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I laugh, hugging her. ‘Thanks for coming, Maisie.’
‘Are you joking? For the chance to ogle some prime Cornish beef!’ she cackles, and I hug her even tighter. If there’s anyone I’ll always want to be with me, it’s Maisie.
Once inside the inn, which according to a local tourist map is actually closer to Little Kettering than Starry Cove, the first thing we see is a huge Christmas tree dominating the area between the lobby and the check-in desk. It’s still mid-November and contrary to what I’d thought, Cornwall is way ahead of London as far as the Christmas spirit is concerned. I instantly feel chirpier.
‘Welcome to The Old Bell Inn! I’m Penny Fitzpatrick, the manager.’
Startled, I turn to see one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen walking towards us, hand outstretched. She has long flaming red hair, a cheeky but friendly face and a body I’d kill for.
‘Hello, this is my friend, Maisie, and I’m—’
‘Yes, Emily Weaver, welcome!’ she says, shaking our hands. ‘We’ve been expecting you. Pleased to meet you! You’ve got plenty of time to get sorted and relax before dinner. There’s a bottle of champagne in your room, courtesy of Mr Stephen Stone.’
‘Aww,’ Maisie says, linking her arm through mine and resting her head on my shoulder. ‘I might just change my mind about him. Not.’
‘Maisie,’ I plead softly, then turn to Penny. ‘Thank you so much. We’re knackered and famished and really appreciate your welcome. You’ve a gorgeous inn.’
‘Thank you. It used to be my father’s.’
‘Oh,’ I say, wanting to add I’m sorry he’s passed, but she smiles just in time.
‘He now runs Cove Cottages on the other end of town. Right, let’s get you sorted.’
‘Thank you. Is Starry Cove far from here?’
‘Starry Cove? No, it’s just down the coast. The villages are really all linked and everyone knows everyone around here.’
Ouch. Not good if I’m going to be incognito. Luckily, Penny doesn’t ask and a young man shows up to carry our wheelie suitcases upstairs.
‘I’d say probably late forties,’ Maisie says as we follow the young man up the stairs.
‘Who? Penny? She’s much younger than that,’ I assure her.
She rolls her eyes. ‘Not her, her father!’
‘Oh my God, Maisie, when will you stop recruiting and cataloguing men?’
‘Hey,’ she says, poking me in the arm as we reach the top of the stairs. ‘I’m doing this for you as well. Come the day you come to your senses and dump The Stone, you’ll be thanking me.’
‘Room four,’ the porter says, opening the door and stepping aside.
‘Thank you,’ I say, slipping him a tenner. I’m feeling generous today.
‘Right!’ Maisie says. ‘Let’s crack this baby open and then go to the pub! I’m dying for some proper Cornish pub grub!’
‘You go ahead, Maisie,’ I suggest. ‘I need to sleep. I can barely keep my eyes open.’
‘Poor love, you’ve been driving for hours. You must be knackered. OK, you have a nap while I scout around. You’ll find me at that pub we passed on the way in.’
‘Sounds good.’
Maisie is going to be OK. She’ll have made friends by tonight. And by friends, I mean male.
*
I don’t even bother to unpack but set my alarm for precisely one hour and collapse onto the bed closer to the window. What a truly gorgeous place. If only Stephen hadn’t been so bent on getting his own way, he could be here enjoying all this with me.
When I wake all refreshed and ready to go, I find a text from Maisie:
