By the time Ray heard about Hugo’s meeting, it was too late for him to change his doctor’s appointment. It was a miracle he hadn’t found out about it already. Ray wasn’t as upset as Maisie had thought about missing it, which could be a sign that he still wasn’t feeling as feisty as he once had been. He agreed that Maisie should go with Patrick, and report back.
Maisie piloted the Puffin the short hop to Petroc Island and they tied up at the jetty. It was a few minutes’ walk from there to Scorrier House, where Hugo lived alone apart from Basil, a housekeeper and a team of gardeners who kept the extensive grounds in tip-top condition.
Maisie already knew the way to Scorrier House – you could hardly miss its Gothic tower rising above a stand of trees in the centre of the island – but just in case, neat signs pinned to posts along the track guided the way to ‘Scorrier Holdings VIP Event’. Maisie wondered what Patrick’s reaction would be when he saw the mansion house and the rest of the estate. She also wondered how Hugo must feel, living there on his own since his father had been moved to the nursing home. It would surely do him good to have a partner, Maisie thought, if he could find someone to put up with him. It was even possible that the right woman – because as far as she knew Hugo was straight – might make him a much happier person and less of a pompous twit.
Maisie exchanged a glance with Patrick who pointed at the VIP sign.
‘I’ve never been a VIP before,’ she said.
‘Nor me. I’m still not sure you should have brought me. The invitation was for your parents. Hugo won’t be impressed.’
‘All the more reason to ask you then,’ said Maisie, feeling up for a fight, although also aware that Hugo might assume that there might be something going on between her and Patrick beyond a professional relationship.
‘A cynical person might think you’re using me to score points off Hugo, boss,’ said Patrick.
Maisie let out a gasp. ‘How could you possibly think such a thing?’
They approached the entrance to Scorrier House along a gravelled drive that led under the arch of an imposing gatehouse. Maisie had been inside a dozen times for various charitable events and functions, and knew what to expect but it was fascinating to see Patrick’s reaction.
Looked at through the eyes of a newcomer, the contrast between Gull and Petroc was stark and Patrick seemed awestruck. Maisie had never noticed him so quiet and his eyes missed nothing. Petroc’s tracks and lanes were free of potholes and the neat pastel cottages were surrounded by manicured gardens filled with sub-tropical plants. A guy trundled past on a sit-on mower because the grass needed cutting, even in November, and was still lush and emerald green. Another was on his hands and knees ruthlessly culling any tiny weeds that had dared to poke their heads through a flower border.
‘It seems as if there are still people on holiday,’ said Patrick as they saw uniformed staff removing piles of towels and sheets from one of the cottages.
‘There are a few,’ said Maisie. ‘This way to the house. The meeting’s being held in the ballroom.’
Patrick lifted an eyebrow. ‘Ballrooom?’
Maisie grinned. ‘Don’t worry. I think they’ll let you in.’
Scorrier House was mid Victorian at its core but had been extended over the decades and was a grand but rambling Gothic place, by far the biggest and most imposing building across the whole of the isles. To the rear, the former stables and outbuildings had been converted to offices, housing a team of staff who ran Hugo’s lucrative resort.
They paused on the driveway leading up to the elaborate façade with its gargoyles, battlements and a tower topped from where the Scilly flag was fluttering in the breeze.
Patrick held up his hands. ‘Bloody hell. It’s Hogwarts.’
Maisie giggled. She was glad she’d brought him along, if only for light relief.
Inside, Patrick gawped at the tiled floors, heavy oak furnishings and tapestries, which Maisie whispered were ‘only Victorian copies’ not original medieval ones. Two waiters met them at the door and handed over fizz or juice as they walked in. Hugo was chatting to a couple of faces Maisie recognised from St Piran’s and some people nodded as she and Patrick made their way inside. There were also a dozen or more faces she didn’t know whom she presumed were business associates. The ballroom was exactly as Maisie remembered it from her last visit, a few years previously: ornate plaster ceilings, walls with paintings of seascapes, shipwrecks and the odd Scorrier ancestor.
‘Oh my. Hugo’s had himself immortalised in oils. Look,’ she whispered, ushering Patrick as close as she dared to a huge new picture in a prominent position. It showed him in his garden, in his country squire outfit with Basil by his side looking adoringly up at his master.
‘Bet that’s the first time Basil’s ever behaved for more than a minute,’ Maisie whispered.
