In the first light of a gloomy New Year’s Day, Maisie stood in the doorway to the bar and saw hell. The place looked like a drunken hurricane had blown through it. Streamers hung limply from the ceiling and the floor was littered with party poppers, silly string and bottles. The tables were still covered with dirty glassware and paper plates holding half-eaten sausage rolls and sandwiches. Cards and unopened presents were piled on a table in the corner. A balloon with ‘Fabulous at 40’ on it bobbed up and down in the draught from the front door.
And the place reeked. Of booze, sweat, stale food and sheer overwhelming misery.
Fighting back tears, Maisie picked her way over the sticky floorboards, stopping to gather up the pieces of a broken bottle. She carried it gingerly to the bin behind the bar and dropped it inside. The drip mats were soaked and the bar was coated in a residue of sticky alcohol. The whole place was a health and fire hazard and she had never hated anywhere more in her entire life.
Pushing half-empty glasses aside, Maisie put the black coffee she’d just made on a table opposite the window and sank down onto one of the cleaner chairs. She felt like an empty shell on the beach: a nothing, tossed about at the mercy of the sea. She had no idea if Patrick had gone back to the Piggery. Her main focus had shifted yet again: to the news that her parents were planning to sell the pub.
They were still upstairs in bed, and probably too ashamed and upset to come down yet, after the mother of all rows that had taken place last night. Maisie had asked Jess to leave so she wouldn’t have to witness it.
‘Why?’ she’d asked them. ‘Why have you done this?’
‘We only decided a few days ago. We were going to tell you after your party but we didn’t want to spoil it,’ her mother had said.
Her dad had wrung his hands in guilt. ‘We knew you’d be upset, love, but we’re too old for this. Hugo offered us a great price, more than we could hope for, and everyone else is selling up.’
‘They’re not. Not everyone, Una and Phyllis have changed their minds.’
‘Have they? For how long? You’re flogging a dead horse.’
‘We’re profitable. I can make the pub profitable.’
‘Maybe, but it’s such hard work. We’re worn out with it. We want to move to the mainland. We’ve seen a nice bungalow in St Just. You can almost see Scilly …’ her dad said. ‘You own a third of the Driftwood. You could buy us out if you really want to with the money from your flat in St Austell. It would go some of the way at least.’ Ray Samson had tears in his eyes. ‘Look, love, if selling upsets you this much, we’ll stay.’
Hazel stayed tight-lipped.
‘You have to do what you think is best,’ Maisie had said finally, and left them to go to her room to sob her heart out.
Now she heard signs of life from the flat but she couldn’t face them yet, and the fallout from the other bombshell of the night was beginning to hit her afresh. Abandoning the coffee, she hurried into the kitchen and grabbed an old coat from by the back door. She needed time and space to think of what to do next, though God knew what that would be.
Her phone beeped in her pocket.
Hun, r u OK? Stupid question. Phone me.
Jess’s text was very early. She and Will wouldn’t have got back to St Saviour’s until well after two. Maisie ignored it: she didn’t know how she’d hold it together if she did speak to Jess, or anyone who’d seen and heard what happened last night. She’d thought the Driftwood was the centre of the community and it was the centre of her world, yet it had crumbled.
Maisie sneaked around the side of the house. She couldn’t resist a quick glance at the Piggery. The curtains were open but that didn’t tell her whether Patrick was in there or not. She definitely didn’t want to see him or anyone yet so she headed straight for the beach. It was a grey morning, with thick skies and no sign or sound of a human. The tide was out about as far as it ever could go and an oystercatcher pecked the shoreline with its long orange bill. A mottled grey seal bobbed up and down in the channel, watching her. Gulls wheeled around in the sky, crying. She zipped up her jacket and walked towards ‘her’ rock.
She’d gone over Hugo’s revelation and Patrick’s response time after time. She half wished she hadn’t chucked Patrick out, although she’d been so shocked last night, throwing him out had probably been self-protection.
Now she wanted to know everything. No matter how angry she was with Patrick, she had to see him, if he was even still on the island. The future of the Driftwood and Gull was at stake, and that was bigger than her own shattered ego and heart.
Maisie began walking around the headland in the direction of Hell Cove, trying to clear her mind. The spring tide had uncovered expanses of sand and rocks that rarely saw daylight, which meant she could walk all the way to the cove on the beach. Head down against the wind, she shoved her hands in her pockets and forced herself to put one foot in front of the other.
