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Isla wasn’t sure at all, not after Paul had gone into a sulk and deemed it another of her Bad Ideas. But she smiled and told him, ‘I’m happy with it if you are.’
Ben didn’t look particularly happy but he nodded. ‘Might as well, seeing as the fog’s lifted this morning.’ He gave Rosie a smile. ‘Thanks again for an awesome breakfast. I could get used to a Full English.’
Rosie beamed. ‘You’re very welcome. Maybe you can have one tomorrow, too, if you have time before you head for London?’
He nodded. ‘I’m here until a quarter after nine so that would be wonderful, thank you.’
Rosie stood aside to let Ben walk past and raised her eyebrows at Isla as he opened the door and stepped outside. Was she implying that Isla was fortunate to be spending the day with a big, burly American, or was she wishing her luck? Isla bid Rosie goodbye and followed Ben out into the chilly air.
He’d already walked off and went straight to the edge of the cliff, where he stood looking out to sea, his hands on his hips.
‘Wow,’ he said when Isla joined him. ‘I gotta admit that’s quite a view.’
‘Is it the first time you’ve seen it?’
‘The first time I’ve seen it properly. It was shrouded in mist yesterday and my room is at the back of Driftwood House so I’m looking over to…some moor in the distance, rather than the ocean.’
‘Dartmoor.’
‘Dart what?’
‘The moor is called Dartmoor and it’s a shame you’re not staying longer in the area because it’s well worth a visit. Acres of grassland, topped by ancient tors.’
‘And tors are what, exactly?’
‘Raised outcrops of granite.’ Isla shrugged. ‘They look better than they sound. They’re awesome, actually.’
Was awesome a particularly American word? Isla wondered. Would Ben think she was taking the mick? She glanced at him but he was still looking out over the water, which, today, was a translucent blue. Surging waves were crashing into the base of the cliffs and shooting pearly plumes into the air.
‘Mom would like this,’ said Ben quietly, pulling out his phone to take a few photos. ‘Dad too.’
Photos captured, he put his phone back into his jeans pocket and pulled a beanie hat from his jacket. ‘OK. What other gems have you got to show me in Heaven’s Cove?’ When he shoved the hat onto his head, curls of dark hair peeped out.
‘Well, I thought we’d start with the castle,’ said Isla, banging her gloved hands together to help keep them warm.
Ben laughed, his teeth bright against the cornflower-blue sky. ‘There’s a real life castle here?’
‘Yes, but only the ruins of one, obviously.’
‘Obviously.’ Ben shook his head. ‘So when does this castle date from?’
‘There’s an information board you can read when we get there but I know the oldest part, the keep, was built in the thirteenth century.’
‘So it’s eight hundred years old?’ Ben whistled through his teeth. ‘You certainly know how to do history over here.’ He peered at Heaven’s Cove far below them – a tumble of whitewashed cottages hugging the coast, with the squat tower of St Augustine’s Church at its centre.
‘This whole freaking place is like a museum,’ said Ben, shielding his eyes against the bright sun. ‘Where I live, buildings just a few centuries old are thought to be ancient.’
‘In that case, St Augustine’s Church, which dates back to the tenth century, is going to blow your mind.’
* * *
Isla had been apprehensive about the tour and kicking herself for suggesting it in the first place. But actually, once the initial meet-up was over, and the tour proper began, the awkwardness she felt with Ben began to fade.This was helped immeasurably by Ben being less of an arse than he’d been the day before.
This morning, after a night’s sleep, he seemed less obviously irritated about being in Heaven’s Cove in the first place. And he appeared genuinely interested in the village’s ‘best bits’ that Isla showed him: the castle ruins; the quayside where bright fishing boats bobbed on the water; the narrow streets crammed with cottages and gift shops; the wooded headland stretching out into the sea, and the cliff that towered over the village, on top of which stood Driftwood House.
He was particularly interested in St Augustine’s and he took photos of Edith’s gravestone to show his mum, even though he said it was ghoulish.In fact, he took so many pictures of the village, Isla began to worry he’d run out of space on his phone.
After two hours, and dozens of photos, the chill wind was beginning to bite through Isla’s thick gloves, and she suggested they head to The Heavenly Tea Shop to thaw out.
