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‘We should be at St Piran’s in twenty minutes, give or take, landing at the Main Town jetty today. We leave from the Lower Town jetty this afternoon, so don’t forget or you’ll be spending longer than you wanted on the island. It might be a bit spicy today, so hold on to your hats. If we do need to evacuate the vessel for any reason, the emergency exits are here, here and here.’ The boatman waved his arms in the general direction of the grey waters of the harbour and the open sea.
Poppy huddled down into her jacket. Setting out alone on an open boat to a remote island and a new business that seemed to attract disaster, she was half wondering if she should take the emergency exits right now and head straight back to the Midlands.
Chapter 4 (#u7fe46b2d-a450-5e9a-bcf9-06774f928545)
Jake almost fell into the studio. He’d had to push very hard to persuade the outer door to budge at all because the wood must have swollen in the damp of a Scilly spring. Archie hadn’t been back to the studio since his fall, and the building had been shut up a lot over the off-season. Archie tended to use the rear entrance into his work area.
Sunlight streamed through the door and made the scale of the problem clear. The Starfish Studio was almost unrecognisable and he had around six hours to sort it out. Leo sauntered past him and jumped up onto the window ledge, mentally rubbing his paws together and thinking: ‘I’m looking forward to watching this.’
Jake walked deeper in, wrinkling his nose at the musty smell of damp and wincing at the peeling, discoloured walls and dusty display plinths, half of which were bare. Fen had confessed to him that over the past couple of seasons, some visitors had found the studio shut when it was advertised as open. The artists who supplied work had expressed dismay at the conditions their work was displayed in. Although big fans of Archie, some had already decided not to send any more work to the Starfish and its cases and walls were growing bare. He wondered if Poppy and Dan knew the full story? He sighed. No matter how much he loathed the task, it was now his job to let them know.
First, he had to clear away the crates of paintings Fen had mentioned.
Steeling himself, he walked into the work area at the rear of the gallery. The large worktable was a snapshot of the time before his grandpa’s fall. There were drawings, and tubes of paint scattered on the table and a half-finished canvas on the easel that already provided a great framework for cobwebs. Everything was in place, waiting for its owner to return at any minute, but, of course, he never had and now it was frozen in time.
The crates of pictures Fen had described were lined up at one end of the work area and he found the one intended for him almost immediately, as it had an envelope taped to the top, addressed to Jake, in Archie’s spidery handwriting.
Jake sighed. He wasn’t sure why Archie had left the paintings for him now, unless as Fen had suggested, Archie had had some premonition of the accident.
Jake’s fingers hovered over the envelope, a whisker away from tearing it off and opening it. Maybe it was a simple gift that Archie intended to give him, but in his heart, Jake didn’t believe that. Archie had never made such a gesture before … No, Jake was convinced that the paintings inside were meant to be a legacy and opened after his grandfather’s death. No matter how good an innings his grandpa had enjoyed so far, the thought of him slipping into a chair-bound twilight when his life had been so vibrant filled him with despair. Archie wasn’t young, his parents had reminded him, but Jake wasn’t ready to face up to the loss of another of the people he loved. Not yet. Not ever.
‘And anyway. I don’t have time to open it now. Not with this place in such a bloody state,’ he declared to Leo.
Leo made the feline equivalent of ‘Yeah, whatever, human,’ and went back to washing his paws.
The morning flew by and Jake was sweating and starving after all his work. He’d carried the crate over to Archie’s cottage along with the other boxes, which Archie had intended to remove from the studio. Then he’d opened the windows and hunted down a couple of portable electric heaters to try and dry out the atmosphere and ease the smell of damp in the studio and attic flat.
The work had been tedious and hard, but it had given him something to take his mind off being back in a place that held so many memories of Harriet. He’d even put Radio Scilly on loud to try and drown out any negative thoughts. It was mid-afternoon when he finally took a break from trying to get the studio into a state that wouldn’t make the new tenants take one look and head for home.
He popped back to the cottage and tucked into more of Fen’s loaf and butter and a coffee made with the dregs of an ancient jar of Grandpa’s Nescafé. There hadn’t been much else that was edible in the cottage, but there was plenty of beer in the old scullery and he’d availed himself of a couple the previous evening before he’d gone to bed.
Despite the alcohol, he hadn’t slept well, as worries over his grandpa and unhappy memories had played on his mind. He’d been as astonished as Fen that Archie had decided to rent out the Starfish Studio on a long-term basis. It had always been a haven for Archie to work in and somewhere to sell his own art and that of other local artists and makers.
The studio was only yards from the cottage that Archie had lived in with his wife, Ellie. The boathouse had been lying derelict for a while and when the owner had finally decided to sell it, his grandparents had snapped it up because Archie’s paintings had long outgrown the cottage. By then, Archie’s reputation had been growing and he’d realised the boathouse would make an ideal gallery space for his own work, close to the main ‘thoroughfare’ of St Piran’s where people arrived and departed.
