A Will, a Wish...a Proposal. Jessica Gilmore

in those?’

      ‘Not unless I was planning to move here.’

      ‘What will you do with the house?’ She turned and began to walk the other way, down the hill and towards the swell of the sea. He fell into step beside her.

      ‘I don’t know.’

      The moment he had stepped into the wide hallway of The Round House, looked at the seascapes and compasses on the walls and heard the rumble of the sea through the windows he had felt a connection. But even the idea of keeping it was impractical.

      ‘It’s way too far away to be a holiday home, but now I know there’s a real family link I’d hate to sell it on.’

      ‘Trengarth has enough holiday homes. It needs young families to settle here, to put down roots. They’re talking about closing down the primary school and bussing the kids over to the next town.’ She paused and looked back up the hill. ‘Once this was a proper high street: haberdashers, ironmongers, butchers, toy shop...the lot. Your great-aunt has some amazing photos, dating right back to Victorian times. Now it’s all gift shops and art galleries, and the front is buckets and spades and surf hire.’

      She sounded sad. Nostalgic for a Trengarth she couldn’t ever have actually experienced.

      ‘Is that why you moved here? To put down roots?’ Was there a family in her future? A man she was hoping to settle down with? There had been no hint of anyone else in her flat. No hint of any family or partner.

      ‘I moved here because it felt safe. Because there was someone here I loved and trusted.’

      She didn’t say any more, and he didn’t push it as they carried on to the bottom of the hill. When they reached it she crossed over the road to a narrow sidewalk, taking the right-hand fork along the harbour wall.

      On the other side of the road, houses faced out: brightly coloured terraced cottages in whites, blues, pinks and greens making a cheerful mosaic. Winding narrow streets twisted and turned behind them, with houses built higher and higher up the cliff.

      ‘This is the old town. Most of these would have been fishermen’s cottages once.’

      ‘Once?’

      ‘Some still are,’ she admitted. ‘Some are retirement properties, and a few are owned by villagers. But probably half are holiday cottages. Which is fine when they’re full. My business depends on tourists with money to spend and time to browse, and so do the cafés, the B&Bs, the art galleries and the bucket and spade shops. It’s when they’re empty, or they don’t get rented out and are only visited two weeks a year, when it’s a problem. That’s why it’s important that we really try and make this festival a success. It could bring so many more people here.’

      She stopped and leaned on the iron railings, looking out over the curve of the old harbour.

      ‘I love this view. The fishing boats safely moored inside the harbour, the powerboats and sailboats further out... Sometimes I wish I could sail, just set off and see where I end up.’

      Her voice was unexpectedly wistful. Max stole a glance at her profile. She was in another world, almost oblivious to his presence as she stared out at the white-flecked waves.

      ‘You don’t sail? You live by the sea and don’t sail? You must surf, then.’

      He gave her an appraising look. She was very slim, almost to the point of thin, but there was a strength and a lithe grace in the way she moved. She would probably be a natural on a board.

      She shook her head.

      ‘Swim?’

      ‘No.’ A reluctant smile curved her mouth. ‘I love the sea, but more as something to look at, listen to. I’m not so much one for venturing on to or into it.’

      ‘Wow...’ He shook his head. ‘You live literally five minutes away and you just look at it? I was going to try and hire a boat while I’m here. I think I may have to offer to take you out for a sail. It’ll change your life.’

      ‘Maybe.’

      It wasn’t a refusal, and her smile didn’t slip away as she resumed walking.

      ‘Okay, if you take that road there it will lead you to the most important building in Trengarth: The Three Herrings. There is another pub further along, with a beer garden and a view of the harbour. It’s lovely, but...’ She lowered her voice. ‘It’s mostly used by tourists and incomers. The real Trengarthians frequent The Three Herrings, even though there is no view, the chimney smokes and the grub is very much of the plain and plentiful variety.’

      ‘Got it.’

      ‘Do you want to see the beach?’

      ‘Sure.’

      They turned around and walked back, past the high street and onto the wider promenade. No houses here. Just shops selling ice cream, sun cream and beach toys, a couple of board shops filled with body-boards, surfboards and wetsuits, which Max noted with keen interest, and a few cafés.

      ‘The Boat House,’ Ellie explained, when he stopped in front of a modern-looking glass and wood building on the ocean side of the road. ‘Café by day, bistro by night, and a bit of a cool place to hang out. I used to have dinner with your Great-Aunt Demelza here on a Friday evening.’ Her voice softened. ‘I turned up as usual the Friday after she died...just automatically, you know? I didn’t really take it in that she was gone until I was seated by myself.’

      ‘I’m sorry. Sorry that you miss her and that I didn’t know her. And that nobody came to the funeral—although we lost Grandfather just a few months before, and things were difficult.’

      That was an understatement. His father had barely finished the eulogy before he’d had started gathering up the reins at DL and turning the company upside down.

      ‘It’s okay. Really. I have some experience at arranging funerals.’

      There was a bitter note to her voice that surprised him.

      ‘Besides, she was very clear about what she wanted. I didn’t have to do much.’

      She turned away from The Boat House and headed towards the slipway that would take them on to the beach.

      Max stood for one moment to take in the view. The slim figure all in grey was getting smaller as she walked along the wide golden sweep of beach. The cliffs were steeper on this side of the bay, green and yellow with gorse, and rocks and large pebbles were clustered at the bottom before the stony mass gave way to the softer sand.

      The sea roared as the tide beat its inexorable way in, the swell significant enough to justify the presence of lifeguards’ chairs and warning flags. Not that it seemed to deter the determined crowd of surfers bobbing about like small seals.

      The breeze had risen a little. Enough for Max to feel a slight chill on his arms as he stepped on to the sand. He inhaled, enjoying the familiar tang of salt, and heard the cry of gulls overhead and the excited shrieks of a gaggle of small children who were racing a puppy along the tideline.

      For the first time in a long time Max could feel the burden on his shoulders slip away, the tightness in his chest ease.

      ‘Hey, Ellie!’ he yelled. ‘Wait for me.’

      He took off after her, enjoying the burn in his calves as he sprinted along the resistant sand, enjoying the complete freedom of the here, the now.

      ‘This is magnificent,’ he panted as he skidded to a halt beside her. ‘What a beach. If I lived here I’d have two dogs, a boat, and I’d surf every day.’

      She flushed. ‘I do walk on the beach, even if I don’t immerse myself in the sea. And I have thought about maybe getting a guinea pig.’

      ‘A guinea pig? You can’t walk a guinea pig.’

      ‘Some people do. They have harnesses and everything.’ But she caught his