‘Hello, Kit. Glad you could make it,’ Cal says as he shows Kit into the farmhouse sitting room on Monday evening. In the end, Cal invited him to dinner out of range of my hearing, thank goodness, and to my amazement, Kit agreed. Instead of telling Kit to use the back door, however, he’s made him ring the bell and brought him into the house via reception and the vestibule. We keep the kitchen entrance for family and close friends and it’s obvious Cal considers him neither of those things. Cal probably wants Kit to know that.
I’m squirming, frankly, because I still think there’s a totally boring explanation for why Kit was with Mawgan in town, and I hate the idea of spying on a guest in this way.
Cal told me that as he’d won the bet that Kit would accept the invitation to dinner, I had to spend the whole of Sunday afternoon naked in bed with him. Apparently I can’t even leave the bedroom from noon until midnight and Cal has sworn he’s going to confiscate my bra and knickers and lock them in the filing cabinet in his office. Even thinking about my ‘penalty’ makes me squirm with lust. Of course, I’m still annoyed with him for declaring to Polly and Kit that we are sleeping together so I shouldn’t feel obliged to repay my debt. But I am thinking about it. Very, very seriously.
Kit, looking cool and smooth in black jeans, a soft brushed shirt and sleek Puffa jacket, hands over a bottle of white wine. A very nice one too, and freshly chilled.
‘Oh, thanks. That’ll go wonderfully with our dinner,’ I say, trying to sound like the perfect hostess while cringing inside. We’ve tidied up a bit, though Kit probably can’t tell. The fire crackles in the hearth and the rich smell of my fish pie is very inviting, even if I do say so myself. It all feels very welcoming, which makes me feel doubly guilty about conning him.
‘Pleasure, and thanks for asking me. Must admit I feel a bit guilty for interrupting your evening. I’d no idea you two were together when I first arrived at Kilhallon. Now I feel like I’m butting in.’
‘You’re not butting in, mate. Is he, sweetheart?’
Cal puts his arm around my waist and it’s my turn to grit my teeth. Sweetheart? Cal never calls me sweetheart, or darling, or anything that cheesy – or complimentary. Longing to hit him with the fish slice, I slip smartly out of his embrace.
‘I just have to see how the fish pie is doing and open the wine.’
Kit sniffs the air. ‘Thought I smelled something good, although I reckoned Cal might have given you the night off from cooking.’ The firelight reflects in Kit’s green eyes, making them gleam. He must have guessed there’s something going on.
‘It’s my day off and, actually, Cal’s made the pud so we’ve shared the duties. I’ll be back in a sec. Cal, aren’t you going to offer Kit a beer or something?’
‘Yeah. Sorry, forgot. What’ll it be, mate? Doom Bar? Lager? Cider?’
‘A lager, thanks.’
Kit has a twist of amusement on his lips. He doesn’t seem too jealous to me, but he is obviously delighted to have caught us ‘at home’ and in full-on couple mode. Actually I think I’d be more relaxed if he had seemed jealous of Cal’s possessive gesture. Maybe Cal is right about him after all: there is something peculiar about his moods.
I leave ‘the boys’ discussing craft beers while I check the pie and put some broccoli on to boil, but a few minutes later, I hear Cal rummaging in the old pantry off the kitchen where he keeps a crate of beer and I store the welcome-pack wines on permanent chill.
I pour myself a large glass of Kit’s white, sensing I’m going to need it.
When I walk back into the sitting room, the boys are once more drinking from bottles and looking, on the surface at least, like mates. Mates, my arse, I think. They’re still standing up, Cal lingering ‘casually’ in front of his hearth every inch the lord of the manor, while Kit looks around admiringly.
‘Wow. Great room. I thought it had character from the outside, but I’d no idea it was this old. Eighteenth century, is it?’
‘Sixteen seventy-five or thereabouts,’ Cal replies casually. I did know something of the history of the Kilhallon estate, because I had to research it when I was trying to get some words together for the website.
‘And it’s always been in Penwith hands throughout all that time?’
‘Yeah, as far as the records tell us. There was another place here before it, which dated back another three hundred years, but that burned down, apparently.’
‘Wow, and I thought Enys Cottage was old.’
‘That row of cottages was built after the farmhouse, for the senior mine captain and officials and their families. My Granddad Penwith added the reception area to the main farmhouse in the late sixties, but apart from a lick of paint, it’s been the same ever since. We could have rebuilt it when we refurbished the park, but we settled for another repair and repaint. We had other priorities, didn’t we, sweetheart?’
‘Yes, we did, darling.’
I cross to Cal and put my arm around him, groping his bum behind Kit’s back to see how he likes being treated like a possession. Judging by the grin on his face, I think he’s actually enjoying himself.
Kit wanders up to a painting on the wall of a proud middle-aged man, standing on a windswept cliff with a chocolate Labrador at his feet. ‘That’s him, is it? Your granddad?’
