid-afternoon.’
‘Unfortunately, I won’t be here. I have a meeting in the afternoon, but Dominic will show you where everything is. Make yourself at home. I expect you to treat the house as your own for the time you are with us.’
‘It’s very generous of you, Pins,’ Deanna says.
‘Not at all, darling. We can’t wait for you to be part of our tribe. In fact, I plan to throw a small welcoming party for you on Saturday. If you’d like to invite your husband, please do.’
‘Thank you, but that won’t be possible. Perhaps I could ask my daughter?’
‘Why, of course! We’d love to meet her. And, Deanna, if you want any of your children to stay while you’re with us please don’t hesitate to invite them. We have plenty of room…’ Pins pauses ‘… and if Oliver ever wants to stay over, then he’s more than welcome too.’
Deanna suppresses a smile. Of course he’d like Oliver to pay them a visit!
‘Again, thank you.’ A cobweb draping beneath the galleried landing catches her eye. She makes a mental note to remove it as soon as she finishes the call.
‘So, Friday it is,’ says Pins.
*
Zennor replaces the phone and punches the air. With a bit of investigation, she has discovered the name of the property that caught Oliver’s eye and unearthed its owners. However, Dave was right. The house is used as a holiday let, a successful one too, and the owners have no interest in selling. Rising to the challenge, she made further enquiries and has discovered a property that might just satisfy her client’s need for seclusion while offering fabulous sea views.
On her notepad is written a name and a figure falling well within Oliver’s budget. Zennor smiles broadly. What a wonderful career she has! She walks to the kitchen pours herself a large glass of Pinot Grigio and carries it back to her lounge. Through the picture windows of her exclusive, Falmouth maritime apartment she watches as a yacht sails smoothly into the marina. Swallowing a large mouthful of wine, she picks up the phone again and calls him.
‘Hello, Oliver. I hope you’ve had a good night’s sleep and are quite rested after the exhausting day we had yesterday,’ she says.
‘Quite rested, Zennor. Thank you.’
‘I’ve some bad news, but also some good.’
‘Hit me with the bad first,’ Oliver says.
‘The owners of the Helford property you asked me to find out about are not interested in selling at any price. The house is let out successfully and they have no wish to change that.’
‘That’s disappointing, but I can understand their reasoning.’
‘Now for the good news. I’ve made further enquiries and I may have found a property that will pique your interest and satisfy much on your tick list.’ Zennor is unable to contain the excitement in her voice.
‘You have my undivided attention,’ responds Oliver.
She smiles. ‘It’s not on the market, but for the right price the owners will consider selling.’
‘OK.’
‘It’s not on the Helford. It’s positioned on the cliffs at the mouth of the river with unparalleled sea views. It’s four old coastguard cottages that could easily be knocked into one, or extended.’
‘Sounds like a project. Are you trying to put me to work, Zennor?’ Oliver teases.
Zennor blushes. ‘No, I just thought you’d be able to create your dream home in a wonderful clifftop position,’ she says, flustered. ‘After all, it’s all about location.’
‘You’re right, of course. Please arrange a viewing while I’m down.’
‘What about the other waterside property I showed you yesterday?’ she asks, trying to regain some professional composure. ‘The mystery house. Would you like to view that as well?’
‘I’ve given it a great deal of thought but, unfortunately, I don’t think it’s a contender. It looks a fascinating property and will make a wonderful home for some lucky family but – and this is the sad reality I have to consider – it doesn’t offer a great deal of privacy from the water. If I purchased it, once people got to hear that I owned the property the river would most likely be swamped with press and sightseers.’ And stalkers. Oliver shivers. Sylvie would have had a field day. She’d probably have set up camp in a boat with binoculars constantly trained on the house.
‘Right you are,’ says Zennor. ‘What if I pick you up around ten? That’ll give us the morning to explore the property and then I thought we could have lunch at the sailing club.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
‘See you in just over twenty-four hours then,’ she says, already mentally selecting an outfit to wear. ‘If there’s anything different to impart I will call you again.’
Replacing the phone, Zennor watches the yacht glide neatly into its berth.