Summer on the Little Cornish Isles: The Starfish Studio. Phillipa Ashley

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       Chapter 1

      Even the sign outside the gallery made Poppy McGregor’s toes curl with pleasure. It was such a lovely name; so evocative and catchy. Who could possibly resist popping into a place called ‘The Starfish Studio’?

      She hadn’t known then, of course, that this was the precise moment she was about to fall in – and out – of love. She couldn’t see into the future, which was probably just as well or she might never have set foot inside the studio at all.

      It was too late now. The sunlight glittered on the granite walls, dazzling her. Set back from St Piran’s pocket-sized harbour, the Starfish Studio had already cast its spell, luring her onto the weathered veranda with its baskets of cards and giftware.

      Her boyfriend, Dan, appeared at her side. ‘You’re doing it again,’ he grumbled.

      ‘Doing what again?’ said Poppy, her eyes transfixed by the faded bunting looped around the veranda roof.

      ‘You’ve got that dreamy look on your face. I expect this means we won’t be able to leave St Piran’s without another set of bloody coasters and some seashell dangly tat.’ Dan picked up a rope garland of shells as if it was radioactive.

      Poppy squashed down her annoyance. So far, their week-long holiday to the Isles of Scilly had been relaxing and fun – when Dan hadn’t been moaning about being ripped off by coffee shops, boat operators and restaurants. His job as sales manager with a bulldozer company had made him obsessed with budgets and figures. Mind you, she did have a scarily large collection of coastal bits ’n’ bobs in their small semi in the Staffordshire market town where they lived; their bedroom was already a shrine to the Cornish seaside.

      ‘I only want a quick look. Besides, the artists depend on visitors like us for their livelihoods.’ Through the doorway of the studio, she glimpsed bright splashes of colour on white walls.

      It was so humid and still that even the bunting hung limply. In contrast, Poppy’s own dark brown hair, which she’d blow-dried that morning, had curled into tendrils in the warm, moist air. She’d tried to tame it earlier while visiting the pub toilets and given up. Despite the sunscreen, her nose was pink and her cheeks were dusted in tiny freckles. Oh well, she was on holiday. She took a few sips from her bottle of water and stepped a little closer to the door. That cool interior was so inviting …

      ‘I doubt if you buying a set of coasters is going to keep the whole economy of Scilly going,’ said Dan with a world-weary grumble. Sometimes she thought he sounded more like ninety-two than thirty-two.

      ‘I promise you I have no intention of buying any more coasters. You can stay outside and watch the boats if you like, but I’m going to explore.’

      Leaving him on the veranda, she stepped inside and sighed with pleasure as the cool air hit her bare arms. An older woman with white crinkly hair tied back with an emerald scarf was sitting behind a cash desk. She smiled and said ‘hello’ before going back to her tattered paperback. The СКАЧАТЬ