The Golden Oldies Guesthouse (ARC) Read online

  ‘I’m sorry but the two rooms with sea views are booked for several weeks,’ Tess said, ‘I did explain that. But we have a glass-walled sitting room and dining room and a large terrace from where you’re most welcome to enjoy the sea view.’

  ‘Lovely!’ exclaimed Jackie, looking through the door into the bathroom. ‘Look, Joe, a lovely big en suite with a bath and all!’

  ‘A shower’s good enough for me,’ said Joe.

  He was determined not to like anything, approve of anything or even be moderately pleasant. Jackie was feeling ashamed and embarrassed and wondered again if she could stand his undiluted company for even a few days, far less a few weeks. This looked like having been a dreadful, dreadful mistake.

  ‘I’ll get my husband to help you up with your luggage,’ Tess said.

  ‘No need,’ said Joe, ‘I can manage a couple of cases. We ain’t here for months.’

  ‘Well then, I’ll leave you to it,’ Tess said. ‘Dinner is at seven thirty but I could do you a cream tea, if you liked, in the meantime?’

  ‘Have you any beer?’ Joe asked.

  ‘Yes, we have cans of beer but the pub down the road has lots of different beers on tap.’

  ‘That’s where I’ll be going,’ he said.

  ‘You’ll be going on your own then,’ said Jackie under her breath.

  21

  PORT ISAAC

  Tess wandered round to where Simon was erecting a trellis around their large oil tank.

  ‘So many rules and regulations,’ he sighed. ‘Got to leave a foot clear all the way round, got to do this, got to do that. Where would we be without Health and Safety ruling our lives, eh? Was that the new people I heard arriving?’

  ‘It certainly was. Not a happy couple, and he’s really quite objectionable, bordering on rude.’

  ‘Probably just had a bad journey?’

  ‘Think it’s more likely they’ve got a bad marriage,’ Tess said. ‘He’s off to the pub already and she’s making tea for herself in the room while she unpacks.’

  ‘All sounds very jolly,’ Simon said as he hammered the final nail of a section of the trellis into the post. ‘Dinner should be fun; I wonder what Dominic will make of them.’ He laid down his hammer and glanced at his watch. ‘It’s only one o’clock so why don’t we go out for a couple of hours on our own? How about Port Isaac? We could have a drink and a snack.’

  ‘What a lovely idea!’ Tess said.

  Ten minutes later they were heading down the road that hugged the coast, admiring the stunning view of the harbour at Boscastle and the sheer ruggedness of the cliffs as they headed towards Tintagel. Tiny clouds were drifting across the sky and dappling the aquamarine and turquoise of the sea with patches of mauve where they cast their shadows, all topped by the white horses as the wind whipped the top of the waves.

  On arrival at Port Isaac Simon said, ‘I’m parking at the top of the town because I’ve no intention of squeezing through those narrow alleys they call streets round here.’

  They walked down as far as the Golden Lion which, they were relieved to see, was relatively quiet, practically empty, in fact. As Simon ordered the drinks he commented on this to the barman who said, ‘It’s ’cos everyone’s down at The Platt watching the filming. It’s a Doc Martin day today.’

  Tess was tempted to go down and have a look, but Simon wouldn’t hear of it. ‘I was an extra on the first episode of Doc Martin, and that was enough for me, thank you very much! The poor runners, running hither and yon to stop folks walking down the back lanes and coming into shot. Then you have the locals waiting to drive through and beeping their horns so the footage is unusable, and they have to refilm. Believe me – it’s chaos. Besides, you can get a wonderful view from the balcony out there and be above it all.’

  Tess was in need of sustenance and the prospect of a cool shandy and a crab sandwich won the day, while Simon opted for a pint of prawns.

  As Tess sipped her drink, she said, ‘Aren’t we lucky to live here!’

  Simon placed his hand over hers. ‘So you’ve no regrets then, my love?’

  ‘None at all,’ Tess heard herself say and realised how much she meant it. ‘I know we’ve been here less than a year but already I feel part of the place and can’t imagine living in the South-East again.’

  ‘The noise, the traffic, the aircraft screaming overhead,’ Simon prompted.

