Page 13 of The Cornish Cream Tea Bookshop
Ollie pretended to be outraged. ‘I would have started a week ago! I was waiting for you to come to me.’ A blackbird hopped onto the wall, bounced a few steps towards them, then flew off into the mature trees, peeping loudly.
Liam chuckled. ‘I know, lass. I know.’ He gestured behind her. ‘Henry’s looking worn out.’
Ollie turned to see that her dog, who had come outside with her, was lying flat-out beneath the rotary washing line. ‘We just had a good walk,’ she said. ‘Although …’
‘Although what?’
‘I found this stone,’ she rushed. ‘It must have some kind of fossil in it, because I thought, for a few minutes …’
‘Kerensa’s handprint,’ Liam said. ‘That’s what you found, isn’t it? The handprint pressed into the stone, about twenty minutes’ walk from here, at the bottom of a steep slope?’
Ollie’s pulse skipped. ‘It’s an actualthing,then? I thought I must be imagining it. Who’s Kerensa?’
‘She’s the subject of a local legend,’ Liam explained. ‘If now’s a good time, we can go to my study, I’ll tell you about her, and we can get started on my manuscript. Of course, you can take away my scribbled notes, but I’ve been told my handwriting leaves a lot to be desired.’
‘I don’t mind working in your study. I’ll bring my laptop.’
‘Finish what you’re doing and come to the back door in ten minutes. This place is rife with myths and legends, and you’ve just stumbled on your first one.’
‘There’s a whole story behind the rock?’
‘There’s a story behind everything in Cornwall,’ Liam said. ‘Bring Henry with you, and I’ll see if I can rustle up some biscuits.’
‘You’re on.’ Ollie hurried back to her basket of washing, eager to get it inside.
Not only was she intrigued by the farmhouse, and how Liam lived in that big, solid building all by himself, but she was delighted that her discovery had a story behind it, that some underused part of her mind hadn’t assigned meaning to something inconsequential.
And, she thought, as she un-pegged her tea towels and stepped around her sleepy Labrador, what better way to root herself in her new home than to find out some ancient legends about it? The more she knew about Port Karadow, the more she would feel a part of it.
The inside of Foxglove Farm was as she’d imagined it. Red stone floors and dark tones throughout, though the forest green and navy walls were accented by glossy white doors, and while the windows looked old, with thin glass, they were large and let in a lot of light. The whole effect was cosy rather than sullen and unwelcoming.
Ollie followed Liam down the corridor, Henry staying close to her side, until they emerged into a room that could have played the library in an adaptation ofBeauty and the Beast.
‘Bloody hell,’ she blurted.
It had a deep-red carpet covered with an intricately patterned blue-and-gold rug, and other than the door, the fireplace and the large picture window that looked out on the front lawn, the walls were lined with floor-to-ceilingbookshelves. There was a large, solid-looking desk in the middle of the room, and a leather sofa beneath the window. It was entirely different to the clean lines of her modern barn, but if Ollie had a room like this, she would never leave it.
Liam strode to a shelf and ran his finger along a row of books. The shelves reminded Ollie of her parents’ house, though they seemed more organised, with the obviously older spines higher up, newer books lower down. It was a treasure trove, one she could get lost in for hours – days, probably.
‘Decades worth of collecting,’ Liam explained, glancing over his shoulder at her. Henry settled himself in a corner, and Ollie wondered if he’d found where the heating pipes ran beneath the floorboards. ‘I’m looking for a specific book.’
‘Related to Kerensa?’
‘Exactly. I had it recently, I’m sure.’
While he searched, Ollie breathed in the familiar bookish smell, luxuriated in the soft carpet beneath her feet, and listened to her dog’s gentle snuffles. There was a stack of notepad paper on the desk, the edges crinkled as if they’d been thumbed through often, a brass, anchor-shaped paperweight keeping them in place.
She was about to ask him what had made him want to write a memoir, when he held out a small volume to her. ‘Here we go.’
Ollie took it. It was old, the cover made out of a thick, rough-to-the-touch material somewhere between leather and cardboard. The edges were frayed, the blue-grey colour faded to silver in patches. She squinted at the gold lettering on the cover:Myths and Legends of Port Karadow and the Surrounding Area.
‘This little area has its own book?’ she asked. ‘There are that many legends in this part of Cornwall?’
Liam nodded. He was watching her, a hint of amusement on his face.
‘And one of those is related to the handprint I saw? I thought I was losing the plot: I mean, it could have been anything.’
‘But it looked like a handprint, didn’t it?’
