‘I might just do that.’ Verity gave her a smile and wondered if there was a possibility she might bump into Sam as well. She hoped so.

  Chapter Four

  Situated at the end of the cobbled lane, just metres from the path that led to the bay, was Betty Rose’s Tearoom. The pink thatched cottage was everything a tearoom should be, as well as boasting breathtaking sea views. It looked even more magical than the online images, with its pastel triangular bunting hanging across its front. Outside, the tables draped with floral tablecloths were all occupied, the whole place full of life. Verity was glad she’d booked and couldn’t wait to sample the delights. Opening the wooden gate, she made her way down the path. As she opened the door, the old-fashioned bell above her head tinkled and Verity was enveloped by the mouth-watering aromas floating all around her.

  The inside was just as vintage as the outside. Homemade pastries on the open counter lined the way to glass-domed cake stands filled with the most scrumptious-looking cakes Verity had ever set eyes on. Antique dressers lined the wall, displaying vintage teacups and teapots, and behind the counter was a chalkboard with today’s specials. The whole room was packed to the rafters and Verity suspected this place was the heart of the community.

  ‘Welcome to The Café by the Coast.’ The girl behind the counter smoothed down her white pinny as she hurried over. Verity recognised her straightaway from the pictures on the internet. It was Clemmie, Betty Rose’s granddaughter.

  ‘You must be the girl in the travelling van booked in for a cream tea at three o’clock.’

  Verity was hit with surprise. ‘How do you know that?’

  Clemmie grinned and pointed to the brown-paper-wrapped book in Verity’s hand. ‘Everyone knows everything on Puffin Island!’ She laughed. ‘My best friend is Amelia. You think she’s sat there typing away, creating her first novel, but the nine texts I’ve received in the last ten minutes would suggest she has time on her hands in that bookshop. She’s not a gossip but she told me that if a girl – so tall, messy bun, wearing shorts – walks in with a twinge of green to her complexion, then I need to be extra-special nice. I take it the ferry crossing got you?’

  Verity laughed. ‘Good and proper. I’m not sure I can face it again so soon but I’m due back to the port tomorrow to catch a fifteen-hour ride to Amsterdam.’

  ‘I have to say I don’t envy you, but there is a simple solution.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Just stay on Puffin Island! Park your van at the bay. What could be better than waking up to the waves crashing against the sand and the gulls circulating up above.’

  ‘You make it sound so appealing and easy.’

  ‘It is easy. We have a hundred and sixty residents on the island, but we’re always looking for more recruits. Unfortunately, it’s very rare that a property comes up for sale.’

  ‘Is everyone this lovely on Puffin Island?’ Verity replied, her imagination running wild. ‘It would be living the dream, waking up to that view.’ She glanced out of the open window towards the bay.

  Clemmie pulled out a chair for Verity at a table in front of the window. ‘This is the best seat in the tearoom and as your visit to the island is a short one, you deserve it.’

  ‘Amelia really didn’t miss anything out, did she?’ said Verity with a smile, taking the seat. ‘Apparently it won’t be my last visit.’

  ‘Everyone comes back.’ Clemmie smiled. ‘I can’t ever imagine living anywhere else.’

  ‘It’s utterly stunning and picturesque. I honestly feel like I’m on a movie set.’

  ‘It is a very special place.’

  ‘But I have to say I’ve not seen a puffin yet, which is a bit disappointing.’

  Clemmie pointed. ‘You head over that way before you travel to your next destination and you won’t be disappointed any longer. Believe me, there are thousands. Though I’ve always thought that when you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. I can’t tell them apart. Now, you’re booked in for a traditional afternoon tea, so there’s a choice of traditional finger sandwiches, freshly baked scones with strawberry preserve and Puffin Island clotted cream made right here, along with delicate sweet treats and for the touch of elegance, we can add a glass of prosecco.’

  Verity’s mouth was already watering. ‘That sounds like the perfect plan.’

  ‘In that case, all that’s left for me to say is welcome to The Café by the Coast, aka Betty Rose’s Tearoom. I’ll be back with you very soon.’

  Verity watched as Clemmie walked behind the counter and pushed open the swinging kitchen door. This had been a good choice. Pulling on the string around her recent purchase, Verity opened the book and read the opening paragraph before turning to the window and watching the people wandering down Lighthouse Lane towards the sea.

