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The cottage was very old, parts of it dating back to Elizabethan times, with a large hallway which held a cupboard for coats and shoes, a hatstand and a table flanked by small chairs. Doors on either side led into low-ceilinged square rooms, on the left the sitting room, on the other a combined library, study and dining space. This was the room where Simone had often held court, plotting out her many campaigns, the dining table more often used to paint placards than to hold food.
The kitchen ran across the whole back of the cottage, holding at one end a battered leather sofa and an ancient pine kitchen table, with wooden cabinets painted a pretty eggshell blue and worktops on the other side. Stairs led up from the kitchen to the three bedrooms and one bathroom. It was simple but, thanks to Polhallow’s popularity as a holiday destination and desirability as a second home location, Rosy knew the house would sell for a small fortune—but nowhere near the amount of money Jack’s stylish white cube would command.
There were colourful paintings and framed posters on every available wall space and photos on every table and shelf. Jack wandered over to examine a collection of photos on the kitchen dresser, mostly Clem in various roles. Some were of Simone, often with a placard in her hand, off to save whatever cause she was spearheading that month, but there were also photos of her as a young woman, of the chic student who had attracted a future king, of the backpacker on the deck of a boat, of the young mother with her arms around a tiny Clem. There were no pictures of Arrosa on public display, it was too dangerous in case anyone recognised her, but she knew that upstairs on Simone’s bedside table a photo of Arrosa and Clem side by side had pride of place.
‘Your aunt taught me at school,’ Jack said after a while. ‘She was always kind. Bracing, said what she thought, but kind.’
Arrosa laughed. ‘Those traits run in the family; Clem is just the same.’
‘In your family too?’
Arrosa thought about her father, always King first and second, father a poor third. Of her mother, whose feelings were always hidden behind a regal smile. ‘They are diplomats, as you know,’ she said. ‘It’s an innate characteristic, even at home.’
‘Sounds chilly.’
Chilly. Was that the right word? Formal, yes. But not cold exactly. ‘Their expectations of me are high, that’s true. That’s why I liked being here, where the only expectations were that Clem and I help out making placards, or working bake sales, or one unforgettable summer trying to knit squares for a peace blanket, although it turned out knitting wasn’t something either of us were good at! Simone was a second mother to me.’
‘You were lucky to have her,’ Jack said, and she nodded.
‘Lots of people felt the same way—that Simone was like an aunt or a sister. She had a gift of drawing people in. That’s part of your problem with the theatre. I think people feel that your plans might expunge what she did. It wouldn’t even still be here without her, they were going to knock it down, as you know, and she spearheaded the campaign to keep it and raised the money to restore it. But, actually, I can’t help thinking that she would be excited by your ideas.’
‘You think?’ His rather grim expression relaxed and Arrosa felt her stomach flip.
‘The problem is your timing is off. Simone is so recently gone; Clem is still grieving. I think that’s why she and the rest of the community group jumped straight into organising a campaign against you. Simone loved a campaign. It’s a way of keeping her close, especially as they feel your plans are a threat to her legacy. You need to listen to their concerns and show them that you need their expertise and passion, want them involved, that this is an evolution not a takeover. It might help to acknowledge the original restoration campaign in all your literature and plans, name some part of it after Simone.’
Jack didn’t reply at first, his face thoughtful. ‘You’re right of course. Thank you,’ he said after a while.
‘An outsider’s perspective is always useful.’
‘No, it’s more than that. I can tell you’re used to brokering deals. Treaties must fall into your hands.’
‘I wouldn’t quite say that.’
‘You’ve given me a lot to think about. Thank you.’ He picked up a photo of Simone standing outside the theatre, grinning widely. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, I’d love your input when the PR agency send me their campaign ideas. You have a real insight; your thoughts would be invaluable.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Arrosa could feel her face flush at the unaccustomed thanks. In her job nobody ever saidwell done, there were no performance reviews, apart from tabloid headlines, newspaper articles or social media posts as likely to be sharply critical as they were to be fawning. It might be silly to feel quite so touched by a few words of praise, but she was.
It didn’t take her long to rustle up dinner, setting the kitchen table with the pretty floral dinner set that Simone had bought from a car boot sale many years before and the antique pearl-handled cutlery Arrosa had given her one birthday.
‘I love this house, it’s like a fairy tale cottage,’ Clover said as they sat round the table after dinner, an old edition of Snakes and Ladders in front of them.
‘It is, isn’t it? I felt very lucky to spend my summers here,’ Arrosa agreed.
‘What’s your own home like? Did you live somewhere like this when you were little?’ Tansy asked.
Arrosa paused and thought. How could she convey the difference between the small, comfortable, chic yet homey cottage and the vast palace filled with antiques and portraits of ancestors where she’d been raised without giving away anything about who she was? Of course she’d had acres of land to run and ride on, a lake to swim in, woods to build dens in, but it had all been rather lonely. Her ancestral estate might have been a more fun place to grow up if she’d had a sibling who lived with her rather than one a thousand miles away.
‘Not really. I’m an only child, you see.’ Every time she said that it felt like a betrayal of Clem. ‘My parents are diplomats, so we always lived in houses that weren’t exactly ours.’
That wasn’t a lie. The family estate and the castle, where her father resided most of the time in state apartments, belonged to the country, not to Arrosa or her family. They were owned by the crown, her family were custodians not owners.
‘A lot of the furniture was antique, so we had to look after it,’ she continued. ‘I can’t complain, I’ve been very lucky. I’ve travelled a lot and I’ve met some important people, and I’ve seen many, many things that I wouldn’t have if I’d lived a different life, but the truth is when I think of home this cottage is the place I see. I’m just glad I get to spend the summer here. That this is where I spent many happy childhood summers.’
Tansy shook the dice and gleefully moved her counter up a long ladder to Clover’s voluble dismay. ‘Polhallow is so small though. Didn’t you get bored spending every summer here?’
‘Bored?Never.’ Arrosa got up to collect the cake she’d bought from Sally’s family’s café earlier, cutting generous slices and placing them on the table. ‘Sometimes, Tansy, you have to find your own adventures. I suppose I was a little bit older than you when Clem and I started to go out by ourselves, but there was always something to do. Surfing, of course, swimming, going for ice creams, learning to sail. But simpler things too. For instance, we built our own adventure trail once in the woods outside the house and we used to camp out in the garden sometimes; one summer it was so hot I don’t think we slept indoors for a month. We even tried to persuade Simone to let us build an outdoor loo and shower, but she resisted. Although I think that was more Clem than me. I was actually quite relieved to be able to go in and use a proper bath.’
‘Camping! I’ve never been camping.’ Tansy turned to her father. ‘Daddy, can we get a tent? Can we sleep in the garden like Clem and Rosy did? I’ve always wanted to try.’
