The Perfect Hero (2 page)

She sketched on, covering sheet after sheet, her stomach rumbling in a bid to be fed but nothing was more important than her drawing. Food could wait, drink could wait but art could never wait.

It was then that the telephone rang. Why did the telephone always ring when one was in the middle of something very important? Kay dropped her pen and sighed.

‘Hello?’ she said.

She didn’t recognise the voice on the other end but, as soon as the woman said where she was calling from, Kay knew that it wasn’t good news.

Peggy Sullivan had died.

* * *

Denis Frobisher’s face was, perhaps, the longest face Kay had ever seen. It reminded her of a basset hound but he had a warm smile that made his eyes twinkle and she understood why Peggy had chosen him as her solicitor.

‘But I don’t understand,’ Kay told him. ‘She left me
everything
?’

Mr Frobisher nodded. ‘It’s very simple. There were no siblings, no children. Nobody. Just you, Miss Ashton.’

‘But I only knew her a short time.’

‘Then you obviously made an impression.’

Kay shook her head. ‘This is crazy.’

‘Her husband left her very comfortably off. Of course, the nursing home fees made their dent over the years but she still left a sizeable chunk.’

‘Yes,’ Kay said. It was all she could say.

And then something occurred to her. Their last conversation. What was it she’d said to Peggy when they were talking about dreams for the future?

‘If only it was that simple,’ Kay said.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Mr Frobisher said.

‘I made this happen,’ Kay said, her voice quavering. ‘I wished things were simple and that dreams could come true and now Peggy’s dead. I didn’t mean to wish her dead! Oh, dear!’

‘Miss Ashton!’ Mr Frobisher said. ‘You’re upsetting yourself unnecessarily. Mrs Sullivan was an elderly woman who’d been seriously ill for many years. It was her time. You didn’t bring this about, I can assure you.’ He pushed a box of tissues towards her and she took one and dabbed her eyes.

‘Oh, Peggy!’ she said. ‘I never expected this. I never imagined . . .’

‘Of course you didn’t,’ Mr Frobisher said.

They sat quietly for a moment whilst Kay recovered her composure.

‘There’s a letter too,’ Mr Frobisher said gently. ‘One of the nurses at the home wrote it for Peggy but she managed to sign it herself.’ He handed her the white envelope and, with shaking hands, Kay opened it and took out the folded sheet of paper.

My dearest Kay, I hope this doesn’t come as too much of a shock to you but I’ve left you a little bit of money.
Kay stifled the urge to laugh at the understatement.

You see, I don’t have anyone close to me and, unlike most elderly ladies, I don’t have an affinity to cats so I won’t be leaving my worldly goods to any rescue centres.

I know your mother didn’t have much to leave you and I know you’ve got a whopping mortgage and an unfulfilled dream. Well, my dear, if you use my money wisely, you can fulfil that dream right now and I will feel that I am living on through you. Is that silly of me?

I’m going to miss you, dear Kay. I always loved your visits and thank you so much for the wonderful hours of reading. I hadn’t read Jane Austen for years but your beautiful voice brought all those stories back to life for me again and for that I am truly grateful.

So this is your chance, isn’t it? Do something amazing!

Your friend,

Peggy.

Kay looked at the scribbled signature in blue ink. It looked more like ‘Piggy’ really and Kay could imagine Peggy’s arthritic hand skating over the paper, determined to leave its mark, and the image brought more tears to Kay’s eyes.

‘So you see,’ Mr Frobisher began, ‘she wanted you to have everything. We’ve been in the process of sorting things out. The house was being rented for the past few years – that’s what brought in most of the income to pay the nursing home – but the tenant has gone now so the house is yours.’

Kay nodded, desperately trying to follow everything.

‘Mrs Sullivan thought you’d want to sell it straightaway.’ He paused, waiting for her reply. ‘But you probably want to think about things for a while,’ he added.

‘Yes,’ Kay said. ‘Think.’

‘And you have my number. I’m here if you have any questions.’

‘Questions.’ Kay nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’ve been very kind.’

‘Not at all,’ Mr Frobisher said. ‘Simply doing my job and carrying out the wishes of my client.’ He stood up to escort Kay to the door. ‘Dear Mrs Sullivan,’ he said. ‘How she will be missed.’

