Maisie was brought down to earth with a bang later that week when she finally told Hazel and Ray about her plans to thwart Hugo, knowing she couldn’t keep it from them any longer.
‘Over my dead body will he get his hands on the Driftwood,’ had been her father’s first words.
‘Funnily enough that prospect doesn’t fill me with encouragement, Dad,’ Maisie had replied and her mum had told Ray ‘not to be so silly’. To Maisie’s great relief, both Ray and Hazel agreed that a discreet gathering of their neighbours at the Driftwood was the best way to gauge the real depth of feeling about Hugo’s plans and present Maisie’s community-led renovation programme as an alternative way forward.
So on a grey Sunday morning at the tail end of November, Patrick and Ray had pushed back and stacked the tables at one end of the bistro and laid out the chairs ‘like a proper meeting’, according to Hazel. They could have used the community hall but that would have risked Hugo getting wind of the meeting. He might have done anyway, it was a bit of a tall order to expect everyone to keep quiet, and he’d know soon enough once work started and people told him to shove his offer. If they told him to shove his offer.
‘I feel nervous now it’s actually here,’ Maisie said to her mum.
‘Tell you what. Let’s put the Christmas decs up, eh? It’s a bit earlier than usual, but why not?’ said Ray.
‘It’s almost December anyway and it’ll help get people in a festive mood too,’ Hazel added optimistically.
‘Anything to get them on our side.’
So the room had been decorated with tinsel and paper streamers to make it look more festive. In the winter months the bistro acted as overspill for Christmas lunches or any bigger events, although the tree itself was down in a corner of the bar. The Samsons also had their own tree in the corner of the flat’s sitting room.
Every piece of tinsel, tree decoration and Santa/snowman/robin ornament they had had been dragged out of storage and used to adorn the rooms, private and public. There was no chic co-ordinated colour scheme as there would doubtless have been at Scorrier House or in the Rose and Crab, just an eclectic mix of festive bits ’n’ bobs, many of which had been handed down from her grandparents’ time. They were sadly no longer alive, but Maisie thought of them fondly as she and her parents had unwrapped each item and found a place for it.
Finally, the decorations were up and the room was almost ready for the two-thirty meeting.
Patrick had been given access to the Samson family kitchen and was brewing up a large pan of mulled wine. The rich aroma of cinnamon and spices filled the whole upper floor and made Maisie’s nose twitch. In the last job she’d got sick of the smell of mulled wine after she’d served up thousands of glasses of it, but she could actually grow to like it again.
Hazel added a platter of mince pies to the table while Ray filled some jugs with squash for the children. ‘Do you think Hugo knows we’re holding this meeting?’ Hazel asked Maisie.
‘I don’t think so. I posted leaflets through the doors by hand and it isn’t advertised anywhere, so unless someone told him, then I don’t see how he would know.’ Her heart had skipped a beat every time her phone buzzed over the past few days but none of the texts had been from Hugo and she hadn’t had an email from him either. He’d probably given up trying to get her on her own.
People started drifting into the pub. The Jenkinses from the Fudge Pantry, Rev Bev, Javid, the postmistress and around a dozen other people who’d expressed an interest in discussing Hugo’s proposal. There were a few children who settled in a corner with some of the toys she kept in the bistro. They had to wait for Phyllis and Una as they’d been milking the goats. Una’s hair was carrot orange today, accessorised with a clip-on bow. Phyllis was in a clean pair of overalls so Maisie knew she was taking things seriously.
‘It’s a great turnout,’ Hazel whispered to Maisie.
‘Hmm. I’m amazed, to be honest. I think every person I asked has come along.’
Maisie was as skittish as a kitten, even though she knew everyone attending; she knew they might be a tough audience. She may have led a big team at her old pub, but here she had no sway over them as she had her staff, and no idea of the resistance she might meet. Hazel and Ray sat in the front row, while Patrick stood at the back of the room ready to serve the refreshments when the meeting was over.
