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‘Have you applied for planning permission?’
Cecilia’s eyes narrowed. ‘Not that it’s any of your concern but no, not yet. It’s very much at the idea stage and quite how it’s become common knowledge is beyond me. But I’m sure the local authority will be keen to have more accommodation to encourage visitors to Heaven’s Cove. After all, more visitors means more footfall for local business and more income.’
More money for the Epping family coffers, thought Rosie, glancing round at the antique china vases on the mantelpiece and the grandfather clock in the corner. The furniture and ornaments in this room were probably worth more than the contents of Driftwood House and her flat combined.
‘I’m quite set on this proposal,’ said Cecilia, drawing in the corners of her mouth until her lips pursed. ‘The elevation, and the prospect of waking to that view, would attract visitors like a magnet.’
Rosie’s heart sank because she couldn’t argue with Cecilia’s logic. Just that morning, the sight that met her when she pulled back the bedroom curtains had taken her breath away: wisps of cloud, tinged gold by the rising sun, were drifting above a midnight-blue sea and Sorrell Head in the distance was a beacon of deep green. Cecilia could definitely make money from sharing that view. Hadn’t Rosie suggested it to her mother often enough?
As she thought back to those conversations, an idea began to take shape in Rosie’s mind, and was out of her mouth before she knew it. ‘Why not make use of Driftwood House itself? It could be converted into a wonderful little hotel.’
‘Driftwood House?’ Cecilia’s laugh was tinkly, as though she’d been practising it. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Why not?’ Rosie asked, determined now to say her piece, even though she desperately needed time to think things through. This hadn’t been her intention when she’d set off in her mother’s rusty car this afternoon. ‘Driftwood House has five bedrooms, six if you convert the attic, and all have a fantastic view of the cliffs and the sea, or across the land towards Dartmoor.’
‘Why would I go to the trouble of converting a dilapidated house?’
Because its unique charm and memories would be preserved.Rosie took a deep breath and replied, levelly: ‘Because it would save you money.’ She was wholly unsure of this fact but guessed that appealing to Cecilia’s pocket might be the most effective way of persuading her. ‘And visitors would clamour to stay in a house with such a history.’ She remembered Nessa’s words on the clifftop that morning. ‘People go mad for that retro stuff.’
‘The building is not particularly old and has a fairly unremarkable history,’ said Cecilia sniffily, ‘unless you’re going to claim it housed wreckers who waved lanterns from those cliffs and lured sailors to their deaths on the rocks.’
‘No, the house definitely isn’t that old, but it still has its own charm, with lots of original features that people love,’ said Rosie, thinking that Cecilia, so keen to knock things down, seemed rather a wrecker herself.
‘Why are you so bothered about what happens to the house when you’ve moved to Andalusia anyway?’
‘Driftwood House has been a part of Heaven’s Cove for decades. And my mother loved the house and would hate for it to be demolished.’And so would I,she thought, ruefully.
‘I see.’ Cecilia turned her back and ran her fingers along the carved mantelpiece. ‘I’ve heard what you have to say and I’m sorry for your loss but I’m afraid sentiment should never get in the way of a business decision. Converting Driftwood House into a hotel would be too big a job.’
‘Does it have to be a fancy hotel? What about a guesthouse?’
Cecilia turned to Rosie, her face aghast. ‘A guesthouse? A seaside guesthouse?’ She rolled the words around her mouth with distaste.
‘An upmarket guesthouse, obviously, with magnificent views and warm and cosy when the storms roll in.’
Warm and cosy was pushing it. Rosie knew all too well how the wind whistled through the eaves, billowing the curtains through cracks in the window frames. But she was suddenly more desperate than ever to save Driftwood House from the Eppings.It won’t bring back your mum,said a little voice in her head, but she ignored it, her breathing growing shallow and her cheeks reddening.
Cecilia shook her head but Charles was staring at Rosie. ‘I haven’t been near the house for years. What state is it in, and how much would it cost, in your view, to get Driftwood House up to scratch?’ he asked.
‘Surely you can’t be giving her ridiculous idea any consideration,’ huffed Cecilia, but Charles ignored her, all of his attention focused on Rosie.
‘I’m not exactly sure of the cost. But it would be much less expensive than demolishing the house and building a new hotel. And transporting so many building materials up such a steep cliff would be very difficult.’
‘I’m not prepared to spend any money on this outlandish notion that wouldn’t work,’ snapped Cecilia, standing in front of Rosie with her arms folded. ‘The house has become shabby and dilapidated. You might not have seen it for years, Charles, but I visit the village occasionally.’
‘What about…?’ said Rosie, her mind whirling. ‘What about if I start the work myself, to show you how brilliant Driftwood could be as a guesthouse?’
The look of incredulity on Cecilia’s face showed she thought Rosie had taken leave of her senses. But Charles tilted his head to one side and stood so still he hardly seemed to be breathing.
‘Charles?’ Cecilia’s voice was brittle.
‘I don’t suppose there’s any harm…’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, it’s a ridiculous idea which will only delay our project.’
‘While you’re finding out about planning permission and all the other things that need doing, I can spruce up the house to show you its potential,’ said Rosie, feeling as if she was floating high above, listening to herself saying all this daft stuff.
She needed to get back to Spain, back to Matt and reality. She glanced out at the bleak moors surrounding the Eppings’ vast lonely house, at the rapidly greying sky that pressed down like a suffocating blanket. Only that morning, Matt had sent her a photo of himself drinking coffee under an orange tree, its delicate white blossom glowing in the sun. She needed to get back to her life so it was a good job her frankly ridiculous idea was about to be dismissed.
