15 November
The next day, Maisie pulled the zip of her fleece higher as she turned on to the gravelled track that led down to the Hell Cove Guest House and Cottages. A whitewashed cottage sat just back from the cove itself, sheltered from the full brunt of the weather fronts straight from the Atlantic.
On the western side of the cove, the rocks of Hell’s Teeth glistened like a sea monster’s fangs as they were uncovered by the receding tide. Many ships had foundered on those on a foggy night, or been driven onto them in a gale. You could still see the bones of wrecks on a very low tide and, occasionally, gold and silver coins were washed ashore. However, Maisie’s favourite treasure lay hidden within the smoother, more benign rocks behind the ‘teeth’. The Mermaid’s Pool was tidal and Maisie had brought her rucksack with a towel for a dip. She’d planned the swim as a treat – or therapy – after her conversation with Phyllis and Una. If she was very lucky, perhaps her bathe would turn out to be a victory swim.
On reaching the bottom of the slope, Maisie decided to take the beach route to the cottages rather than keep to the track, and clambered down through the sea holly and gorse onto the creamy sand of Hell Cove.
Welcome to Hell – your little piece of Heaven on Earth
Maisie smiled at the fading sign, written in curling script by Archie Pendower. Hell Cove House definitely needed an upgrade, but she’d hate to see its quirky charm absorbed into a corporate brand. The gate was hanging low on its hinges so she had to give it a shove and wriggle through the gap to reach the path that led to the front door. The shutters were faded from pale green to grey and flakes of paint fluttered in the wind. Grey and gold lichen crawled over the window sills and broken slates of the holiday cottages.
They were all shuttered up and silent. There were no guests at this time of year, though there was no real reason why they should be empty. Maisie had had ‘storm-watching’ customers from Petroc in the pub at the weekend who’d told her that Petroc’s trendy time-shares were fairly buzzing with out-of-season breaks.
Phyllis Barton hurried round the side of the house, a broad smile on her face, wiping her hands on an oily rag. She wore gardening gloves and a boilersuit that had once been bottle green but was now spattered with a variety of paint colours, oil and indefinable stains.
‘Maisie. How lovely to see you.’ She held up her greasy hands. ‘Sorry. I’ve been servicing the mowing machine. Bloody grass will keep on growing, and I need to trim back the laurel if I can get the hedge cutters to work again. The garden’s run rampant over the summer.’
Una Barton joined them, carrying a hoe. She was the taller of the two sisters, her greying hair falling in wild crinkly curls over her bony shoulders. Phyllis preferred to home dye and cut her mop in an ever-changing array of colours and styles. It was best described as an aubergine bob today. Both women were lean and wiry, even though they must be the same age as Maisie’s parents.
‘How’s your dad?’ Una cut in, frowning hard at her sister.
‘On the mend, thanks,’ said Maisie, secretly admiring Phyllis’s stamina.
Phyllis clucked her tongue in sympathy. ‘We heard he was back but we’ve been too busy trying to keep this place from falling down or we’d have called in to see him ourselves. Pernicious anaemia, isn’t it? An uncle of ours had it. Uncle Gerald … you remember, don’t you, Una?’
‘Oh?’ said Maisie, bracing herself for a barrage of advice.
Una nodded. ‘Yes. I do. Poor old Gerald. Of course, he’s long gone.’
‘Right …’ said Maisie.
‘Not of the anaemia. He had a heart attack while he was playing bowls,’ said Phyllis.
‘I see.’ Maisie was torn between amusement and frustration.
Phyllis pulled off her crusty gardening gloves. ‘Anyway, what brings you to Hell, dear?’ she said.
‘Come to swim in the Mermaid Pool, have you?’ said Una.
‘Yes. I have. Thought I’d have a dip while the weather’s still fine,’ said Maisie.
Una wrinkled her button nose. She reminded Maisie of Aunt Sally from the Worzel Gummidge books. ‘Bit chilly for me these days or I’d join you.’
‘Wimp.’ Phyllis snorted in disgust. ‘I went in last week. Not for long though. It was a tad bracing so I shan’t bother again until spring. Are you going straight there, dear, or did you decide to call in for a coffee?’
