Love (5 page)

Karen went into the kitchen and looked around. She was going to need the entire hour to put it to rights before the estate agent arrived. It wasn
’t that she cared how it looked herself but she felt obliged not to let her grandmother down by showing the agent a dirty kitchen. They were often notorious gossips.

She
switched on the radio which was tuned to Classic FM playing a requiem, a suitable theme for housework, she thought. She set to work on the pile of dishes in the sink. She didn’t remember using this many plates in the first place. Perhaps she would invest in a packet of paper plates.

Damp and slightly grumpy from her excess of housework Karen filled a bucket and launched herself at the task of mopping the yellow and white chequered floor tiles. Humphrey had not been wiping his paws and his table manners left much to be desired. There were bits of biscuit and globs of meat glued to the floor. She would have to have words with him. He was lying sadly in his basket having lost all hope of a walk. By five to twelve the kitchen was almost as clean as the day she arrived and she had even managed to quickly dust the sitting room - at least where it showed.

Karen was, despite herself, quite pleasantly surprised when she opened the door a few minutes later to a well-dressed young man with floppy blond hair and a broad smile.

“
Hello. I’m Nick Farmer from Sheriffs. We spoke earlier on the phone. Here’s my card. You must be...” he hesitated slightly, ‘miss Trevean?.”

“
No, not quite. I am her granddaughter but I’m a Packer, Karen Packer.”

“
Right, a Packer. Well please call me Nick. And Karen, who is this little Rottweiler?” he asked, looking down at Humphrey who was standing next to Karen snarling at Nick unpleasantly, his short fur standing on end in obvious dislike.

“
Humphrey, do be quiet. Or go and sit in your basket,” said Karen shooing the indignant dog back into the house. “Come in.”

“Thank you, Karen,” he said, he really did like using her first name.

Nick followed Karen into the hallway. She could see him sizing up the condition of the walls and the floors. It was not a pleasant feeling. She had always hated selling
houses, it was like your whole life was on display. When they had sold their family house, many years ago, they had all had a thoroughly miserable summer keeping their rooms spotless. They had ended up with a much nicer house, the one Karen’s parents still lived in. But this man brought back the unpleasant memory.

“S
hall we start upstairs Karen?” he asked. “I’ve got my magic measurer. It’s not quite as accurate as a tape measure but it’s twice as easy and much more fun.”

Karen stepped to one side and followed as he started up the stairs. He ran his hand over the smooth oak banister.
“What beautiful wood. It makes a change from knotty pine.” He paused to look at some of her grandmother’s watercolours of the Cove which lined the stairwell.

“
I have an Iris Trevean of my own,” he said. “It’s a wonderful view of St Michael’s Mount. It’s hanging over my bed. Have you seen it Karen?”

“
Your bed? I don’t think so” replied Karen, mischievously. Karen began to warm to him slightly. Artists always have a soft spot for people who buy paintings.

Nick turned to look at her and seeing the glint in her eye, laughed.

“No, seriously Karen,” said Nick. “You must come and see it some time. As well as the rest of my small collection of original art.”

“
Where do you live Nick? In Penzance?” The first name thing was contagious.

“
No that’s just where our offices are. I live in Marazion in a two-up, two-down clinging to the side of the hill with a brilliant view of the Mount. What about you Karen? I haven’t seen you around before. You’re not local, are you?”

‘
my family lives near Sevenoaks and I live in London most of the time.”

They continued their light banter as Nick swiftly measured the bedrooms, the bathroom and poked his head up into the loft. Once downstairs he measured the living room and kitchen.

“Mmm,” he said warming his hands above the Aga. “This must make a mean cup of tea.”

Karen had to laugh, she could take a hint. Especially one that obvious.
“I guess you’re being subtle again. Would you perhaps like a cup of tea or coffee?”

“
Oh yes Karen,” he exclaimed, feigning surprise. “That would be great. I’d kill for a coffee, but I still have to measure the garden...”

“
No problem,” replied Karen. “You go do the garden and I will fish out the cafetiere and grind some coffee. Unless you’d prefer instant?”

“
No, no. Fresh coffee would be infinitely preferable. Most people I visit give me half a teaspoon of floor sweepings from the factory floor in a pint of milky water and call it coffee. Not that I’m not grateful. Back in a mo.”

Karen put the steaming
cafetiere on the table to let the coffee steep and rummaged through the cupboard for the packet of chocolate biscuits she’d seen in there the other day.

Nick came back in, wiping his feet carefully on the mat.

“I wish you could teach Humphrey to do that,” joked Karen.

“
Wipe his feet or measure the garden,” countered Nick.

“
Wipe his paws first and then if you could train him up to measure gardens and be an estate agent, we could send him out to earn a living and we’d never have to work again.” Karen giggled, “I’m not sure he’s got all the necessary social skills and he might need a suit and tie too.”

Nick laughed.
“You’re not saying what I do is a dog’s life. So what is it you do for a living, Karen, that’s so awful you want to send innocent little doggies out to work.”

“
Actually I love what I do. I paint.”

“
Like your grandmother?”

“
No. Not exactly. I’m more a figure painter. I paint in oils.” Karen was always reticent about her work, especially with people she barely knew. She poured them each a cup of coffee and offered him a biscuit.

“
I’ve got a great idea Karen,” Nick said, helping himself to milk and a biscuit. ‘my brother-in-law owns a gallery and they’re doing a retrospective of five well-known Cornish landscape artists. I don’t know if it’s your sort of thing. But, I’d love you to come to the opening on Saturday. There will be loads of cheese and wine and quite a lot of interesting people to meet.”

Karen hesitated. She wasn
’t really in the mood for dating but Nick was quite funny in an overconfident way. Besides a little human companionship would make a welcome change.

