Chapters (95)
- Cover
- Also by Jenny Bayliss
- Dedication
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Chapter 47
- Chapter 48
- Chapter 49
- Chapter 50
- Chapter 51
- Chapter 52
- Chapter 53
- Chapter 54
- Chapter 55
- Chapter 56
- Chapter 57
- Chapter 58
- Chapter 59
- Chapter 60
- Chapter 61
- Chapter 62
- Chapter 63
- Chapter 64
- Chapter 65
- Chapter 66
- Chapter 67
- Chapter 68
- Chapter 69
- Chapter 70
- Chapter 71
- Chapter 72
- Chapter 73
- Chapter 74
- Chapter 75
- Chapter 76
- Chapter 77
- Chapter 78
- Chapter 79
- Chapter 80
- Chapter 81
- Chapter 82
- Chapter 83
- Chapter 84
- Chapter 85
- Chapter 86
- Chapter 87
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- Discussion Guide
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
“Perfect!” said Mari. “I wouldn’t want the place left empty for too long; being so close to the sea, the house can get a little damp if it’s not lived in. But if you’re moving in straightaway, I can leave the range on for you.”
Mari picked a black china cat from one of the shelves, unscrewed its head, and tipped a set of keys from out of its body into her hand.
“Here,” she said, dropping the keys into Annie’s outstretched palm. “They’re all labeled. There’s rather a lot, I’m afraid, what with the kiosk and the tearoom and the flat, but I like to keep them all locked, you see, for extra security. These are my only spares. I’ve got a set, John has a set, and now you have a set. He may pop in from time to time just to see you’re okay.”
“It’ll be nice to meet him,” Annie lied. “He obviously means a great deal to you.”
“He’s a good boy,” said Mari. “He’s been like a son to me. Now, I’ll leave my number in Cornwall and my nephew’s number with the instructions.”
Annie smiled and thanked her while Mari continued to fuss around the small sitting room. “You can park by the garden fence; that’s what John does,” Mari went on. “He’s got one of those 4×4 thingamies, makes light work of the shingle.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Annie. “Thank you.”
Annie drank the last bit of her tea and stood to leave, putting out her hand, and Mari took it. Her hand felt small and frail in Annie’s; the skin was loose around the slender bones and her fingertips were rough from a lifetime of hard work. Annie found herself feeling protective of this slight elderly woman and the home that she held so dear.
Mari stood and watched Annie to the garden gate.
“Good luck!” Mari called. “And bring jumpers!”
Annie smiled and waved back.
“Don’t worry about a thing!” Annie shouted back.
She felt pleased with herself and—dare she say it—really quite positive about the next few months. She had just bought herself some time to decide what she would do next, and not having to pay a deposit or a month’s rent in advance was excellent news for her credit card.