Love (4 page)

Karen wondered what she was doing letting him take charge of her again in this way. But it felt so right. Somehow Adam made it seem the only way. This was a new experience for
Karen, she usually found that she had to be the strong one in relationships, picking up the pieces, putting things right. It did feel odd to lean on someone else for a change even if it was Adam who she had vowed to keep out of her life. Adam’s arm felt warm and comforting around her.

The first thing Adam did upon entering the cottage was to remove Karen
’s coat and sit her in a chair next to the Aga. She heard him go upstairs and then the sound of water running into the bath. He came downstairs again, bending his head slightly as he came through the doorway into the kitchen. He made even the roomy kitchen seem smaller.

“
I’ve run you a bath. Now go upstairs and have a good soak while I get some supper together and feed the traitorous Humphrey. Off you go.”

Karen could only acquiesce, so much for her fantasies of making him her sex slave!
The thought of a hot bath was terribly appealing after the cold. The smell of wild rose bubble bath came drifting down the stairs as Karen made her way wearily up to the bathroom. Once in the steamy room she stripped of her muddy and wet clothes and slipped gratefully into the scented foam. Thank goodness her grandmother had had the good sense to hang on to the huge old iron claw-footed bath. It was so much more spacious than the modern ones and Karen stretched out her long legs gratefully.

As she lay soaking, it occurred to her that she was becoming involved once again with Adam. Then she said to herself, it
’s only this one occasion. She promised herself that she would take good care not to get into a similar sort of mess again. She was not the sort of person who needed rescuing. On the contrary, she was normally extremely competent. This, however, was not her home ground. No wonder she was at a disadvantage. Her legs and hands were starting to pucker - time to get out. What on earth was Adam doing while she lingered in the tub? She half suspected he was going to join her, but there was no sign of him, perhaps he wasn’t really into women.

Wrapping herself in a large fluffy towel Karen hunted through her things for some warm and respectable clothes. She wasn
’t going to be seen in her ratty old pink candlewick again. The answer to what Adam had been up to reached her. The mouth-watering smell of frying bacon came wafting up the stairs. The pasty was a long time ago. She slipped a creamy chenille jumper, an extravagant gift from her mother, over her head and pulled on a pair of skinny leggings. Chunky Icelandic slipper socks completed the cosy outfit.

Karen
looked at herself in the mirror and was pleased to see that her cheeks were pink and rosy from the cold and her eyes were bright. She ran a comb through her damp hair. Luckily her shoulder-length hair seldom needed more than a simple cut to keep it looking chic, much to the envy of her sister, Amanda who was cursed with wiry mouse-coloured hair which needed seeing to by a hairdresser every two weeks to keep it looking smart for her City job. Indeed, her shiny straight brown hair had caused much joking about her being a foundling in a family of fair curly-haired people.

Karen came slowly down the stairs. She felt suddenly shy, realising she hardly knew the man who was cooking supper for her in the kitchen. She had known, briefly, the boy but the man was, she thought, far more formidable. She poked her head around the door. He was standing by the stove with his back to her. He turned at once, a smile lit his face transforming his rather severe expression and crinkling up his eyes. She could not help but smile in return.

“Scrambled eggs and bacon - do for you? It’s one of my favourite suppers. It’s a little early to eat, but it’s one of the best ways to fight off a chill. Now, what about a drink? As I recall, I think your grandmother and I enjoyed a rather nice French brandy over the New Year. Would you like it in your cocoa or on the side? I, myself, am having a large one in my cocoa.”

“
It may be early for supper,” said Karen, “But it has been a long time since I ate my pasty. I’ll have my cocoa plain for starters, I think. My bath has made me very thirsty.”

He had set the table with a cheerful red and white checked tablecloth and her grandmother
’s old blue and white china which Karen had always loved because of the dark cobalt blue of the rim. Karen realised that he must have spent quite a bit of time here to be so familiar with her grandmother’s things.

