The Bonbon Girl. Linda Finlay

announced, as if telling her something new. She shook her head, for everyone on The Lizard knew they competed for business with the works at Wherrytown.

      ‘By the time I’ve finished here, Poltesco will be booming and they will be but a distant memory. Dead as the dust in their works,’ he boasted, turning to her with a satisfied smile. ‘We’ve all the resources and men we need at Poltesco. The materials come in through the back door and are wheeled out of the front, straight onto the boats.’ Colenso bit her tongue, for again he was telling her things she already knew. But the Ferret was in his stride. ‘Railway or not, there’s no way they can compete with that.’ Then his expression changed. ‘Still, enough of business, it’s time for us to get to know each other better, is it not?’ he murmured, moving closer until his thigh was resting against hers.

      Seeing that glint spark in his eyes once more, she could stand it no longer and leapt down from the trap.

Chapter 8

      Colenso heard a muttered oath, followed by a thud and then footsteps hurrying after her. However, when Fenton reached her side, he just smiled knowingly and took her arm.

      ‘The finest hotel on The Lizard,’ he announced grandly. ‘I take it you’ve not been here before?’

      ‘I can’t say I remember,’ Colenso replied sweetly, refusing to rise to his gibe. She could never afford to come somewhere like this and he knew it. These fine new places were springing up all over the peninsula to cater for the tourists and artists who, inspired by the beautiful serpentine gifts and unusual flora and fauna, had begun descending in their droves. They had money to spend and the hotels were quick to capitalize on it.

      A blast of warmth hit them as they entered the grand foyer with its plush red carpets and huge log fire blazing in the ornate stone fireplace. A man sporting a dark uniform with a red waistcoat hurried to greet them and, much to Colenso’s consternation, insisted he take their outer garments.

      ‘Won’t feel the benefit when you go outside again, else,’ he whispered, seeing her dismay. ‘Your table is ready for you, Mr Fenton,’ he announced, showing them through to a private lounge overlooking the water where another fire was burning brightly, this time in a magnificent fireplace of green serpentine. Colenso stared around the smallish room with its solitary table set for two. For the second time that afternoon, she vowed to eat as quickly as she could, and when the waiter appeared bearing a tray laden with triangles of sandwiches, scones, cream and jam, she realized it would be no hardship. And the Ferret couldn’t expect her to make conversation because it was rude to talk with your mouth full, wasn’t it?

      However, she hadn’t bargained for Mr Fenton’s own table manners. Apart from ensuring her plate was never empty, he tucked into his own food, staring thoughtfully out across the bay. It was only when they were sipping their tea that he spoke.

      ‘Well, that was delicious, don’t you think?’ he asked, leaning so close she caught the tang of his lemony cologne. However, he was more interested in trying to peer through the oyster spider-gauze covering her blouse than in her answer. Instinctively she sat back in her seat and his lips curled into a smirk.

      ‘I expect this is rather different to the way you normally spend your Sunday afternoons.’

      ‘Yes,’ she agreed, thinking that, however lavish the food had been, it was the company that mattered and she’d rather be sharing a picnic of stale bread and cheese with Kitto.

      ‘This could become a regular occurrence, you know,’ he told her, nodding his head as if to add weight to his words. She watched the whiskers beneath his nose bob up and down and thought how much like a ferret he really did look. Then when he removed a pristine handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his lips with paw-like hands, she had to turn away before she burst out laughing.

      ‘I understand that it was Mr Rowse who did the turning on your, er, craft works, Colenso,’ he said. The tone of his voice told her this was more than a casual remark and she sobered immediately.

      ‘Er, yes,’ she replied, endeavouring to keep her voice steady.

      ‘And a splendid job he did too,’ he smiled.

      ‘Kitto is very talented and wants to become a master craftsman,’ she told him proudly. Henry Fenton studied her for a long moment.

      ‘Like him much, do you?’ Colenso nodded and his expression hardened. However, the next moment he was smiling again.

      ‘I too am an ambitious man, my dear. And when I set my heart on something, I do anything and everything to make sure I get it.’ He paused and stared at her, grey eyes like pebbles. Suddenly she felt the necklace tighten and put her hand to her chest to stop it from digging in. He flushed, his eyes widening as they followed her movement. Cursing silently, she placed her hands in her lap.

      ‘You were telling me about your plans,’ she reminded him. He continued staring for another moment before raising his head.

      ‘It is my intention to have a showroom built at Poltesco similar to the one we already have in London. Obviously, it will exhibit only the finest quality pieces.’

      ‘You mean I can continue with my work, then?’ Colenso asked excitement rising, for she missed the satisfaction she derived from seeing the dull stone turn into useful items gleaming with vibrancy.

      ‘Alas, no. Quite apart from the fact there will be no more offcuts, as you call them, the works I have in mind will be of a more exclusive nature. Ornamental clocks, tables, barometers, decorative vases, bowls, tazzas, that kind of thing. Resplendent polished red serpentine placed on plinths, they will complement our larger works of mantlepieces and shopfronts handsomely. Anyway, my dear, we are here to get better acquainted not to talk shop,’ he smiled, sitting back in his seat. Remembering her brother had asked her to find out as much as she could about his plans for the works, Colenso returned his smile.

      ‘Actually, Mr, er … Henry, I find your plans most interesting. Won’t all this mean you’ll need to have extra stone quarried?’ His face lit up and he leaned closer again.

      ‘You are one canny woman, Colenso. It does indeed and everyone will benefit. The quarrying of extra stone will mean more money for the workers.’

      ‘All of them?’ she ventured, remembering what Tomas had told her about the dissent amongst the men.

      ‘Well, no, we have to show a profit, and the works already pay the highest wages around these parts. However, the exhibits required for the showroom could mean more for Mr Rowse, as long as he stops bleating about the stone failing. I mean, I ask you, do you know what serpentine is made of?’ he laughed.

      ‘Actually, I do, Henry,’ she grinned, grateful that Kitto had explained it to her. ‘Basically, it’s composed of three elements: magnesium, silicate, and water trapped in its hydrated crystals,’ she told him. There was silence as he stared at her in astonishment.

      ‘Er, yes, precisely,’ he murmured. Then, seeming to remember his point, he continued. ‘As I reminded young Rowse, the church towers here on The Lizard have stood the test of time for four hundred years or more. They’ve endured gales, rain, and fog not to mention the hot sun, so I think that rather proves my point.’ He sat back in his chair, smiling benignly. Eager to wipe the complacent look from his face, she shook her head.

      ‘There was an article on the subject in the Illustrated London News, pointing out that here on The Lizard we don’t suffer the same frosty weather as the cities and …’ she stuttered to a halt as he held up his hand.

      ‘No more shop talk, please,’ he insisted, holding up his hand. ‘What did you think of my humble abode, Colenso?’ She could tell by the tone of his voice, he thought his home anything but modest.

      ‘Lovely, Mr, er … Henry,’ she assured him.

      ‘And could be lovelier still. I believe I already mentioned it needs a woman’s touch. So what do you think, Colenso, could you be she?’ he asked,