Page 20 of My Summer of Magic Moments

The oven seemed to be hot enough and ready to go, so in they went. She checked her watch. They needed fifteen minutes, that was all. Ten minutes later the smell was delicious. She couldn’t wait to open the oven door and see what they looked like, but she held off for a few more minutes, not wanting to spoil them with her curiosity and a cool draught of air. Of course the old oven didn’t have a glass window, so it was a matter of guesswork as to whether they were the right colour yet.

Time was up. She put on her oven gloves to open the door and reach for them, and was delighted to find them a beautiful golden colour with a touch of toasty-brown at the edges. Perfect. She hoped they’d taste as good as they looked. She’d bought some humus to dip the bread into, plus some garlic-stuffed olives at Lynda’s earlier (one advantage of being on your own, meant you didn’t have to worry about garlic breath!) and she’d have them with a salad for supper later. She left the flatbreads to cool on the side on the wire rack from the grill.

A while later, there was a knock on the door. Luckily Claire happened to be inside the house, or she might have missed it. For one mad moment she thought it might be Ed coming back to explain … or to carry on where he left off, gulp. But then she remembered having invited Lynda and glanced at her watch. It was five fifteen. That fitted. It was surely Lynda. She felt a slight stab of disappointment.

But there on the step was her new friend, bearing a wide smile and a scrummy-looking packet of biscuits with a wrapped-up chunk of something.

‘Hello, lovely. Darling Blue, the cheese you like. It’s near its best-before date – you may as well have it.’

‘Aw, thanks, Lynda, but you really didn’t have to bring anything. Those biscuits look delightful, though.’ She read the label – strawberries and clotted cream shortbread. Yum.

‘The house smells gorgeous. What have you been baking? Did you have a go at that bread? The Manic or whatever it was.’

‘Maneesh.’

‘I knew it was something like that.’

‘It looks good. Let’s hope it tastes good too.’

‘I’m sure it will.’

They walked through the hallway into the kitchen. Lynda eyed the decor. ‘It’s a bit old-fashioned in here, isn’t it?’ She was obviously trying to be polite.

Claire laughed. ‘You could say that. Rack and ruin also comes to mind. Don’t worry, I’m getting used to it.’

‘Well, the bread looks wonderful, anyhow.’

‘Thanks. I’ve finally got the measure of that oven. It’s been a nightmare, but I’ve sussed its wicked ways, and its thermostat to be precise.’

‘Good for you.’

‘Do you happen to know much about the cottage, Lynda? Its background?’ Claire was curious. ‘Has Mr Hedley ever lived here himself?’

‘No, no. He has a place on a farm about three miles away. He inherited Farne View from an elderly aunt. It had been empty for years.’

That figured.

‘She had to go into a care home, bless her. She was a lovely old lady. She’d just got too frail to look after herself, and Hedley never used to help her much. She didn’t have any children of her own, so the place stood empty. When she died, he got the cottage in the will. Never did anything with it, mind.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘Then he decided to make it into a holiday cottage. We all had a chuckle down at the village at that. Yes, it’s a nice spot, but really?’

‘Hah, and then I got to stay in it!’

‘To be honest, I was surprised when I heard that’s where you were. Ah, she was a lovely old lady, though – Evelyn was her name. Must have lived here forty years, at least. She struggled to keep the place up when she was here on her own. Her husband had died a long time back. She tried her best. Used to walk into the village most days, then get the bus back with her shopping, even into her eighties. Until it all got too much.’

Claire could picture her tootling about in here. All the cookbooks and utensils in the kitchen had been left as they were. It was probably even her salt pot lurking in the cupboard. It all made sense now. The old-fashioned quilt and crocheted blanket upstairs. It had no doubt been very much the same when she was here.

The old house must miss her.

‘We have no idea, down in the village, why he hasn’t sold it off. Especially if he’s not going to bother to look after it. We think he’s holding out for a property developer or mogul to come along and offer him a million for it. Just because it’s got a nice sea view. He’ll be waiting a while.’

Claire gave a wry smile. In a weird way, she was glad that Mr Hedley hadn’t sold it off, glad that she’d had the chance to stay here. She’d grown fond of the old cottage and its foibles. And in fact, as they walked out to her beach-garden, in her heart she knew this really was a million-pound view – perhaps more when it had a certain naked swimmer in it.

‘Well, what can I get for you, Lynda? Cup of tea? Coffee? Or shall we try some of my just-made Maneesh bread with a bowl of your olives and a glass of wine? We can sit outside if you’re happy with that.’ The sun was glinting gold over the sea. It would be nice to be out in the garden.

‘Option three, definitely. Just a small glass for me, though, as I need to drive home.’