The Little Kiosk By The Sea: A Perfect Summer Beach Read

CHAPTER NINE (#ulink_e0f58664-957c-5088-bd27-2f38e8313fd4)

HARRIET

At Sabine’s insistence, Harriet walked out to Amy’s house the next morning.

‘I’d come with you,’ Sabine had said, ‘but I think it’s better if you go on your own for the first time. Bound to be emotional and you can indulge in private. Take tissues!’

Now, as she pushed open the driveway gate, Harriet felt the memories beginning to stir. Shrubs that hadn’t been pruned for months snatched at her clothes as she walked towards the front door. Sad to see the garden so neglected when Amy had been such a keen gardener. The heavy wooden front door needed a big push to persuade it to open after Harriet had inserted and turned the key.

As she walked into the hallway, she half expected to be accosted by the smell of baking scones, a hint of beeswax on the highly polished hall-stand and Bonnie, Amy’s springer spaniel, barking a mad welcome. Instead, silence and dusty furniture greeted her while a musty smell assailed her nostrils, a few letters and junk mail lay on the doormat.

The door to the room on the right Harriet remembered being used as a spare bedroom was ajar and Harriet pushed it open further to take a quick look inside. Bedroom furniture had been banished. Instead, a flat screen Apple computer dominated a desk placed under the far window overlooking the side garden, a high-backed office chair pushed to one side in front of it. A stack of manila folders was on the right-hand side of the desk. The bookcase running down the length of the left wall was crammed with books, both classics and modern and several of Harriet’ s own favourite authors like Veronica Henry, Katie Fforde and lots of Cassandra James, one of Harriet’s favourite authors.

Idly, Harriet took one she hadn’t read off the shelf and thumbed slowly through it. More books were piled on the floor. Against the other wall the old fashioned roll-top desk that Harriet remembered Amy inheriting from her father was closed. Strange, Amy had never had an office in the old days.

Harriet turned and walked the few steps to the entrance of the small winter sitting room. This was much as she remembered it. Two winged armchairs, a two-seater leather Chesterfield, all facing the small open fireplace, a sheepskin rug in front. More full bookshelves, a side table or two – one with a silver tray, a decanter half full with sherry, another with whisky and three glasses. Family photos lined the mantelpiece.

Ellie in Amy’s arms at her christening, dressed in the long lace dress handed down through the family. A picture of herself with a baby Ellie in her arms sitting out in the garden. Another had Ellie sleeping peacefully in her pram. A black and white faded one of Amy’s parents. Ellie’s grandparents, whom she’d never had the chance to truly bond with.

Thoughtfully, Harriet picked up one of the silver framed photos. A smiling Ellie in her bridesmaid dress for Sabine’s wedding. A mere eighteen months old, she’d been so good on that day. The mantelpiece was a time warp of her and Ellie’s long-ago life. Guiltily, she replaced the photo.

Amy had truly adored Ellie and the rift was in no way her fault. She hadn’t been her brother’s keeper. By cutting contact with her, Harriet knew she was guilty of punishing the wrong person. And now it was too late to make amends.

Smothering a sigh, Harriet moved towards the main summer sitting room. This room, with its huge sliding windows, overlooking the terrace and the mouth of the river, was light and airy. Tentatively Harriet ran her fingers over the keys of the baby grand piano positioned in the corner and in front of the side window so the pianist had an inspiring view up river. She’d always loved this room. Ellie had taken her very first steps on the ancient carpet that still covered the wooden floorboards. She’d spent so much time in this house when she and Amy had been family.

It was when she walked into the large farmhouse-style kitchen that the tears finally started and she frantically searched for a tissue. It was all still so familiar.

The large Aga cooker, the pine table where eight or ten of them would gather for one of Amy’s delicious suppers and put the world to rights fuelled by a couple of bottles of wine. The dresser filled with Amy’s collection of blue and white china. Surely any moment now, Amy herself would open the back door and come in, her gardening trug filled with vegetables, urging everyone to stay for lunch.

Taking the letter the solicitor had given her out of her pocket, Harriet pulled out one of the wheel-backed chairs and sat at the table. Had saving this to read here been a good idea? Perhaps reading it somewhere neutral would be better. Or even waiting for Frank and opening it together. No. It was her past that was involved. A time when Frank hadn’t been around to protect and look after her.

Carefully she opened the envelope. Maybe it would explain things. Tell her where the money for the huge legacy had come from for instance. More importantly, explain why Amy had made the bequest.