Jake’s dad, Tom, had left the island after school, trained as a builder and started his own small firm. He’d met Jake’s mum, Susan, who was a nurse, when they were both in their early twenties, and they’d stayed in Cornwall, where there was more work for them and wider opportunities for Jake. Although his parents had never moved back to Scilly, they’d taken Jake there to see Archie as often as they could. Jake had spent many of his school holidays with his grandpa too while his parents were busy at work.
It was on Scilly with Archie that Jake had developed his passion for photography. Archie said Jake had inherited his creative genes and encouraged his grandson to make a living from his boyhood hobby. So, after he’d left school, Jake had gone to Falmouth University and gradually built up his own reputation as a nature photographer of some considerable talent.
He tried to get back to St Piran’s whenever he could and knew his visits were eagerly anticipated. Archie wasn’t alone. Since Ellie Pendower’s death, Fen had helped Archie to manage the gallery shop, running it alongside her own little smallholding. In recent years, she’d begun to find the long opening hours in the season too much and things had been going downhill slowly but surely.
According to his parents, all his grandpa had wanted to do in recent times – and probably all he’d ever wanted to do – had been to paint. In fact, since his family had been off his hands, he hadn’t cared much what he sold as long as he could afford to live. After Jake’s grandma died, even with Fen stepping in, he’d showed little interest in the retail side of the business. He had a reputation for paying his bills in paintings and Jake knew that half a dozen hung on the walls of the local pubs, both at the Moor’s Head on St Piran’s and the Driftwood on Gull Island, one of his favourite haunts.
When he’d finished his photography degree at Falmouth and started to go on assignments around the world, Jake had still found the time to visit Archie as often as he could. He’d brought Harriet here not long after he’d met her and a few times more … the last being to celebrate his engagement to her with a party for family and friends.
He never brought her back again.
He pushed the memories and Archie’s letter to the back of his mind, determined not to have any distractions from the task at hand as he hurried back to the studio. Time was running out …
He couldn’t do anything about the discoloured walls, which were no longer a suitable backdrop for the artworks, or the peeling display plinths. He’d attempted to rearrange some of the stock – what there was of it – and rescue one or two pieces that had fallen off their plinths. Thank God the artists couldn’t see the place now, and their precious work scattered around like junk. All of the stock was on sale or return and he wondered how long it would be before their goodwill evaporated and they came to reclaim it.
Still, that was the new tenants’ problem. He didn’t mean to sound harsh, but he couldn’t take on the responsibility of the place. He wanted to keep in the background as much as possible during the handover so the new people would have to hit the ground running.
Having decided he couldn’t do any more in the gallery space, he went up to the flat, where he found Leo stretched out on the bare mattress. The heaters and fresh air had already made some improvement to the damp odour, but the mattress was a sorry sight. Jake assumed that Poppy and Dan would be bringing their own bedding on the Islander, so perhaps that didn’t matter much. However, Archie and Fen had used the flat to make cups of tea, prepare food and use the bathroom and there were still coffee stains all over the worktops and the fridge was none too clean.
With Leo as supervisor, he cleaned the bathroom and had almost finished scrubbing the metal sink when he heard a warning toot through the window of the flat.
‘Damn. Not already!’ Jake swore.
Leo glanced at him and his eyes narrowed. Jake was convinced he was sneering.
Jake peered out of the window and saw the ferry pulling into the harbour.
Damn. Poppy and Dan were sure to be on that boat. Should he go down there and meet them? It might be a good idea to prepare them for the shock of the studio – in a cheery way, of course. He would be positive and optimistic but realistic.
He hoped that Poppy and Dan were friendly and tolerant – and didn’t chuck the first piece of artwork that came to hand at him.
Chapter 5 (#u7fe46b2d-a450-5e9a-bcf9-06774f928545)
Fresh butterflies took flight in Poppy’s stomach even before the boat nudged alongside the quay on St Piran’s. She could see a couple of people waiting on the quayside. None of them was an older woman, however, so she didn’t think Fen had turned up. There was, however, a vaguely familiar face. One that, as the boat came to a halt, Poppy recognised. The young guy about her own age was thinner than she remembered and had his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. He wore a dark blue hoodie and his mouth was downturned.
At the same moment as she spotted him, he seemed to recognise her … Had he remembered her from three years ago? She smiled at him and waved. He lifted a hand in greeting and managed a brief smile, although she had the feeling he was confused.
He walked towards her as she stepped off the boat and the boatman handed her the carrier bags.
‘Hello … you must be Poppy McGregor.’
