Hidden Treasures. Fern Britton

      *

      Piran Ambrose stood at the top of the beach with Jack, his terrier, snuffling in the grass of the dunes. What was that woman doing, surfing with the vicar? Piran had known Simon since they were schoolboys together. It was Piran who had got Simon back on his feet after Denise had jilted him. They weren’t exactly best friends, but they were mates and Piran would always look out for him. Simon was someone who didn’t deserve to be hurt again.

      Piran walked down the beach towards Helen.

      ‘Hello, boy! Where have you come from?’ Helen tickled the ears of the little Jack Russell who was trying to get a custard cream out of its packet. A shadow fell over her.

      ‘He’s mine. He won’t pee on you.’

      She knew who it was before she looked up.

      ‘I‘m Piran Ambrose and this is Jack.’ He held out his large, rough hand. She stood up and shook it.

      ‘I‘m Helen Merrifield. I’m sorry we met in such awkward circumstances before, and thank you for letting me know about my washing line.’

      ‘That’s all right. What you doing down here with the vicar?’

      ‘Oh … er … he’s teaching me to surf, but I got tired. He’s very good.’

      They both turned to watch Simon as a wave crashed over him and he fell off the board.

      ‘I taught him everything he knows,’ said Piran.

      She looked at him, raising her eyebrows. ‘Oh really? He told me he learnt when he was a lifeguard.’

      ‘That’s true. But I was the lifeguard who taught him.’

      His full lips smiled, revealing rather nice teeth, but finding she disliked him more than ever, Helen busied herself with picking up the packet of biscuits and stuffing it back in her bag.

      ‘What are you doing down here? You’re a London woman through and through, aren’t you? Husband divorced you, I expect.’

      She stood up quickly, her eyes burning. ‘How dare you! I’m divorcing him, actually,’ she carried on across his laughter. ‘And what I am doing here has nothing to do with you.’

      ‘Well it does when your knickers are flying about my place of work.’

      She drew herself up to her full five foot six. ‘Mr Ambrose, it is obvious that we have got off on the wrong foot. I suggest that in future we steer clear of each other.’

      ‘Fine.’ And with that, he whistled to Jack, waved to Simon and walked back up the beach.

      Simon strode, dripping, towards her. ‘Has Piran gone?’ She nodded. ‘Damn. I wanted to thank him for all the work he’s putting in on the churchyard restoration plans. He’s our local historian, you know. He can tell you things about the families here going back hundreds of years. Lovely bloke. I am proud to call myself his friend. What did he want?’

      ‘I really couldn’t tell you,’ said Helen, and smiled tightly.

      *

      Later that night when she was on her own, wallowing in a steamy bath by candlelight, she thought about Simon and Piran. One handsome but horrible, the other not so handsome but sweet. How could Simon be friends with that great Hagrid of a man? She lit a scented Jo Malone candle and tried, unsuccessfully, to banish all thoughts of Piran Ambrose from her mind.

      9

      The next morning, Helen woke again to brilliant sunshine. The TV weather forecast had predicted a warm, dry week ahead. Good news and excellent for gardening. After breakfast she hopped over the back garden wall and knocked on the door of Tony’s shepherd’s hut.

      ‘’Oo’s that?’ his voice asked.

      ‘Mrs Merrifield from next door. I was wondering if you’d help me with the garden this week.’

      His innocent face with the moleish sleek black hair popped out from the opened door.

      ‘Oh, yes, Mrs M. Lovely. I’ll be there directly.’

      ‘Great, see you in a minute.’

      She heard an amount of rustling within and assumed he was getting dressed.

      Within a few minutes he was at her back door. ‘Mornin’, Mrs M. Lovely day. This kind of weather makes me feel as happy as a tom tit on a pump handle.’

      She smiled at him, and he asked, ‘What you got for me today?’

      ‘Well, I’d like to put a lot of spring bulbs in and maybe do some deep digging on those two back beds, ready for the veg plot.’

      ‘I’m good at growing veg. My mum always said I was a proper turnip head.’ He looked pleased, then puzzled. ‘Which is odd, ’cos I ain’t never grown turnips. But I’d be good if I did!’

      ‘Well, in that case we shall grow some. Do you want to come with me in the car to the nursery to get the bulbs and stuff?’

      ‘No thankee, Mrs M. I get grumbly in cars.’

      ‘Ah. Well, I’ll go on my own, but I’ll be back soon. Perhaps you’d take some shears to that ivy that’s covering the privy then? I can’t open the door at the moment.’

      ‘Righto.’

      *

      The nursery was a treasure trove of goodies. She bought three large sacks of daffodils, two of tulips and some smaller bags of snowdrops, crocuses and bluebells. Then she chose seed packets of peas, beans, asparagus, lettuce, courgettes and turnips. While waiting at the till, she spotted an eight-foot Cornish palm in an enormous terracotta pot and a pair of large, blue glazed pots planted, the label said, with agapanthus. She bought the lot with great satisfaction.

      She got back home to find the ivy neatly trimmed and her washing line expertly fixed back to the wall.

      ‘Tony, how kind of you to fix my washing line! And the privy looks very smart.’

      ‘I done the ivy all right, but Mr Ambrose fixed the washing line. Said as he thought the weather was so good, you might like to do some washing.’

      Piran! Here again. Why couldn’t the bloody man keep out of her way? She looked over to the churchyard and there he was. Smiling his cocky little smile and tipping his non-existent hat at her.

      ‘Thought you might like to get some of your smalls out in the fresh air. Don’t worry, I’ve seen it all, so I’m not embarrassed,’ he shouted to her retreating back.

      Grrrr. She took a deep breath and managed, ‘Thank you,’ through gritted teeth. ‘No plans for laundry today.’

      *

      It would have been a very pleasurable day if she wasn’t so uncomfortably aware of Piran working just a few feet away over the wall. His radio, his whistling, his phone going off and his loud voice as he answered, all served to jangle her nerves. Little Jack came over the wall once or twice to renew her acquaintance, but she tried to keep any conversation with Piran to the minimum.

      At lunchtime, Piran and Jack drove off in the truck and Helen breathed a sigh of relief.

      ‘Can I get you some lunch, Tony?’

      ‘No thanks, I’ve got me sandwiches.’

      ‘Well, sit here with me and we’ll eat together.’

      She pulled a wooden bench out into a patch of sun, and went inside to make herself a sandwich and a coffee.

      When she came out, Tony was sitting in his upright barrow.

      ‘Are you comfortable like that?’

      ‘Yes, Mrs M. ’Tis lovely.’

      She settled herself on the bench. ‘Tell me about your mum and dad.’