She’d almost reached Hell Cove House when she saw Patrick on the beach in front of it, throwing a stick for a small dog she didn’t recognise. He was wearing the same clothes as when she chucked him out of the pub the previous evening. So he hadn’t slept in the Piggery then? He’d taken her order to get out of the pub as an order to leave the premises full stop. She felt a momentary pang of guilt. Had he been wandering the island all night?
Then she reminded herself that the little dog wasn’t the only creature she didn’t recognise. Patrick wasn’t even Patrick any more. He was Henry Scorrier, and far more importantly, he was a serial liar.
He spotted her and stopped walking. The dog raced around him, a young Jack Russell. Maisie quickened her step, her heart in her mouth. She wanted to run to him, hold him and kiss him as she would have before but knew she never could or would again.
He stuck his hands in his pockets and waited for her.
‘Where have you been?’ she asked, almost before he was within earshot.
‘Staying at Hell Cove House. The Bartons spotted me outside the community hall when they walked home last night. They let me sleep in one of the cottages. Not in the main house, they have a friend from St Mary’s staying. That’s her dog.’ The Jack Russell dropped a stick at Patrick’s feet and he flung it towards the sea. The dog skittered over the sand in pursuit of it.
‘So they know the whole story?’
‘They know nothing more than they saw in the pub. They didn’t ask and I certainly wasn’t going to tell them.’
‘Tell them what exactly?’ Maisie’s voice rose. She’d meant to be calm and cold when she finally confronted him but it was impossible.
‘I owe you an explanation.’
‘We owe each other nothing,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve been a fool.’
‘No. I’m the fool. I’m sorry. So sorry that this got so out of hand.’
‘Who are you, Patrick? Who are you really?’
‘Hugo’s right. I am his cousin. His father and mine were brothers, though they never really got on. When my grandfather, Julian, died, he left Petroc to my dad, Hector, but Dad was only twenty-two and he’d just met my mum, Chloe.’
‘I knew your parents’ names,’ Maisie said when she realised she’d heard her parents talk about them, ‘and that they’d died in an accident in Australia. A car accident near Sydney, not a plane crash in the Outback as you claimed.’
‘I tried to stick close to the truth. Not in the details, because that would have given the game away …’
‘The game?’ Maisie could barely get the word out. ‘Did Hugo recognise you?’ she said, almost choking on the words.
‘I doubt it as he’s only ever seen photos of me as a baby. Maybe he had a private detective checking me out or he just put two and two together. It was only a matter of time and he told me himself he thought I was hiding something, but I swear, Maisie, I was going to come clean with you and everyone.’
‘When?’
‘After your party. When we were alone together. On my life, Maisie, you must believe me.’
‘I don’t have to believe another word you say, Henry.’
Patrick covered his face with his hands and let out a cry of agony. ‘Don’t call me that.’
Maisie didn’t feel a shred of sympathy for him. ‘All you had to do was tell me the first time we met. It’s that simple.’
‘No. It wasn’t. It wasn’t that simple for me. You don’t understand.’
‘Then try and help me understand. Help me understand why you would do this to me – to us all.’
A woman appeared at the gate to Hell Cove House and whistled to the dog, which ran back to her.
‘Walk with me?’ Patrick asked.
Maisie nodded.
‘It’s your ancestors who are from Scilly, isn’t it? Not Greg’s? I knew you were hiding something, I felt it, but I was too bloody infatuated to follow my instincts. Jesus, you must think I am such a fool.’
‘No. I don’t. I’m the bloody fool. I love you, Maisie.’
Maisie felt as if he’d dealt her another blow. They were empty words coming from a serial liar.
‘Mum and Dad never wanted Petroc. They were young and bohemian – hippies – and they took off and instantly fell in love with Australia where no one gave a toss about their background. We were happy, we would have been … if they hadn’t been killed.’
‘And I’m very sorry for that, Patrick. Truly I am, and I can understand that it was a horrific shock to you, but the fact is that you do own Petroc and the fortune that goes with it.’
