A New Beginning (5 page)

Chapter Seven

She couldn’t put off seeing Craig any longer. They met for lunch in a restaurant near the Quayside that she didn’t know. It was a lot posher than their usual lunchtime venues, but Craig had insisted it was his treat. He got to his feet as she approached his table.

‘Good to see you up and about again, Kirsty,’ he murmured with a smile. ‘Feeling better?’

‘Yes, thanks. I’m over the worst of it now.’

‘That’s good.’

He was immaculately dressed, as usual. Smart navy suit. Pristine white shirt. Fashionably flamboyant tie. Black brogues you would have been able to see your face in if it hadn’t been for the pattern in the leather. Craig was already a successful young solicitor. And just the sight of him made Kirsty feel twenty years older.

He got her comfortably seated and then turned his attention to the menu. ‘The soups are good here,’ he murmured. ‘And the fish.’

‘Craig...’

‘Especially the red snapper. I love that.’

‘Craig?’

He raised a questioning eye from the menu.

‘Craig, I’m not terribly hungry, to be honest. I’ve only got forty minutes anyway. We’re very busy.’

‘Nonsense. You’ve got to eat. You’re recovering your strength.’

She shuddered to think what he might have said had they been married, and she pregnant. Surely he wouldn’t have said she had to eat for two now, would he? But she knew in her heart of hearts that he would. He was Craig.

She compromised. She had a bowl of carrot-and-coriander soup accompanied by a roll fresh from the oven. Craig was disappointed but he had the sense to let it go.

‘What are we going to do, Craig?’ she asked. ‘What is it you want to do?’

‘That depends on you, old thing.’

‘For goodness sake!’ she snapped.

His raised eyebrows stopped her saying something she would have regretted later.

‘Well,’ she said carefully, ‘as I said before, I think we were right to call time, Craig. Our relationship just wasn’t working for me anymore. I’d felt that for some time, and after the last few weeks I’m certain of it. I’m sorry,’ she added with a shrug.

After the briefest of pauses, Craig said, ‘But we can still be friends, can’t we?’

She nodded. He turned back to his study of the menu, finding enormous difficulty deciding between competing desserts, and wondering in detail whether to choose filter coffee or cappuccino. Craig!

She felt very sad. Guilty, as well. But better to have said what she’d just said now than to have had to say it in a few years’ time, when there might have been children to consider and parting would have been so much more difficult in every way.

On her way back to the office, Kirsty wondered if Craig would ever meet a woman who engaged with life as he did. She hoped so. She really did hope so.

All that time, though, she thought sadly. All that time wasted. And Joyce was so right. She wasn’t getting any younger.

But at least they could both get on with their lives now. That was something.

***

Fells Inn looked just the same. She stopped at the top of the little hill overlooking it for a moment to satisfy herself on that point, and then swept down the lane to park outside. Exactly the same, she thought with pleasure. Even the “For Sale” board was still in place.

‘You’re back!’ Carol cried as she walked through the door.

‘Can’t keep me away.’

‘It’s good to see you again, Kirsty.’

‘Thank you, Carol. It’s lovely to be here again.’

Carol handed her a key. ‘It’s the same room as last time. That OK?’

‘Perfect. I’ll get settled in. Then I’ll come and have a pot of tea with you.’

‘I’ll be here.’

Even the view from the window was the same. No Bob, though, she thought with disappointment. She had seen a man coming out of another room and had been about to call a greeting until she realised Bob couldn’t possibly have put on so much weight in the short time since she’d last seen him. Nor could he have become less tall. Besides, he wouldn’t have been wearing a business suit, she thought with a smile. That would have looked quite wrong on him.

‘Not a bad day,’ the man had said as he passed by.

‘Beautiful,’ she had replied with an automatic smile.

A sales rep, probably, she thought, a man who would always have easy words for people. Not at all like Bob.

But she had other things to think about now, things she hadn’t been able to think about at all at home. First, how did she really feel about Fells Inn now she was here once again? The same, she decided. Exactly the same. She loved it. Even though it was in danger of dropping to bits, she loved it. She always had.