‘Of course, some of you may understandably think that Hugo’s plans are a good idea …’ she began. There were mutterings and a few expletives from the stauncher opponents as she mentioned Hugo’s plans, but she was determined to scope out the lie of the land instead of immediately dismissing his offer.
Her opening remark was met with silence, guilty looks and one ‘a good idea for bloody Hugo’s bank balance’ from Joly Preece who ran the Gull Island Bakery and had loathed Hugo from boyhood. ‘I wouldn’t piss on a Scorrier if they were on fire.’
That earned him a whack on the arm from his wife and even their teenage son took his eyes off his phone for a nanosecond before shooting them back to the screen. Maisie was surprised he could hear anything with his headphones clamped over his ears.
‘Joly. Mind your language.’
‘Hear Maisie out. She’s trying to talk some sense,’ Javid pitched in.
‘I can see that feelings are running high but we need to keep cool heads and look for practical solutions to our problems. I don’t know about you but I don’t think we should try to compete with Petroc. I respect those who feel that selling their properties to Hugo is the best idea for them,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘However, those of us who are determined to stay but are struggling need to take action if the island is to … er … have a sustainable future.’ Jesus, thought Maisie, starting to panic, where did she get that kind of bullshit from? Oh, wait, from Hugo’s presentation at the Scorrier House.
She allowed herself a little smile that eased the tension; people were listening. All except the kids of course. ‘I’ve thought long and hard about the best way forward and I think we need to be ourselves, and make the most of our – um – rustic charm. That’s what makes Gull unique, but if we could just smarten up a bit, renovate what we can, and try to look more photogenic on Instagram, I’m sure it would help bring new visitors and income.’
‘Instawhatsit?’ Una looked like Maisie had given her a dose of cod liver oil.
‘It’s a social media app.’
‘I know what it is, I’ve seen it, but I hate this obsession with sharing rather than experiencing.’
‘I agree, Una, but that’s the way it works. Instagram can be our friend.’
Una mimed a fingers-down-throat sign. ‘I’d rather be friends with Attila the Hun.’
‘Who the hell’s she?’ the bored young teenager from the bakery muttered.
‘It’s a he,’ said Phyllis, rising to her sister’s defence. ‘Ignoramus.’
‘Who’s he?’
Una and Phyllis shook their heads in unison.
‘What we need is to win the lottery,’ said the teen’s mother, nudging him in the ribs.
The boy snorted like a donkey. ‘Yeah, and then I’d be on the first plane out of this dump.’
Maisie restrained herself. ‘That would be great, but since we’re probably not going to, we’ll just have to roll our sleeves up, put our heads together and get on with it,’ she said firmly.
There were mutters from the floor. ‘How do we do that? Who’s going to organise it?’
‘I’ve compiled a list of people who’ve offered to help, and drawn up a rough rota for doing the work so we know who’s doing what and when. It’s going to be a very moveable feast because we’re all busy with other commitments. People will turn up if and when they can spare the time.’
‘Anything will better than how things are today,’ said Una.
‘We need to complete at least some of the jobs so businesses are ready for the new season at Easter,’ added Javid.
Patrick raised his hand from the back of the room. ‘I know I don’t come from here so I’m sorry for sticking my oar in but I think it sounds like a good solution and I’m happy to help.’
Heads turned.
Maisie flung a smile his way. ‘Thanks. That would be great.’
She immediately turned her attention back to the audience, not wanting to focus on Patrick too much but secretly thrilled to have his support. Hands started flying up all over the room and there was a definite buzz of excitement.
‘All and any ideas welcome. I’m so glad some of you want to give this a try.’
After much debate, only one couple was still determined to sell up and left the meeting while everyone else stayed on to work out the details. Noise levels rose so high that Maisie had to try and call people to order so they could actually make some decisions. After a show of hands, it was decided to start work on upgrading the property in most urgent need of TLC – Hell Cove House and its cottages.
The Fudge Pantry was to be next in line. It needed its kitchen area bringing up to the latest standards and a basic makeover of the tiny shop and terrace area where people sat to enjoy ice creams, cold drinks and homemade sweet treats.
