later they were sitting at a small, wrought-iron table in the garden of the pub Carrie remembered seeing, with glasses of wine and deciding what to have for lunch.
After taking a long sip of her drink, Carrie sighed and turned to face Elizabeth. ‘I don’t want this legacy to change who I am. It’s such a huge amount.’
‘Somebody famous, I forget who, once said money doesn’t change you – it simply brings out the person you were all the time. Or something like that. Anyway, you’ll be fine because you’re lovely all the way through.’
‘Oh, Mum. I hope you’re right. But I’m frightened that, if nothing else, it’s going to change my life beyond all recognition.’
*
Severe delays because of roadworks on the M4, followed by a broken-down car blocking one of the narrow Devonshire lanes once she’d left the main road, had conspired to make Karen Weston late. The fact that her lateness was also due in part to her delaying leaving home until she’d talked to Derek was infuriating. What a waste of time that had proved to be.
She’d wanted to arrive mid afternoon but it was nearer six o’clock when she turned on to the single unfenced track that climbed the edge of the cliff towards the old coastguard cottages. Two minutes later she drove into one of the parking spaces reserved for ‘The Captain’s House’.
Glancing across the parking area as she got out and locked the car, she registered the presence of the large 4x4 that belonged to Bruce in ‘The Bosun’s Locker’ and the ancient estate car of Joy and Toby, the unofficial caretakers of the cottages and year-round occupants of No. 5. Other than that, the parking lot was empty. She knew Hazel and Simon in No. 2, the last of the owners who regularly spent the whole summer here, were due to arrive tomorrow.
Karen sighed happily as she looked around. This was such a unique place, with the large ‘Captain’s House’ and smaller ‘Bosun’s Locker’ like mismatched bookends, holding up the six cottages in between. Despite the few modern improvements made down the years, principally the creation of the swimming pool and tennis court, the century-old weathered stone building of the complex, sitting on its clifftop overlooking the Channel, gave off a comforting air of permanence and solidarity.
The fact that only two of the eight properties were regularly rented out, and then only to friends and family, not commercially, was one of the main benefits of the old cottages for Karen. Everybody who came for the long summer holiday had some connection to the place, making for a tight-knit community with people knowing each other.
Karen shuddered as the image of the complex of holiday cottages in Cornwall Derek had persuaded her to spend Easter in one year came into her mind. Three hundred chalets accommodating a thousand people at the height of the season. She’d hated the place on sight. Derek had wanted to buy one.
He’d been furious with her when she’d said she didn’t like the place. Couldn’t see why anyone would want to have a holiday there.
‘But look at the amenities. Swimming pool, crazy golf for the kids, restaurant, pub, cinema, sports room. It’s got everything you could want on a holiday.’
‘But I don’t want any of those things – apart from the pool and we’ve got one in Devon.’ She’d shrugged. ‘There’s no character. All the chalets look alike. It’s just too busy for me. Not relaxing at all. Give me The Captain’s House every time.’
Making her way down the short path to the front door, memories of that visit to the detested Cornish complex lingered in Karen’s mind. Why now? Probably because of something Derek had said that afternoon, she decided.
‘You’re obsessed with that damn place,’ he’d muttered when she’d reminded him it was today she was driving down to Devon for the summer. The fact that it also signalled the first day of their trial separation, he seemed to have forgotten.
‘Could buy a decent villa down on the Costa del Sol and have guaranteed sunshine if you’d only sell it. And have money in the bank.’
‘Not going to happen, Derek,’ Karen said. ‘Especially now. Right, I’m off. Let me know if you do decide to come down while Francesca and Wills are around. I haven’t told them about us needing time apart to rethink things.’
An emphatic shake of his head. ‘Not sure there’s any point in even coming down.’
Karen had sighed and left. A few years ago he would have kissed her properly, told her to drive carefully and to ring when she arrived. Those days were in the past, though, and the chances of them returning were slim.
Unlocking the large wooden front door, Karen released a deep breath. She was back in the place she loved most in the world. The place where her problems faded temporarily into the background. Derek and his bullying would never win. No way would she ever sell this house.
Once the shutters on the large bay window of the sitting room were open, she sank down onto the cushioned window seat. Always her favourite place to sit. She loved the way the front lawns dropped away leaving nothing but the sea in full view, giving the sensation of standing on the bridge of a ship. People visiting the house for the first time always pointed that out, which amused her. Did they think she perhaps hadn’t realised? That the past forty-odd summers had been spent here in some sort of daze?
Sitting there looking at the sea, choppy as the evening tide turned, Karen offered up a silent thank you to her parents, who’d had the foresight to buy the house as a holiday home all those years ago – and then to leave it to her, not her brother. He’d been openly relieved to inherit their parents’ detached house close to the university town where he was a lecturer.
Not that he didn’t like The Captain’s House. He and his wife came for a holiday every summer, claiming it set them up for the year. But he didn’t love it with the passion Karen did. She couldn’t imagine a life without it. Maybe Derek was right and she was obsessed. But it was so good to be back here with eight weeks of summer stretching ahead of her.
Eight weeks of days with no real routines, swims in the infinity pool whose water she could see sparkling in the late sun, games of tennis, communal get-togethers and barbecues. The only thing missing would be the continual presence of the children.
Wills would be home sometime this month and Francesca had promised to come for a fortnight in August. The first summer in eighteen years without either of them being around for the whole of it.
Wills had no idea how much she’d missed him the last few months while he travelled on his gap year. The occasional postcard was no compensation. Summer here wouldn’t be complete until he arrived back safely from his travels.
She knew things changed as life progressed, of course she did. Children growing up and gaining their independence was only natural. Francesca, being the eldest, had been the first to take flight four years ago for a career in the arts. At the time Karen had consoled herself with the thought that Wills, at fourteen, would be home for a few more years. She wasn’t ready for the nest to empty completely. Nor was she ready for how fast those four years had flown.
She’d realised recently that certain milestones, while openly acknowledged as being part of the general melee of family life, actually made a deeper impact than at first seemed to be the case, their full extent hidden, iceberg-like, way below the surface.
Francesca and Wills would, of course, always be connected to her because she was their mother, but at eighteen, nearly nineteen, Wills was now busy following Francesca into the wider world. Making his own decisions,