‘Yes, but Mum and Dad never drew on any of it and the fund built up. They left Graydon in charge and when Hugo grew up, he started to run the business. He knew I existed somewhere but I never had any direct contact with him. I changed my name to Patrick McKinnon when I was eighteen. The trust fund is still in the Scorrier name and administered by my team of lawyers and accountants and all the decisions and paperwork were signed off by them. But when Hugo made an offer to buy me out they had to contact me directly. Greg had been diagnosed by then and he said I should come here and see the place for myself before I made a decision I might regret forever.’
‘I’m deeply sorry about Greg, but pretending you’re some kind of impoverished barman when you have so much power over us was cruel.’
‘I’m sorry. I never meant it to be. The only time I’ve ever touched the money was to arrange for some treatment for Greg … and help the islanders here. Hugo has offered me a very generous settlement. I could rattle around the Fingle, never having to worry about money and being a barman as a hobby, but I don’t want the money. Never did and never will.’
Maisie gasped. ‘You wouldn’t say that if you were in financial trouble or lived hand to mouth. We don’t at the Driftwood, but some people here do.’
‘That was tactless. I’m sorry, but like I said before: people treat you differently when you have money. There’s no peace with it.’
‘And even less without it,’ said Maisie tartly. ‘Why didn’t your dad turn Petroc over to Hugo and take the money if he wanted it so much? Why haven’t you?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe for the same reason you don’t like Hugo. Maybe Dad didn’t trust Graydon to own it completely, only to run it. Maybe he wanted to leave the door open for me to take it over one day, though he never said so. I was only thirteen when they died and I never thought about the place, I was too busy being a teenager, getting into trouble and playing Aussie Rules. It was only when they said it was mine but it was in trust that I realised it was going to be my responsibility.
‘Since then, through my lawyers and trustees, Hugo and Graydon have been given carte blanche to run Petroc, and reap all the profits. They’ve spent years building up the business and, as you know, Hugo’s now hell bent on getting Petroc transferred to him once and for all. I didn’t know his plans for Gull and the Driftwood until I’d been here a while. I swear and I don’t agree with them pressurising people like the Bartons and your parents.’
‘What Mum and Dad do is their own decision. But why should you care? You’ve said yourself that you only wanted to take Hugo’s offer and wash your hands of us all.’
‘That was before I came here. Before Greg made me come.’
‘Why did you stay on and ask for the job?’
‘I wanted to see for myself what was really going on before I signed over my power to stop it. And I wanted to be close to you … believe me.’
Maisie tried not to burst into tears at his admission. She did believe him but it was too little truth too late for her to take him back into her life.
‘Why did you buy those supplies and encourage us all to fight Hugo?’ she asked.
‘Because I didn’t want Hugo to buy Gull. I wanted you all to succeed on your own terms.’
‘You mean you wanted to have your cake and eat it.’
‘Yes. Yes, I did.’
‘In fact, you wanted to get out of this mess without having to help us out of it.’
They’d stopped on a stretch of shingle, halfway back to the Driftwood. ‘Wouldn’t that have been the best solution?’ Patrick said. ‘I did want that until I decided to stay. I was about to come clean, Maisie, you have to believe me.’
She couldn’t speak any more.
‘But you never will, now, will you?’
‘I can still stop Hugo,’ he said. ‘I won’t sell and I’ll stay and sort it out for as long as you want me to. I’ve nothing to lose now.’
Maisie bit back her frustration. Within a moment, she’d heard the Driftwood was safe and that Patrick would stay. She had everything she wanted, so why did she feel as if she’d lost everything?
‘I genuinely don’t mind you being wealthy. I’m not one of these people who think everyone with money is a bastard. I’m not envious – I don’t care – but the important thing is, Patrick …’ She said his name as if it burned her mouth. ‘Is that you do own the place, and more hurtfully, that you chose to lie about that.’
‘I can’t undo that. I wish I could but I can stop Hugo from buying anything on Gull. Save the Driftwood. Your parents don’t have to sell.’
‘They want to sell, Patrick. That’s the point. They’ve given up on the pub and they own most of it so why would I stop them? I don’t want you saving me or the Driftwood. I want you to get out of my home and out of my life. If that means I lose everything in the end, I don’t care. I won’t put my future in the hands of someone I can’t rely on to be honest with me, ever again.’
‘Maisie, wait!’
She stumbled off over the loose shingle. ‘Go home, Patrick, to your real home, and do what you want with your money. We don’t need you.’