‘I saw you in the garden from the hill and thought I’d say hello,’ said Maisie, quite truthfully. ‘How are you both doing? How’s business?’
Una pulled off her gloves and pushed her silver curls out of her eyes. ‘Mustn’t grumble.’
‘There’s such a lot to do, even when we don’t have guests,’ said Phyllis. ‘Not that some guests wouldn’t be welcome, but who’s going to come all this way when there’s no boat and you can never be sure if the planes will fly? Not to mention that fog we had last week cutting us off for days. It’s hard to attract people, but once they do come, they’re gobsmacked.’
‘Most of the time,’ said Una crisply. ‘You do get some who turn up and act like they’ve been marooned on Devil’s Island. It’s not for everyone here. One of them asked me where was the nearest McDonald’s and could he have a pizza biked down here? I said the farm on St Agnes delivered meat and dairy and he could get a pizza at the Driftwood if he was prepared to walk.’
Maisie smiled. ‘That’s an idea. Pizza delivery by bike … Gull Island can be a Marmite kind of place. Love or hate,’ she said, pleased to have the topic of business brought up.
‘Are you coming inside?’ Una asked. ‘I could do with a cuppa and I think we’ve a slice of lemon drizzle loaf left.’
‘I shouldn’t eat, I’m going swimming, but a coffee would be great. Thanks.’
Maisie sipped her coffee, perched on an old wing-backed armchair from which the stuffing was escaping. The rest of the furnishings were clean, but old and shabby. She was used to old, worn interiors. Everyone had to make do on Gull. Even if you had some spare cash, the cost of getting goods on and off the island could be prohibitive and disposing of old stuff wasn’t simple, either. She’d had a few newer pieces shipped from her old flat in St Austell so her bedsit room at the Driftwood still looked relatively decent and modern.
‘I expect you want to talk about Scorrier, don’t you?’ Una said, cutting a slice of lemon drizzle for herself.
Maisie was wrong-footed but decided not to lie. ‘Is it true you’ve sold to him?’ she asked, trying to sound casual.
Phyllis glared at her sister. ‘Not yet. We said we’d think about it. There’s the documents on there.’ She pointed to a folder on a carved-oak sideboard. ‘Una wants to sign and get it over with but I can’t bring myself to do it.’
‘We promised him we’d seriously consider his offer, Phyll. Bookings are way down. We’re embarrassed to show people round, the fixtures and fittings are so dated but we can’t afford to pour in thousands on refurbishing them.’ Una popped a chunk of cake in her mouth.
‘We’ve cut the prices,’ said Phyllis. ‘But we daren’t drop any lower. This place needs a big investment and we haven’t got it.’
‘And we’re not getting any younger,’ said Una gloomily through a mouthful of cake.
‘Hugo suggested we apply for a retirement bungalow on St Mary’s. It makes sense and yet …’ Phyllis looked round the cottage and sighed. ‘I’ll miss my garden and the guests and this view.’
All Maisie’s persuasions had vanished. She didn’t have an answer, but Hugo clearly had his plan very well thought out. ‘What will you do?’ she asked.
Phyllis shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I do,’ said Una. ‘You do too, Phyll, you just don’t want to face up to it, but Hugo won’t wait forever. We have to decide soon or he might change his mind, and who’d buy this place, then? No one with any sense, that’s for sure.’
Maisie’s heart sank further. ‘It’s so beautiful, though. I’d love to have it.’
‘Would you, dear?’ said Phyllis. ‘Could you buy it? Maybe we could live in one of the cottages and keep an eye on it.’ Phyllis shoved the cake plate at Maisie. ‘Go on, have a little bite. Won’t do you any harm.’
Maisie smiled and picked up the slice of cake that Phyllis had offered. She didn’t want to offend them. The Bartons were amazing women and although she felt slightly guilty at telling them what to do with their lives, she was also determined to put up a fight against Hugo’s bullying tactics.
‘Sorry, I wish I had the cash and an answer for you – mmm, this is gorgeous cake, by the way – and I know exactly how you must feel about having to leave here and I’d want to stay too, but I also know that a place like this is a lot of work and needs investment. But please, don’t let Hugo rush you into anything or bully you out of your home. You know what he can be like.’
