A Summer Wedding at the Cornish Manor, page 2
He’s a good man and he has a big heart. Being a mum in a similar situation to Fiona, now that my ex-husband Ben has a significant other in his life, I totally understand her wanting to satisfy herself that Ollie was in safe hands for that first visit. Fiona didn’t really know much about Riley’s new life after their acrimonious split four years ago. I get that she wanted to see for herself where her son was staying.
However, it threw Riley into a bit of a panic when she invited herself to stay the second night and at breakfast, started planning out their day. What sort of signal was that sending Ollie? I can’t help wondering. Riley should have put his foot down at the time, but he didn’t and that threw me a little.
The following Monday, when Riley sat me down to tell me how the weekend turned out, he was clearly uncomfortable about it. It was then that I pushed him to tell Fiona about us and it’s something I’ve come to regret. Ever since, it’s either been total silence from her end, or when he has reached out hoping to at least talk to Ollie, he’s received hurtful text messages suggesting that he’s not putting his son’s interests first.
‘I do hope so, Riley. Renweneth Manor is made for family gatherings, and it’ll only be special if we can all spend time there together.’
The sadness I see reflected in his eyes pulls on my heartstrings and I give Riley the biggest smile I can muster. ‘Come on. Let’s head back to The Farmhouse for a shower. Cappy assumed you’ll be staying for dinner tonight.’
My lovely, warm-hearted man gives me one of his artful grins.
‘Great, I’m starving. I’ll just get some clean clothes from the van.’
Will there ever come a day when Riley can hang his clothes up here? I sigh, as we make our way downstairs. How wonderful that would be. Looking at it now, it’s going to involve nothing less than a miracle to get this place into any sort of shape. There’s a lot more demolition work to come before we can even begin to think about putting the manor back together again. From where I’m standing, it’s not a hill we have to climb; it’s a flipping mountain.
*
Wednesday is yoga class at The Hub Studio, and I have knots in my back and shoulders that I’m hoping will benefit from some gentle stretching. The mid-week slump I’m feeling is down to a real fear that I’ll run out of steam before Friday is here. Being surrounded by four burly men working like well-oiled machines, I’m pushing myself as hard as I can.
My bestie, Ivy, is in a downward-facing dog pose and glances across at me from beneath her arm, making me laugh. I wince and it’s all I can do not to groan out loud, as my tired muscles are screaming at me.
‘Are you okay?’ she mouths at me.
‘Sorry, everything hurts,’ I mouth back.
Our teacher, Flo, talks us through the final movements before we finally get to lie prostrate on the floor. Thankfully, the winding-down stretches seem to even out a few kinks. The only problem is that everyone else is now up on their feet, and I’m simply lying here, staring up at the ceiling considering whether it’s natural for parts of me to feel numb.
Ivy stares down at me. ‘Do you need a hand to get up?’
‘No. I’m in heaven. If I stay completely still, nothing hurts, nothing at all – it’s total bliss!’
Flo wraps up the session with a few motivational words and as everyone begins clapping, I reluctantly ease myself into an upright position to join in.
As we filter out of the studio, I give Flo a warm smile. ‘Sorry I lagged behind a bit tonight,’ I admit.
Ivy and Flo make eye contact and they both start laughing.
‘What?’
‘We were all suffering with you at every groan,’ Flo replies.
I stare at them apologetically. ‘I thought that was just in my head and when I did let slip, I hoped your voice helped to mask it, Flo.’ I laugh.
‘Don’t you worry about that, Jess. We’re all eager to see some life breathed back into Renweneth Manor. It’s a shame to see a beautiful old building like that standing empty for such a long time and everyone is in awe of what you’re doing.’
‘That’s kind of you to say so. How are things going with…’ I glance around, checking the three of us are now alone. ‘…Prudie?’ She’s an old friend of my late grandma Maggie’s, and by association, Cappy. Although I think he usually disappeared whenever the two ladies got together for their little chats.