‘Yes, that’s me. How did you guess?’
‘You’re the only one not dressed in head-to-toe khaki and you don’t have a beard.’
It was obviously meant to be a joke but delivered without any humour so she wasn’t quite sure how to respond. ‘Oh … oh, I see what you mean.’
‘I’m Jake Pendower, Archie’s grandson.’ He held out a hand.
She shook it. ‘I remember you. We met briefly three summers ago. Your grandfather sent you after me with a painting of the studio. It was a blazing hot day and I – we – had been in the studio. That was the day we decided to move here, if we possibly could,’ she said and took a deep breath. Now was the ideal opportunity to tell him about Dan, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say the words. It had been a month ago and she should be used to it by now. This was her new life, where she could start all over again, with no one even thinking of her as part of a couple. Go on, say it, she told herself, tell him … but Jake was speaking.
‘Yes. I do remember …’
By the pained look on his face, she thought he didn’t seem that pleased at being reminded of their encounter. In contrast, Poppy’s recollection of Jake was way more positive.
He was still as striking – more so in fact – with those dark expressive eyes that seemed to hold as much back as they showed. She recalled the way, even back then, his expression had changed from intense to amused within seconds, but there was something different about him. It wasn’t so much the barely visible silver threads in his hair or the faint lines on his temple, but the hunched way he stood with his hands deep in his pockets. Something had sucked the life out of Jake Pendower or dimmed his light.
‘I’m sorry, I hadn’t connected you with the new tenants.’
He lingered on the quayside, seemingly unsure what to do next. She was the stranger, yet Jake appeared to want her to take the next step.
‘I heard from the boatman that your grandfather was poorly.’
‘From Winston?’ Jake said, nodding at the boatman who was a few feet away on the quayside, loading steel beer kegs from a trailer into the back of the boat.
‘Yes, but I don’t know the details. I’m sorry to hear he’s ill,’ Poppy said carefully, unsure as to how serious Archie’s condition actually was.
‘He had a fall a couple of weeks ago, but he’s on the mend now. That’s why you’ve got me … I’m looking after the handover while he convalesces at my parents’ place in Perranporth. We should have warned you, but I’ve been working away and Grandpa hasn’t been up to dealing with stuff.’
‘It’s OK. As long as someone’s here to show me the ropes. My circumstances have also changed a bit.’ She bit the bullet. ‘You’ve probably noticed that I’m on my own …’
‘I did wonder when you got off the boat alone,’ he said in a softer tone.
She steeled herself. ‘The thing is that Dan and I have gone our separate ways. Quite recently, actually, and I probably should have told your grandfather and the agent, but there never seemed a good moment.’ She hesitated as he listened, holding her gaze with his intense one. ‘It’s not easy explaining to people that you’re not part of a couple any more.’
He pressed his lips together, then spoke quietly. ‘I do understand … more than you know.’
Poppy winced inwardly, guessing that Jake was alluding to Harriet’s death. She waited for him to say more, but instead he summoned up an awkward smile.
‘Well, maybe it’s easier that I only have to explain the other piece of news to one person, rather than two. You see, some other things have changed since you were last here. I’m afraid the Starfish Studio might not be quite the way you remember it.’
This sounded so ominous that she didn’t know how to reply. Jake must have seen her panicked expression.
‘Don’t worry. The building’s still standing. Everything’s in working order, but I only arrived yesterday and the place hasn’t been aired since Grandpa left it. It hasn’t been open much over the winter and spring and he must have been using it to sort out and store some of his work, but I’ve shifted that and started to get some fresh air flowing. The damp climate had affected the atmosphere …’
She had that sinking feeling again, but the last thing she wanted was for Jake or anyone to think she was a clichéd urban snowflake. ‘Don’t worry. I thought the studio might not be exactly the same as I imagined it. I’m sure it’ll be fine.’
‘I just wanted to warn you before you stepped over the threshold. I’ll be around for a little while yet, so I can help you … if you want me to, seeing as you’re on your own.’
‘Thank you, but I don’t need any favours,’ she replied.
He flinched. ‘Of course not. I’ll keep away, of course, if that’s what you want.’
She cringed. She hadn’t meant to be rude, but his words had reminded her of Dan’s sneering contempt when she said she was going ahead with their plans alone – yet Jake hadn’t been laughing at her. Damn, why was she still so edgy? ‘I’m still getting used to taking this step on my own,’ she said quickly. ‘Or taking it at all. I’m happy to accept all the help and advice I’m offered.’
Jake shrugged and she realised the damage had been done already. ‘It’s OK, and anyway, as I said, I’ll be out of your hair soon, but Fen and the agent will be on hand to answer any questions. She’s Grandpa’s friend.’
‘I think I might have met her too, on the day we visited the studio. Crinkly hair and colourful clothes? In her mid-seventies?’