Kay nodded as she stood up and she felt her eyes vibrating with tears again. She turned back round to the desk and took another tissue from the box – just to be on the safe side.

Chapter Two

Kay sat at her desk in the office at Barnum and Mason. It had been three months since Peggy’s funeral and Kay still couldn’t believe that her dear friend had gone and that she could no longer visit her at the nursing home, a pile of books in her bag ready for reading.

Peggy’s funeral had taken place in the same church as that of Kay’s mother on a May morning that was sunny but bitterly cold. The snow had melted and everything had seemed wonderfully green but there’d been nothing to rejoice about that day. Kay had sat shivering in the same pew that she’d occupied only a few sad weeks before, watching the service through a veil of tears.

And now here she was sitting in the office as if nothing had happened. How callous time was, she thought. It hadn’t stopped to mourn the passing of a dear friend but had marched onwards and had dragged Kay along for the ride.

She hadn’t sketched for weeks now, choosing to read instead. There’d been the usual diet of Jane Austen with Kay choosing
Northanger Abbey
in the hopes that Catherine and Tilney’s company would cheer her up. She’d also been trying to find out more about preparing her illustrations for publication and had raided the local library. There was one very useful book full of tips for the first-timer and she’d sneaked it into work in the hope that she’d be able to photocopy some of the pages in a quiet moment.

‘Which is possibly now,’ she said to herself, looking around the office. It was a small open-plan office with four desks occupied by her colleagues. Paul and Marcus were out at lunch and Janice was on the phone laughing. It obviously wasn’t a work-related call; none of the business at the solicitors was stuff that provoked laughter.

Opening her bag, she took out the book and walked over to the communal photocopier. She only hoped she could get the pages copied before the silly old machine pulled a paper-jam stunt.

She was halfway through her copying when her phone went. Janice was still laughing into her own phone so Kay had no choice but to return to her desk to answer it.

She was just replacing the receiver when Roger Barnum walked into the office brandishing a large document that looked as if it had an appointment with the photo copier.

Kay watched in horror, unable to make a move in time to rescue her book, watching as Mr Barnum lifted the lid of the photocopier.

‘Whose is this?’ he barked, holding the book up and grimacing at it as if it might be infected. ‘
Painting for Pleasure and Profit
.’

Kay, blushing from head to foot, stood up to claim the book. ‘It’s mine, Mr Barnum.’

‘And what’s it doing on the photocopier?’ he asked.

Kay wanted to groan at the ridiculous question but she didn’t. She simply took it from him and mumbled an apology.

Mr Barnum sniffed. ‘I’d like to have a quiet word with you in my office, Miss Ashton,’ he said.

Kay nodded and followed him through.

‘Close the door and sit down,’ he said.

Kay did as she was asked.

Mr Barnum walked round his desk and sat down on an expensive-looking chair. It wasn’t threadbare like the office chair Kay had.

‘If you don’t mind me saying,’ Mr Barnum began, ‘your mind hasn’t really been on your work lately, has it?’

‘Well, no,’ Kay said. ‘My mother died recently and I’ve just lost a dear friend too.’

‘Ah, yes. Well, one has to get over these things – move on and all that.’

Kay blinked hard. Had she just heard him right?

‘People come and people go. It’s a sad fact of life and we have to get on with it.’

‘Right,’ Kay said. ‘I’ll try to remember that.’

‘And this drawing of yours,’ he continued, ‘you mustn’t bring it into the office with you. I think we had an incident before, didn’t we? Something concerning that Mr Darcy. For the life of me, I can’t see what it is you women find so fascinating.’

Kay didn’t say anything.

‘It’s interfering. You must keep these things separate. Quite separate. Work is work. Play is play.’

‘But it isn’t play, Mr Barnum. It’s my passion.’

Mr Barnum’s eyes widened in shock at the word ‘passion’ as if it might leap across the table and do him some sort of mischief.

‘In fact,’ Kay said, enjoying having provoked such a response, ‘I’ve been thinking of
playing
a bit more. You see, I’ve just had a phone call and it seems I’ve got some money coming my way very soon. I was left a property recently and it’s just sold so I’ll be moving.’

