Turning to my right, with Merry keen to keep moving, I spotted Beach Bakers, where Lilith had come earlier for the bread. The window display was very festive with shelves containing mince pies, gingerbread biscuits, candy cane-shaped rolls, cinnamon swirls, several shapes and sizes of beautifully decorated Christmas cakes and so much more besides. Just looking at all those delights made my mouth water. The shelves were trimmed with rows of white bunting in the shapes of snowflakes, snowmen and reindeers and warm white lights glowed behind the pane of glass.
Before that though, and just next door, was a café called Seahorse Bites. Judging by the steamed-up windows, behind which a curtain of multi-coloured fairy lights twinkled, it was clearly busy, and even through the closed door I could smell bacon frying and fresh coffee brewing. If I hadn’t been so full, I’d have wanted to go in, especially as a large sign and a picture of a scruffy-looking dog on the glass door stated, ‘Dogs welcome, along with well-behaved humans.’ That made me smile. The owner was clearly a dog-lover and someone with a sense of humour.
Nice Ice, the last building on Sea Walk, was closed for the winter, according to the sign on that. I don’t suppose people wanted ice cream during this season, especially not on a day like today.
Opposite this row of shops was the wide sweep of sand, and the rocks which I’d seen from the internet formed the curly tail of the seahorse-shaped bay. The tide was still going out and the waves were topped with wild curls of white as they rushed over the sands. Some caught the edge of the rocks with resounding thuds, and threw spray high into the air. It was an awe-inspiring sight.
I turned my attention from the sea and spotted heavy clouds rolling down from the north. It looked as if we’d be having more snow. Possibly quite a lot. Not that I knew much about predicting the weather. But then neither did the experts. Last night’s snow storm hadn’t been forecast.
And then I saw Aunt Elsie’s. I stopped for a moment and took a deep breath.
Seaside Cottage was just a short stroll up from Sea Walk and the cottage looked as if it had a direct view of Seahorse Point and the entire bay from the front. I knew from the various maps and images on the sales particulars that at the back was a tall hedge of holly, quince and forsythia. Behind that there was a wood called Little Wood, which led all the way up the hill behind several houses, which made the garden very secluded.
I’d seen photos of a sitting room, a kitchen diner and a pantry on the ground floor with two bedrooms and a bathroom on the next. There was also an attic and the sales details at the time Aunt Elsie purchased it four years ago had mentioned this could possibly be converted into a master bedroom with an en suite. I wondered if Elsie had done that. Well not her, obviously, but if she had had that done. The thatched roof certainly looked large enough, even to my untrained eye, but there wasn’t a window in the roof at the front. Perhaps there was one at the rear, although I could see oeil-de-boeuf windows on each gable end wall, so perhaps they provided sufficient light.
As I got closer, I noticed a variety of winter flowers popping their heads above the snow. The front garden was small compared to the back garden, I recalled, and in the photos both had been somewhat overgrown. From the little I could see beneath the blanket of white, Aunt Elsie had definitely redesigned the front garden since she had bought the place.
Merry gave a nervous little bark as we approached the dark yellow front door of the sunshine yellow painted cottage. The festive wreath on the door was a massive ring of pine-scented spruce, gold glitter-covered pine cones, red-berried holly, creamy white-berried mistletoe, cinnamon sticks tied together with dark green twine, whole, dried citrus fruit, and red, gold and green ribbons entwined around it all.
At first I couldn’t see the doorbell, but then I saw one of those video door bells to one side. Aunt Elsie apparently liked to see who was calling on her before she opened her door. And who could blame her for that? Especially if there had been burglaries just this summer, as Lilith had told me there had been.
‘This is it, Merry.’
I smiled down at my companion who was shaking snow from the tips of the fur on her ears and her tummy and she glanced up at me and gave a supportive and encouraging bark.
You may not believe this, but I can tell the difference between the types of barks she makes. This one definitely said, ‘You’ve got this. Now get me out of this snow and in front of a fire, please, Mum.’
I pressed the bell and waited and it was only a matter of seconds before the front door swung open and a somewhat surprised Aunt Elsie stood in the doorway, staring at me in disbelief.
I was quite surprised myself. The last time I’d seen her was at Dad’s funeral, at which she wore a deep purple, long velvet dress and a purple and black velvet bolero- style jacket that had a vivid splash of lime green, like a bolt of lightning, across the front. I noticed it because it was so startling it was hard not to, and it matched the streak of lime green in her purple-dyed hair. Not strictly the sort of outfit you’d expect a woman in her sixties to wear.
Now, she was wearing a pair of bright red leggings emblazoned with images of mistletoe and holly and an emerald green, fluffy jumper that looked at least five sizes too big and stretched to just above her knees. It had a drunken-looking snowman with red flashing bulbs for eyes on the front and the words, ‘Many Hicmas’ scrawled haphazardly beneath him. And on her now red, green and white striped hair, she wore a headband with two springing reindeer antlers bouncing to and fro. Reindeer earrings that seemed to be flashing and dancing at the same time swung from her ears.
‘Holy mopeds,’ she said, looking me up and down and glancing briefly at Merry, shock etched clearly on her face, but her eyes bright with excitement. ‘Is it really you, Lottie? Are you really here?’ Concern replaced the excitement. ‘Is everything all right?’
Seven
Seaside Cottage had changed considerably since Aunt Elsie had moved in four years ago and the ground floor looked nothing like it had in the sales details I’d seen.
Having reassured her that I was fine as she ushered me inside, and that I’d just decided it was time I paid her a visit, she seemed to relax a little. Now, as I followed her along the hall, past a coat stand, there was a kitchen directly ahead which I could see led out into the snow-covered garden. To our left were the stairs and to the right, a large sitting and dining room that ran from front to back.
‘Let’s sit in here,’ Aunt Elsie said, standing aside so that I could enter first. ‘There’s a lovely log fire and Merry looks as if she might like to sprawl out in front of that.’
I was surprised that she remembered Merry’s name and also that she was happy for my dog to sprawl out on what looked as if it might be an exceedingly expensive, antique silk, Persian rug, spread between two sumptuous-looking sofas and the hearth. I’d only seen Persian rugs in pictures, apart from once when I saw one that sold at an auction Dad took me to. It went for over £40,000. Even cheaper, genuine Persian rugs could sell for several thousand, and Dad told me that the most expensive one ever sold went for over 3 million dollars in New York.
As if reading my mind, Elsie laughed and said, ‘The rug’s an imitation. It may look like a genuine, antique silk, Persian rug, but a friend of mine in modern-day Persia, otherwise known as Iran, gave it to me as a birthday gift about ten years ago. I know he was pretty keen on me but he wouldn’t have given me a rug worth thousands of pounds. I think he bought it from a local market stall.’