‘No, that’s his father. My great granddad. This is my granddad and dad.’
Cal picks up a photo, a seventies print that was already rosy hued and is faded almost to sepia now. He hands it to Kit. I know the one: Cal’s grandfather, older now and stooped, but still with his stick, and Cal’s father, in his late thirties, handsome, with Cal’s thick dark hair hidden by a tweed cap. They’re standing in front of reception and in the background you can spot the rows of static caravans marshalled in ranks like soldiers.
Kit holds it, his face expressionless, then hands it back to Cal. ‘I heard your father passed away a few years ago. I’m sorry for that, he wasn’t very old, was he? After losing your mother when you were so young, that must have been a terrible blow.’
‘It was, but what can you do? We all have to manage with what life hands us, no matter how crap.’
Kit nods. ‘True.’
‘Your mum and dad live in London, don’t they?’ Cal says. ‘Polly told me,’ he adds.
Kit smiles. ‘Yes. Not far from my flat, actually.’
‘What do they think of you being down here for so long?’
‘They’re not surprised at anything I do these days, and I am a grown-up even though it may not always seem like it.’
‘Yeah, but parents don’t always believe it, do they?’
‘No, but I’m lucky to have them. Unlike you and Demi. I read about your losses in the magazine feature and I’m sorry. For both of you. You’ve done well to rebuild this place and your lives, if you don’t mind me saying.’
‘Thanks.’ Cal sniffs the air extravagantly and gets up from the chair. ‘By the smell of it, I think that fish pie must be more than ready. I’ll help Demi dish up if you want to sit at the table. Make yourself at home, mate. We don’t stand on ceremony here.’
Kit takes a seat and I corner Cal in the kitchen.
‘It’s no good, I’m not asking him!’ I declare. ‘It’s devious and rude.’
‘In that case,’ Cal says, snatching a fresh bottle of wine. ‘I will.’
Shortly after, Kit ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ enthusiastically as I bring in the pie and place it on the table.
‘Wow, that smells amazing. That mash looks interesting. Are those herbs?’
‘No, it’s salad seaweed from a local company. Sounds weird but I promise it’s delicious.’
‘I can’t wait. You’re a woman of many talents, Demi.’
Cal throws me what I can only describe as an ‘adoring’ grin. ‘She certainly is,’ he croons.
Ignoring Cal, I hold a dish under our guest’s nose. ‘Have some broccoli. How’s your book going, by the way?’
After several glasses of wine, a fish pie and a lot of talk about writing, I almost start to relax. Kit has some funny stories about being an author and the weird things people think and say to him. Even Cal laughs at the one about the woman who asked him why he still did his own shopping in Tesco and the man asked him to write his life story about being a loss adjuster in return for half the profits. Cal opens another bottle and I bring in a dish of spiced pears baked in cider. Anyone would think we were three old mates, enjoying a cosy reunion together after not seeing each other for ages. The whole time, however, I keep remembering that we’re only softening up Kit so we can ask him about Mawgan.
‘That smells incredible. What’s in there?’ he asks as I lift the lid of the casserole dish and the heady scent of alcohol and spices fills the room.
‘Local cider, cinnamon sticks, nutmeg. It’s very festive, isn’t it?’
‘Amazing.’
‘Hold on.’ I return from the kitchen with a plastic carton and a scoop. ‘This is delicious with it.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Christmas Pudding ice cream.’
‘I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,’ says Kit.
Cal serves up the pears and ice cream and we tuck in. For a few minutes the only sounds are ‘mms and ‘wows’ and spoons scraping on bowls. Cal and Kit have seconds of the ice cream and I take the carton back to the freezer. As Kit’s finishing his seconds, Cal refills his glass with the last of the wine.
‘I’ve been wondering. Don’t you get bored, down here? It’s very isolated and quiet in the winter,’ he asks Kit.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
‘No. I want to be bored. That means I can finish my book. I’ve written more words down here than I ever do in London.’
‘But you must miss your friends in the smoke.’
‘Yes and no. It’s because of my friends in the smoke that I keep being distracted from my work. There’s always someone wanting me to go to the pub or a gig or a play or to the football. All I have here is a walk and the odd pint in the Tinner’s.’
‘The Tinner’s? I’d have thought it was a bit local for a London sophisticate.’ Cal smiles, but my stomach clenches as I fear a fresh sparring contest about to take place.
‘You’re not a regular?’
‘Not as regular as I used to be.’ I can see Cal recalling the lock-ins he used to go to after hours. ‘It’s a decent pub.’
‘Cal’s cousin works behind the bar. She’s a goth.’
‘Ah, Robyn. She’s a laugh. I like her. I hadn’t really made the connection. She’s only doing a couple of nights now, isn’t she? She said she’s too busy with her course and hoping to start up her own jewellery-making business when her course finishes. Her dad’s recently retired, hasn’t he? I guess he must be your uncle?’
‘Yes. Rory Penwith’s my uncle.’