They
tucked into big plates of scrambled egg, bacon and fried tomato done just the way Karen liked them best; crispy bacon and creamy, moist egg. He poured them steaming mugs of cocoa. It was a few moments as they munched hungrily before either one was able to speak and then they both spoke at once.

“
I hear you have --” he began.

“
What do you--” she started.

“
You first,” she laughed.

He began again,
“Your grandmother tells me you have a show coming up in April.”

“
Yes, it’s a joint show with two other painters who were at the Slade with me. Now my turn. Gran said you were writing but I must confess I haven’t read any of your books. Yet. I am planning to one of these days. I thought you were travelling round the Amazon jungles, last I heard. What on earth are you doing in the wilds of Cornwall?”

It was Adam
’s turn to laugh. “This is a very civilised part of the world compared to some of the places I’ve been. However, I’m trying my hand at something new at the moment and I’m struggling with my first novel at the moment. I’m still living on the royalties from my travel books and they’re making a film out of my last book right now. But until I get over a mild case of writer’s block I seem to have ended up as a semi-professional hill-walker.”

“So
have you given up travel writing altogether?” Karen asked.

“
No, I’m just tired of travel. I’ve been everywhere, done everything, even though that sounds a bit conceited. The growth of the adventure holiday means everywhere is crowded with backpackers and bloggers. The magic, or something, has gone out of it. There doesn’t seem to be a need for travel writing.”

“
I understand what you’re going through,” replied Karen thoughtfully. “I’ve been having a pretty blue period myself. Not in the sense of Picasso’s blue period, more of a tedious grey nothing sort of period.” She stopped for a moment. “I usually paint figures from life but I seem to have got into a rut. I’m thinking of making a new series of paintings based on old family photographs. But I’m not sure yet where I’m going with it all.

He looked at her, seeing the strain around her eyes and mouth.

“Anyway, the fog seems to be lifting. I managed to scrape up some enthusiasm this morning before my disastrous cliff walk and made a few sketches in Gran’s studio.”

“
I’d love to see your work sometime. Now, how about some pudding?” Adam had found some ice cream in the freezer. After they had made light work of the tub he said, “You look rather tired, it’s time you were in bed and for me to have a bash at the typewriter. I know I know it’s antediluvian, but I still use one, can’t stand computers. I’m going to follow your example and try harder to create.” He filled a hot water bottle for Karen from the kettle on the stove and she accompanied him to the door. Humphrey popped out for a last walk around the garden. She expected him to kiss her and then try to drag into her bed, instead he just gave her a half-hearted wave. He would make a good wife, but didn’t seem to exactly over-sexed. The guys she met in London would at least make a pass at her, even if they were often a bit nerdy.

As Karen cuddled up to the hot water bottle that she was glad Adam had insisted on filling, she mused sleepily over the miserable walk and the surprisingly enjoyable end to what could have been a potentially dangerous expedition on her part. How could she have been so stupid to forget all the rules of coastal path walking?

Adam was unfortunately as attractive as he had been when she had fallen for him at fourteen. He was also plain nice. Nice, what an inadequate word that was. She found him restful to be with like an old friend. He was not like an old friend: old friends didn’t invoke these unwanted physical reactions from her. It was funny they had always thought he was rather bossy and conceited. Reliable but not bossy. He was surprisingly unassuming. If they were making a film from his book, he must be quite famous. Still he was probably an incredibly repressed Englishman who she would have to tie down and ravish. But he was very good looking by torchlight in a rather Heathcliff-y sort of way, plucking her from the moors well, cliffs. With this comforting vision still in her head Karen drifted into sleep.

By Wednesday, Karen had established a routine of painting and dog walks. She realised that if Mrs Maybury, the cleaner, was not to be appalled by her untidiness she had better clean up some of her mess. She ran upstairs to her cosy bedroom and made the bed properly for the first time since she had arrived, hospital corners and all. Even her fussy mother would have been impressed. Then she decided to tackle the unwieldy mountain of clothing in the corner which had mushroomed out of her neatly packed suitcase.

