‘Horsetail tea?’ He raised his teacup. ‘I think I’ll stick with good old Earl Grey thanks. And, hey, it’s fine by me if you want to have a bath in the middle of the day.’ Rhodri took a sip of his tea before asking, ‘Did it work?’
‘Yes actually, it did.’ She held her arm out and inspected the crook where the angry red patch had been a few short hours ago. Now, the patch had faded to a muted pink and didn’t feel in the least bit irritable. She felt inordinately pleased that her efforts had been worthwhile and made a note to telephone Don, the man she’d met on the Pier, to pass on her results.
‘Do you always like a bit of a sing-song when you’re in the bath then? I suppose the bathroom has good acoustics,’ Rhodri asked interrupting her train of thoughts.
This time, it wasn’t eczema that caused her skin to flame. She’d been so caught up in her wee operatic world she hadn’t given a thought to how bloody loud she was. The whole of Ryde Pier had probably heard her imaginary concert with Andre.
‘Personally, I always like to belt out a bit of Tom when I’m in the shower.’
‘Tom?’
‘Jones, of course. ‘I’m Welsh, and we come from the same town, Pontypridd.’
‘Ah right.’ The name rang a bell; she’d Google him later she decided raising a small smile.
A silence stretched between them as Isabel set about making herself a drink. Rhodri lingered a fraction longer than was necessary before saying, ‘Well, I’d best be getting back downstairs to deal with the hordes of art connoisseurs waiting patiently for me to finish my tea break. And I’m glad you found Constance. Do you feel any different having passed the message to her?’
‘No, if anything I’m even more curious to know the story behind what Ginny said now. She didn’t give anything away. I’m going to go back and see her in a couple of days, even if she was a right Oscar the Grouch and tell her how I got on with her recommendations. Who knows, maybe she’ll tell me how they were connected once she’s had a chance to mull it over. I think hearing Ginny’s name came as a shock to her.’ Isabel helped herself to a digestive biscuit and bit into it. She’d have to sweep those crumbs up along with the sand, she thought, looking at the kitchen floor. ‘I’m happy to mind the shop for you from time to time, you know.’
‘Thanks, I might take you up on that. It’d save hanging my ‘back in five minutes’ sign up and maybe missing that crucial sale.’
She smiled, and mumbled through a crumbly mouthful, ‘It’s the least I can do.’
͠
Isabel whiled away what was left of her afternoon off with a stroll along the pier, and as she ascended the stairs to the flat, her nostrils twitched. She could smell something cooking and whatever it was promised to be divine. Rhodri had his back to her as he stood at the stove, and he jumped as she appeared alongside him curious as to the contents of the pot he was stirring on the stove.
‘Sorry, that smells gorgeous what’s for dinner?’
‘My mum’s stew; it never lets me down.’ He offered by way of explanation. ‘Glass of red?’
‘Ooh lovely, yes please.’ Isabel pulled a chair out at the table while Rhodri poured her a glass from the open bottle on the bench next to him. He put it down in front of her. ‘I’m quite enjoying my stay at Pier View Guest House so far. Cheers,’ she said, the cheeky twinkle in her eye as she raised her glass not escaping him.
‘You’ll leave a good review on Trip Advisor then?’
‘Five stars.’ A conversation ensued about a documentary Isabel had seen on people who take reviewing on the popular site a step too far. She finished telling Rhodri that she thought it was a rather sad way to live your life, going around picking holes in people’s livelihoods. ‘The Internet has made everybody an armchair critic,’ she announced, as Rhodri popped a breadboard and knife down in front of her and handed her a baguette in a brown paper bag.
‘Butter’s in the fridge; you can do the honours if you like.’
Isabel retrieved the butter and began to slice the fresh bread, slathering a piece in butter. She popped it in her mouth while Rhodri’s back was turned. He turned from the stove to see her looking rather chipmunk-like.
‘Caught you!’
She cut him a piece and buttered it before handing it over. ‘Now we’re even.’
Isabel tucked into the plate Rhodri popped down on the table a short while later. The meat melted in her mouth and she made short shrift of her dinner, mopping the sauce up with the bread.
He looked at her with amusement. ‘You’ve got gravy on your chin.’
Isabel wiped it away with the back of her hand, embarrassed at how she’d hoovered her meal down, but she’d been starved. ‘That was delicious; you’re a really good cook. Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I better get a move on; I’ve been invited around to a friends for coffee and dessert.’
Isabel’s antennae quivered. Coffee and dessert eh? That sounded rather posh. She didn’t know many fellas who would lay on coffee