‘I expect he was painted in afterwards,’ said Patrick, still transfixed by the painting. ‘Where is he?’
‘One of Hugo’s “people” is probably taking care of him.’
‘Why do you think Hugo has been so successful?’ Patrick whispered.
‘He and his father have managed to attract a very well-heeled clientele over the years, willing to fork out massive amounts for the privilege of staying on a private island. They’ve invested in luxury accommodation and posh facilities and so it all keeps rolling in. You have to hand it to them; they’re good businesspeople. Oh, here we go. Hugo’s about to do his thing.’
Hugo was joined on a low plinth at the end of the ballroom by one of his staff members, a woman whom Maisie recognised as his resort manager. He welcomed everyone to the meeting, including islanders, neighbours and newcomers, and then his manager, India, took over. Maisie had to admit the presentation about Petroc and its expansion plans was very slick. She waited with bated breath for mention of his designs on Gull, but that part of the plan for world domination was left out of today’s event. Maisie kept glancing at Patrick to see if he was bored but he seemed glued to every word and PowerPoint slide. He was like a kid watching his favourite cartoon, although he wasn’t exactly laughing out loud.
The presentation ended to a polite round of applause.
‘If anyone has any questions, India or myself will be happy to answer them. Afternoon tea is available on the buffet table so please help yourselves.’
‘So what did you think?’ Maisie asked Patrick while they helped themselves to scones with clotted cream.
Patrick waited until he’d swallowed a mouthful of scone before replying. ‘It’s all very smooth … to be honest, I hadn’t expected the meeting to be so well organised or this place to be so grand. You have to hand it to Hugo, he knows how to make money.’
‘Well, I’m surprised that Greg didn’t tell you more about the place. His ancestors must have known about Scorrier House and they might even have been here. Petroc Island wasn’t a resort then; it was an island for fishermen and farmers.’
‘Like I said, Greg only mentioned his great-grandparents a few times and that was near the end of his life when he was urging me to come back to Britain to see my own birthplace.’
‘And where was that exactly?’ asked Maisie, selecting a violet macaron filled with passionfruit crème from a silver platter. ‘I don’t think you’ve told me yet.’
‘Somewhere in London … I’m not sure exactly where. I was a babe in arms when they emigrated to Australia. Obviously, I don’t remember a thing about it. Being in nappies, that is.’
He helped himself to another scone. Maisie knew she’d been warned off and while she longed to ask him more about his parents, she guessed that he still found it very painful to talk about them. Losing both when he was only thirteen and then being passed between institutions and distant relatives who didn’t want him was too horrible to contemplate. No wonder he’d been traumatised and gone off the rails. The truly amazing thing was how he’d turned his life around with the help of Judy and Greg.
While polishing off a slice of Victoria sponge, Patrick gazed around the room, seeming awestruck by its grandeur.
Then he turned round and groaned. ‘Uh huh. Hugo’s spotted us. He’s coming over. Time for me to visit the little boy’s room, I think.’
‘Don’t abandon me now,’ Maisie protested.
‘Sorry. Needs must. I’m sure you can handle him and I’ll be back in an hour or so judging by the size of the place. If I get lost, send out a search party.’
Maisie arranged her face into a polite smile as Hugo homed in on her as enthusiastically as Basil going after a rotting seagull.
‘Maisie. So glad you could come. Are you enjoying the tea?’
‘Yes. Lovely. Delicious scones.’
‘Good. And how about what you’ve heard about my plans? Are those to your taste too?’
God, Hugo was trying to joke again. Maisie wished he wouldn’t but as he was obviously on a charm offensive, she was determined to respond in kind. ‘It was all fascinating.’
‘And does your barman find it fascinating too? I was surprised to find you’d brought him along instead of your parents. I’m sure they’d have been very interested in what I had to say.’
‘They’ve gone to the hospital,’ said Maisie.
Hugo’s smile melted away and he adopted a sympathetic tone. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘No worries. It was a scheduled appointment but I’m sure you can understand that they didn’t want to miss it, even for an important presentation like this.’
‘Of course,’ said Hugo. ‘Where is Patrick, by the way?’
‘He needed the bathroom.’
Hugo smirked. ‘I see.’ He paused. ‘You’ll notice I didn’t mention my proposal to bring some of the Gull properties into the Scorrier Estate,’ he said.
‘I had noticed, yes. Why is that?’
