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CHAPTER 19
Rosie pushed her way through the throng of people, inwardly groaning at the tourists for descending on Heaven’s Cove on today of all days. The day that Charles and Cecilia Epping decided to pay an early visit to Driftwood House before Driftwood House was properly ready. Cecilia would never agree to the guesthouse plan now.
Rosie rushed on, past Colin’s fish stall where she’d planned to buy a shiny silver mackerel for her tea. Fish was good for the skin, wasn’t it? She mentally kicked herself for being stung by Katrina’s comment, which had taken her back to their school days.
And what was that moment when Liam stroked her arm? Even though they’d grown closer over the last few weeks, his kindness and concern were disorientating. Nessa’s admonition at Sorrell Head suddenly sounded in her head:You’re judging us all on how we used to be before you ran off to Spain.Nessa was right – they’d all changed, and maybe Liam even liked her as more than a friend these days.
Rosie hurdled an empty box left behind one of the stalls and berated herself for being an idiot. Liam would hardly be interested in her when Katrina was around. However much he might or might not have changed, she was surely much more his type – bold, poised, beautiful, and living just up the road rather than a thousand miles away.
With random thoughts still pinging around her brain, Rosie raced on, along the High Street to the end of the village.Maybe Belinda got the wrong end of the stick,she told herself as she puffed up the cliff.It probably wasn’t the Eppings she saw at all.
But when she got higher, there was a silver Range Rover in the distance, parked outside Driftwood House, and two figures standing near the edge of the cliff.
They didn’t turn when she reached the house so she let herself in and threw her jumper into the under stairs cupboard. Clearing up the kitchen took only a few minutes thanks to the dishwasher, and the sitting room, with its newly painted walls, was tidy. The cream curtains were freshly laundered, a vase of wild flowers she’d picked that morning was on the window sill, and the room smelled of polish.
The faded rug still needed a good vacuum and the wide, cream skirting boards needed washing down. They were on Rosie’s to-do list, along with other last-minute tweaks to the house. But the Eppings’ premature arrival meant things would just have to do.
Rosie glanced out of the window. The Eppings had seen enough of the sea and were walking back towards the house, Cecilia taking two steps for every one of her husband’s loping strides. With a last look around the sunny room, Rosie went outside and stood on the grass.
It was rather like waiting for a royal visit, Rosie decided, as the couple got closer – Cecilia in black trousers with a beige silk blouse, and Charles wearing a navy linen jacket with a thin, blue scarf around his neck. She shivered, although the sun was warm on her shoulders, and resisted a sudden urge to curtsey when they reached her.
‘Hello, Miss Merchant. You’re home, I see,’ said Cecilia, pursing her lips. ‘We knocked on the door but there was no reply.’
‘I was in the village. I wasn’t expecting you until Friday.’
‘We were out for a drive nearby and a diversion here made sense. It will save us making another trip later in the week.’ She glanced at Charles, who was shielding his eyes with his hand and staring up at the roof. ‘So,’ she said briskly, ‘I get to see infamous Driftwood House at last.’
‘Haven’t you seen it before?’
‘Only from a distance. I’ve never wanted to brave that bone-rattling track before.’
‘It is a bit pot-holed but I’m sure it could be improved quite easily,’ said Rosie, biting down annoyance that Cecilia appeared to have condemned her family home without ever properly seeing it.
‘Perhaps.’ She inspected her polished nails. ‘Can you show us around? We need to get to another appointment and only have ten minutes to spare.’
Just ten minutes to save Driftwood House from the wrecking ball. Neither combative Cecilia nor her silent husband were going to make this easy.
‘I didn’t have very long to make changes so they’re only cosmetic but I hope you can still see Driftwood House’s potential as a guesthouse.’
‘You’ve had long enough, I’m sure. Come on,’ barked Cecilia to her husband, who was staring at the house with a faraway expression. He wasn’t even concentrating, thought Rosie with a pang of disappointment. Maybe Liam was right and she had made a deal with the devil – but she wasn’t about to give up on the house without a fight.
‘As you can see, the house is solid and attractive with many original features that are local to Devon. And its weathered appearance only adds to its appeal.’ That last bit was pushing it, but Driftwood House had far more character than some brand new hotel. ‘Why don’t you come inside?’
Cecilia’s intake of breath when the front door slammed behind them in the breeze wasn’t the best of starts. And ‘quite small’ was her only comment when Rosie showed her the sitting room and pointed out its fabulous view of the sea and how cosy it would be for guests in winter, with its thick walls and the log burner blazing.
In the kitchen, she wrinkled her nose when Rosie talked about how spacious the room was, and she seemed wholly unimpressed with the vast original sink and the black Aga that, fortunately, Rosie had polished yesterday until it shone.
While Cecilia paced around the kitchen, rapping on the worktops as though they might break, Charles ran his hand across the large oak table. ‘Did your mother do a lot of cooking in here?’ They were the first words he’d spoken since entering the house.
‘Mum didn’t much enjoy day-to-day cooking. She found it boring, but she loved making cakes. Her speciality was a triple-layer Victoria sponge with fresh cream and strawberries on the top. She always made one for my birthday when I was growing up.’
Too much information. Rosie stopped speaking, acutely aware that no one cared.
But Charles smiled. ‘Sofia always did have a sweet tooth, or so Evelyn told us.’
‘We don’t have time to chat. Let’s get on,’ snapped Cecilia, giving the kitchen garden a cursory glance through the window before marching into the hall and up the stairs, followed by Charles.
Damn, Rosie hadn’t checked the bedrooms. The duvet on her bed was turned back, and yesterday’s knickers were very possibly on the bathroom floor. She took the stairs two at a time, while Cecilia, on the landing, communicated her impatience by tapping her long fingernails on the bannister rail.