  ‘Having to wash my hair every day,’ Tess added, ‘whereas down here it still feels and looks clean after three or four days.’

  ‘Everything’s at such a slow pace, though,’ Simon said. ‘Nobody rushes to do anything. It’ll all get done dreckly!’

  ‘I’m finally beginning to understand that the world won’t end if we don’t get something done like yesterday,’ Tess said.

  ‘And what about our guests?’

  Tess thought for a moment. ‘Well, they might be a tad eccentric, but I really like that. Although they hail from upcountry we’d never have met them there, would we? I mean we’d probably have written them off as a bit weird and forgotten them. But you can’t write off people who’re living under your roof, can you?’

  ‘No, you certainly can’t. And you don’t miss the family too much, do you, Tess?’

  ‘Just sometimes,’ she replied, ‘particularly the little ones. When you only see them every few months you realise how quickly they’re growing and you worry they might forget you.’

  Simon grinned. ‘They aren’t going to forget you! And, like you said, when they’re a little older they can come down on their own.’

  ‘What about Damien?’ Tess asked hesitantly.

  ‘What about him? He’s a free spirit. He’s made his lifestyle choice, Tess, and I have to accept that. Of course I’d like him to be a family man and come visiting with wife and kids, but that’s not Damien’s style.’

  ‘There’s still time,’ Tess said.

  Simon shook his head. ‘I doubt he’ll ever lead a conventional life. Now, in spite of what I said, I’m beginning to wonder if they want anyone for a speaking part for Doc Martin?’

  ‘Surely your agent would have been in touch if they needed you? You don’t miss acting too much, do you, Simon?’

  ‘I miss it much less than I thought I would,’ he replied. ‘But you must admit the money would be useful.’

  ‘You’re much more useful to me charming the guests and cooking an occasional dinner!’ Tess said. ‘Between us we’ll make it OK. I love it so much now I couldn’t bear for it to fail. We’re attracting the type of people who are seeking peace and seclusion for whatever reason, and the bookings for next year are rolling in. We’re going to be OK.’

  ‘Yes, we are,’ Simon agreed. ‘Now, when we’ve finished here, shall we wander a little further down and get ourselves one of the huge ice creams I see everyone clutching as they pass by, trying to devour them before they melt!’

  ‘I wonder how many flavours we can squeeze into one cone?’ Tess pushed away her plate and drained her glass. ‘Shall we go find out?’

  ‘Yeah, let’s,’ Simon confirmed, as they stood up.

  22

  UNWANTED COMPANY

  Celia decided to have an early night. She’d hoped to have a couple of hours reading her book in comfortable, companionable silence in the lounge, as she had on previous evenings with Dominic. But no such luck, with that dreadful Titania going on nonstop about the plays she’d appeared in, the actors she knew, the awful goings-on these people indulged in. Dominic probably had some idea what she was talking about, but she certainly didn’t.

  At times like this Celia questioned her wisdom at coming to this place, and who might be coming next. Lucifer himself, probably. She’d chosen The Sparrows’ Nest mainly because it was well off the beaten track. People did not pass here on their way to somewhere else because Portmerryn – if you came down into the village – was pretty well at the end of the line. And Celia did not wish to be found. She intended to stay here until she decided what to do and where to go on a
permanent basis. She could afford to stay here as long as she liked, to drink wine every night if she so desired. She’d opened a bank account with a new bank after years and years of being with Barclays. Mummy would have been horrified, of course, but Mummy had finally passed away, and Celia intended to have her time before it was too late.

  She couldn’t help but wonder how Dick Sampson was reacting. Tricky Dicky, as he was known in the trade. Nasty little man in his camel hair coat, selling second-hand cars. He’d even been dragged to court a couple of times for selling unroadworthy vehicles, but mostly he got away with it.

  Several times over the years she’d asked for a pay rise.

  ‘Listen, darling,’ he’d say, ‘times are hard at the moment. Ask me again in a month or two.’ And, in the thirty-two years she’d worked in that poky little office, he’d only upped her wages a couple of times, and then purely because, by law, he had to comply with paying the lowest living wage. But the garage was a five-minute walk from home, so no commuting costs, and she could pop back for coffee, for lunch, for any problem. And Mummy had plenty of problems.