‘Well, those plans are at an early stage and as you know yourself, negotiations are delicate. It’s very easy to upset people in a tiny and close-knit community so I’m treading very carefully. For heaven’s sake, I’m not some kind of Bond villain. I’d never force you out of the Driftwood against your will. Not if you – and your parents – didn’t want to. They are the legal owners after all, aren’t they?’
‘They are,’ said Maisie, thinking how glad she was that Ray wasn’t around to hear Hugo’s thinly veiled threats. ‘And I’m glad to hear you would never put any undue pressure on us, especially now that Dad’s recovery is still quite fragile,’ said Maisie, turning the tables on Hugo.
Hugo lowered his voice and winked. ‘Softly softly, that’s my approach … and I have your best interests at heart. I always have had a soft spot for you. More than you know.’
Maisie’s reply caught in her throat. Was it possible that Hugo really was flirting? Or was he simply trying a different tactic? Either way it was seriously creepy.
Over Hugo’s shoulder, she spotted Patrick watching them intently. He wasn’t smiling but he was staring. Was he jealous? Or was she fantasising again?
‘That’s kind of you, Hugo, and your plans make sense in many ways apart from the fact that we’re all totally happy with things the way they are. We’re not going to sell, not for a very long time, if ever, but thanks for inviting us to the house.’
Maisie noticed that people had started to drift away from the ballroom. In fact, she and Patrick were the only guests left.
‘Why don’t you stay for a proper tour of the place? You haven’t been here for years, have you? I’ve made a lot of improvements to the house as well as the resort, all in keeping with the building’s heritage status, naturally.’
Maisie floundered. She absolutely didn’t want to stay on any longer and looked across to Patrick who was coming towards them.
‘We were ready to leave …’ she said in a loud voice that finally caught Patrick’s attention. He walked over with a smile.
‘What have I missed?’ he asked.
‘Actually, I’d just invited Maisie to have a tour of the house,’ Hugo cut in smoothly. ‘You’re welcome to stay too, of course.’ Hugo looked dismayed at the prospect of Patrick joining them, and Maisie waited for Patrick to jump in with a refusal.
But Patrick virtually rubbed his hands together. ‘Sounds great. If you’re sure I won’t be playing gooseberry.’
Hugo smirked but Maisie could have killed Patrick. ‘Not at all,’ he said, then addressed himself to Maisie. ‘If it’s OK with your boss?’
‘If Patrick wants to see the house, we’ll stay, but it will have to be quick, I’m afraid, as we must get back to the Driftwood.’
Hugo beamed. ‘Shall we go outside first while it’s fine? The gardens aren’t at their best at this time of year but there’s still plenty of interest.’
Maisie had no idea why Patrick wanted to look around Scorrier House. Curiosity, she guessed, or the opportunity to wind Hugo up. She could understand both of those, but she would still much rather have been on her way to the jetty now.
Hugo led the way outside after collecting Basil from one of the offices where he’d been looked after by one of the gardeners.
An excited Basil shot off, sniffing bushes and sticking his muzzle into anything and everything. Hugo pointed out some of the plants and trees, although Maisie’s mind was still on his cryptic – and slightly skin-crawling – remarks about having a soft spot for her.
Patrick lingered by a jacaranda. Even Maisie knew that in spring, the tree would be in its full glory with bright mauve flowers. Unlike Maisie, her mum did visit the gardens from time to time and raved about the jacaranda and showed her photographs. Maisie joined him and Hugo.
‘Feeling homesick?’ Hugo asked.
‘Once in awhile, yeah,’ said Patrick.
‘As I said the other day, the Scorrier Estate has business interests in Australia but I haven’t been to Melbourne for a few years. I hear you worked in a bar there. Would I know it?’
‘I doubt it, mate. I wouldn’t have thought it was your kind of thing.’
‘You’d be surprised what my kind of thing is. I have eclectic tastes.’
‘The Fingle’s a down-to-earth place. Like the Driftwood.’
‘You’ll have to come and see the Rose and Crab,’ said Hugo.
Maisie saw Patrick’s lips twitch in a smile at the pub’s name and Hugo obviously noticed it too. ‘I know … It’s a quirky name. I cringed when our ad agency came up with it but the guests seem to love it.’
A flash of red and a rustling above them caught Maisie’s eye and suddenly she was yards from a red squirrel sitting on the rim of a fountain, eating a nut. It was so sweet, smaller than the greys on the mainland and with red tufts on its ears.