My dearest Harriet,

Sadly we’ve not seen each other for many years but I’ve thought of you so often. You and Ellie. I hope you were able to re-build your life and eventually find happiness again. I wish you had felt able to keep in contact but do understand your reasons for severing your old life completely from the new one you were forced to face. From the day you married my brother, you became my family. In all the years, I have never thought of you as anything other than my sister-in-law.

I know Trevor Bagshawe will have explained my wishes to you and your initial response will probably be to shout NO, NO, but please think about it carefully before you decide to turn my legacy down. It is my way of making up for all the hurt you suffered at the hands of my family all those years ago. Money does not equate happiness, I am well aware, but it does provide opportunities that would otherwise be impossible. I hope it will give Ellie the chance to explore and live her life to the full.

It is not my intention to cause you more distress, but I very much long for Ellie to know her true family origins. I dreamt for years of seeing you and Ellie happy in this house again.

With much love,

Amy

Harriet’s skin tingled as she read the letter. Inside her head, Amy’s soft Devonshire voice was saying the words as she read them. The tears were falling freely as she finished reading and she searched in her bag for another tissue. She’d hurt Amy more than she’d ever realised with her determination to sever all contact with the family and the town. Amy had written to her about six months after the scandal broke, asking her to keep in touch, but she hadn’t replied. Being genuinely fond of Amy, she’d longed to but, in the end, the need for a completely new life had won and she’d torn the letter up.

The chair scraped across the floor tiles as Harriet stood up and pushed it back. Sitting here in Amy’s kitchen on her own was unnerving. All those long-ago feelings of hurt, uncertainty, guilt – oh the guilt – were flooding back.

She’d seen enough for today. She’d come back with Frank. She folded the letter back into the envelope and placed it in her bag. No information there about where the money had come from. Maybe Amy won the Lotto or something. Investments? No way of knowing. Simply that she wanted Ellie to have it.

As she walked towards the front door, her mobile rang. Ellie.

‘Mum, is it all right if I come home for a bit?’

‘Yes, of course. When are you coming?’

‘Be with you in about an hour,’ Ellie laughed. ‘Sorry to spring it on you.’

‘That’s fine but … have you got your key? Because neither Dad nor I are home at the moment.’

‘Oh. Where are you?’

‘Dad’s on a business trip and I’m in Devon – having a short break.’ No need to explain why. ‘Ellie, is everything all right? You sound a bit hyper. I can come home this evening if you need me.’

‘Everything is fine. Just got an unexpected holiday. Enjoy your break. I’ll see you when you get back. Love you.’

‘Love you too,’ Harriet said as the call ended. Something had happened in Ellie’s life, she was sure. She was too determinedly cheerful. What did ‘coming home for a bit’ mean in reality?

The river was sparkling in the noon-day sun as Harriet walked back into town deep in thought. She’d promised to meet Sabine at the kiosk for a picnic lunch.

Sabine had a small crowd round her as Harriet approached, so she hung back watching the passenger ferry and looking at the river scene. Far more boats and moorings in the river than she remembered.

Once Sabine had finished dealing with the holidaymakers, she opened a couple of the director’s chairs and placed them on the embankment pavement.

‘How did it go up at the house? Pasty and wine okay?’ she asked. Without waiting for an answer to her second question, she handed Harriet a plastic cup of red wine. ‘Pasties will be here soon.’

‘It was weird. After all these years it was as if I’d never been away,’ Harriet said. ‘I kept expecting Amy to appear and tell me off for not telling her I was popping in and why hadn’t I brought Ellie.’ She took a sip of the wine. ‘I can’t tell you how guilty I feel over Amy. I wish I could say sorry to her. Make up for the lost years.’

‘Doing what she wants and living in the house could be one way,’ Sabine said.

‘But she won’t know, will she?’ Harriet sighed. ‘It’s too late.’

Their pasties were delivered just then by a young lad on an old-fashioned bicycle with a large wicker basket fixed to the front. For several minutes both women ate contentedly.

‘Gosh these are good,’ Harriet said. ‘Haven’t had a pasty in years.’ She glanced at Sabine, who’d muttered an oath.

‘Just seen Owen coming this way. Didn’t think when I suggested lunch here that certain other people would be around. Sorry.’

Harriet shrugged. ‘Not to worry.’ Managing two days incognito in her home town had to be some sort of record anyway.

‘Hi, Owen,’ Sabine said. ‘Guess who’s turned up?’

‘Harriet, nice to see you. I’d heard you were back and wondered if we’d meet.’

Harriet glanced at Sabine, who held up her hands. ‘I swear I didn’t tell him. Who did?’ she said glaring at Owen.

‘Can’t remember,’ Owen said, shrugging. ‘Staying long?’