All it needed was someone who cared for it, someone who also had a bit of money and energy. Given someone like that, it could be as perfect again as it had been all those years’ ago. Even more perfect, in fact. Surely there must be someone who could meet the challenge?

Carol brought a pot of tea into the dining area, and joined her.

‘Much been happening?’ Kirsty asked..

Carol shook her head. ‘Just the usual. Our regular over-nighters, and the locals at the bar. Pretty quiet, really.’

‘Regulars? Who stays here regularly?’

‘People on business, men with something to do in Whitehaven or Workington mostly. Medical reps? Engineers? I don’t know exactly.’

That was interesting. Kirsty thought of the man she had seen earlier. He could have been one of them. So there was a regular trade. Not just people on holiday and people passing through. But people who returned, because they liked it or it suited them in some other, more practical way. You could build on that.

‘They come out here, rather than stay in the town?’

Carol shrugged. ‘We’re cheaper, I expect. And some people like peace and quiet for a night. There’s always plenty of that here.’

‘Where’s Henry?’

‘It’s his day off. He goes into town, and stays overnight. Stops with friends somewhere. Rumour has it,’ Carol added, raising eyebrows to the ceiling, ‘there’s a woman in his life. Can you believe that?’

Not easily, Kirsty thought. But for every Jack there was a Jill. Wasn’t that what they used to say?

‘But he is coming back?’ she pressed. ‘He hasn’t sold the place?’

‘Sold it?’ Carol chuckled. ‘Chance would be a fine thing. I wish he would, though. I really do. I wish someone would come along who actually wanted to be here. I’m sick of Henry moaning. It’s as if the place is a millstone round his neck. He doesn’t know how lucky he is.’

‘It would need someone with a lot of money.’

‘Not really. You could buy Fells Inn for what you would pay for a house around here. Mind, you’d need money to put it to rights.’ She shrugged and added, ‘But you could just stick it on the mortgage, I suppose.’

The conversation meandered in other directions and then came back to visitors, of whom there had been few since Kirsty’s last visit.

‘What about that man who was here last time? Bob?’

‘Haven’t seen him for a week or two.’

Kirsty felt disappointed.

‘But he’s coming tomorrow night,’ Carol added.

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

Chapter Eight

She laughed aloud when she saw him arrive in the dining area a couple of mornings later. ‘So it’s true!’ she cried. ‘You really are here all the time.’

‘Hello, there. Back again?’

‘I believe I am, yes.’

He returned her smile, but it was a bit of a grudging effort. He didn’t seem exactly overjoyed to see her.

‘Breakfast, Bob?’ Carol asked, as she scurried in from the kitchen.

‘No, thanks. I’m just on my way out.’

‘You won’t get far on an empty stomach,’ Carol told him cheerfully.

He didn’t reply. He gave Kirsty a nod as he headed for the door.

‘Mr. Cheerful,’ Carol said after he had gone. She set down the toast Kirsty had asked for. ‘Mr. Sunshine. What a grump!’

‘Oh, Carol. You’re being too hard on him. Maybe he just had a bad night. He’s tired. Or maybe he doesn’t like company first thing in the morning.’

‘He’s worse than my husband,’ Carol said. ‘And that’s saying something. Ted would rather take the dog out for a walk than talk to me in the morning. Men, eh?’

‘Men,’ Kirsty echoed.

All the same, silly as it seemed, she was a bit disappointed. Bob might have had a little more to say. It wasn’t as if she was a complete stranger, or someone who couldn’t stop talking and didn’t know when to shut up.

After breakfast she tidied herself up and then spent a little time exploring parts of the inn she had not yet entered. Curiosity demanded no less.

To her surprise, she discovered rooms she had not suspected. A separate dining room, for example, presumably dating from times when there were more visitors than now. More guest rooms, as well, some of them now no more than storage or junk repositories. It seemed strange that there was no use for them these days, given how much more prosperous people were than in her childhood. And how much more free time they had, as well. In an area like this, the inn should be booming.

Carol caught her at it. ‘Having a good poke around? You might as well. The weather’s not up to much at the moment.’

‘Oh, I’ll get out in a little while. I was just curious about some of these un-opened doors. What a lot of spare capacity the place has.’