‘He’s tried smooth talking us,’ said Una curtly. ‘And while I’ve told him his offer makes sense, I’ve also told him we won’t be railroaded.’
Phyllis sighed. ‘I expect we will end up selling to him. I’m sorry if that’s not the answer you wanted, Maisie.’
Maisie swallowed a large chunk of cake before replying. ‘It’s none of my business, even though I’m very sorry to see it happen.’
‘Of course, if we had children to take it over, it would be different, but neither of us married and there are no nephews and nieces. Too late for that now.’
Maisie finished her coffee and cake and listened sympathetically while Una and Phyllis related a list of jobs that needed doing in the garden and to the house. Finally Maisie replaced her empty cup in the saucer. ‘Look. I know it sounds like a mammoth task to maintain this place but I’m sure we can come up with some way of helping you stay here.’
‘But how?’ asked Una.
‘I um – don’t have the exact details yet but I’m working on a plan,’ said Maisie, narrowly avoiding adding the word ‘cunning’.
Phyllis let out a squeak. ‘A plan? That sounds very interesting.’
Una replaced her cup in its saucer carefully. ‘Can you tell us more about this plan, dear?’
Panicking a little, Maisie stood up. ‘Not yet but I promise you, you’ll be the first to know as soon as I’ve formed up the – er – specifics. Don’t give up hope,’ she said, way more confidently than she felt. ‘Hugo hasn’t beaten us yet, not by a long way. Now, I’d better be going but rest assured, I’ll be in touch very soon.’
Una saw her to the door. ‘Thank you for calling. We can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with.’
Neither can I, thought Maisie as she walked down the path away from the house.
What plan? What specifics? What had she said that for? Damn.
She’d already been clutching at straws by imagining the sisters might have a secret source of money, or that they’d found people to buy the cottages and take them on without Hugo’s help.
Now she’d given them false expectations – unless she could really come up with a cunning plan in the next couple of days.
Her phone buzzed in her backpack. Maisie dug it out and let out a groan as she saw the screen. It was a text from Hugo.
‘Been away on business. Call me as agreed? Don’t be a stranger. ;) H xxx’
Don’t be a stranger? Three kisses and a winking smiley?
Had she given Hugo the wrong impression by even agreeing to visit him? It was too late now and she supposed it was better to keep her friends close and her enemies closer, though the prospect of being up close to Hugo made her shudder.
Deciding to put off her reply until she’d decided exactly how to respond, Maisie took a few calming breaths. A swim might clear her head. Slinging her pack over her shoulders, she headed for the pool, trying to fill her racing mind with calming and positive thoughts. It wasn’t really working but the sight of the sparkling sea did boost her mood and, she reminded herself, she should make the most of the blue in the late autumn sky and the gentle breeze. Storms were forecast over the coming week and she might not be able to use the pool for weeks, or even months, if she didn’t seize the moment.
She stopped for another look at Hell Cove before it finally disappeared from view as she walked around the corner to the pool. The roof of the house and cottages had several slates missing or chipped. There was a lot of work to do, no wonder the sisters found it daunting. It had taken Patrick and her father a week to repair the slates on the Driftwood and if anything Hell Cove House was in a worse state. Maybe she and Patrick could lend a hand to Una and Phyllis, at least to get the place ready for a new season …
She picked her way over the beach towards the pool. Old crates and rope had washed up, and rubbish that had fallen from ships or been thrown into the sea. Sadly, there was no Spanish gold today that might have helped her fend off Hugo.
Then again … An idea formed in her mind at the same time as the Mermaid Pool came into view. Maisie felt a lift of pleasure as she caught sight of the dark green waters.
Hmm. It was a long shot and would take all her powers of persuasion and organisation and but it might just work.
Mulling over the thought that was taking root, Maisie opened her rucksack and pulled out her towel so it would be instantly ready for when she climbed out after her swim. The breeze rippled the surface of the pool and the odd wave still broke over the lip. It was time to start using her shortie wetsuit after today, wherever she chose to swim. She was pulling off her trainers when she heard whistling from above her on the footpath and a second later, Patrick appeared.