Page 51 of The Cornish Cream Tea Holiday
‘Hi,’ Thea replied. ‘I had the window open, so I heard you come back. Is Scooter being unhelpful?’
‘He gets like this when he’s pissed at me. Today hasn’t been a lot of fun for him – or me, for that matter – and Ihaven’t been able to give him a proper walk, so he’s punishing me.’
‘What have you been up to?’ Thea was fully aware that her shoulders were bare and her hair was dripping, but she couldn’t seem to extract herself from the situation.
‘I’ve been at the wholesalers, trying to sort out building materials for the next stage of the work. It’s been a frustrating day, and now I have to go to Sylvia’s.’
‘The Old Post House?’
‘The very same.’ He sighed and rubbed his hands down his face. ‘I’ve just picked up a voicemail from her. She says there’s something creaking in the eaves. She asked if I could go around tomorrow, but I don’t feel comfortable leaving her there tonight if there’s something seriously wrong. The whole place is a nightmare, but I—’ he stopped, as if he’d only just realised he was shouting up to a half-naked woman. ‘Never mind.’
‘Do you want some company?’ She’d only had a few sips of Prosecco, and now he was here, she wanted to spend time with him. Besides, she’d found Sylvia and the Old Post House intriguing, and wouldn’t mind having a proper look inside.
‘At Sylvia’s?’ He sounded confused.
Thea shrugged. ‘She did say you could give me a tour, and if anything needs fixing – if it turns out you need an extra pair of hands, or something, then … I could be those hands.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Give me five minutes to put some clothes on, and I’ll join you.’
He leaned against his van, stretching his neck to the left and then right. ‘My instincts are telling me to turn youdown, that I should leave you to your bath, but I’m not going to say no to the offer of your company.’
‘You’re not?’ She bathed in the glow of pleasure that accompanied his words. He nodded, his weariness evident, and she smiled at him. ‘OK then. Five minutes, tops. Don’t go without me.’
‘What do you think is wrong?’ she asked, once she was in the passenger seat of Ben’s van, and he was driving along the coast road towards town.
‘I have no idea,’ he admitted. ‘It could honestly be anything, the way that building is falling apart. I know she’s leaving in a few weeks, but that doesn’t seem soon enough.’
‘It’s so good of you to look out for her,’ Thea said. Scooter was on the bench seat between them, and she imagined she could sense his sulkiness at not having been given his walk, at having to stay in the van even longer.
‘I bet I’m not the only one she calls,’ he said with a quiet laugh. ‘But when she does call me, I like to go. She’s getting in touch because she needs something – even if that something is just another person to talk to – or talkat, depending on the mood she’s in.’
It didn’t take long to get there, the beautiful old building coming into view as they crested the hill, a looming shape in the darkening sky, with just a single light on in an upstairs window.
‘It’s a stunning place,’ Thea said as they got out of the van. ‘I know it’s not in the best health, that it’s covered in ivy and dust, but it’s quite grand, isn’t it? It’s not that big, but it’s majestic, almost, in a way that modern buildings aren’t.’
Ben stood next to her, Scooter sat at their feet, and they looked up at the Old Post House together.
‘There are quite a few big, modern houses nestled in the countryside around here,’ Ben said. ‘You know those new-money mansions, glass fronted or built with peach-coloured bricks, with turrets and outdoor kitchens and anything else the owner has enough money to get an architect to design. Some of them are hideous; just because youcando something, doesn’t mean you should. That’s why I fell for Oystercatcher Cottage. It’s old, it has character – all those beams and original fireplaces. It felt solid and … I don’t know,’ he shrugged. ‘Honest, somehow. This place is the same.’
‘I totally get that,’ Thea said. ‘It’s been around for a few hundred years, so it’s like a wise old owl in building terms.’
Ben laughed. ‘The wise old owl of buildings. I like that. Sadly, quite a few of its feathers have fallen out, and it needs serious medical attention.’
‘And I need you two to stop getting all misty-eyed and romantic and come and investigate this scrabbling noise.’
Thea jumped. She hadn’t heard Sylvia open her window.
‘Coming!’ Ben called up, then flashed Thea a grin before heading to the doorway. She joined him, waiting while he found the key to the front door. She felt a swift, sudden breeze whip past the back of her head, her hair lifting and falling in its wake. She clamped her lips together to stop a squeak from escaping: she didn’t want to think about what that was.
Ben opened the door and flicked on the downstairs light, and Thea walked in after him. She stepped around him, and then stopped. The lightbulbs were weak, probablyancient, and bathed the room in a sickly yellow glow. But, despite that, the Old Post House presented itself to her in all its wise old owl glory.
There was the solid, dark furniture she’d seen through the window, and several shelving units standing up against various walls in the large, open space. The staircase ran up the centre like a sturdy, elaborate pillar. She could see items that had been discarded: envelopes and greetings cards, pots of pens and rolls of parcel tape, as if the post office had been closed in a hurry. There were a couple of doors leading off the back of the space, a kitchen or storeroom – a bathroom, possibly – and everything was covered in dust, so thick in some places that it looked like cotton wool. A couple of posters were still partly attached to the walls, listing prices for sending parcels that must be a couple of years out of date, and the weak glow from the light bulbs left the corners in shadow.
‘It’s incredible,’ she breathed.
‘It needs a lot of work,’ Ben said. ‘Including …’ She felt his warm palms on her shoulders, moving her gently forward.
