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Isla bit her lip, weighing up the suggestion. Nell was obviously still grieving the loss of her husband and found focusing on his family tree comforting. Perhaps her son’s visit to Heaven’s Cove would be a distraction for her that would do her good. And maybe she’d find out something else about William that her son could pass on when he came to the village.
Isla made up her mind. ‘Do you know what?’ she said quickly, before she could change it. ‘That would be fine, if your son’s happy to visit Heaven’s Cove. Can you pass on my email details to him and get him to contact me? What’s his name?’
‘It’s Benjamin – Ben.’ Nell’s face broke into a wide smile. ‘That’s wonderful, Isla, thank you. I’m sure Ben would love to walk in the footsteps of his ancestors. I’ll get him to mail you. And maybe we can keep in touch too?’
‘That would be wonderful. And I wish you the best of luck with your genealogy research.’
‘You too.’ Nell leaned in closer to the screen. ‘And I am so sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you. Likewise. Take care.’
Isla clicked off the call and rested her chin on the heels of her hands. Nell seemed like a lovely woman, and she’d learned more about William during their chat – though not enough to solve the riddle and bring her and Caitlin the ‘good fortune’ their grandmother had promised.
But she was already regretting her impulsive decision to welcome Nell’s son to Heaven’s Cove. Having Caitlin around was trying enough, with her barbs about Isla not selling Rose Cottage, and Maisie could be challenging. Then there was the huge hole that Jessie’s absence had left in her life, and Paul taking umbrage when she dared to communicate with people who didn’t actually live in Devon. Isla sighed because he wouldn’t be at all happy about Nell’s son showing up.
Oh, well. She closed her eyes and tried to relax her tight shoulders. It was done now, so she would show willing and email a list of local guesthouses to Nell, including Driftwood House that sat high on the cliff above the village.
Staying there would give Ben a great view of Heaven’s Cove, which was a wonderful place to visit. Isla looked out of the window, at the rain lashing down and the grey clouds sitting on top of the village. Well, maybe it wasn’t quite so wonderful in winter. But hopefully Ben’s visit would be a fleeting one.
13
CAITLIN
The Smugglers Haunt was a welcome haven from the icy wind that was whipping round Heaven’s Cove. Caitlin took off her cashmere scarf – a present from Stuart when their marriage had been on less shaky ground – and tucked it into her jacket pocket.
‘Grab a seat by the fire, Isla, and I’ll get the drinks in. Martini and lemonade, is it?’
‘I haven’t drunk Martini since I was sixteen, swigging from a bottle with my friends on the quayside.’
‘OK. What would you prefer?’
‘White wine, please.’
‘Any particular type?’
‘Something decent. Not the house white because even Fred admits it’s got a vinegary aftertaste. I’ve no idea why he doesn’t change it.’
Isla nodded at Fred, the man who’d been landlord here for ever. He had less hair and more stomach than the last time Caitlin had seen him.
‘All right. You grab us a seat and I won’t be a minute.’
It was just like old times, thought Caitlin, hanging her jacket on the coat stand and making her way to the bar. The place smelled the same – a heady aroma of alcohol fumes and smoke from the fire. The pub hadn’t changed in centuries: the wooden counter of the bar, the whitewashed walls laden with horse brasses, the low ceiling and wide stone window ledges. But there were a few modern touches including the gleaming optics behind the bar that was festooned with fairy lights, and a neon sign declaring Christmas Party. Get your tickets here.
Christmas! It was approaching fast but Caitlin had never felt less festive in her life. Where would she and Maisie be when the 25th of December hit – in their comfortable house in London, or in some rental dive, God knows where? Would she even be able to afford a decent Christmas present for her stepdaughter?
Caitlin, realising that her life was out of her control, felt a gnawing rush of anxiety. What happened next depended on either Stuart getting his act together and saving their home, or on Isla selling the only home she’d known for the last twenty years.
‘All right, Caitlin?’
A voice sounded across the pub, from a woman Caitlin vaguely recognised from her teenage days. She gave her a smile and a wave, unable to recall her name, even though she’d never forget the hours spent in here – mostly drinking lemonade or Coke because it was impossible to wangle an alcoholic drink when everyone in the village knew you were underage.
She’d made up for it on her eighteenth birthday, of course, with plenty of alcohol, and she could well recall how ill she’d been afterwards. Sean had held back her hair while she was sick over the harbour wall.
Caitlin shook her head to wipe away any thoughts of Sean, who hadn’t been around when she’d collected her car that afternoon. There was a note stuck to the dashboard, in handwriting she recognised as his.
Fixed and ready to drive back to your London life.
Was she being over-sensitive or was that a dig? If so, though it might be warranted, it was ridiculous to bear a grudge after so many years. True, she hadn’t treated Sean very well. But the two of them had been very young and what was he expecting? That they’d get married and live happily ever after? Caitlin sighed because her union with Stuart was living proof that this was not a realistic notion.
