‘Slow down? Darling, I’m eighty-seven! Slow is for old fools. Me? I accelerate. Keeps life interesting…’ She smiled wryly. ‘And Eric on his toes.’ Her look then changed to a sharp one. ‘No sign ofyourboyfriend for a while, I’ve noticed. Everything OK?’
Rita shrugged, taking a sip of her tea to hide her irritation. Hilda, who lived in the adjoining annexe, never missed a thing. The old lady had also never quite recovered from the affair between Archie’s dad and Isobel Jenken, and the subsequent birth of Jago. Rita had also discovered that Jago was Archie’s half-brother only last year, so pain and secrets ran deep all around.
‘Silly me for giving a Jenken the benefit of the doubt.’ Hilda tutted. ‘Right. You need to keep busy. When’s your next retreat? You can’t sit and stew.’
Rita wiped down the draining board. ‘Who says I’m stewing and who says he’s gone anywhere?’
‘The woman who knows you better than you know yourself.’ She checked her watch. ‘Blast. Eric will be here shortly. Poor old Barney Blunt. Tripped on a slipper, fell back down the stairs straight onto his beloved greyhound. Both dead as dodos. Tragic.’
She grabbed her bag, blew a theatrical kiss, and winked. ‘Never let life get boring, Rita. We all end up in the dirt eventually, so we might as well roll around in it whilst we are alive and kicking.’ Hilda paused. ‘So, you’re all right, are you?’
‘Yes! I’m fine,’ Rita hissed.
Hilda popped a Fisherman’s Friend into her mouth and started sucking it furiously. ‘It’s just Eric thought he saw a woman with Jago yesterday. At the gate down at Hawthorn Acre. Deep in emotional conversation, evidently. He assumed it was you. Was it?’
Rita took a sharp intake of breath. Hilda touched her arm. ‘I’m sorry if… well, Eric never wears his glasses. Too vain.’
And with that and a hint of Chanel No. 5, eucalyptus and cigarette smoke, Hilda Jory, part mischief-maker, part guardian angel, swept out.
Rita sat, swirling the tea in her mug. A woman at Jago’s gate. Rationally, she told herself it was nothing, but her mind was already spiralling out of control. He was allowed to talk to whoever he wanted, but Hilda was a wise old fox, and Rita knew that she would be looking out for her. Yes, she trusted Jago… but he had made a grand point of wanting space. Surely he hadn’t filled it with someone else already…
With a huge sigh, she pulled on her wellies. They were both grown-ups and quite capable of communicating like them.Enough is enough!
Grabbing her keys, she slammed the front door of Seahaven Farmhouse behind her and headed for her trusty Jimny and Hawthorn Acre.
TWO
Stan waved at Rita from the hay barn as the Jimny’s tyres crunched over the courtyard gravel. She pulled up abruptly and headed for Jago Jenken’s front door. Ringing the doorbell, she waited for an answer that didn’t come. Stan, wearing his trademark flat cap, a chunky fisherman’s jumper beneath a weather-beaten waxed jacket, and a pair of muddy wellies, walked toward her. His tanned, creased face, shaped by a lifetime outdoors, broke into a faint grin as his broad Cornish accent cut through the March air. ‘All right, Mrs Jory… I was just shifting some bales before the rain comes on… proper mizzle this time o’ year, eh?’
Rita nodded distractedly, her eyes flicking to a parked Mini she didn’t recognise and a space where Jago’s Defender usually sat.
‘Stan… has Jago got company?’
He followed her gaze and gave a small shrug. ‘Aye… They headed out.’
Rita folded her arms. ‘Do you know where to?’
Stan took off his cap and scratched his bald head. ‘Said he was going down the harbour for a coffee.’
Her voice shook slightly. ‘Right, OK. I know your loyalties are split here, but do you know who… sh… she is?’
Stan put a reassuring hand on her arm. ‘I realise you must be having a bit of set-to, but I also know he cares for you deeply. Shall I give him a message?’
Rita’s lip wobbled. ‘No, no. You haven’t seen me, all right, Stan?’
Stan tipped his cap. ‘Mum’s the word, Mrs Jory, mum’s the word.’
As Rita drove down to Seahaven Bay Harbour, she tried to convince herself that he couldn’t be with someone else, not like that… especially after how amazing a time they had had together recently. Yes, he could be slightly elusive at times, just like her Archie had been, and he’d wanted some thinking time, but she didn’t put him down as a cheater.
She pulled into the car park next to the sea wall and drew a steadying breath. Since leaving London twenty-six years ago, she had never once taken the Cornish landscape for granted, with every season revealing its own quiet beauty and its microclimate never to be underestimated. Today, with grey skies above, the water lay before her, its dark and restless surface matching her thoughts.
The picturesque harbour at Seahaven Bay wore a different face in March to the balmy summer months. The horseshoe of weathered stone wrapped protectively around a jumble of fishing boats, yachts, and a couple of old trawlers, their decks slick with drizzle, serving as favourite perches for the odd cormorant. Gulls wheeled overhead, their cries sharp in the stillness.
Getting out of the car, wearing a woolly hat, sunglasses, and a scarf pulled up to her nose, Rita looked left and right to check there was nobody in sight. On spotting Jago’s Defender, her heart skipped a beat. Locking her car, she scurried down a narrow lane and surreptitiously pushed open the door to the Seahaven Bay Reformer Pilates studio opposite where Jago had parked.
Rita stepped inside and was immediately enveloped in a waft of delicious, grapefruit-scented perfume, the unmistakable trail of Jilly Cooper. The studio’s owner was perched on one of her torture-instrument machines, scrolling through her phone with a mug of builder’s tea balanced on the carriage. Her bleach-blonde hair was scraped into a high ponytail, and her perfectly bronzed, gym-honed body was poured into her signature head-to-toe Lycra – a fetching olive green today. Rita had never asked the woman’s age, and it had never been offered. You could never tell what expression she was making but regardless Jilly looked great. With her matter-of-fact opinions on life, Jilly had been a loyal friend to Rita since she’d moved from Liverpool to Seahaven Bay, shortly after Archie’s passing.
Jilly looked up from her scrolling. ‘Hell, Rita. You look like you’re about to rob the Co-op.’