‘That would have been her, though she’s almost eighty now.’
They heard a clang behind them. The boatman had hoisted a beer keg off the boat and into the quay. There was a toot and a couple of passengers climbed on board.
Poppy glanced round and her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh God. I’ve only just realised. Has my stuff arrived? It was loaded onto the Islander in a packing crate.’
Jake frowned. ‘Not as far as I know. Did the Islander crew say they’d send it on here? They should have done and they’re normally very efficient, although nothing has been delivered to the studio yet.’
‘They told me everything would be brought over when I boarded and I asked again before I got off the boat and they seemed to think I was worrying over nothing. They said the St Piran’s freight boat would bring it, but I don’t think the ferry has any space for cargo?’
‘Not much, though they will take things to and from St Mary’s if they have space. Like the beer kegs to and from the pub … We have to get our priorities right, don’t we, Winston?’ Jake called to the boatman.
With a grin, Winston walked over. He was about fifty with a pot belly, thinning salt-and-pepper hair and a gold earring.
‘Can’t have the pub running dry, can we?’ Jake said. ‘You’ve already met Poppy McGregor, haven’t you? She’s going to be running the studio.’
‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Winston, shaking Poppy’s hand. ‘Again.’
‘You too.’ Poppy smiled.
‘Poppy was asking after her stuff. Do you know when the Herald will be here with the freight? I’m out of the loop where timing’s concerned?’ said Jake.
‘I was told it would be here by now …’ said Poppy, crossing her fingers and wondering how she was going to get to grips with the names, functions and schedules – or lack of them – of all the different inter-island boats and ferries. There appeared to be dozens of them, all with their own mysterious routes and purposes.
Winston gave a sharp intake of breath. ‘I hate to bring bad news, but I’ve just heard on the radio that the Herald has engine trouble. She’s under repair in St Mary’s and nothing major is getting across to St Piran’s from the harbour today.’
‘Oh. Oh f—’ Poppy resisted the urge to swear and say that if there had been room for half a dozen beer kegs, why couldn’t her crate have been squeezed onto the passenger ferry.
‘When do you think the Herald will be operating again?’ Jake asked.
Winston shrugged. ‘Her skipper was trying to make arrangements for another boat to bring the freight over. It might be this evening or it could be tomorrow.’
Poppy groaned. ‘All my bedding, clothes and bits and pieces were in the shipping crate. I haven’t even got a spare pair of knickers with me!’
Jake and Winston exchanged glances.
Poppy squeezed her eyes shut in horror. Why, oh, why had she said that?
‘I’m afraid that’s island life for you,’ said Jake, clearly struggling to hold in his laughter.
Winston grinned. ‘Not to worry. Your stuff should be here by the weekend.’
She gasped. ‘The weekend? Shit. Sorry – but what am I supposed to do without clean clothes until then?’
‘I expect Fen can lend you a pair of her drawers,’ said Jake, his shoulders shaking with laughter.
Poppy squeaked. ‘It’s not funny!’
‘I’m sure it isn’t. It sounds very serious, but take no notice of Winston. He’s having you on. The skippers will sort it out between them and I bet the whole lot will get here first thing in the morning.’ Jake smiled and, despite her indignation, Poppy glimpsed the sunlight behind his eyes for a moment. ‘Joking apart, don’t worry. Fen and I will try to loan you anything you need tonight – um … most things anyway.’
‘I’ll ask around at the quay in St Mary’s and give you a bell,’ said Winston, still smirking.
‘Thanks.’ Poppy forced herself to sound cheerful. ‘I told myself to be prepared for glitches like this, but I can see it’s going to take a lot of getting used to.’
‘This is only the start of it,’ said Jake and Poppy was sure he wasn’t joking.
‘Oh. I see what you mean.’
If Poppy hadn’t been carrying her shopping, she’d have dug her nails into her palm to try and avoid blubbing when she followed Jake inside the Starfish Studio. Jake had warned her not to expect too much, but he’d been right when he said things had changed. In fact, she was finding it impossible to equate the damp, cold space around her with the vibrant gallery she remembered. The photos on the agent’s website must have been years old.
She put her bags down. Jake went in ahead of her, so she couldn’t see his face and maybe that was what he wanted. ‘I’m sure it can be sorted out and if you really feel that the place isn’t as advertised then I know my grandfather wouldn’t want you to feel forced to stay.’
‘I’m staying,’ she declared and her words echoed off the walls. Oh, the walls … they weren’t the cool white backdrop she remembered; they were discoloured, chipped and peeling. That was only the half of it. Most of the display plinths were empty and the stock that was left was hardly appealing. Oh God, was that a collection of crocheted toilet roll dollies by the cash desk?