Flo rolls her eyes. ‘You won’t believe this, but the man who rents out the village hall where I used to hold my classes gave me a call yesterday. He offered me a discount if I move back there. I declined and told him that the studio at Renweneth Farm is perfect for me. Then he mentioned that our esteemed local artist has been bending his ear.’
My jaw drops and I don’t quite know what to say.
‘Prudie not only exhibits for free in the bakery café, but she still wants the studio all to herself for her art classes?’ Ivy sounds scandalised.
‘That’s about the long and the short of it,’ Flo confirms. ‘I moved away from the village hall because the ambience isn’t quite right there. So many clubs use it for different things and the noticeboards are cluttered. The studio here is all clean lines with no distractions and it feels like a sanctuary. Adding this mezzanine floor to the old barn was an inspired idea, Jess. I’m not giving in to Prudie Carne just because she thinks she’s superior and her art classes have more to offer the community than my yoga classes.’
I can see that Ivy is just as shocked as I am. Flo is usually such a relaxed and quiet person; admittedly, she’s put up with a lot from Prudie and clearly this latest upset is the final straw.
‘Oh, Flo, she’s just annoyed with herself for missing out on the opportunity to take the studio on, that’s all. If she doesn’t respond to her emails that’s her fault, because she had the chance.’
‘Well, whatever, but I’ve bent over backwards to accommodate her classes and have rearranged my own itinerary to keep her happy. If she keeps this up, I’ll be less amenable in future when she wants to add extra dates. I know she’s an old friend of Cappy’s and your late grandma, and while I don’t want to cause offence, my patience is wearing thin.’
I think it’s time I sorted this out once and for all, and this time, it’s not my aching muscles that make me groan; it’s the thought of confronting Cappy.
2
Treading on Eggshells
It’s a frosty start to the day but at least it’s dry. Riley’s team of ground workers are due to begin work, digging out the hole for the new septic tank to the rear of the manor.
When I return from the school run, a lorry is in the process of dropping off the biggest skip I’ve ever seen. Riley walks up to greet me sporting a broad smile.
‘I’m going to get two of the guys to start loading it up. The aim is to fill it by lunchtime and get another one delivered this afternoon. What I’d like you to do is to start sorting through the attic.’ He gives me a pointed look. ‘You know there’s stuff up there that won’t get used, Jess. It’s in the way and putting it off will cost you money. The skip is here, so let’s fill it.’
I’m in agreement but even so my stomach dips. ‘Okay.’
‘That’ll leave two of us to strip out the ground floor and the aim is to get shot of the debris by the end of tomorrow. All I need you to do is put this tape on anything that can go.’
He hands me a role of white tape with the word fragile written over it in large red letters and I glance at him, askance.
‘It’s not reverse psychology.’ He grins at me. ‘These guys need a clear marker and anything with fragile tape is bin fodder. They don’t always appreciate the difference between a family heirloom and…’
‘Something that’s fit for the tip, but that a sentimentalist like me can’t bear to throw away?’ Admittedly, some of the furniture I’m keeping isn’t in prime condition, but each piece means something to me, or Cappy, and will be repurposed.
Riley quickly scans around to check no one is watching us and he steps forward to plant a kiss firmly on my lips before pulling away. ‘Sorry, I know it’s tough letting things go. Anyway, the attic floor is perfectly safe now. It was only that large area in the far corner where the main leak was that needed replacing. The guys have put down some sheets of marine ply as a temporary measure and we’re hoping to get some reclaimed boards to patch in the floor. A lot of that furniture is water-damaged, Jess, and you know it’s not salvageable.’
‘It’s time to suck it up, isn’t it?’
He looks away and I watch as he pushes back on his hard hat to capture some of the dark curls that have escaped.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a random voice makes us both turn. ‘Hey, mate. I’m dropping off a mini digger. You got any boards to lay over those cobbles, so I can drive it in?’
I reach out to touch Riley’s arm, giving him a fleeting smile. ‘You sort out the lorry driver and I’ll make a start.’
