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‘Salcombe?’

‘Yeah, you didn’t think a posh boy like that was actually camping, did you? Not when his family have got one of those mega mansions built into the cliffside. Looks like a Bond villain’s place.’ Will shrugged. ‘We let him kip with us a few times when it was too late for him to get his boat over the estuary.’

Susie couldn’t help but roll her eyes. ‘He has a boat. Of course he does.’

Will laughed nervously. ‘Just a little rig. Feel like I’m stitching him up now – I honestly didn’t mean to.’

‘No, no. It’s fine.’ Susie held up her hands. ‘The stinking rich can’t help how much they stink, I guess.’

‘Do you know, I . . . I don’t think I need a sausage roll after all. So, see you later, Suse.’

‘Will, wait!’ she spluttered. ‘What’s Mark’s last name, do you know? Just so I can add it to his contact on my phone – he gave me his number last night.’ She jiggled her phone in its pink bunny ears case, as if some kind of proof.

‘Beston, Mark Beston.’

‘Thanks.’

When Susie finally got to Gary’s counter she was faced with an unfortunate wince. ‘Iced buns went first thing, my dear. I know they’re your favourite. But you’ve got to be quick for those when the campsite’s as full as it is. And when the Faeries’ Delight was as punchy as it was last night. I feel less than delightful myself.’ He chortled at his own joke.

‘I’ll have all the almond croissants you have then, please.’ Being the last in the line, Susie didn’t feel bad for clearing him out: she wanted him content and chatty, after all.

‘A big night, eh? Saw your Temperance running off just after midnight, looking grey. But two of these will perk her up, anyhow.’ Gary did the twisty flip on the paper bag that Susie had seen him do a million times and she took it from him. ‘So that’s six-fifty, love. Thank you.’

Susie cleared her throat and leant an elbow onto the counter. ‘Can I ask you something non-bun related, Gaz? It’s a parish council thing, actually. Just wondered if you know anything about big plans. Anything near the pub, in particular?’

Gary stood a little straighter. ‘What have you heard?’

‘Just a few . . . rumours going around.’

Gary’s eyes moved to the shop door and back to Susie. ‘I can’t share confidential information. But I will say that should you look up – on the council website – a public document. It’s the one that shows how the last private owner of the village left it in trust for the first fifty years after his death.’

Susie’s nerves felt too raw after four hours of sleep to understand half of what he was saying. ‘Huh? Privately owned? How can someone own a village? You make it sound like we’re going back down the Victorian mines or something, Gaz.’

He folded his arms around his barrel chest. ‘It’s archaic, I’ll grant you. But way back when, the village was part of the Cavendish estate. Old Spencer Cavendish didn’t want his son breaking it off into little pieces for sale, so he wrapped it up in a trust. But in two years’ time that expires. And certain development companies,’ his mouth moved around the words as if he’d found a worm in one of his Chelsea buns, ‘have already started to circle. Looking to shoehorn badly built second homes into every nook and cranny, pricing out locals too. The Parish Council have got our eyes peeled for anyone out measuring up the fields or taking fancy photos, but these firms are sneaky. They’ll find a way.’

‘Like staying in a campsite when they’ve a perfectly good villain mansion to get home to. On their boat,’ Susie muttered.

‘Sorry?’

‘Beston – is that one of the development companies?’

Gary looked at Susie like she was seven again and he’d just caught her minesweeping glasses of Coke from the pub tables. ‘What are you wrapped up in, Susie Molland? It’s not like you to get involved with village politics and what have you.’

‘Well, maybe it’s about time I did. Seeing as I love this place as much as the next man. More, in fact.’

‘I promised your mum I’d keep an eye on you this summer, and I won’t let her down. You keep away from the Bestons, you hear me? Far away.’

Chapter 13

‘You really think I’m ready?’ Stevie’s slim fingers danced together at her throat.

‘So ready.’ Temperance gave her a firm squeeze on the shoulder, picking up a subtle trace of quiet pride in the cable knit cardigan. A brief vision of library stacks and coffee cups. ‘This is vintage, isn’t it? Your cardigan, I mean.’

‘Oh, yes. It was my mom’s. She knew I’d always loved it, so she told my dad to give it to me for my first year of college. She loved clothes, too, you know? All eras, all styles. I think I get it from her. You have a great eye too, Temperance. That’s why I’m so nervous about closing out this evening. What if someone comes in and I let them buy a Biba original for the cost of a pasty, by mistake? What if someone shoplifts a feather boa and I don’t notice?’

Temperance smiled and pulled her canvas backpack onto her shoulders. ‘You’re going to be fine. Better than fine. And when you run the floor, you can pick the playlist. I’m sure you want a break from Susie’s deep cut of Fleetwood Mac betrayal songs. Go for something sunnier, maybe, like a funeral march.’

‘I heard that!’ Susie came out from the office, her face loaded with a scowl. She was wearing ripped denim shorts over black fishnets, a man’s grey T-shirt tucked in at the waist.