Annie walked down the steps and tramped alongside a peeling picket fence that had seen better days. The garden was laid with shingle but had been cultivated to make a pretty courtyard; lavender and rosemary bushes were dotted about the space, interspersed with clumps of low-growing thyme, herbs, and shrubs. The spiky seed heads of alliums on long woody stems bobbed above the shrubs like low-slung planets. The breeze picked up the scent of herbs, and the familiar smells washed over Annie like a balm. A flight of stone stairs led up to a Victorian-style front door, with stained-glass panels and matching panels above the door. To one side, a piece of driftwood was attached to the wall with the words Saltwater Nook painted in a flowing script. This was it!
Chapter 9
Annie rang the doorbell and stepped back down a couple of stairs to wait. After a moment or two a high-pitched voice called: “I’m coming!”
After three or four more minutes, she heard locks being drawn back, and the front door opened to reveal a tiny woman, no more than four foot six. Her long white hair was drawn up into a loose but neat bun on the top of her head and her cheeks looked like pink velvet. She smiled when she saw Annie, and her pale gray eyes crinkled at the edges like crepe paper.
“Hello, my dear!” said the woman, ushering Annie inside. “I’m Mari. You must be Annie. And right on time too!” she trilled. “Now just wait one moment . . .”
Mari pulled a mobile phone out of her cardigan pocket and held it up to her face, squinting. Then she squinted at Annie. Then back at the phone.
“Lovely,” she said, putting the phone back in her pocket. “It is you! My nephew sent me a photograph of you, and I wasn’t to let you in until I was absolutely sure the picture matched the person. And it does! So, come on in. I’ve just put the kettle on. Come, come!”
“How exactly did your nephew come to have a picture of me?” Annie asked.
“Ach, just a wee bit of interweb stalking, my dear,” Mari replied. “Instaface or one of those other socially mediocre things you young things are all into.”
Annie was not keen on the idea of the nephew delving through her internet profile, but she did appreciate being lumped in with the “young things.”
“You have a lovely garden.”
“I do what I can,” said Mari. “It’s not the easiest place to grow a garden. But the herbs have a wonderful depth of flavor; it must be the salty air.”
Annie liked Mari and her strange house on the beach instantly. She had wanted to get away from it all, and this place was away from everything.
Annie followed Mari into a long, thin, whitewashed corridor, sparsely decorated, with framed photographs in black and white of bearded men in roll-neck jumpers, standing proudly beside tatty-looking fishing trawlers. A set of iron hooks held a pair of binoculars and a bright yellow raincoat. A pair of black wellington boots and a basket lay below. Mari pointed to a pile of logs beside the door that reached the ceiling.
“You’ll be needing those,” she said. “And then some. I’ve already put in an order for more; Fred will deliver it near the beginning of October.”
They moved on down the corridor. Mari brushed her hand along a padlocked door on the left.
“You won’t need to worry about this,” she said, a little wistfully, Annie thought. “This used to be the tearoom, but I had it decommissioned a few years ago. It was just too much for me in the end. I keep it locked.”
“Did it do well?” asked Annie.
“Oh, aye,” said Mari. “It had a good run. Still, better to leave them wanting more than outstay your welcome.”
“Is there anything you’d like me to do with it while I’m here?” Annie asked. “Do I need to check it for any reason?”
“No, dear, let it sleep,” said Mari. “Unless there’s a big storm, in which case I’d ask you to check the shutters are secured on the outside. And prop some extra sandbags against the door.”
On the far wall, by the staircase, was another door.
“Kiosk,” said Mari when they reached it. “I don’t open it past September first, until Easter. If I reopen at all,” she said quietly. “But if you get some sunny days near the end of the month, which isn’t unheard of, and the beach looks busy, you’re welcome to open up. There’s a good coffee machine in there; only a year old, Italian. I have it regularly serviced, so it’s all in working order. You can use the coffee beans in the storeroom until you run out, and then it’s down to you to buy more.”