there’s a more immediate worry. ‘But what about the rest of the reception rooms?’
He smiles. ‘People are always fooled, the usable space inside castles isn’t that big. At least it means we can crank up the heating and beat the draughts.’
That glimmer of good news about the inside temperatures hasn’t stopped my heart plummeting. ‘What?’
‘Cockle Shell Castle was built as a folly. It’s impressive from the outside but it’s not meant for housing battalions.’
Or large house parties from London, even? ‘Just show me what there is.’ As for where the hell the library and the dining room are, I can only hope they’re upstairs too.
When he opens the doors to four first floor bedrooms, it’s less of a shock to find the same emptiness as down below – simple beds, shower rooms and not much else. Calling it stylish would be going too far, but somehow I’m past making comments. By the time we’re coming down from a higher floor the same as the first, but with lower ceilings, I’m getting my brain into gear. The number of bedrooms is right if I add in the ones on my staircase, but the rest couldn’t be more wrong. Libby was hoping for a house stuffed with two weeks’ worth of opulent photo opportunities. More importantly, so was I. With what there is here, even adding in a present mountain, once I’ve done the stone wall and window photos we’ll be just about done.
Worse, now Bill’s staring at me. ‘You’re very quiet?’ It’s a question not a statement.
To be honest I’m shocked he’s noticed. ‘It’s not very festive for a Christmas let.’ I try again. ‘It’s very basic and bare.’
‘Right.’
‘I mean, you are aware how much she’s paying for this?’ It was a well-leaked secret, so everybody else does. I know Libby thought it was a steal, but to ordinary mortals like Fliss and me it was an eye-wateringly massive amount. When Fliss stretched for her mortgage she didn’t factor in two babies, and I’m equally broke. Signing an extended lease in an area a lot further upmarket than my means was all about pleasing George. And more fool me for doing that.
Bill’s coming over super-arrogant now which is a sure sign he’s on the defensive. ‘Obviously I know the price, I took the booking.’
I’m going to have to spell it out. ‘Well, minimalism used to be great, but in London we came out the other side of the “empty” tunnel and maximalism rules now. For this kind of money we expected spaces rammed with gorgeous stuff.’
‘Really.’ This time it’s a statement, not a question. ‘Well, wherever you are on your style cycle, what we offer is accommodation for stag celebrations, and they’re usually delighted with what’s here – no neighbours to annoy, plenty of space to party, very little to break. And then there’s the gin too. Wherever you stand on gin, the stags never turn it down. The castle suits them down to the ground. Which to be fair is where most of them end up.’
I ignore that he’s banging on about gin again, and brace myself to break the news. ‘We booked for a Christmas house party in palatial surroundings, decorated to the hilt with festive bling.’ Whatever he says, I know that because I’ve seen the place settings in pictures.
He lets out a breath. ‘Christmas crackers. Someone called Nathan messaged, there was no specific request for decorations at the time of booking.’
It can’t go without comment. ‘So you just thought you’d take the frankly humungous amount of money and run?’
‘Not entirely.’ From the way he’s shuffling from foot to foot, I’ve hit a nerve.
One thing’s still puzzling me. ‘I mean, where the hell’s the wallpaper?’ It was definitely on the pictures Libby put up on our secret Pinterest page, I’ve been flicking through them non stop since they arrived. Of course! How could I be so dense? I get out my phone to check them, then groan as I realise my mistake. ‘Where’s this signal hot spot you were talking about? And I need the internet password, please?’
‘You don’t get it do you, Ivy?’
I ignore the way my tummy flips as he turns to me, because I’m boiling inside on Libby’s behalf. ‘Get what?’
If Bill wasn’t so unconcerned, I’d swear that was an exasperated head shake. ‘The whole castle is an internet-free zone, that’s one of its biggest selling points.’
Holy crap. ‘There’s no wifi ANYWHERE?’
‘Guests love the freedom an enforced break gives them. With walls this thick wifi wouldn’t be practical anyway.’
I’m trying to get my head around this. ‘There must have been a mix up, there can’t be any other Cockle Shell Castles, can there?’
Bill’s eyes are flinty. ‘I thought you said Mrs Johnstone-Cody didn’t make errors?’
‘But if she had …?’
He sighs. ‘There’s a rather bijou Cockle Shell Hideaway up the coast from Port Isaac. Decorated to the nines and then some. But they’re such different places, you’d never confuse them.’
Not so you’d think. But I’m imagining Libby doing her two second check before she booked and leaping on the first gorgeous pictures she came across. If the words Cockle Shell and Cornwall were enough to confuse Google Images, what hope did Libby have? She’d be dizzy with the coup she was pulling off, and probably doing ten other jobs at the same time too. Maybe if she’d been multi-tasking less she’d have jumped to less wrong conclusions.
‘Well, we’re here now. This is the one Mrs Nathan Johnstone-Cody booked.’ The hot tub’s swanky. And the outside’s spectacular, even if the inside isn’t, so I might as well think positive thoughts. Christmas dinner out on the front lawn might work. At least that way even if the turkey was cold we’d still get some awesome shots against the castle facade. Which reminds me …
‘We haven’t seen the kitchen yet?’ I round on Bill expectantly, and Merwyn does too. For a small dog he’s got a remarkably large vocabulary. Admittedly it’s mostly food based.
‘We have seen the kitchen.’ Bill’s face creases into a two second laugh. And then when I don’t join in his smile fades to puzzlement again.
I know he’s wrong on this one. ‘We definitely haven’t.’
His face splits into a grin as he tries again. ‘Where do you think you ate breakfast?’
Oh my days. For all the reasons. ‘But that can’t be the kitchen, you said that was your kitchen. Where’s the proper kitchen?’
He’s staring at me now. ‘No, there’s definitely only the one kitchen. Stags don’t often eat in, but when they do, that’s definitely the only place they do it.’
‘You are joking me?’
He’s staring at me like I’m the one who’s being dense here. ‘Think about it, I’d hardly have all those chairs around the table just for me would I?’
‘B-b-b-but …’ I’m so shocked, I’m
