One Summer in Cornwall Karen King (positive books to read TXT) 📖

waiting for your cage back, I’ll leave it in your yard later,’ she said wearily.

‘I thought you might need help to get Buddy back in his big cage.’

Marcus was looking at her hesitantly, as though wondering whether she might throw something at him – it would be no more than he deserved if she did! She wanted to tell him to get lost, that she was quite capable of getting Buddy into the big cage by herself, but she knew that she probably couldn’t, and she didn’t want to risk losing him again.

‘That might be a good idea. Then you can take your cage back with you,’ she said. ‘Do you need another banana? I’ve got a couple.’

‘Yes. And . . .’

She eyed him suspiciously. ‘Yes?’

‘Well, I guess I owe you an apology. I don’t really know your circumstances so shouldn’t judge but, in my defence, it was hard seeing your uncle so ill and no family bothering to get in touch or visit him.’

‘We didn’t know he was ill. Dad never said – I don’t think he even knew.’

‘Albert was a proud man. I guess he didn’t want to bother anyone.’ Marcus nodded at the cage on the table. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to take Buddy? He’s used to me and I don’t mind looking after him. I did have him at mine for a bit, but he’s nervous of my cat, Mr Tibbs.’

She guessed that was the black cat she’d seen on the wall. She didn’t blame Buddy; the cat’s eyes were a bit mesmerising. ‘I can manage.’ She pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘Let’s get him in the big cage, shall we? And I’ll be more careful next time I feed him.’

‘Albert used to let him out every evening for a fly around,’ Marcus told her. ‘To be honest, I think he was out of the cage more than he was in it, when Albert was home, which was a lot, in the later years. He adored that bird.’

‘Which is one of the reasons I’m going to keep him. No matter what you think, I’m grateful to Uncle Albert for leaving me a share of this cottage, and I’m going to look after Buddy for him. It’s the least I can do.’

Marcus’s hazel eyes flitted to her face then he nodded. ‘Fine. Well, if you need any help or advice with him, ask me and I promise not to bite your head off. And if you change your mind and want me to have him, then let me know. It’s not a problem. I can keep Mr Tibbs away from him. I could put his cage in the attic, he’d be safe there.’

‘Thanks.’ She picked up the cage. ‘Shall we do this?’

Another banana and a few minutes later, Buddy was back in his cage. His retort of ‘Bloody hell!’ when the cage door was closed on him made Hattie giggle. ‘My mum used to cover my ears whenever he swore when we used to holiday here.’

‘And when was the last time you were here?’ Marcus asked. He held up his hands, palms outwards. ‘Genuine question.’

‘The summer before my parents split. I was eleven, so seventeen years.’

‘Ah, so that’s why I’ve never seen you. Your uncle talked about you, though, showed me some photos of when you were little.’

‘Really?’ She was touched that her uncle had talked about her to Marcus. Suddenly she wanted to know more about Uncle Albert. ‘Look, I’m going to have a coffee, do you fancy one?’

She saw his slight hesitation. ‘I’d love to, but I’m running late. Can we do it another time?’

‘Of course.’ She wondered if he was meeting a girlfriend; a guy like him was bound to be hooked up with someone. Or if he simply didn’t want to spend any more time with her than he had to. He might have apologised, but it was evident she still didn’t rate very highly in his opinions, which was fine as she didn’t think much of him either. He had obviously cared a lot about Uncle Albert though, and been really kind to him. And he was her neighbour, so it was best if they could at least be polite to each other.

He’d been tempted to stop for a coffee; he felt a bit of a heel for how he’d accused her of not caring about her uncle, and he could understand now why she hadn’t been down to see him, a distant older brother of her father and someone she had only met a few times as a child. He wasn’t normally so quick to judge, but poor Albert had been so lonely and struggled so much. Hattie had said that none of them had known, and he believed her. Albert had been as stubborn as a mule – obviously a family trait, he thought with a wry smile, remembering how Hattie had insisted she would look after Buddy, although he was sure the parrot would be too much for her. Buddy was as cantankerous as his owner had been. He just hoped that Hattie would accept defeat before the bird pined away. Or escaped out of an open window. Maybe now they had made some kind of truce he could pop by occasionally and ask how Buddy was doing. That way he could keep an eye on him.

Meanwhile, now he really did have to go. He had to get over to Thomwell Manor, on the outskirts of Truro, and finish the painting Lady Felicity Thomwell had commissioned him to do for her husband’s sixty-fifth birthday.

Felicity was friendly, but kept a professional distance. Not like her daughter, Estelle, who had just returned from Paris for the painting – which was of the Manor, with Felicity and Estelle dressed in crinolines and holding parasols, picnicking on the lawn – and had made no secret of the fact that she would like to get to know Marcus better. Much better. It was tempting; she was older than him,