‘Moving?’ Mr Barnum said.

‘Yes. To the sea. I’ve always wanted to live by the sea. It’s another of my passions. So you’d better accept this as my notice. I’ll put it in writing, of course, during my lunch break – which is now, I believe.’ She stood up and smiled at Mr Barnum. She was feeling generous with her smiles now that she knew she was leaving.

Arriving home that night, she flopped on to her sofa, kicking off her shoes and sighing. She felt exhausted. Decision-making was a tiring business, she decided, but it was a happy tired she was feeling. She’d handed in her notice! She smiled as she remembered the look on Roger Barnum’s face. It was the first time he’d actually looked at Kay –
really
looked at her. Usually, his eyes would just sweep over her as he handed her a pile of paperwork.

Perhaps, she thought, it was also the first time she’d ever really looked at herself. She was thirty-one now. She knew that wasn’t exactly past it by modern standards, but she wasn’t exactly a spring chicken either. Enough years had been wasted. In Jane Austen’s time, thirty-one would have been a very dangerous age for a woman. She would have been rapidly hurtling towards spinsterhood.

Life had to be grasped and what better time than now? What was it Peggy had said?
Do something amazing!

‘I will!’ Kay said. ‘I owe it to you, Peggy.’

Getting up from the sofa to pour herself a glass of wine, Kay still couldn’t comprehend everything that had happened to her over the past few months. It was still impossible to believe that she was a relatively wealthy woman. She’d never had so much money and she was determined to use it to its best advantage.

She was going to move to the sea, that much was certain and, as a Jane Austen fan who was currently reading
Persuasion
for the seventh time, it seemed only right that she should focus her search on Lyme Regis. She’d already Googled it a dozen times, gazing longingly at the images that greeted her. The picturesque fishermen’s cottages, the high street that sloped down to the perfect blue sea and the great grey mass of the Cobb all seemed to speak to her.

Hey there, Kay! What are you waiting for? Come on down. You know you want to!

Having grown up in land-locked Hertfordshire, Kay had always wondered what it would be like to live by the sea. For a moment, she remembered a family holiday in North Norfolk. Other than two glorious sun-drenched days, the weather had been dreadful and Kay had had to spend most of the time trapped in the tiny chalet with her mum and dad who’d done nothing but row. Kay had done her best to shut herself away with an armful of second-hands books she’d found in a nearby junk shop. Reading about dashing highwaymen and handsome cavaliers had helped enormously but it was still a wonder that the whole experience hadn’t put her off the idea of living by the sea for good

But what exactly was she going to do in Lyme Regis? Was she going to buy a tiny cottage as cheaply as possible and live off the rest of the money whilst she hid herself away with her paintings and waited for publication? She’d never been a full-time artist and she had to admit that the thought of it panicked her. What if she wasn’t good enough? What if she spent years striving for publication whilst eating into the money that Peggy had left her? She was a practical girl and the thought of running out of money was terrifying. She might have hundreds of thousands in her name but she also had a lot of life to lead and she was planning on living to a ripe old age. Besides, she’d always worked. Perhaps her job at Barnum and Mason hadn’t been the best in the world but she’d been proud to make her own way and pay her own bills. But what could she do in a house by the sea in Lyme Regis?

‘There’s only one way to find out,’ she said.

It had been decided that Kay could take the annual leave that was owed to her in lieu of her notice and that meant that she could get down to Lyme Regis this very weekend and not have to worry about being back home for work on Monday.

Finishing her glass of wine, she went upstairs to start packing her suitcase and she couldn’t help feeling that Peggy – wherever she might be – was smiling down at her in approval.

Chapter Three

Adam Craig had lived in Lyme Regis all his life or, to be more precise, a tiny village called Marlbury in the Marshwood Vale just a few miles north of the seaside town. He’d studied English at Cambridge and had worked briefly in London but he would never want to live anywhere else.

From the winding country lanes to the tiny stone cottages and the ever-present caress of a breeze laden with the salty scent of the sea, he couldn’t imagine anywhere else coming close. He loved the rolling fields filled with lambs in the spring, the hedgerows stuffed with summer flowers, the tapestry colours of the trees in autumn and the slate grey sea in winter. Every season had its joy and he welcomed each one.