  She was good at her job. Apart from doing his bookwork, VAT, tea-making and phone answering, she cleaned the office and the tiny toilet, and she even bought the loo rolls. He knew when he was on to a good thing. None of these young girls he drooled over would do half of what she did, and he was well aware of it. By the same token Celia could have found a much better paid job just about anywhere, but it would have meant a minimum of half an hour on the bus or train each way, and would have left Mummy with only a ten-minute visit from the poor old overstretched social services in her absence. How would she have got to the bathroom? It didn’t bear thinking about. No, the arrangement worked well for both Celia and Dick. And Dicky was never one for checking the bookwork.

  Now here she was in Portmerryn, which was about as far away as you could get from Dudley and the industrial Midlands where she’d always lived, without going abroad. She didn’t want to get involved with passports. She didn’t mind Dominic because he kept himself to himself, he was polite and he didn’t ask questions. But now this awful woman had arrived, with her painted face and ridiculous clothes and, Celia suspected, an alcohol problem. Yak, yak, yak, and asking questions all the time. Celia intended to give her a wide berth.

  * * *

  The next day, Celia found a nice little ledge halfway up the coastal path among the gorse bushes where she could set up her easel in comparative privacy. It afforded her not only a great view of the ocean but also of the surrounding countryside. And she discovered that she was much better at coping with the greens and golds of the trees and fields than she was at trying to depict the raging moods of the sea. At least the countryside stood still.

  It was late afternoon and she thought that shortly she should be packing up and going back to have a shower. She loved her little spot and each day was terrified that someone might encroach on her hideaway or, worse, decide to paint alongside her.

  Just then she heard a female voice call out, ‘Coo-ee! Aren’t you clever! What a lovely picture!’

  Celia bristled. She smiled politely at the short blonde woman who was probably in her mid-sixties.

  ‘I’ve always wanted to have a go at painting,’ said the woman. ‘Now I’m retired maybe I will.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Celia shortly. Now go away!

  ‘You live round here?’ the woman persisted.

  ‘No. I’m on holiday.’ Celia leaned forward and accidentally dropped some water on her blue sky which gave her a rather splendid cloud effect.

  ‘Ooh, lovely, so am I!’ There was no getting rid of the woman. ‘We’ve just arrived. Isn’t this a beautiful place?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Well, I’d better get back to the Sparrows or my husband will be wondering where I’ve got to. Mind you, he’s probably still in the pub.’

  ‘The Sparrows?’ Celia asked, carefully washing her paintbrush.

  ‘Yeah, over there, up that hill. That’s where we’re staying.’

  ‘Oh, indeed. Well, I’d better introduce myself then because it would appear we’re staying in the same place. Celia Winsgrove.’

  ‘Well, fancy that, Celia! What a coincidence! I’m Jackie Merryweather. What have you done with your other half?’

  Celia cleared her throat. ‘My other half? I don’t have an other half.’

  Jackie appeared unperturbed. ‘Ah, so you’re here on your own then, Celia. Lucky old you! I’m beginning to wish I was. Still, we can be friends, can’t we?’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m rather a solitary person,’ Celia said.

  ‘Well, never mind! You needn’t be any more! I’d best be off – see you at dinner!’

  With that she was gone, stepping carefully down the slope in her T-shirt, tight jeans and expensive-looking trainers, leaving a distinct trace of some musky perfume in her wake.

  Celia sighed. So much for the peace and quiet she had been looking for.

  23

  TITANIA REMEMBERS

  Titania decided on the fuchsia pink and green patterned silk palazzo pants, teamed with her strappy pink top. She’d already acquired a little bit of a suntan and she knew she’d easily outshine the other women around here. Which wouldn’t be difficult. Tess was quite stylish but Titania intended to open Simon’s eyes as to how a woman could really look: exciting, colourful, flamboyant.

  He was such an impressive lovely man, that Simon Sparrow. OK, so she was considerably older than him, but that was all the fashion these days. Look at Vivienne Westwood! Look at Brigitte Macron! They’d got the right idea!

