Part 28 (1/2)

It was a long day, made longer by the nagging thought that Grant was bound to be the bearer of trouble. Jesse was snappy and irritable. Problems heaped up. More than once, Lauren bit her lip and retreated to her desk. The final straw came late in the day when a London chef, not known for his equability, rang complaining about 'this s.h.i.+t you've sent me. I wouldn't give it to me cats. The lobsters aren't big enough, the skate is too expensive, and where's the sodding lemon sole? I'm not paying for this c.r.a.p ...' On and on he ranted, in his pseudo-c.o.c.kney accent. Jesse put the receiver on the desk and rubbed his temples. When the man had calmed down he picked the receiver up and said, with a serenity he did not feel, 'Luigi, I am so sorry. I shall send you up a box of twelve dozen Falmouth oysters on the overnight van, on the house. And, next time you're down here, I'd like you to have dinner here at our expense. What do you say?'

An hour later, Jesse climbed back into the dark luxury of the Jaguar. The leather seat gave under his weight and released its hypnotic aroma. Jesse put his head on the steering wheel and closed his eyes. His headache was worse. He gave in to his exhaustion and relaxed the tension in his shoulders. 'What a s.h.i.+t of a day,' he said to himself.

A sharp knock on his window made his heart pound as he jerked upright. His headache shot an arrow of pain through his left eye.

Grant, still wearing his head bandage, was leering through the gla.s.s. 'First sign of madness, talking to yourself.'

Jesse turned on the engine and the dashboard glowed sweetly, but even that small pleasure was now spoilt. He opened the electric window. 'Grant. What do you want?' he asked dully.

'A bed for a bit. Ma and Pa's house is too small and Ma's driving me mad. As soon as I got home she was mithering me. I walked out while she was in the kitchen putting the kettle on. She was talking so much she didn't hear me go.'

'What about Dad?' Jesse sighed.

'He'd p.i.s.sed off to the pub.'

'Why not go with him?'

'Whaaat? When my brother has a fancy new car that needs to be sat in and a beautiful new house that needs to be visited?'

Grant walked round the outside of the car and opened the pa.s.senger door. He got in. 'Not bad.' He wiped his none-too-clean hands over the walnut trim.

Jesse was not a happy man. A bad day had just got worse. 'Thank you,' he said flatly.

'Well, come on then!' smiled Grant, rubbing his hands gleefully. 'Show me what this baby can do.'

27.

When they had lost Louisa, Greer's father, Bryn, had helped them to move out of Pencil Cottage, with all its sadness, and buy Tide House. Bryn had made enquiries through various solicitors and found that the cove below had pa.s.sed from the previous owner to distant relatives, who lived in Canada and who had no idea of the beauty or worth of it. He had bought it for a song. A wooden gate and a large 'KEEP OUT PRIVATE PROPERTY' sign made sure that no wandering tourist could ever honestly say they didn't know that they were trespa.s.sing.

This evening, Freddie was home first for a change; he kicked off his shoes in the hallway. He was starving and headed straight into the kitchen and made a beeline for the fridge. He sighed as he eyed the contents. Six low-fat yogurts, a ready-made couscous salad and a packet of defrosted chicken fillets. If this was the fridge at Hal's house, it would be groaning with Dairylea, mini sausage rolls and thick-cut ham. His stomach groaned loudly as he grabbed one of the yogurts and he pulled a face as he tasted the bland goo.

He heard his mother's car pull up in the drive and made a dash for the stairs and the sanctuary of his room.

His mother's voice drifted up from the hallway. 'Freddie! How many times have I told you not to leave your trainers in the hallway? There is a perfectly good shoe store under the stairs.' He heard her tread on the stairs, heading his way.

She strode proprietorially into his room. 'And how many times have I told you not to eat in bed?'

'They eat wherever they want in Hal's house.'

'Exactly. Point proven.' She picked up the empty yogurt pot and sat on the edge of his bed.

'How was your maths tutorial?'

'Boring. A waste of time.'

'It isn't a waste of time. You've got a good head on your shoulders and all you need to do is apply yourself.'

'No point if I'm going out on the boats.'

Greer frowned. Just because Jesse had left school at 16, it didn't mean that Freddie had to as well. She was determined that Freddie was going to make something of himself. She turned and headed back downstairs towards the kitchen; catching sight of her refection on the staircase, she stopped to appraise herself. Greer now wore her hair in an elegant pixie cut. It accentuated her cheekbones. She was wearing a pair of skinny jeans from All Saints paired with a plain white T-s.h.i.+rt and a navy blazer from Joseph. As usual, she saw herself with a critical eye. It took work to look as good as this and, as well as running a successful interior design business, Greer also saw looking after herself as part of the package. She managed to squeeze in either a Pilates or a yoga cla.s.s every day, and their bas.e.m.e.nt downstairs was equipped with a state-of-the-art gym, which she made good use of.

'What's for dinner?' Freddie shouted from his room.

'Chicken, new potatoes and salad.'

There was silence above, then, after cras.h.i.+ng down the stairs like a herd of elephants, Freddie made an appearance at the kitchen door.

'Can I go over to Hal's tonight?'

'Freddie, that's the third night this week.'

'Well, if my mates come round here you only complain that they dirty the carpet or leave the toilet seat up. They don't care about any of that at Hal's.'

Greer raised an eyebrow. 'It's ”lavatory” and indeed.'

Freddie persisted. 'I'm doing you a favour. Besides, they're having a barbecue again tonight.'

'You'll have to ask your father. Speaking of which, he sent a text to say he's on his way. Apparently we've got a guest.' She looked out of the kitchen window to see if she could spot his Jaguar. 'I wonder who it is.'

It was less than a fifteen-minute drive to get to Jesse's home. At the top of Trevay, he turned right and continued along the cliff road towards the crossroads, where you could go straight on for Truro, left for Pendruggan or right towards Tide Cove. He turned right. The lane was wide enough for two cars at this point, and they were high enough up to see the sun glinting off the Atlantic. Holiday-makers, with sandy bare feet, were struggling up the hill after a long day on the beach. They hauled toddlers and dogs, pushchairs and beach trolleys. Fit young men, in surf suits peeled to their navels, jogged up with surfboards on their backs; gaggles of girls with sea-bleached hair stared after them and giggled. Jesse steered the car carefully through them all, pulling into impossibly small pa.s.sing s.p.a.ces to allow camper vans and Chelsea tractors coming from the beach to get by. About two minutes from the beach itself there was a small left-hand turning, discreetly signed: 'Tide Cove. Private Property'.

Grant was impressed. 'Don't tell me you've got the big house down here?'

Jesse said nothing, but drove the car towards two large metal gates fifty yards ahead. He pulled out a small plastic fob from the ashtray and pointed it through the windscreen.

After a second or two the gates swung cleanly open, revealing a gravelled drive, a landscaped front garden and a beautiful honey-stoned house.

'h.e.l.lo,' called Jesse, unlocking the front door.

'Hi, darling,' called Greer from the rear of the house.

'Hi, Greer,' called Grant gaily. 'Guess who's come for dinner.'

Jesse threw his keys onto the ebony console table under the large Edwardian gilt mirror in the hall. Greer popped out from behind a curved wall holding a gin and tonic and wearing an expression of dread. 'Grant?'

'Aye.' He walked towards her and embraced her. She stood stiffly, still holding her gla.s.s. He took it from her. 'Cheers. What's for supper?'

Greer's eyes slid to meet Jesse's, but he was staring resolutely at the floor.