When that work was complete, depending on the weather and materials and labour availability, the workers agreed to divide their resources and have two working parties on two more properties and so on, with a deadline of all the jobs to be complete by Easter. It was a tall order that they’d finish all the projects, and privately Maisie thought it would be impossible, but she didn’t want to burst the bubble now so many islanders were engaged in the process. And who knew what the weather would throw at them … On the other hand, the most urgent jobs needed to be done over the next few months in time for the new season.
‘That’s it. We start work as soon as possible,’ said Maisie. ‘Javid will be round to compile a timescale and list of volunteers, plus the materials required.’
‘We’ve already worked out the stuff we need at Hell Cove,’ said Phyllis, pulling a sheet of paper from her folder. ‘I helped Dad roof it in the first place and I know every inch of it.’
‘I’ve done a spreadsheet of the materials required and how much we think they’ll cost,’ said Una. ‘I keep it with all the cottage bookings on the computer,’ she added proudly.
‘Great. If we can have a copy I’ll get Javid and Patrick to look at it.’
Javid agreed to be in charge of social media and the teenage Preece was bribed and coerced to help set up and manage an Instagram account to publicise the cottages and businesses once the work was done.
After everyone had left, Maisie was loading the dishwasher in the pub kitchen while Patrick tackled the extra crockery. Ray and Hazel were upstairs, clearing away then going for a well-earned rest.
‘Thanks for offering to help. I never expected so much enthusiasm. Do you mind being hired out like this?’ Maisie asked.
‘What else am I going to do with my time off? I want to be useful.’
‘Yes, but you’re not our slave.’
‘I dunno. Being your slave doesn’t sound too bad to me.’ He winked. ‘Stop worrying.’
Damn, the cheek and the Marigolds were a lethal combination. She felt optimistic, almost drunk with happiness in a way she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
‘You’re smiling,’ said Patrick. ‘It suits you and I like it.’ He hesitated, which wasn’t like him. ‘Maisie?’
‘What?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’
‘You can’t say “Maisie” in that way and not follow it up. Come on, get it off your chest, Crocodile Dundee.’ She giggled and pushed her finger into the space between his pecs. ‘And it’s a very nice chest at that.’
‘Now, now. You’ll keep me from my work.’
‘I hope so … What were you going to say?’
‘Only that …’ He smiled. ‘You’re bubbly and happy. Smiling in a way I haven’t seen you for a while.’
‘So? I can be bubbly sometimes. Any complaints?’
‘No. None at all. It’s great …’ he said, a little wistfully Maisie thought. Perhaps she should be bubbly more often. It felt great. The banter with Patrick, his support, the sex – wow, the sex. Not only that but the comfort and joy of his warm body next to hers, making love to her. Any more dwelling on his body and she might end up taking him over the kitchen table, even with her parents upstairs. She pictured their faces if they were to walk in on her and Patrick. Him with his jeans round his ankles and her on the kitchen table, gasping. They’d managed a couple of passionate moments while Ray and Hazel were safely on the main island, in addition to their trysts at the Flower Farm, but there were never enough opportunities for Maisie’s liking.
‘If only we were alone now,’ Patrick murmured, holding up his soapy Marigolds. The bubbles glistened in the kitchen lighting and he smelled faintly of lemon washing-up liquid.
‘Mmm. I know …’
She barely had time to breathe before his arms were around her back and his hands were on her bottom. His warm soapy wet hands. Warm water from the gloves soaked through her jeans and made her bum damp. She held his back, glorying in the flex of muscle through his shirt and sweater. He broke the kiss. She caught a snatch of her mother talking from upstairs. It was amazing her parents hadn’t come down to the kitchen.
‘While we’re on our own, I’ve got something to ask you,’ said Maisie.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘That sounds serious.’
‘Not really … although you might not want to do this. It’s fine if you don’t, or you’ve other plans, but I was wondering if you’d join us for Christmas Day. You’re staying here, I presume?’