  Titania had gone shopping yesterday and stocked up with gin and cans of tonic, which she kept hidden in her locked suitcase in the bottom of the wardrobe. She wondered if she should join the other two for a drink before dinner this evening but then decided against it. Simon did a lot of the cooking apparently so, as a result, didn’t usually appear until after they’d eaten to ask if they’d enjoyed the meal and to offer liqueurs. No point in wasting her lovely outfit on those other two.

  Never in her life had Titania met such a dull woman as that Celia with her buttoned-up blouse (and personality), her floral skirt and awful clumpy sandals. Not a scrap of make-up! And boy, did she need some adornment! Had no one ever injected any fun or colour into her life?

  Dominic was OK. Titania had seen straight away that he was gay, but that was fine by her. She’d got loads of gay friends in show business and at least he wouldn’t be coming on to her, like lots of men did, being as she’d never lost her sex appeal.

  Titania rather hoped Simon Sparrow might be coming on to her because, my God, he was so fanciable. Titania liked her men younger these days. Who would want some old guy in his eighties, for goodness’ sake? All they wanted was a cook/housekeeper/nursemaid for their dotage and she wasn’t going to be having any of that, thank you very much.

  Anyway, no one would ever match up to Henry, the love of her life. ‘Titania Terry and Henry Houseman’ used to be uttered in the same breath, until the time that evil, scheming bitch, Clarice D’Arcy, got her claws into him. At least Clarice hadn’t had Henry for very long because his poor heart couldn’t keep up with her infamous voracious sexual appetite. She had killed Henry as sure as if she’d stabbed him through the heart. Then, all that wailing to the press about how much she’d adored him, how much he’d adored her, and how very special their short time together had been. When one reporter had asked, ‘Don’t you think Titania Terry might be grief-stricken, too, after all the years they were together?’ she’d had the gall to reply, ‘Titania Terry? She’s history!’

  And so will you be shortly, madam, Titania Terry avowed. And that was the reason she was really staying at The Sparrows’ Nest.

  Tomorrow she intended to make her first expedition to the Lizard to find Black Rock Cove which – so far as she could discern from her map – was very close to Land’s End. She’d need to suss the area, make some calculations. She could ask Simon tonight th
e best way to get there and achieve the opportunity of a few precious moments in his company.

  Titania was, as always, a little late in getting to the dining room. Dominic, Celia, a blonde woman and a loutish-looking man were already tucking into their starters. Celia was wearing a very boring blue-and-white-striped shirtdress this evening, plus clumpy sandals and her grey hair tucked behind her ears. The blonde was wearing a tight-fitting sundress, huge hoop earrings and a lot of make-up. She looked as if she might pop out of the dress at any minute.

  Titania looked from one to the other of the new couple. ‘Titania Terry,’ she announced. They showed no sign of recognition. Such ignorant people. The man grunted something inaudible, and the woman stood up, pumped her hand and said, ‘Jackie and Joe Merryweather! And I’m the Jackie!’ She giggled, then looked at her husband with some distaste.

  ‘You may have seen me on stage,’ Titania said grandly. ‘I used to do a fair bit of touring. Where do you come from?’

  ‘We’re from Colchester; that’s in Essex,’ said the blonde called Jackie. ‘But we don’t go to the theatre that much.’

  ‘We’d certainly remember you if we did,’ said the loutish husband with a smirk.

  ‘I don’t think,’ said Titania, sitting down, ‘that we ever performed in Colchester. We went to the big cities like Manchester and Birmingham – and Edinburgh, of course. But mainly I acted in the West End.’ She poured herself a generous measure of wine, glad that she hadn’t decided to have pre-dinner drinks with this lot. Dominic was OK but Celia was dull and boring, and these two were positively common.

  ‘So, are you going to be acting around here somewhere, Titania?’ asked the blonde Jackie.

  ‘Dear me, no!’ Titania exclaimed dramatically. ‘I’ve come here to get away from it all, darling. My agent has advised me to relax until a nice juicy part comes along.’