‘Shhh …’ Hearing Hugo and Patrick behind her she held up her hand. The squirrel froze and looked up at them, before going back to his nut.
‘Woof!’
Basil tore out of a clump of shrubs and headed straight for the squirrel. His barks echoed over the glade.
‘Basil! Stop this instant!’
Hugo might as well have not existed. Basil raced for the squirrel but it leapt across to a low branch and scurried up the tree out of sight and reach.
Basil stood at the bottom, barking non-stop.
‘Basil. Shut up!’ Hugo ran over and grabbed Basil’s collar. Basil growled.
‘You bad dog. Do as you’re told. Miscreant!’
Maisie exchanged a glance with Patrick. His shoulders were shaking as he tried not to laugh.
‘Miscreant?’ he mouthed.
Maisie shrugged as Hugo tried to drag Basil away from the tree. The dog dug his claws in and barked even louder.
‘I think we’d better be going,’ said Maisie loudly. ‘We need to open up this evening and I don’t want to leave Mum and Dad on their own too long.’
‘Wait a moment. I’ve something to say to you,’ Hugo called above Basil’s protests.
‘Basil doesn’t want to leave. He wants to play with the squirrel,’ said Patrick.
Hugo’s face was like thunder. ‘It’s not funny!’ said Hugo, turning round.
Basil stopped barking and wandered off over the grass.
Hugo sighed. ‘That animal is a law unto himself. I must take him to classes.’
Once Basil had calmed down, Hugo marched back to Maisie, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said, addressing himself to her alone. ‘I’ve a proposition to put to you.’
‘If it’s relating to the papers you gave me, I don’t see much point,’ said Maisie, wishing she could tear off after a squirrel too. Patrick had picked up a small branch and was waving it at Basil.
Hugo lowered his voice. ‘It’s something different. I think you might find it very interesting.’
‘Can’t you tell me now? We’re so busy, especially while Dad’s recuperating. Or phone me?’
Hugo looked at Patrick. He and Basil were playing tug-of-war with the stick.
‘It’s a private matter,’ said Hugo. ‘That I’d prefer to discuss face to face, just the two of us.’
Maisie’s heart sank. She couldn’t imagine what Hugo had to say that he hadn’t already told her or couldn’t share now.
‘Please. I’m serious, Maisie. This is important. Can you get away in the next few days? I can come over to Gull if it helps, or we can meet on neutral territory?’
Maisie had never seen Hugo so solemn. She had no choice but to hear him out but she was also more determined than ever to rally the troops to her way of thinking. However, it was always better to ‘know thine enemy’.
With an inner sigh, she nodded. ‘OK. I’ll call you.’
Finally, Maisie ended the visit, pleading the state of the tides and darkness falling. She was a reasonably confident helmswoman and could have found her way home in the dark if she had to but the tides waited for no one.
‘How can you name a pub the Rose and Crab?’ Patrick said as Maisie steered the Puffin away from the quay and out into the channel.
Maisie giggled. ‘How can you name a pub the Fingle? What does it mean?’
Patrick shrugged. ‘I don’t really know. Some joke of Greg’s.’
‘I wonder what Hugo’s got in mind for the Driftwood? The Seal and Primrose?’ said Maisie as the boat dipped and rose over the waves. She and Patrick huddled in the little cabin but they were still spattered with spray.
‘How about the Agapanthus and Lobster?’ Patrick suggested. Maisie giggled and got a mouthful of salt spray. ‘Don’t mention that to him. It’s far too close for comfort. He might actually use it if he gets his hands on the place.’
‘But he won’t, will he?’ said Patrick. ‘You won’t sell?’
‘No … of course not …’ She sighed. ‘I just wish a lot of what he says didn’t make sense. His offer for the place isn’t that bad and Mum and Dad have had a lot on their plate. Sometimes I hear them talking to my Auntie Rose in Truro and she keeps trying to persuade them to go and live on the mainland and buy a new bungalow that’s easy to maintain.’
‘Maisie Samson. What’s Hugo put in your tea?’
‘It isn’t only me, Patrick. How can I persuade people who are living hand to mouth and struggling to hold out against Scorrier when it might actually be better if they sold? I can’t dictate their lives to them.’
The sea had grown rougher and the sky was dark grey over the Hell Cove end of Gull Island. She opened the throttle and gave all her concentration to navigating her course back to Gull. It wouldn’t do to run aground on a sandbank with dusk falling.