Page 81 of A Cornish Love Story
I sniffed loudly. ‘I’m fine. What is it?’
There was a pause, as if she was debating whether to push, then she said, ‘There’s activity at Sterenlenn.’
I thought of the people-shaped smudges I’d seen from the clifftop. ‘Prospective buyers being shown around?’
‘I think it’s more than that,’ she said. ‘Actually, Barry Mulligan thinks it’s more than that. He says several shiny cars have turned up with tinted windows, the works.’
‘Prospective billionaires being shown around?’ I went to find a tissue. ‘They love all that stuff.’
‘Barrythinks this might be the new owners.’ Spence sounded smug. ‘And don’t you think, with a property like Sterenlenn, something that costs upwards of seven figures, they would want a personal welcome from the genius behind it?’
I blinked, then ran from the kitchen to the living room, dropped to my knees and picked up Ethan’s letter from where I’d left it on the sofa.
‘Georgie?’ Spence prompted, but I was too busy reading.
We have a buyer for Sterenlenn, so I’m coming back to Alperwick sometime in the next couple of weeks.
‘I know you’re focusing on other things right now,’ Spence was saying, ‘but if youdidwant to see Ethan again, to clear the air, then it might be worth a walk up the hill.’
‘I’ve just walked up a big hill,’ I murmured, but now I was rereading Alf’s scrawl on the envelope:This you? Been round the houses a bit but it’s the right addy.
‘Georgie!’ Spence sounded exasperated. ‘Are you going to miss out on seeing Ethan because you’ve hit your step count for the day?’
‘I have to go,’ I told her, and hung up.
I looked at myself in the mirror. A lot of my hair had been tugged out of its ponytail by the wind, and I was wearing a faded black T-shirt and denim shorts, and definitely looked like I had been up and down a cliff in the hot sun, but I didn’t know how much time I had. I also didn’t know if either Spence or Barry’s information was trustworthy, but I couldn’t risk the possibility of missing him.
I was back outside within five minutes. The late afternoon sun was blistering, the sea and sky both breathtakingly blue, and at sea level the wind was almost non-existent. I could hear the rhythmic shush of the waves, the shouts and laughter from families and friends enjoying the bay. Alperwick was at its best, and I felt a squeeze of fondness for the place I hadn’t wanted to stay in, but which had comforted me in so many ways.
I strode through the village, retracing the journey I’d taken just over a month ago. Barry Mulligan’s house was quiet, and I wondered if he was in his spare bedroom, telescope trained on Sterenlenn, phone open to the village WhatsApp groups. Would I be the only one going up there, or would the rumours encourage other people to come and see what was going on? Would there be security blocking my way?
I cursed, because I had forgotten to take Ethan’s number out of my notebook or give him any kind of warning, and now I was over halfway there I couldn’t face turning around. I kept going up the hill, jumping when a football thumped in front of me on the pavement, then bounced off down the road.
‘Sorry!’ a small boy called as he chased after it, and I stood, frozen for a second, as I realized how close it had come to hitting me. I set off again, picking up my pace, a fresh trickle of sweat running down my spine. My breaths puffed out in time with my strides as I ate up the distance, my bare legs brushing the wildflowers that were escaping from the verge.
There was no Aldo waiting for me this time, and the sage green gates were closed. I stopped in front of them, wrapped my hands around the rungs, and looked up the path. There were no cars or people milling about, and the house looked quiet and stately, a shimmering statue, with the first pink-hued clouds of the approaching sunset behind it. The buyers must have already left, or else Barry and Spence had been wrong, and it was gardeners tending to the lawns, like I’d first thought. But Ethan’s letter was real, and so was his mobile number, tucked snugly inside my notebook at home.
I took my hands off the gate, already thinking about what I would say when I called him, but my breath hitched because the wide front door was sliding open, a man stepping out into the late afternoon sun. Hehad on a white shirt, ink blue trousers and a tie the colour of the Atlantic in summer, and his auburn hair was exceptionally, beautifully dishevelled.
I pushed on the gate and it swung inwards, admitting me, as Ethan strode across the wide front step and onto the path, closing the gap between us.
I walked towards him, drinking in the sight: the turquoise sea matched by the endless sky; the gleaming glass framed by soft grey stone; the gabled roof with its built-in skylights, and the glowing LEDs leading up to the wide, inviting entrance. And, just in front of it all was the man who had created it; who, out of everything I could see, had always impressed me the most.
‘Hello,’ he said, when we were only a few feet apart. He sounded wary, but his brown eyes were warm, and looking directly at me.
‘Hi.’ I was still slightly breathless from the walk, and now, from being so close to him again. ‘You’re here.’
‘I’m here. You got my letter?’
‘Today. Just now.’
He frowned. ‘But …’
‘Alf the postman was confused that it wasn’t addressed to me.’ I couldn’t help smiling. ‘He went searching for an Amelie Rosevar in the village before giving up and posting it through my door.’
Ethan stared at me in consternation, then he groaned, his head tipping back. ‘I thought the postcode was all that mattered. I checked I’d got the right address so many times.’
I shrugged. ‘Alf knows me.’