As I turn and hurry back inside, I have the strongest feeling that Grandma is walking alongside me. Instead of recoiling at the devastation as two men rip the ground-floor walls apart, I’m starting to see a wonderful blank canvas and I give them a thumbs-up. I tell myself that I’m realising her dream, too, as I climb the stairs to the attic. She’d be the first one to say Oh, that awful display cabinet should have gone a long time ago, which makes me smile to myself. It’s not things that are important, it’s memories, and those you carry in your heart forever.
The awkward, and twisty backstairs will soon be gone, to be replaced with a new staircase off the main one. Anything I decide to keep will be put into the shed behind the manor; I suspect the rest will be broken up in situ to make carrying it downstairs a little easier.
I enter what I refer to as the storeroom, but it’s the scent of autumn filtering through from the room ahead that makes me keep going. The narrow aisle between my stored treasure leads into the second of the three attic rooms. Many years ago, when this was a sheep farm and times were hard, these rooms were filled with bunk beds to house casual labour. With no direct access to the main house, they had to mount the creaky backstairs and tiptoe past the housekeeper’s quarters on the second floor. I imagine a stern, older woman whose eyes were everywhere, keeping them in line.
Harvest time was always busy, as what is now the campsite was originally a huge orchard. I draw in a deep breath, the sweet scent leading me into the last of the rooms. This is where the apples were stored; last autumn, for the first time in goodness knows how many years, that’s just what Lola and I did, aided by her best friend Daisy. Now, the pantry in The Farmhouse is full of jars of jam, apple chutney and mason jars filled to the brim with apple slices. Daisy’s mum, Erica, took home boxes and boxes of fruit, enough to keep her stall loaded with tarts throughout the winter.
Instinctively, I walk over to the single window to the rear, mindful not to crack my head on the beam above it. This is the room that Grandma promised Lola, the one she said always smelt of autumn bounty and it does, even though the apple crates are all empty now. In the second phase of the work, Riley’s team will be installing three large dormer windows in a line, which will look directly out to sea. Despite having to bend to stare out of the small panes of glass, the view is mesmerising.
‘Right,’ I murmur, turning on my heels. Progress calls for a clear head, not one muddled by misplaced sentimentality. Some of this stuff is only fit for the fire, as it has more wormholes than wood. I’ve got this!
*
Over lunch, Riley, Cappy and I catch up with the morning’s progress.
‘You did well filling that skip in such a short time,’ Cappy remarks. ‘How’s the attic looking, Jess?’
A little wave of unease washes over me. They’re not my things I’m trawling through. When Cappy moved out of The Farmhouse, he took very little with him, using the excuse that his new house is much smaller and most of the furniture here was dark and bulky. He was happy for me to use what I wanted and give away the rest. While I’ve already upcycled a few pieces, there isn’t much of what remains that is earmarked to stay. ‘By late afternoon, it should be clear, bar a few special items.’ I give him a wistful smile and he gives me a wink.
‘It’s not an easy job, but there’s no point hanging on to things for the sake of it. That shed won’t take much to fill it. Did the… uh… old armoire make the cut?’
I was just about to pop a forkful of pasty into my mouth. I pause, horrified that he should think that I’d throw away an heirloom. ‘Of course, it did! You bought it for Grandma to celebrate your twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. I have big plans for that!’
His smile touches my heart. ‘Ah, I’m glad you could find a use for it.’
Riley joins in. ‘When Jess says that, she means it, Cappy. She’s even drawn me a sketch, as it involves a little carpentry work, but I think you’ll be delighted with the end result when it’s in situ.’
Cappy chuckles. ‘I can’t wait to see what you do with it. From the sounds drifting over to the campsite, I hear the digger has been put to work this morning. It’ll be good to get that septic tank in and the hole backfilled in case the snow returns.’
Riley frowns. ‘It’s been on my mind, too. The forecast is that we’re in for some heavy frosts and that could make groundworks difficult.’