‘Hmm. Now you come to mention it, there is a likeness between you and Robyn. Even withstanding the eyeliner.’
Cal rolls his eyes. I can feel that he’s inwardly fuming.
Kit licks the last trace of ice cream from his spoon. ‘This really is fantastic. I have to have the recipe.’
‘I’ll send you a link. Cal – let’s chill out by the fire again.’ I get up and start to clear some plates from the table.
‘I’ll get the whisky. Don’t load the dishwasher,’ Cal says. ‘Come and have a nightcap.’
‘Don’t worry. I had no intention of it. I’ll leave that to you guys. I don’t want any whisky though.’
After dumping the plates by the dishwasher, I go back to the sitting room to find Cal unscrewing the paper from a new bottle of single malt.
‘So, have you met any other interesting local characters while you’ve been here?’ he says, pouring a generous measure into a tumbler for Kit. ‘In St Trenyan, for instance?’
Oh my God, Cal’s going for the killer blow. Kit picks up his glass, mouths cheers and says, ‘The locals are friendly enough I suppose, but I don’t spend much time in St Trenyan.’
Cal smiles. ‘What about with Mawgan Cade?’
Kit pauses with the glass halfway to his mouth, or am I imagining it? ‘Mawgan?’ he asks.
‘Mawgan Cade. I saw you with her at Sharky’s the other night,’ I say quickly.
‘Oh, yes, I was there with Mawgan, but I didn’t spot you.’ He smiles. ‘If you saw us, why didn’t you come over and say hello?’
‘I didn’t want to butt in, and anyway I was out with a mate and we couldn’t stop because she was in a rush to get back. Her sister wasn’t very well,’ I babble, squirming at my white lie. I could kill Cal.
‘Is Mawgan a friend of yours, then?’ Kit says, sitting back in his chair and smiling at me.
‘We were going to ask you the same thing,’ says Cal, cradling his own glass.
‘Mawgan’s more of a business acquaintance,’ I add. ‘She’s on the St Trenyan Harbour Lights committee. They meet at the cafe once a week, and Cal went to school with her.’
‘Really?’
‘Didn’t she mention it?’
‘No, but then we hadn’t long met. She came along to the talk I gave to St Trenyan Writers and asked me to meet her for a drink.’
‘Mawgan went to a writers’ group?’
Cal has a coughing fit.
‘Malt a bit potent for you?’ Kit grins at him and swills the amber liquid around the bottom of his glass. ‘Too good to water down, though, eh? Your father had very good taste.’
Cal frowns. ‘In some things.’
I sense a dangerous atmosphere.
‘So, you were saying you met Mawgan at a writers’ group …’ I ask.
‘Is that so strange? They knew I was here from a crime writers’ forum and they invited me to give a talk. I didn’t like to say no so I agreed and Mawgan went along.’
‘What’s she writing?’ Cal asks.
‘I’m not really sure. She mentioned something about a bonkbuster. You know, Jackie Collins style. It’s not really my thing, and I’m not sure how serious she is, but she came up to me after and asked if I’d meet her for a drink, so I said, “Why not?” He sips his drink then looks at Cal. ‘I haven’t committed some terrible faux pas, have I? She’s not got a big hairy fisherman boyfriend who’s going to beat me up and feed me to the gulls?’
‘I don’t think she needs anyone for that,’ Cal says.
‘Sorry, we must seem really nosy,’ I cut in. ‘But I was just curious. I didn’t know Mawgan was interested in writing a book. She doesn’t seem the type.’
‘No one ever does,’ says Kit. ‘I gave her a few tips and we had a good time, but doubt if I’ll have time to see her again. I have to go back to London in mid-December, you see. I have meetings with my publisher and my agent’s arranged for me to speak at a book festival and attend a crime writers’ conference. It makes sense for me to leave sooner than I’d expected. I won’t ask for a refund.’
‘We will refund you as you’ve stayed so long at a quiet time of year,’ I say. ‘So, will we still see you at the Harbour Lights this Friday?’
Kit smiles. ‘Oh, yes, I wouldn’t miss that for the world.’
The talk turns to the lights and how the festival and traditions started, and the pop-up cafe we’re opening on the night. Cal joins in readily enough, but I can tell by his body language that he’s puzzled and confused and pissed off. I just want the night to be over.
The old long case clock strikes ten and Kit gets up. ‘Sorry to be a party pooper but I need an early start in the morning. I want to get a run in before I set to work. And I don’t want to keep you both from your bed.’
‘We mustn’t keep you from yours either.’ Cal adds.
Is it me or does he emphasise the word ‘bed’, as in one bed: ours? Seeming amused, Kit goes on. ‘I think we all need our beauty sleep, apart from Demi, of course. If I don’t see you before, I’ll see you at the Harbour Lights, if you can bear the excitement.’
Cal grins and, almost, rubs his hands together. ‘Oh I think so. Actually, I can’t wait. I think it’s going to be an absolutely fascinating evening.’