The Cornish Guest House Read Online Free

and she wiped the palms of her sweaty hands, one by one, against her trousers.
    ‘So good of you to call.’ He grinned, ushering the visitors towards the door. ‘Oscar seems to have taken quite a shine to you, Rosie. We’ll give you back your bracelet next time we meet.’
    *
    ‘Oscar’s so cute, isn’t he?’ said Rosie, once they were well out of earshot. She’d linked arms with her mother and was huddling into her side. This was partly from affection but also to help fend off the squally wind that had developed, whipping up their sleeves and down the collars of their coats.
    ‘He is,’ said Liz. ‘Really sweet.’
    ‘And Luke’s nice. Very friendly.’
    There was a pause where Liz knew exactly what Rosie was thinking. The truth was, she was thinking it, too, but she didn’t want to be drawn into a conversation about Tabitha; it would be wrong to pass judgement. Give the woman a chance, she was telling herself. She’d only just arrived.
    ‘I don’t like Tabitha, do you?’
    Liz flinched. Rosie never was one to mince words. ‘Oh, she seemed all right. They’ve had a very busy day. She’s probably exhausted and the last thing she wanted was visitors. Next time we see her I expect she’ll be quite different.’
    Rosie wasn’t satisfied, Liz could tell. She would have insisted on pursuing the subject had not Jean emerged from her yellowish brick house, Dynnargh, which was situated on the corner of Fore Street and Humble Hill.
    The house, built in the 1970s, was quite unlike its neighbours – mostly old fishermen’s cottages painted yellow, pink, blue and white. Dynnargh wasn’t as charming but it was lovingly tended, with white lace curtains in the windows and a neat little garden surrounded by a picket fence.
    In the middle of the garden was a miniature stone wishing well and beside it a metal statuette of a comical boy on a bike in blue dungarees, carrying a flowerpot to be filled with blooms in spring and summer. They were new additions and Jean was very proud of them. She stopped for a moment to admire them, before spotting Liz and Rosie.
    ‘Evening, Liz, hello, chicken!’ She closed the gate behind her and gave Rosie’s cheek a pinch. She always called her ‘chicken’ even now she was twelve and a half years old. The girl smiled sheepishly.
    Jean, a round, smiley woman in her mid-fifties, was a childminder who’d helped to look after Rosie for many years while Liz went out to work.
    ‘Where’ve you been, then?’ Jean wanted to know. She was well wrapped up, in a green woolly hat and scarf and navy anorak. ‘Last of my little ’uns has just gone. Mum was late – as usual.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m popping into Esme’s for a cuppa – or something stronger. I need it after the day I’ve had, I tell you.’
    When Rosie informed her that they’d called in on the new inhabitants of The Stables, the older woman couldn’t disguise her interest.
    ‘Well, go on, then.’ She crossed her arms, having forgotten all about the drink.
    Rosie told her about Oscar first, then described Luke and the house. ‘It’s a bit dark and gloomy when you go in but the kitchen’s amazing, with this great big island thing in the middle that you can sit round. We had champagne – I had a little bit, too!’
    Jean raised her eyebrows. ‘Did you now? Aren’t you the lucky one?’
    Hearing voices, her husband, Tom, appeared on the doorstep, but disappeared again sharpish when he saw the three of them. ‘You’ll be rabbiting all night by the looks of it,’ he joked.
    Once the door was firmly shut, Jean leaned in towards Liz and Rosie and lowered her voice. ‘I hear they’re not short of a few bob. How did he make his cash, I wonder?’
    Liz shrugged. ‘No idea.’
    ‘Like as not in finance.’ Jean sniffed. ‘Or maybe he’s from a rich family. That place cost a pretty penny and they must’ve spent thousands doing it up.’ She narrowed her eyes and looked pointedly at Liz. ‘What do you make