‘I’m just as concerned as you. Tomorrow, we’ll have ground workers on site over in the first field. We’re hoping to take out some of the hedging that runs along the front of the campsite, ready to install the second entrance. I’m still waiting for a date from the highways team about when they’re going to lower the pavement, but I want to get ahead before we start digging out the trench for the new shower and toilet block.’
They’ve both finished eating but I continue, listening intently. Their concerns are my concerns, too. Both Cappy and Riley have work schedules and having booked in the relevant trades, it means everything must run smoothly. If it doesn’t, delays cost money and we can’t afford to have people hanging around doing nothing.
There’s a sharp rap on the front door and Riley goes to investigate. He comes back a couple of minutes later with his coat in his hand. ‘I’m needed on site. Thanks for lunch, Jess. I’ll see you later, Cappy.’
With that, he disappears, and I start clearing the plates.
‘Do you have time for a quick coffee, Jess, or do you want it in a thermal cup to go?’ Cappy asks, as he walks over to the counter and flicks the switch on the kettle.
This is my chance to have a word with him while we’re on our own, and as that doesn’t happen very often these days, I’d better grab it.
‘Why not? The guys all take an hour’s break and I think it sets the wrong example if we don’t do the same.’ I’m frantically trying to come up with the right words to launch into what is a potentially sensitive conversation about Prudie.
‘I’ll have some updated figures for you with regard to the upgrade to the parking facilities and the campsite, by the end of tomorrow, Jess. When are you due to sit down with the accountant next?’
‘Michael and I are meeting up on Friday afternoon to go through everything in detail.’
Midway through stirring the coffee, Cappy half-turns to look directly at me. ‘Are you expecting any problems?’
‘The only unknown will be the size of the tax bill, as our profits have significantly increased with the new income streams. I just need to make sure I’m putting enough aside so we don’t get any nasty shocks once the accounts go in for the current financial year.’
He nods his head, seemingly satisfied. ‘It’ll be easier once you can move into the manor and get an income from this place. I bet Vyvyan can’t wait to put it up on the website and you should get twice what you’re getting for letting out Penti Growan.’
Cappy’s right, of course. It’s mostly couples who rent out our little two-bed cottage. But that’s not a part of my action plan for The Farmhouse; he’s just not ready for me to broach the subject yet.
As marketing manager, Vyvyan is delighted about the thought of adding it to our portfolio. However, I’ve warned her not to take it for granted that will be the case.
What I’m banking on is that Ivy and Adam won’t be renting out Smithy’s Cottage for much longer. As soon as they can get a mortgage sorted to buy it, that will be a welcome cash injection, which could solve all my problems in one go.
Cappy carries the mugs over to the table and I grab the cake tin and two small plates.
‘Fresh from The Farmhouse Bakery this morning,’ I inform him, as I slip off the lid. ‘Ivy’s latest addition – kiwi parfait slices. They look, and smell, amazing. Help yourself.’
‘She never fails to amaze me, does Ivy. And not a doughnut in sight!’
I laugh. ‘She doesn’t do deep-fried, or refined white sugar, but her cakes taste heavenly, don’t they?’
There are a few moments of silence as we take our first, then second bites.
‘Definitely moreish,’ Cappy declares, polishing his off and licking his fingers before wiping them on a paper napkin.
‘Cappy, this problem between Prudie and Flo has raised its head again. Flo’s patience is wearing thin and the informal agreement between the two of them might not be viable for much longer.’
He looks at me shiftily. ‘Oh. I thought that had all settled down.’
‘Me, too.’ When I tell him exactly what Flo told Ivy and me last night, I get the feeling it doesn’t come as a complete surprise and that’s disconcerting.
‘Most artists struggle to cover their costs, Jess, and that’s a fact. It took Prudie more than thirty years to get people to take her seriously and her watercolour paintings have done a lot to promote Cornwall. She spent the next twenty years on a mission to raise the profile of as many Cornish artists as possible. Now she’s back here at a time in her life when she’s committed herself to mentoring those with talent who are on the brink of giving up. It’s not only a worthy cause, but she attracts a lot of publicity.’
