In the summer when the tide is out, dogs are allowed on the vast harbour beach that’s created by the expanse of sand the waves leave behind. Once Barney and I have weaved our way through the many grounded fishing boats the outgoing tide has abandoned at odd angles on the wet sand, I let him off his lead and he bounds across the beach until he finds his first interesting smell; then when he’s stopped to sniff it a little too long I give him a whistle and he chases after me. When we’ve walked out far enough so we can see waves lapping against the sand Barney looks up hopefully at me.
‘Oh no, you’re not going swimming right now!’ I tell him before he has time to bound off into the water. ‘I haven’t got time to wash and dry a wet sandy dog this afternoon. You can swim tomorrow if you’re good.’ I pull his ball from my pocket to distract him, and throw it across the sand well away from the lure of the sea.
When we’ve spent about fifteen minutes on the sand together with me throwing and him chasing the ball, all the while avoiding unsuspecting holiday-makers wandering haplessly across the makeshift beach, I call Barney to my side and we walk back towards the harbour again. The tide is already beginning to turn behind us, and I know all too well how quickly the waves will start rushing in to form a deep and dangerous sea once more.
Many an unsuspecting visitor has been caught on one of the high sand-banks in the middle of the harbour while the waves washed in around them. It’s a St Felix tradition that someone has to be rescued at least once a week.
‘Come on, you,’ I say, attaching Barney’s lead again. ‘Let’s head back the long way and we can call in on Noah on our way round.’
Barney, not minding at all that we are taking the long route to get back to the shop, sets off happily in front of me, and we wind our way along the cobbled streets until we come to Noah’s Ark, a charming little antique shop that’s been a part of St Felix much longer than we have.
I open the door a little so the bell rings above me, and I see Noah pop up from the back room.
‘Oh, it’s you, Kate,’ he says, coming into the shop properly. ‘I hoped you’d pop by.’
‘I’ve got Barney with me. He’s a bit sandy so I didn’t want to bring him in.’
‘I run an antiques shop by the sea, Kate. I think I’m used to a little sand by now.’ He grins at me. ‘Bring Barney in. Clarice will be delighted to see him.’
Clarice is his little dog. A bit like me with Anita, Noah inherited her when he inherited this shop from his aunt.
I bring Barney into the shop and the two dogs sniff delightedly around each other at our feet.
‘Anita said you wanted to see me about something?’ I ask tentatively, still not sure what Noah could want. I knew Ana, his partner, well. She was infamous around town with her little red camper van, which she hired out for events. At anything from weddings to school proms Ana seemed to be in attendance driving Daisy-Rose as she called her, putting a smile on the face of everyone who saw them together.
‘Yes, that’s right. I got a job lot in from a house clearance the other day,’ Noah explains, leading me towards the back room. ‘The previous owner of the house was an elderly lady, and she must have been quite arty as the attic was filled with all sorts – paintings, art equipment, craft supplies and this,’ he says, gesturing towards an old wooden box.
‘It looks like a sewing machine,’ I say, as he undoes two brass catches and lifts the lid. ‘Oh, it is a sewing machine! And a pretty old one too.’
‘I like to call it “vintage”,’ Noah says, winking at me. ‘I reckon this one is from the early part of the twentieth century, or possibly before then.’
‘Perhaps,’ I say, looking at it. ‘I doubt it works though.’
‘No, I think this old girl sewed her last petticoat many a year ago! But I didn’t think you’d want it to sew with. I thought you might be able to use it in your shop for display purposes. The machine would really set off your designs perfectly.’
‘I suppose it could look quite cool in the window if I cleaned it up a bit. How much do you want for it?’
Noah shakes his head. ‘Nothing. You’d be doing me a favour taking it off my hands to be honest. These machines don’t make much money, especially in this state, and you did do Ana that favour last year with the interiors for Daisy-Rose. We owe you one.’
‘Nonsense! I was happy to make those cushions for you.’
I look at the sewing machine again. ‘I guess itwouldbe quite a nice display piece … but I have to give you something, Noah.’
‘No, really, Kate, I’ve already made enough money selling all the old art equipment that came with it. A guy came in to browse yesterday and snapped it all up immediately. He’s opening an art supplies shop and he said it would look great in there. That’s when I thought of you and the machine.’
‘Perfect timing! So where’s his shop going to be – somewhere local?
‘Yeah, just up the road from you, in the old butcher’s.’
‘What?’ I exclaim. ‘Here in St Felix? I thought you meant Penzance or Newlyn when you said local …’
‘Nope, he’s just getting set up. I think he hopes to open in the next week or two. Nice guy. Just moved here apparently.’
‘Butwesell art equipment,’ I say, my face darkening. ‘In the basement of the shop.’
‘Oh, so you do,’ Noah says, suddenly realising why I’m so peeved. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. I’m sure it won’t make too much difference to you though, will it? I mean, look at all the Cornish pasty shops here – they all seem to make a profit.’
‘There’s a lot more demand for pasties than art equipment though – it’s more specialised. Look at it this way, if someone opened a vintage car hire shop in St Felix renting out retro cars and vehicles for events, would you and Ana be worried?’
