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

‘Sounds good to me.’ Mali held out her wine glass. ‘Here’s to new beginnings.’

‘New beginnings,’ Hattie repeated as they clinked glasses. She was feeling so much better. Being with Mali always cheered her up. Her friend was right. This was a new beginning for her and she should seize it with both hands.

The weekend didn’t turn out as she’d planned, though. She’d been looking forward to going back to Bristol again, staying with Mali and Lou, checking out the houses Mali had found her to rent. But it had seemed so strange. She felt as if she had come back to somewhere she used to live and didn’t belong to anymore. It felt too loud, too busy. The houses were modern and warm but she couldn’t imagine living in them. She kept comparing them to quaint, cheerful Fisherman’s Rest with its gorgeous sea view. As she walked around the streets with Mali and Lou, she kept thinking about the picturesque houses and cobbled streets of Port Medden.

Mali had seen something was wrong. ‘Your heart isn’t in this, is it?’ she’d asked yesterday when they had looked around the last house on her list.

Hattie had shaken her head. ‘I’m sorry, Mali, but I don’t feel like I belong here anymore. It’s weird. I know I’ve only been in Port Medden a few weeks but I feel at home there, and I love Uncle Albert’s little cottage.’

Mali looked thoughtful. ‘If you really don’t want to move from Port Medden, why don’t you rent a place down there when the house is sold, as we suggested before? You could save the money from the house sale and when your photography business is up and running, or you get a job, you could put it down as a deposit and buy somewhere to live.’

‘I love the cottage, though. I don’t know if I want to live anywhere else. I wish I could afford to buy Dad out, but I’ve got no chance of doing that.’

‘Is it Marcus or the cottage you’re in love with? If Marcus moved out from next door, would you still want to live there?’ Mali asked her.

Hattie thought about it. She did love Marcus, yes, but she loved the cottage and little town too. ‘I think I would, yes.’

She looked at Mali pensively. ‘I can’t explain, but I feel so at home there.’

‘Oh, Hattie, I’m so sorry.’ Mali gave her a big hug. ‘Look, I’d love you to stay here with me and Lou but I think that maybe you should get right away when the house is sold. Go and stay with your dad or mum for a month or so, get your head together.’

Hattie thought she had a point, so promised to think about it. Mali persuaded her to stay one more night. ‘You’re tired, don’t travel down now,’ she said. ‘Let’s have a drink and a catch up.’

Hattie thought that sounded a great idea.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

It was Sunday evening before Marcus finally finished the painting of Buddy. Marcus put down his brush and stepped back, his eyes resting on the painting in front of him, the parrot’s head bent towards the plate, a chunk of toast in his beak, which it was obvious he’d snatched from the piece of toast on the plate, his eye seeming to stare out of the picture back at him. It was cheeky, fun, and colourful. Was it good enough? It was all he had time for. The exhibition was on Tuesday and Lady Thomwell wanted to pick up the painting tomorrow to take down to London. He didn’t expect to win – there would be artists far more talented than him entering – but he wanted to enter because Lady Thomwell had asked him personally and the prize money wasn’t to be sneezed at. He wouldn’t sell the painting, though, he had decided. It would be good to have a memory of Buddy when Hattie had left, taking the parrot with her. To have a memory of them both, he thought, looking over at the painting of Hattie in the corner.

Just then, his phone rang. Thinking it was Hattie, to let him know what time she’d be home, he answered it without checking. It was Lady Thomwell.

‘Is your painting finished, Marcus?’ she asked.

‘Yes, just,’ he replied.

‘Then I’ll come and get it. I’m in the area and want to set out early in the morning.’

‘The paint is still a bit wet,’ he told her. ‘I’d rather bring it over tomorrow morning.’

‘No, don’t do that. I’m leaving early so I’ll collect it on the way to London. Are you sure you don’t want to come with me? My friend has a spare room you can use. You could make some useful contacts at the exhibition.’

She couldn’t seem to understand that it wasn’t his scene. He liked painting. He didn’t like putting his paintings on display and listening to people make comments about them – good or bad. It made him feel awkward.

‘I can’t spare the time, I’m afraid, but thank you for taking the painting for me. I’ll see you in the morning.’

Hattie texted a little while later to say that she was staying over at Mali’s again tonight and would be back tomorrow morning. He felt strangely disappointed. Knowing that she wasn’t next door had made him feel out of sorts all weekend. He wondered if she had chosen the house she wanted. Two or three more weeks and she would be gone. The knowledge that he would never see her again was eating into him. You’ll get over it, he told himself.

He was tired. He’d worked flat out all weekend to finish the painting. He grabbed a shower, something to eat and collapsed into bed. He was woken the next morning by his phone ringing.

Hattie?

He grabbed it, only to discover that it was Lady Thomwell again.

‘Where are you, Marcus? I’ve been banging on your door for five minutes.’

Shit! He glanced at the clock. It was nine. He’d been