Carol nodded. ‘Yes. I’d like to have been here in its heyday. It must have been fun. Here, have you seen this one?’

She opened a door Kirsty had not reached yet. ‘What do you think?’

Kirsty peered into the room. ‘Oh, my!’

The centrepiece of the room was a genuine four-poster bed.

‘The honeymoon suite,’ Carol said. ‘You wouldn’t believe who has stayed here over the years. Royalty, even.’

‘It’s lovely,’ Kirsty said, walking in and turning around to admire the room.

‘It’s a bit musty,’ Carol said with a sniff. ‘I’ll open the window.’

She slid the top sash down a few inches and peered out across the lake. ‘It’s a long time since we had any honeymooners here,’ she said, ‘but you can see how nice it used to be, can’t you?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Kirsty said thoughtfully. ‘And maybe it will be again.’

‘Maybe,’ Carol said without conviction.

Later she wandered across the fields around the inn, studying the building from different angles, exploring the thoughts that were beginning to form. Since Carol had told her how much the inn was on the market for, her thoughts no longer seemed quite such an utterly impossible pipe dream. Buying the inn was something that might just be financially manageable, if she could ever summon the nerve. Nobody else seemed to want it. But she did. Very much. More than ever, in fact.

She would need to sell her mother’s house first, and her own little place, but surely that wouldn’t be too difficult. In her area houses were selling quickly, especially ones that could be afforded by first-time buyers. So sell the two houses. Then she would need to sort out a mortgage for the rest of it. Maybe get a commercial mortgage? That ought to be possible. Why not?

And if it was…? Could she do everything that needed doing here? Not at first, perhaps. She knew that. But in time she could.

Then, of course, there was the question of whether she could run an inn. Could she do it?

It was a daunting prospect, something that would be completely new to her, but again she couldn’t see why not. It wasn’t really an inn, or a pub, in the traditional sense. These days it was more a guest house, with a licensed restaurant attached. She could do that.

She winced. Was she just being romantic? Was she in danger of getting in over her head?

No. If someone as inept as Henry could run the place for so long, so could she – a lot better probably. She knew how small businesses worked. She’d seen enough of them.

She would have to make sure Carol stayed, of course. Carol knew the place inside-out, and how it worked. She would promote her. Make her the Deputy Manager, or something. Pay her more money, and get her more help. The chef they had now seemed good, too. She would want to keep him.

Oh, it was so exciting! She shivered and felt her head would burst. For the first time in a long time, she had found something she really, really wanted to do. She had a sense of purpose that had been missing from her life for far too long.

In the late afternoon she saw Bob coming down from the high ground. She watched him for a few minutes, until he disappeared into a little hidden valley. She smiled and resumed her walk. Bob. What a strange man he was.

He was in the bar that evening when she arrived for her meal.

‘Good day?’ she asked.

‘Not bad.’

He looked tired. More than that, he looked dejected, as if he was struggling physically and spiritually. Or ill. He looked ill, she realised.

‘Hi, Bob! Have you eaten yet?’

He shook his head.

She managed not to press him further. She watched him tip his glass to finish the beer he’d been drinking.

‘Is anything wrong?’ she asked.

‘Wrong?’

‘I mean... Are you all right, Bob? You don’t look very well. You look… tired.’

She only just managed to stop herself saying he looked worn-out. That wouldn’t have done at all.

‘Oh, yes. I’m tired, all right. And it’s nothing that a good night’s sleep can cure.’

He put the glass down, nodded to her and headed for the door.

She found a seat and ordered a meal, but she no longer felt hungry. She was wondering what was wrong. Bob seemed a different man.

As she was finishing her meal, she noticed a small package on the adjacent table. Something Bob had forgotten or misplaced. She got up and reached for it, and saw then what it was: a box with a prescription label bearing the name “Mr. Robert Simpson”, and a message about how many times a day the contents were to be taken. She recognised the name of the tablets the box contained and she frowned. It was a name that had been familiar in her mother’s house after her father had died.

As she looked for Carol to hand the box to, she wondered what on earth a man like Bob was doing with anti-depressants.