He smiled but also looked a little puzzled. ‘Yes. I’m staying on Gull. It’s too far to go home for a short time and you need me over the holiday and on New Year’s Eve, don’t you?’
Maisie hadn’t realised how nervous she was about asking him to join their family party. He might think it was a step too far: too much pressure or too much of a ‘happy family’ thing that might make him feel she was trying to tie him down.
‘Yes, but …’ she said, wondering if he was trying to wriggle out of joining them.
‘I don’t want to muscle in on your family party,’ he said. ‘What does your mum have to say about me joining in?’
‘Actually, she mentioned it before I even brought the subject up.’
‘As in, “I’ll never speak to you again if you ask that bloody layabout to share our Christmas dinner, Maisie”?’
Maisie shook her head and tried not to smile too much. ‘No, her exact words were: “We’ll need a bigger bird if Patrick’s having Christmas lunch with us. He eats like a horse”.’
Patrick laughed. ‘Well, it’s a kind thought but Will’s mum has already asked me to join him and Jess at the Flower Farm.’
‘Oh.’ Maisie tried to hide her disappointment. ‘In that case—’
‘And Archie Pendower invited me to share a nut roast. Fen’s a vegetarian, as you know, and his grandson Jacob can’t make it home to St Piran’s for Christmas as he’s on assignment in Papua New Guinea.’
‘Archie and Fen asked you? Awww. That’s sweet of them. You should accept.’
‘The thing is that Javid also said I could join him and Katya. And Rev Bev invited me to the rectory for a roast goose with her “special friend” who’s a curate from St Trenyan, “if I was desperate”, she said.’
‘My God, this is turning into The Vicar of Dibley. How many Christmas dinners do you plan on eating?’
Patrick grinned. ‘Depends how many sprouts I can fit in. Of course, as an Aussie, I’d rather be having a barbie on the beach.’
‘Do you really have a barbecue on the beach on Christmas Day?’
‘No, because I was always working. We used to have our proper dinner a few days later after we’d raked in the cash from the partygoers and all the cricket fans at the Boxing Day test at the MCG, of course. Made most of our money over the festive season.’ He quirked an eyebrow. ‘Much as I’d love to crawl round Gull eating myself stupid, I’d far rather be at your table, as long as your parents really don’t mind.’
‘Mum would never have asked if she did.’
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to farm me off on the other good souls who’ve offered to take a hungry stranger in?’ He gave her a puppy-dog look.
She suppressed a giggle. ‘Stop it, McKinnon. You’re getting a proper Samson family Christmas and I’ll make sure you get more than your fair share of sprouts for your cheek.’
‘I suppose I’ve no choice. Let me know if I can help out.’
‘No. This is one dinner that Mum – and Dad – like to be in charge of. Don’t deprive them of that.’
‘I won’t. I’ll behave impeccably.’
He drew his finger lightly over her cheek. Maisie’s skin tingled and her body thrummed with desire. She glanced around her. ‘Be careful.’
‘I always am careful.’
‘I don’t want anyone knowing. I want this to be between us: our private secret. No one else’s.’
‘Apart from Jess and Will?’ Patrick said, with a smile.
‘Apart from them.’
Patrick stopped any more words with a hot, lingering kiss that made Maisie feel as if she’d lifted into the air. Her whole body felt alive. How would she ever get through a Christmas dinner with him sitting next to her? Knowing what they’d done together and pretending to be friends and colleagues? She wanted him to share her Christmas so much and was quietly ecstatic when her mother had unexpectedly suggested it without Maisie having to hint. But would Patrick being part of their intimate family occasion be too much for them both to cope with, without her parents realising they were – well, something more than boss and barman? An item? A couple?
Maisie shivered as Patrick rested his big hands on her waist and deepened the kiss. She couldn’t name what she and Patrick ‘were’ or think of it ending when he returned to the other side of the world. She pushed that fact to the back of the dark locked cupboard where she kept her other painful and uncomfortable truths.