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

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СКАЧАТЬ the greetings cards. She couldn’t bear to part with the coasters.

      ‘Do you really need more stuff?’ said Dan as soon as they were out of hearing of anyone inside the studio. ‘Not to mention coasters.’

      ‘You can never have too many coasters.’ She glanced up at him, annoyed that he’d guessed what she’d bought, but he was smiling. ‘And anyway, I couldn’t resist the trinket tray for Auntie Liz’s birthday. It’s just her sort of thing and you know she’ll love the starfish motif.’

      He rolled his eyes but amusement lingered around his mouth. She didn’t need his approval to spend her own money and his comments on her taste sometimes irritated her. However, he did actually seem to be joking this time and his good mood continued as they meandered slowly towards the jetty, admiring the sea and the tiny green fields and the whole exquisite toytown nature of the island.

      St Piran’s was the second smallest of the inhabited Scilly islands and was divided by a channel from its nearest neighbour, Gull Island. The other coast faced the open Atlantic and a lighthouse that marked the very western outpost of the British Isles. St Piran’s took a little longer to reach from St Mary’s – the largest of the Scilly Isles – than the other islands and the crossing, though still only twenty minutes, often left people with salty skin, damp clothes and a swirling stomach. However, its isolation appealed to Poppy’s soul and might even have captivated Dan.

      ‘Jaw-dropping, isn’t it?’ he said, coming to a halt at the top of the jetty where day trippers were starting to gather.

      ‘It’s breathtaking. I really don’t want to go back to work. It’ll be hard to return to running campaigns for wall insulation and rainwater products after this.’

      ‘I’m not looking forward to selling bulldozer parts either,’ said Dan gloomily.

      ‘Oh, look the ferry’s coming.’ Her heart sank. It would be at least a year before they would return to St Piran’s again, if they could afford the trip. They had a hefty mortgage on their little semi outside Lichfield and interest rates were sure to rise.

      ‘If only we didn’t have to get on it,’ said Dan.

      ‘Well, we can’t afford to stay overnight here, no matter how much we’d like to. I doubt there’s any accommodation available anyway and we’d risk missing our flight home.’

      He turned to her, a gleam in his eye. ‘I don’t mean I wish we didn’t have to get on it now,’ he said. ‘But one day, I wish we could stay.’

      She let out a gasp. ‘You mean stay as in live here?’

      ‘Yes. I suppose I do. I’m sick of feeling like I’m being torn away and thrust back into the rat race. I’m wasting my life. We both are. All the bloody commuting; I dice with death every day on that M42. The traffic jams, the constant targets at work. Is that really living or just existing?’

      Before Poppy could reply, there was a shout from behind. Turning around, she saw a dark-haired man jogging towards them from the Starfish Studio. As he drew near, she did a double take. The guy reminded her in a strange way of the gallery owner, even though he was fifty years younger. His features – the strong straight nose and the chin with its dimple – were just the same. His expression though was serious, as if he was worried about something.

      ‘Everything OK?’ said Dan, frowning as the man caught up with them.

      ‘It is now – I was worried I might have just missed you.’ He smiled and his face lit up. Poppy felt as if the sun had been switched on.

      ‘Missed us?’ she said, unable to tear her eyes from him. His looks were so striking, they took her breath away: he had jet-black hair that brushed his neck. His eyes were almost as dark and the skin of his arms and face was tanned as if he was of Spanish heritage. Her face coloured as she realised she was probably gawping at this extraordinary man.

      ‘My grandpa Archie asked me to give you this.’ He held out a stiff paper bag.

      Dan frowned. ‘We haven’t left anything behind.’

      ‘Oh no. It’s a gift. He saw your wife admiring this painting of the studio, so he thought she might like to have it. I’m Jake Pendower, by the way.’

      Poppy smiled awkwardly as the man held out the bag, but neither she nor Dan made any attempt to take it. She had adored the picture but didn’t dare push her luck with Dan.

      ‘Thanks, Jake. That’s a lovely thought but we can’t pay for it. I’m afraid we’ve run out of money. You only take cash, don’t you?’ said Poppy.

      ‘Actually, we do take cards,’ said Jake. ‘Just so you know.’

      ‘But we’ve definitely used up our holiday budget and we’re ready to get the boat,’ said Dan.

      Poppy cringed. It was embarrassing to be chased after by this man, trying to sell them the picture, but Dan sounded a bit brusque.

      ‘No.’ Jake smiled. ‘You misunderstand me. The picture’s a gift for your wife. Grandpa noticed her looking at it and thought she might like to have it. With his compliments.’

      ‘Oh, how lovely! Dan – that’s so kind, isn’t it?’

      He shot her a warning glance. ‘Yeah, but we can’t accept it. You’re running a business. You shouldn’t be giving things away if you want to make a profit.’

      ‘It’s Grandpa’s business. It’s his decision and …’ Jake gave a wry smile. ‘It’s not unheard of for him to give pictures away on impulse to people who clearly love his work.’ He turned his gaze on Poppy and she melted a little when she realised that, with the sun on them, his eyes were the exact colour of burnt caramel.

      Dan shook his head. ‘Sorry, mate, we can’t accept—’

      Poppy cut across him. There was no way she was leaving without that painting. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

      Her fingers brushed Jake’s as she accepted the bag from him and drew out the small square painting of Starfish Studio, with its contented ginger cat. The scene was even more beautiful and the colours and light even more dazzling than she’d remembered in the gallery, but it was eclipsed by Jake’s amused smile.

      ‘Thank your grandpa for this. I’ll treasure it.’ She was embarrassed by the heat creeping into her cheeks and her physical response to Archie Pendower’s grandson. It wasn’t right while Dan was by her side – it wasn’t right even if he hadn’t been – but she couldn’t help herself. She could hardly bear to look at Dan, so she made a play of putting the picture back in its paper bag.

      Dan made a big show of checking his watch. ‘We’d better get going. Thanks for the free picture. You’ve obviously made Poppy’s day.’

      She cringed. Dan’s holiday spirit had clearly evaporated. Maybe he was thinking of their return to work, which was enough to depress anyone.

      ‘It was a pleasure. Hope you have a safe journey home,’ Jake said cheerfully.

      ‘Thanks,’ Dan grunted.

      A horn tooted.

      ‘Don’t miss your ferry,’ СКАЧАТЬ