Page 5 of The Key to the Last House Before the Sea

NESSA

Nessa peeled off her rubber gloves and fetched a teapot and cup and saucer from the kitchen cupboard. For the last few hours, she’d been outside painting the conservatory window frames and now she was inside helping Rosie with housework and making late-afternoon snacks for guests.

Rosie was very grateful for the support. And Nessa was grateful that keeping busy and active had helped to ease her grief and smother her worries about the future. There was something soothing about the rhythmic strokes of a paintbrush or polishing a kitchen worktop until it gleamed.

She’d only stopped for half an hour at lunchtime, to job-search online. But that had proved fruitless and she’d needed to clean a bathroom from top to bottom to shake off feelings of despair.

‘What am I going to do, Gran?’ she asked, switching on the kettle.

But Ruth Mariana Paulson didn’t answer. She never would again.

Nessa blinked furiously to ward off tears and concentrated on making a cup of tea for Mr Gantwich, the new arrival, who’d come down from his bedroom and was currently in the guests’ sitting room.

Soon Lily would be home, and her smiling face would be a tonic, as always.

Nessa put a jug of milk on the tray, next to the teapot and cup, and plastered on a smile before carrying it through to the latest guest at Driftwood House.

Mr Gantwich was sitting near the window, ignoring the view across the ocean as he flicked through a pile of papers.

He was still in his suit and looked out of place in the sunny sitting room. He didn’t notice Nessa come in so she had a chance to have a proper look at him.

The man who had, albeit unwittingly, booted her and her five-year-old out of their bedroom was about mid-thirties. No. Nessa revised her estimate of his age. The grey suit, neat brown hairstyle and glasses made him look older than he probably was. Thirty, Nessa decided. Early thirties at most. He had long fingers that were rifling through a cardboard folder, and pale skin that looked as if he spent most of his life in an office.

He glanced up and nodded towards the small table next to him.

‘Just leave it there,’ he said gruffly before pulling some papers from the folder.

Still rude, Nessa decided, putting the tray down. As she straightened up, a name on the top piece of paper leaped out at her: Sorrel Cove. She craned her neck, trying to read more over his shoulder.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked sharply, turning the page face down in his lap.

‘No, no. Rosie thought you might like a cup of tea so I… um…’ She tailed off, feeling awkward.

‘Right. Well, thanks, I suppose.’

I suppose?He really was charmless.

‘You’re welcome,’ said Nessa as icily as she could.

Gabriel sighed and settled back in his chair. ‘Do you work here?’ he asked, sounding as though he couldn’t care less.

‘Not really. I’m helping Rosie out. Rosie owns the place. She’s a friend of mine.’

Gabriel pushed his papers back into the folder and dropped it into the briefcase at his feet. ‘Are you local to Heaven’s Cove, then?’ he asked.

‘I’ve lived here all my life.’

Gabriel sat up straighter in his chair. ‘That’s interesting.’

Was it? Nessa narrowed her eyes. Was he being sarcastic? It was hard to tell.

‘Where are you from?’ she asked.

‘London. Have you been?’

Now he was being sarcastic. Nessa flushed and brushed her hands across her ancient Seal Rescue T-shirt. She might look like a country bumpkin but of course she’d been to London.

Only a few times, admittedly, and she’d found the pace of the place intimidating. But she’d never say as much to Gabriel, who had the look of a man who thrived in the cut and thrust of a busy city.

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