‘Golly, what are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know yet. I’m sure I shall receive a sign.’ He stood up. ‘In the meantime, I shall ask Piran to come over and have a look at this box of treasure. He may be able to shed some light on it.’
Helen did her best to disguise her reluctance to this idea, ‘Maybe.’
At the front door Simon said, ‘I’ve had a wonderful evening, Helen. You are very kind to me.’
‘Not at all. I’m so happy to have made a real friend.’ She reached up and gave him another of her kisses on the cheek and they said goodnight.
Simon waved at the gate before his short walk across the green to the vicarage.
Helen washed up, turned the lights out and went to bed with a good book. Simon walked home as if on air.
11
The next couple of weeks were busy for Helen. She and Tony went to town on the garden. Along the path from the gate to the front door they planted lady’s mantle. In the cracks of the drystone wall she pushed violas and primroses. The great Cornish palm looked splendid in its sheltered corner, while the two blue pots containing the agapanthus were placed either side of the old gate. She couldn’t wait to see them in bloom.
Tony, meanwhile, took over the vegetable plot. It was dug and composted to within an inch of its life ready for the spring plantings, but he also put in a row of asparagus, and some rhubarb. The rest of the garden Helen filled with roses, daphnes and hydrangeas, with jasmine and clematis left to ramble over the wall which divided her from the churchyard … and any spying from Piran Ambrose.
Her final pièce de résistance was a wisteria, which she hoped would clamber over the privy. She and Tony had cleared the privy of its broken gardening tools and rusty watering cans, but they found no other treasure in there. Tony had taken to using it as his main bathroom now, not having running water in the shepherd’s hut. The flushing loo and cold water tap served him just fine. It was better than always knocking on Polly’s door when he needed to fill his kettle or have a pee. Helen rather liked his presence in the garden.
She had put the tin box under her bed and out of her mind after the supper with Simon. She didn’t relish his suggestion of taking it to Piran, but perhaps there would be no alternative.
Anyway, Penny was coming down that weekend, and she might have some bright ideas.
*
It was drizzly with a biting wind when Penny arrived in Trevay at 4 p.m. The journey down had been OK and her comfortable Jaguar XJS had taken all the strain out of the drive, but when she tried to open the door in the Starfish car park, the wind whipped it shut again. She struggled out with her long blonde hair in her eyes and mouth, pulled her warmly padded Donna Karan coat around her, and walked into reception.
The young girl behind the desk greeted her warmly and introduced herself as Kayla. ‘I expect you’d like a tray of tea and some crumpets after your long journey?’ The thought hadn’t entered Penny’s head but, now she came to think of it, it seemed like a fabulous idea.
‘Thank you so much.’ She looked around. ‘What a beautiful building.’ Outside it may have looked severe, built in local granite by the Victorians, but inside it was as contemporary as any London hotel. Although painted all white, the clever and discreet lighting made it warm and cosy. The slate floor, with vast, jewel-coloured Indian rugs, felt warm underfoot. But it was the touches of designer chic that really brought it all together. Huge four-foot bell jars filled with lime-green apples and twinkling candles, and on the wall above the wide, polished oak staircase was a stunning oil painting of a starfish lying on a sparkling ocean floor.
‘Yes, Ms Leighton, we like it. Do you have any luggage in the car that needs bringing in? If you give me the keys, I’ll get Darren to collect it and bring it to your room.’
Kayla gave Penny a key attached to a starfish key ring encrusted with Swarovski crystals. ‘You’re in room 207 on the second floor. The lift is on the left. Anything you need, just give us a call.’
Penny took the lift – fashioned like an old bathing hut; kitsch but cute – to the second floor and found her room. The old adage that less is more applied here. Everything was of the best quality, but not overdone. And the view of the harbour with its fishing boats, from what she could make out through the heavy rain that was now hammering down, would be lovely when the sun came out.
She picked up the phone and called Helen.
‘Darling, I’m here! In Trevay! The hotel is fabulous. Shall I book a table for two tonight at seven-thirty? Is that OK for you?’
‘Yes, please. I’ve starved myself all week.’
They chatted a bit more and then Penny ran herself a deep, hot bubbly bath, warming her feet on the heated tiles as she did so. She lay happily in the suds eating her buttered crumpets, drinking her tea and listening to the rain on the windows.
*
At dinner that night, Penny filled Helen in on all the London news. Most of it was about work and a little about friends, but nothing about a social life.
‘What about your romantic life? Anyone special yet?’ asked Helen.
‘No. No one. I’m too old, too set in my ways, too independent, too much of a ball-breaker – or that’s what the last complete prat told me. Who understands men? They say they want a woman who has a mind of her own and financial independence. But when it comes down to it, all they really want is someone they can dominate. And I’m not good at being dominated. I wish I was … but …’ She waved a hand. ‘MEN! They can go and boil their fat, stupid, chauvinistic heads.’
Helen threw her head back and roared with laughter. ‘I’ll drink to that! Fancy a margarita before the food arrives?’
One margarita naturally turned into several. Tequila loosened them both up and suddenly everything was funny. When Helen described Simon, Penny did an appalling impression of an ancient, randy old vicar. Helen wheezed with laughter, holding one hand to her ribs and the other to her mouth. Penny, in full swing now, leant back in her chair, tucked her fingers under her imaginary braces and in her vicar voice said, ‘I’d be very obliged if I might take a dip in your font, madam.’ And with that, she overbalanced her chair and fell straight over backwards.’
‘Hello, Mrs Merrifield. You certainly know how to enjoy yourself.’
Piran Ambrose, with a small, large-bosomed, kittenish woman in her thirties on his arm, stopped at the table. Helen jumped up in shock and knocked her glass over. Penny, with the help of a waiter, picked herself up and offered her hand in greeting.
‘Good evening. I’m Penny, a friend of Helen’s.’
Piran glanced at her and then back to Helen. ‘I remember the first time I had a drink too. Enjoy your evening.’
The kitten woman pulled him away with a parting, malicious smile aimed at Helen.
*
The next morning both women had rather woolly heads. Helen woke up first and turned over to look at Penny. ‘I thought we were too old for sleepovers. Thank God you didn’t let me drive home.’
Penny opened her still mascara’d eyes. ‘Mmm, I took your keys while you and the waiter were dancing on the table. So embarrassing.’
‘Oh God. I didn’t, did I?’
‘No, but you asked him to, which was bad enough.’
Helen shoved her friend in the ribs.
‘I did not! … He was lovely though, wasn’t he?’
‘Too young for either of us, but nice to look at.’
‘Not like that git Piran Ambrose. That’s at least