Nick sensed her reluctance,
“No strings,” he urged her. “I just thought it might be something you might like. Coming up to see my etchings afterwards is optional.”

Karen decided it might be fun to get out and see some of the locals
” paintings. It was easy to get stale and if she drove herself there it wouldn’t really be a date. They arranged to meet outside the gallery in Marazion on Saturday evening at six. As Karen waved him out the front gate she felt quite pleased, having enjoyed Nick’s banter, perhaps her enforced stay in the sticks wouldn’t be so tedious after all.

The clicking of the gate behind Nick, reminded Karen of her first visitor and the need to put the bin out. She would do that and then that would have to be it for the housework
for today. It had certainly been a busy one - two visitors in one morning after two days of relative isolation. As she dragged the bin up the path to the gate she was hailed by a cheerful voice.

“
I was just about to phone you.” It was Adam, putting out two large black bins of his own at the side of the road. Humphrey greeted him ecstatically. Karen was quite pleased to see him herself. She had forgotten how good-looking he was. He was wearing a moss green jumper and a pair of faded tan cords. He had the tanned skin of someone who lived by the sea, not weather-beaten or leathery, but a clear brown colour which emphasised his blue eyes. Most of her London friends were pale and unhealthy in comparison.

“
Hello,” said Karen, straightening herself to her full five feet eight inches. “What did you want me for? I am very popular today. First Mrs Pengelly, then Nick Farmer, the estate agent and now you.”

Adam made a face.
“What an illustrious trio. I have a favour to ask of you.”

“
Fire away,” said Karen, thinking she always seemed to have her worst clothes on whenever she met Adam. So much for her image as a fashionable London artist. She was wearing a pair of baggy paint-stained overalls and a shapeless old t-shirt over which she had dragged one of her father’s ancient grey cardigans. She didn’t realise that despite the old clothes, her fine boned features and vivid colouring first drew his glance and even the baggy cardigan could not hide her slender hips and shapely breasts.

“
I went to Newlyn this morning and my favourite fishmonger made me buy an enormous fresh monkfish tail. I’ve spent the morning stuffing and baking it and as we speak it’s reaching perfection in my oven. And now, if you and Humphrey will come over and share it with me, I will add a fresh green salad and some French bread - also purchased this very morning.”

“
It sounds irresistible,” said Karen. “And now that you mention it, I am extremely hungry. I will do you this favour! Although I am hardly dressed for such an elegant gourmet occasion.”

Just then Mr and Mrs Pengelly emerged from their front door, each armed with numerous bin bags. Karen and Adam looked at each other, with one accord, and without speaking, turned and headed up the drive to Adam
’s house.

“
I guess that solved the problem of my outfit,” Karen said when they were halfway to the house.

Before she could
elaborate Adam said, “Hurry up. We’re not safe until we’re actually in the house, out of sight. I think I can hear her instructing Mr Pengelly in the proper arrangement of the bins. He has to tie the lids on and then place several bricks on each. Mrs Pengelly has made it her life’s work to prevent the seagulls from getting so much as a single morsel of food from her bins. In any case you look pretty good to me.”

Karen blushed and pretended to ignore the compliment although she felt absurdly pleased by it.
“Yes, that’s why she was over to see me this morning. I have been accused of the heinous crime of putting out food. I expect they are going to mount a full scale surveillance operation on the garden, probably both disguised as trees, or more like bushes.”

They reached the house safely. Karen was intrigued by the door for it was a very large, very old-looking oak door. He had certainly made some changes. It wasn
’t the way she remembered it: a rather ordinary modern box of a house.

Seeing her interest Adam explained.
“I was lucky enough to get it from a salvage yard just outside Plymouth. It comes from an old castle keep.”

“
An Englishman’s home is his castle, you don’t have a dungeon do you?” joked Karen.

Smiling, Adam ushered her through into the entrance hall, placing
his large hand on the small of her back. An electric tingle ran up her spine. Karen couldn’t understand why her body was responding this way, she wasn’t a teenager anymore. He had rescued her from the cliff path, but that hardly seemed a good enough reason to go weak at the knees, and warm elsewhere, just at the touch of his hand.

Karen stopped to admire the green slate tiles and the intricately patterned modern stained glass inner door. It was an abstract design in blues and greens which made her think of the sea on a stormy day. The door opened onto the sitting room. Karen gasped in surprise and pleasure. So many houses in the area were small and dark and took little advantage of the sea view but this
space with its high ceilings and huge wall of floor-to-ceiling windows made the garden and the sea beyond seem like part of the room. The feeling of space and light was enhanced by the furnishing and the almost white pine floor. A single large blue sofa stood against one wall under a large abstract painting. Two comfortable armchairs in cream linen completed the seating around the open fireplace. Adam stopped to light the ready laid fire.

Karen looked down at the Bokhara rug in blues and reds.
“This is beautiful. It’s all very beautiful. I love it. You’ve done a wonderful job transforming it. I can hardly believe it’s the same house.” And then because that sounded a bit rude, after all, Adam’s grandmother had lived in the house for many years, she added hastily, “Not that it wasn’t nice before. But this is something else.”

“Th
ank you,” Adam answered simply. “Now for some lunch. The fish will wait no longer. You’ll have to have the rest of the tour after we’ve eaten. The kitchen and dining room are upstairs.” He waved a hand towards the elegant white staircase.

The stairs led
to a large open-plan area which was divided into a dining area next to the windows, overlooking the sea, and another seating area which looked over the back garden across to the fields beyond. Bookshelves lined the whole of one wall. A television and stereo system were tucked discreetly into an old fashioned dresser.