Page 58 of A Cornish Love Story
‘Is this a … sex playroom, Ethan? A teddy bear shrine? Where you keep the bodies of the other architects who wanted to reimagine this house before you got your hands on it?’
‘Maybe we should go back downstairs,’ he murmured.
‘No! No, I want to see it. I’m dying of curiosity.’
‘OK. Butnofreaking out.’
‘Guide’s honour,’ I said, even though I’d never been a guide.
Ethan turned and pushed the door open slowly, but he refused to let go of my hand, and when I caught the first glimpse of what was inside, I realized why, because I suddenly felt as if I might float away, through the ceiling and the locked-down skylights, up towards the heavens.
The carpet was a soft blue, and the walls, unlike the natural palette in the rest of the house, were a delicate, dusty mauve. My shoulder brushed Ethan’s chest as he let me past, and once I was inside I could see the whole thing.
Not all the walls were mauve. There was a feature wall opposite the window that was covered in mermaid-print wallpaper: a blue and green seaweed background, the mermaid’s scales purple, her hair picked out in gold and little silver fish swimming behind her. Iremembered the day I’d seen it, then written down the details in a letter.
Speechless, I turned away from it, towards the huge window. Streaks of rain transformed the thunderous clouds and the sea below into a watercolour, but it was what was beneath it that held my attention.
A polished pine desk ran the length of the room, an ergonomic chair pulled up close to it. There was an art deco lamp, pinks and greens in the patterned glass shade, and a little copper quill on a resin plinth. I sucked in a breath. On the wall above the familiar statuette, there was a framed picture. I stepped forward and saw that it was a news article. One of Ethan’s first achievements? I moved closer, my heart pounding, and then – I squeaked.
‘I particularly liked that story,’ Ethan said softly.
‘I did, too. The day I covered it, anyway.’
It was one of my articles from theStar, from about three years ago, about a Cotswold-based mythological society that had travelled to Cornwall to investigate the Alperwick Mermaid. I’d gone to cover their investigation for the paper, because the Alperwick residents loved nothing more than finding out why interlopers were prowling their beach with strange-looking electronic devices. But they’d been fun and friendly, not paranoid conspiracy theorists, just using local legends as reasons to visit beautiful parts of the country together.
I’d ended up telling them about my short story and the award I’d won, and when the photographer wastaking pictures, they’d dragged me into the group shots. Wynn had printed one of them alongside my report and my short story, which she must have dug up from a decade-oldAlperwick Papersanthology. I’d been livid, then embarrassed, and finally I’d felt sad, reminded of how little of my own writing I’d done since then.
Now, seeing it framed on the wall in Sterenlenn, I felt a spark of hope. I picked up the copper quill. ‘This isn’t actually my award,’ I said, turning to look at Ethan, ‘unless youhavebeen back to my house, to do a little breaking and entering?’
He was resting one shoulder against the wall, looking wary. ‘Not guilty. This is a replica – I assume you still have yours.’
‘Somewhere,’ I said quietly. ‘You know, the mythological society sent me a little silver mermaid not long after my piece was printed. I guess they were grateful I’d got them in the local paper, highlighted their passions. It’s sort of a talisman for me, because it reminds me that people value what I do, even if it’s not writing bestselling novels.’
‘Of course they value you,’ Ethan said, ‘and I’m glad it’s important to you.’
‘The mermaid?’ I frowned. ‘But it’s …’ My words died when I saw his expression. ‘There wasn’t a note, so I assumed that’s where it came from.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Ethan, didyousend me the silver mermaid?’
He didn’t reply, and I was blindsided for the second time in five minutes.
‘Did you send me the mermaid?’
He held my gaze, gave a tiny shrug.
I rubbed my forehead. ‘You sent me the silver mermaid, and this is … it’s the room I described in my letter: my imaginary office in our fantasy future. The window, the art deco light, the wallpaper. And these shelves.’ There was a beautiful built-in bookcase, several titles arranged elegantly, interspersed with pot plants and muted stone bookends, everything lit artfully by LEDs. I peered closer and saw a complete set of the Cornish Sands series.
‘Obviously, those would be your books.’
‘You mean in our make-believe life?’ I shook my head. ‘I can’t believe you did this.’
‘I wanted to show potential buyers that all the rooms could have a unique purpose, and your letter – I loved the design. I wanted it in here.’
‘Don’t you think it would have been easier to forget about me? We broke up over a decade ago. It’s ancient history.’ It was the biggest lie I’d said all night, and so hypocritical considering everything I was feeling.
‘Is that really how you think of us?’ He gestured to the desk, and I knew he meant the letters.
‘I wrote those ages ago, when I quit university and came back here to look after Mum.’
‘And you were entirely unbothered about me finding them, clearly.’ He clenched his jaw. ‘That’s how ancient history we are to you? You came tonight because you wanted to get them back, to retrieve them before I could read them.That’sthe real reasonyou came, isn’t it?’
