A Perfect Cornish Escape by Phillipa Ashley Page 0,110

patted her arm and Tiff hurried out of the door towards Marina’s before she burst into girly sobs. She wondered if anyone would ever call her a ‘maid’ again. Not likely, in London. She really must write about the characters down here, maybe send a photographer to get some shots of Troy’s weather-beaten face … if she could ever bear to be reminded of such an emotionally charged time. Perhaps it would be too dangerous.

She would have wiped away her tears but her arms were full of fish so she let them flow. Better let them out now than when she took her leave of Dirk. Better let herself wallow so she could stiffen her spine for the ordeal to come.

‘I come bearing gifts,’ she said, walking into the cottage to find Marina at the kitchen table hunched over her laptop. ‘Mackerel with gooseberry sauce for supper?’

‘Where did you get that?’

‘Troy and Evie Carman.’ She handed over the mackerel.

Marina opened the paper. ‘Hmm. It will need to defrost and I’ll have to prepare it but it should be delicious.’

‘You know how to gut a fish?’

‘Of course I do. I was a fisherman’s wife, you know. Still am …’

Tiff sat down. ‘How was your day? Any more news on Nate?’

‘No. I’m meeting my solicitor. The divorce is going ahead but it’ll take a lot longer now, of course. I’ve got to be patient and Nate will have to be involved.’

‘Will you have to speak to him?’

‘I hope not … I can’t face him, Tiff. Why should I have to see him after what he’s done to me?’

Tiff held her tongue. How could she say whether it might be cathartic for Marina to confront Nate? She wasn’t in that position, thank God. She saw it as her duty to listen and give a few gentle prompts if she thought they might help.

‘I’ll stay a few days longer if you want me to.’

‘No. Mum and Dad aren’t far if I need them. You must go.’

If saying goodbye to the locals had been hard, the worst was still to come. Tiff rang Dirk’s doorbell the following evening. She’d put off the dirty deed long enough and even considered running away without saying goodbye.

It would be so much cleaner to simply walk out of his life without looking back, but she’d never been one to shirk away from a hard job and she wasn’t going to start now.

No matter how painful, or how much it would cost, she owed it to him above all people to be honest.

‘Hi,’ he said, kissing her. She allowed her lips to linger, savouring every second of his touch, his scent, his presence.

Dvořàk’s ‘Largo’ was playing in the sitting room, its poignant strains piercing her heart. Anyone would have thought he knew why she was there. She almost faltered but braced herself.

‘Can I get you a coffee?’ he asked.

‘No, thanks …’ She took a little breath. ‘Dirk. There’s no easy way of saying this. I’m going back to London.’

He nodded almost immediately. ‘Of course you are.’

‘What do you mean, “of course”?’

‘Of course you’re going. You told me you were almost from the moment we met.’

‘So you’re not bothered about it?’

He shook his head and looked at the floor, before meeting her eyes again. ‘I’m not surprised.’

‘Right. OK.’ He’d avoided answering as skilfully as any politician. She probably shouldn’t have asked. Why did she ask? Why should she care what he thought when his response would make no difference to her plans?

‘When?’ he asked.

‘Tomorrow. I’m going to visit my parents and then move back into my flat. The newspaper wants me to start work the week after next and I thought there was no reason to hang around.’

Pain flickered in his eyes.

‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ she corrected quickly. ‘I meant … oh God, Dirk, I can’t stand a long goodbye. It’ll only be more painful for both of us. Do you understand what I’m saying? I have to go as soon as I can, or I might never leave at all.’

‘Tiff …’ he began carefully. ‘You always made it clear that one day you’d go home. I can’t expect you to give up your career to stay here and I don’t want you to. We both know your job means everything to you and I told you I fully supported you taking Yvette’s offer.’

‘Everything? Yes, of course it does. Thanks for reminding me.’

He frowned, picking up on the bitter edge in her tone, which was born of sadness and