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‘That’s some comfort, at least. You weren’t supposed to be my first guest. A couple from Birmingham were due to arrive yesterday but had to cancel at the last minute because of illness.’
‘That’s a shame.’
‘It was very disappointing, so I was delighted when you rang last night and asked if we had any rooms. If you don’t mind me asking, what made you choose Driftwood House?’
‘I was looking up the house online and when I saw on your website that it had been turned into a guesthouse, it seemed like fate that I should stay here.’
‘What made you search for Driftwood House in the first place?’
‘History.’ Lettie looked around the cosy room, imagining an echo of children’s voices from long ago. ‘Actually… I’m pretty sure my great-aunt Iris and her brother, my grandfather, were brought up here.’
‘In this actual house?’ Rosie sat down on the stone window ledge, her eyes open wide. ‘Really? That’s amazing. I grew up at Driftwood House too. When did your family live here?’
‘It would have been years ago. Iris and her family moved away from Devon in the Second World War. My grandparents died before I was born, but Iris only died last month.’
Rosie’s face clouded over. ‘I’m sorry. I lost someone close to me, recently, and it’s hard, isn’t it? Is that why you’re here in Heaven’s Cove, to see where your great-aunt lived?’
‘I guess so.’ Lettie paused, not willing to share her real reasons. ‘Iris never told me much about the place but I’m curious to see where she came from.’
‘Well, I think it’s wonderful that my first ever guest has a link to this fabulous old house,’ declared Rosie, hopping off the window ledge. ‘That sounds like fate, indeed! Let me show you the rest of the place. Some of it won’t have changed much since your great-aunt lived here.’
First, she took Lettie into a conservatory at the back of the house that had sweeping views across the Devon countryside.
‘This wouldn’t have been here in the war but it’s a great addition to the house. You can see almost all the way to Dartmoor,’ said Rosie, shielding her eyes against the sun streaming in through the salt-streaked glass. ‘The pictures on the sitting room walls are of Dartmoor too. They were painted by my mum.’ She glanced at a photo on the bookcase, of a woman in sunglasses smiling into the camera.
‘Was it your mum who…? You said you’d lost someone too.’ Lettie hesitated, worried she was speaking out of turn.
But Rosie nodded. ‘Yes, my mum died earlier this year.’
‘I’m really sorry.’
‘Thank you. She was an amazing woman.’ Rosie gently brushed her fingers across the photo before pulling back her shoulders. ‘Anyway. Next stop, the kitchen.’
Lettie followed her into the hall, imagining young Iris walking across the shiny tiles or running her hand along the polished bannister rail. The divide between past and present seemed wafer-thin in this windswept house.
‘The kitchen’s just been refurbished,’ said Rosie, opening a door into a large, sunny space. ‘But the butler sink is original, and the quarry tiles too.’
After a whistle-stop tour of the room, with its wooden worktops and cupboards painted dove-grey, she led Lettie up a wide staircase onto a sunny landing.
‘My bedroom’s along here, and there are four more bedrooms for guests, but I’ve put you on the next floor if that’s OK.’
Lettie followed her up more stairs to a large room at the very top of the house, tucked under the eaves.
‘This is such a lovely space.’ Lettie placed her case on the bed and gazed out of the Velux window.
The view from up here was magnificent. The village lay far below, its cottages clustered around the church. And the sea that edged Heaven’s Cove had already changed colour from navy near the horizon to bands of aqua and moss-green closer to shore.
Rosie beamed. ‘I’m so glad you think so. The attic has only just been converted and I’m delighted with it. There are towels in the en-suite and a hairdryer in the drawer over there.’ She started shifting from foot to foot. ‘I used to work in a B&B in Spain, but I’ve never run my own place before, so please do say if anything isn’t quite right. I won’t mind.’
‘Everything’s perfect,’ Lettie assured her, sitting on the bed and surveying the bright, uncluttered room. ‘Thank you.’
‘Good. Then I’ll leave you to unpack and I’ll be in the kitchen if you fancy a cup of tea later. There’s a lot to see in the village and the beach is wonderful and very safe for swimming on a day like today.’
‘I don’t swim,’ said Lettie quickly, batting away an image of dark water and trailing seaweed wrapping around her limbs.
‘Maybe you can have a paddle instead. The cove is definitely worth a visit, and the old castle, and there’s a lovely café in the High Street that does fantastic cream teas.’
‘I’d quite like to visit Dartmoor, too. Iris, my great-aunt, had a photo of Dartmoor hanging on her wall so I think it was special to her.’