Humphrey sat on the bed, watching with interest as Karen folded her jumpers and stacked them away in the bottom drawer of the beautiful old mahogany chest. Not much more up here, she thought, she should do the kitchen next.

Satisfied that the bedroom was moderately acceptable, Karen hung her towel on the rail in the bathroom and arranged her modest collection of toiletries on the shelf in the medicine cabinet. She looked down at the not-so clean floor and realised how much she hated housework. Not that she didn’t appreciate a clean home, it was just so much nicer when someone else did it. She had been so involved in her painting she had done nothing but make simple meals for herself.

The doorbell rang. Karen, grateful to be relieved of her boring task, went down to see who her rescuer was. She half hoped it would be Adam. She
hadn’t seen him since Sunday though she’d seen the lights of his house from her bedroom window. Humphrey was already barking furiously at the door as Karen opened it to see the agitated figure of Mrs Pengelly.

“
Hello,” said Karen, smiling in her usual friendly fashion although Mrs Pengelly was well-known as a trouble maker and not one of Karen’s favourite people.

“
Karen, said Mrs Pengelly, wasting no time with greetings. “You’ve been feeding them again haven’t you? This really must stop!”

“
Who?” asked Karen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t seen anyone since Sunday, never mind fed them.”

“
Not who. What,” replied Mrs Pengelly firmly. “The flying rats. Those filthy seagulls. You’ve been feeding the seagulls. They’ve been overhead all morning. They were flying about over the houses all yesterday and the day before. Screaming and carrying on. Tomorrow is bin day and I don’t want those gulls opening up the bags and spreading the rubbish around.”

Karen counted to ten and then tried to placate the irate woman.
“I haven’t been feeding the gulls, Mrs Pengelly. Really, I haven’t. Take a look at the lawn. See ... no scraps, no mess. But thank you for reminding me about the rubbish.”

Mrs
Pengelly humphed disbelievingly, “Well, if you say so.” She turned and stomped her way disagreeably back up the path to the road.

Karen shut the door behind her and giggled.
“Well Humphrey, we’d better go give some scraps to those birds. What a miserable old cow.” At least her other neighbour was pleasanter. In fact she rather hoped she might bump into him. Just then the telephone rang and her first thought was that it might be Adam.

“
Hello,” said a friendly male voice. ‘Mrs Trevean, Nick Farmer here.”

“
No, I’m sorry. Gran, Mrs Trevean, is away at the moment. Can I help you?”

“
Oh right, Mrs Trevean asked me to call in the New Year about her house sale. I’m supposed to come out to take the details with a view to going to market in the spring.”

“S
hit… I mean oh dear,” said Karen, shocked at the prospect of her grandmother selling what she thought of as
their
cottage. “My grandmother has gone to Australia for around six weeks. She didn’t mention anything about selling. I’m not sure what to do.”

“
Well, you could let me come and measure up and do the survey. It is all free and then we won’t waste any time.” He replied smoothly. “Then when you speak to Mrs Trevean you can find out when exactly she wants to put it on the market. This way we’re ready to go when she is.”

“
I suppose. I suppose that might be all right.” Karen said reluctantly, thinking that at least she had done some of the tidying.

“
Excellent, excellent. I’ll be over at about twelve if that’s okay with you. I have another house in Trelawney Cove to look at. See you then.”

Karen put the phone down. Ugh
, estate agents made you feel dirty, not in a good way. Just what she didn’t feel like doing showing some slick salesman around. What the hell was her grandmother thinking about? Surely she didn’t want to sell her lovely cottage. Where would she go? What would she do? Perhaps she was thinking of staying in Australia. Karen hoped not, she would miss her dreadfully and, selfishly, coming here to the cottage which was like another home.