Summer on the Little Cornish Isles: The Starfish Studio. Phillipa Ashley

in horror. Why, oh, why had she said that?

      ‘I’m afraid that’s island life for you,’ said Jake, clearly struggling to hold in his laughter.

      Winston grinned. ‘Not to worry. Your stuff should be here by the weekend.’

      She gasped. ‘The weekend? Shit. Sorry – but what am I supposed to do without clean clothes until then?’

      ‘I expect Fen can lend you a pair of her drawers,’ said Jake, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

      Poppy squeaked. ‘It’s not funny!’

      ‘I’m sure it isn’t. It sounds very serious, but take no notice of Winston. He’s having you on. The skippers will sort it out between them and I bet the whole lot will get here first thing in the morning.’ Jake smiled and, despite her indignation, Poppy glimpsed the sunlight behind his eyes for a moment. ‘Joking apart, don’t worry. Fen and I will try to loan you anything you need tonight – um … most things anyway.’

      ‘I’ll ask around at the quay in St Mary’s and give you a bell,’ said Winston, still smirking.

      ‘Thanks.’ Poppy forced herself to sound cheerful. ‘I told myself to be prepared for glitches like this, but I can see it’s going to take a lot of getting used to.’

      ‘This is only the start of it,’ said Jake and Poppy was sure he wasn’t joking.

      ‘Oh. I see what you mean.’

      If Poppy hadn’t been carrying her shopping, she’d have dug her nails into her palm to try and avoid blubbing when she followed Jake inside the Starfish Studio. Jake had warned her not to expect too much, but he’d been right when he said things had changed. In fact, she was finding it impossible to equate the damp, cold space around her with the vibrant gallery she remembered. The photos on the agent’s website must have been years old.

      She put her bags down. Jake went in ahead of her, so she couldn’t see his face and maybe that was what he wanted. ‘I’m sure it can be sorted out and if you really feel that the place isn’t as advertised then I know my grandfather wouldn’t want you to feel forced to stay.’

      ‘I’m staying,’ she declared and her words echoed off the walls. Oh, the walls … they weren’t the cool white backdrop she remembered; they were discoloured, chipped and peeling. That was only the half of it. Most of the display plinths were empty and the stock that was left was hardly appealing. Oh God, was that a collection of crocheted toilet roll dollies by the cash desk?

      Jake followed her to the loo roll dollies. He winced. ‘Sorry. I should have cleared those away. They must have been made by one of Fen’s friends and Grandpa obviously didn’t have the heart to chuck them out. Or maybe Fen sneaked them in when he wasn’t looking as a favour to her mate. They’re not really in keeping with the gallery, are they?’

      ‘I don’t want to be a snob,’ said Poppy. ‘Or offend anyone but …’

      ‘It’s your gallery and you have to have your own vision for it. You can’t stock every piece that someone offers you and if that means ruffling a few feathers, then so be it.’

      He switched on the lights. Despite it being only five p.m., the place seemed dull and the overhead strip light only served to highlight the shabby walls and fittings.

      ‘I can see I’m going to have to redecorate.’ She was thinking aloud.

      Jake moved by her side. ‘That sounds like a plan.’

      ‘And I think we’re going to need new stock.’

      ‘Definitely,’ said Jake. ‘I can help you sort through some of Grandpa’s paintings,’ he added more brightly. ‘There were several boxes of them in the work area and I wasn’t sure which he wanted to put up for sale. Shall I phone and ask him for you?’

      She swung round. ‘Yes. Thanks. I very much still want to sell your grandfather’s pictures. It’s wonderful and, after all, the studio’s reputation was built on Archie Pendower’s work.’

      ‘I think that’s what he was hoping,’ said Jake and gave her one of his searching looks. ‘Have you had much experience of running a gallery before?’

      ‘Does it look like it?’ said Poppy, then softened as she realised Jake wasn’t being sarcastic. ‘Some. I worked in a small studio at a craft centre during one of my uni vacations, but that was a long time ago, as you’ve probably guessed. I dabble in jewellery making as a hobby, but I’m not a professional. My last job was managing the PR for a building products company, so promoting gloss paint is as close as I’ve come to selling art recently.’

      Jake’s eyes crinkled. ‘At least you’re honest. Some people might have turned up, thinking they know everything about the business. I doubt the gallery trade has changed that much and if you’ve a realistic idea about the business and you’re ready to learn, that’s most of the job done.’

      She was sure he was being kind but also hoped he was right. ‘I’ve being doing lots of research over the past few months since we decided to move here. I talked to a lot of gallery owners and artists. I’ve already emailed half a dozen of the people who supply the studio and told them about my “exciting new plans”.’ She placed air quotes around the last few words with her fingers.

      He paused by the desk where Fen used to ring up the purchases. The same vintage calculator sat on the table, although the digital screen was dead. ‘Um, what did they say?’ he asked.

      ‘Only two of them bothered to reply and said they’d have to think about it. That was months ago and I was going to phone them all back and find out why they seemed reluctant, but things happened at home and, since then, I’ve spent all my time trying to sort the fallout from me and Dan splitting up.’

      ‘That’s understandable and I’m not surprised the artists didn’t respond if they’d seen the way this place was going.’ He picked up her shopping from the floor by the doorway. ‘It can wait until tomorrow after the journey you must have had. I heard the Islander was almost cancelled. Why don’t you come up and see the flat? It’s basic but I’ve – er – had a bit of a tidy-up this morning, so there shouldn’t be too many shocks.’

      Dreading what awaited her, Poppy followed him to the spiral staircase that she’d seen on her first visit. The rope barrier hung from the hook on the wall, the ‘Private’ sign resting on the lowest step. Passing the sign reminded her this was her space now and only she had the right to pass the barrier and enter the flat above. It also reminded her that she should have been exploring the studio and flat with Dan at her side. They ought to have been sharing the disappointment of finding the gallery in disarray and reassuring each other – together. She wondered what his reaction might have been. He would probably have been angry and grumpy and possibly have demanded that Jake cancel the lease and they head straight home. Or maybe he would have jollied her along and been positive. She had no way of knowing and now never would. Everything she’d thought she’d been certain of where Dan was concerned had been blown to smithereens.

      ‘The flat’s small but it is cosy, or it will be,’ Jake said.

      It didn’t take long to take in everything, from the dated but clean kitchenette to the ageing sofa where the plumped-up cushions were lined up neatly. The curtains were tied back from the windows, flooding the attic flat with light. The sun lit up every fading furnishing, chipped cupboard and peeling wall. The sight of her humble new home combined with the efforts a stranger had gone to, to make it welcoming, was almost too much. What finally tipped her over the edge was the double bed, stripped bare apart from the sagging mattress.

      She bit her lip, but it was too late to stop tears forming in her eyes. She not only felt miserable, she also felt mortified in case she blubbed in front of Jake.

      ‘It’ll be f-fine,’ she said, unable to hide the crack in her voice. She dug a tissue from her coat pocket and blew her nose noisily. ‘It’s been a very long day. A long few months in fact.’

      ‘Why