He was just scrabbling around on the floor to retrieve his glasses when the front door opened.
‘Oh, good morning, Mr Carlisle,’ Christopher said, on his hands and knees. ‘Please forgive me – I’m just searching for my spectacles. Blind as a bat without them, I am.’
He peered up as the blurry figure in front of him reached down to the floor.
Hearing a female voice shocked him. ‘Here they are.’
He hurriedly stood up, nearly banging his head on the desk, reached out for the glasses and put them on. ‘Rosa – it’s you! Hello, hello.’ His eyes were now fully focused on the pretty curly-haired young woman in front of him. ‘What a wonderful surprise.’
‘I was just at Mary’s and well, she told me you were here and well, as you are nearer to hers than mine…’ Rosa stopped and took a breath. More calmly, she said: ‘I just wanted to say welcome to Cockleberry Bay.’
‘I can’t tell you how happy this has made me,’ Christopher said emotionally. ‘I feel so terrible though, because I have a client coming in literally five minutes. It’s going to be a hard one too – although none of them are easy to be fair – since it’s a case of sudden death. But oh, my goodness, I would love to see you again, soon. And obviously meet Josh and my little grandson.’
At that moment, the door opened to a man in his late forties, with the build of a rugby player, the beard and hair of a Neanderthal man and blue eyes that were so swollen from crying they resembled pink golf balls.
‘Mr Carlisle?’
‘Yes. Felix Carlisle – from Polhampton and Chelsea, London. Celia Carlisle’s only son and heir,’ he stated dramatically, holding out his hand, his posh and effeminate tone alien to his strong masculine appearance. His smart Barbour jacket was, Rosa noticed, straining at the seams.
The funeral director shook his hand. ‘Christopher Webb, pleased to meet you. Do take a seat.’
The big man groaned as he took the weight off his feet. ‘Could I trouble you for a coffee? I was up with the tits, drove down from Chelsea and I’m so tired and so…’ The big man burst into tears.
‘Of course, Mr Carlisle. I was just about to offer you some refreshment,’ Christopher said soothingly, aware that he had a crier on his hands. He could categorise his clients quite clearly into genuine but controlled grievers, over-emotional clients who needed a lot of hand-holding like Felix here, silently stoic ones, and then the ones he despised – the hard-hearted money-grabbers. ‘My assistant is not here just yet. One moment, please.’
‘I’ll get it,’ Rosa suddenly piped up, thinking that this poor man should not be left alone for a second and she was too tired herself to deal with grief of such enormity. As she was rooting through the packing box marked OFFICE KITCHEN, she listened in to the skills of her father as he talked to the man calmly, but with the utmost compassion.
‘Sixty-nine! She was only sixty bloody nine!’ the man boomed. ‘I can’t believe it. Mummy was far too young to be popping off anywhere.’ He fished out a large white handkerchief from his coat pocket and blew his nose loudly before carrying on. ‘Mummy was in the middle of arranging this charity Christmas do for a church in Polhampton, you see. She loved the community life.’ Felix Carlisle exploded into wracking sobs. ‘I told her it was too much for her but she wouldn’t listen. She said she had started getting it together and already people were showing lots of interest. There was even talk of a celebrity opening it. “I’m fit as a flea,” she would say and like a fool I believed her. I blame myself! I went off back to London and left her in Devon alone, when I should have been watching her every move!’
He blew his nose again, mopped his eyes and said, ‘I just can’t believe it. She only ate fish, never touched red meat or a greasy chip, and the other week had even boasted about her prowess at the Downward Dog.’ Discarding the sopping wet hanky, he grabbed a handful of the man-size tissues that Christopher had thoughtfully put on the desk for bereaved customers.
Felix gulped and confided in a shuddering voice, ‘And then for her to die in flagrante like that, on top of her gardener of all people! A tradesman! Young enough to be her grandson! The shame!’ He hugged himself in torment while Christopher and Rosa remained frozen, not knowing how to react, barely able to take it all in.
‘I mean, I can’t even imagine what our local vicar would think. But we can’t bury her at the church close to our home here – no, no, no. All her friends will know how Mummy died. It’s too embarrassing. We have to bury her here, in Cockleberry Bay. I insisted on that scoundrel Jamie the gardener telling me her very last words,’ he drew himself up, ‘and wished I hadn’t now.’
Rosa almost felt that a round of applause was due at the dramatic delivery. She bit her tongue so hard it hurt, but at least it stopped her from laughing out loud. Goodness knows how her father was keeping it together.
Felix was far from finished. He went on, ‘Mummy was adamant she could organise these things all on her own. She absolutely doted on her charity work for the church. They need a new roof, you see, and I’m too busy to take the project on for her. I’m an opera singer, you know. Rammed with work until Christmas, so I can’t be away for too long. So, Mr Webb – it is Webb, isn’t it? – how quickly can we get this thing sorted out?’
Rosa walked through to the glass-fronted area and placed two mugs of fresh black coffee on the table. She had located some random milk and sugar sachets in the bottom of the box and just one plastic spoon.
‘That’s all I could find,’ she mouthed to Christopher who gave her a big wink and nodded.
‘Thank you.’ Felix Carlisle sniffed and looked at Rosa, who was still itching to know his mother’s last words. ‘This must be your father, I take it. You have the same lovely smile. Look after each other, won’t you.’
Rosa felt an involuntary tingling sensation run from head to toe and then to the back of her eyes; she had to blink hard to stop her tears from falling.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ she managed, then making a half-waving gesture to both men, scurried out of the door and back down the hill towards the beach and home.
CHAPTER 9
‘Where’s my favourite nephew then?’ Nate asked, as Rosa poked her head around the door of Rosa’s, the café that she jointly owned with friend and colleague Sara Jenkins.
‘He’s at Little Angels, his new nursery, but me and Titch have renamed it Little Devils.’
‘You and Titch would.’ Nate grinned. ‘Time for a cup of something?’
‘Yes. Do you know what I really fancy?’
‘Tell me dear sister, what do you really fancy?’
‘A hot chocolate with some of those mini-marshmallows in, please.’
‘Coming up. Anything to eat?’
‘No, I’m OK for now, ta. You’ve had your hair cut,’ Rosa noticed. ‘You look more like me than ever with those short brown curls.’
‘They work far better on you.’ Nate whisked up the hot milk on the coffee machine.
‘What do you think of the new funeral director in town then?’ Rosa said, taking off her coat and sitting herself down at the table nearest the counter.