  Clemmie soon reappeared, holding a tea stand with three individual floral china plates.

  ‘Woah! Look at this! This can’t be for one person.’

  ‘It sure is! You take your time though, the table is yours for as long as you’d like it. Sit back and enjoy the best afternoon tea I can guarantee you’ll ever have. I’ll bring you a pot of tea and a glass of prosecco, but is there anything else I can get you?’

  ‘I think you’ve covered everything,’ replied Verity, taking a cucumber finger sandwich from the plate. ‘This is definitely the life,’ she murmured as Clemmie hurried off, soon returning with the drinks.

  Verity held up the prosecco glass. ‘Cheers, and thanks for making me feel so welcome. I’m so glad I decided to jump on the ferry to come and check out the island. Would you believe my granny used to tell me stories about Puffin Island when I was a small girl? I thought it was make-believe and it was only yesterday I discovered that this place actually existed. My granny described it so well I actually feel like I’ve been here many times.’

  ‘Wow! How did you discover we aren’t all make-believe?’

  ‘Funnily enough, a postcard from the past! I’ve rented out my house for six months and in preparing it for the renters I removed an old, sealed postbox. Inside I discovered a postcard from Puffin Island that had been lying there, unread, for decades.’

  Clemmie’s eyes widened. ‘A postcard from Puffin Island. Decades old. Wow!’

  ‘And that’s when I realised this place must be real and my granny must have been here at some point. I don’t know whether it was for a holiday or whether she stayed for a while, so I was hoping to do a little digging whilst I’m here.’

  ‘Who was the postcard from? Everyone knows everyone here so it shouldn’t be too difficult to find out.’

  ‘That’s the thing, it doesn’t really say. But whoever it was from apparently can’t imagine their life without her.’

  ‘That is so romantic. Was there no name at all?’

  Verity shook her head. ‘That’s where the mystery deepens, it’s only signed with the initial “W”. But whoever it was, it seems he may have thought my granny was his one true love.’

  ‘And what does your granny say about it all? Does she know you’re here?’

  ‘No, she passed away.’

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’

  ‘That’s okay, it was a long time ago. Still, I’m intrigued to know who W is. I know this is a long shot, but do you know of anyone, at a guess possibly between the ages of sixty-five and eighty, that lives on the island and has the initial W? I’ve got the postcard with me. Would you like to take a look?’

  ‘I would!’

  Verity delved into her bag and pulled out the postcard, which she handed over to Clemmie.

  ‘I recognise this! This postcard is still sold in the Nautical Nook, the local gift shop. But the initial W isn’t ringing any bells. Let me have a think.’ Clemmie wafted the postcard in front of her face whilst looking deep in thought. ‘No one springs to mind but now I’m just as intrigued as you are to know what the secret is.’

  ‘It could possibly have been a holiday romance, in which case I’ve not got a cat in hell’s chance of discovering anything, with the number of tourists that must pass through here each year. I just thought that if my granny had stayed here for a while…it’s a long shot but someone may remember her.’

  ‘If there’s anyone who knows everything about this island, that would be our very own Puffin Island Google.’

  Verity looked at Clemmie, puzzled.

  ‘My grandmother Betty. Believe me, she knows everything that goes on on this island and what she doesn’t know isn’t worth knowing. Someone could walk through that teashop door from fifty years ago and she would still recognise them, know their name and remember all their past history. Sharp as a knife and nothing passes her by. What’s your granny’s name?’ Clemmie took out her pen and pad from the front pocket of her pinny.

  ‘Henrietta Callaway, Hetty for short.’

  Clemmie scribbled down the name on the pad. ‘And when are you leaving?’

  ‘I’m heading for Amsterdam early tomorrow morning.’

  ‘So, we have less than twenty-four hours to solve the mystery of W. Unfortunately, my grandmother is away for a couple of days. Shall I take your number? If, on her return, she knows anything, I could drop you a text.’

  ‘Would you? That would be perfect.’

  Clemmie was poised with her pen as Verity gave her the number.

  ‘I’ll let you know one way or the other as soon as I’ve spoken to her. Now, you enjoy your afternoon tea and before you leave you do have to go and see the puffins. It’s unbelievable when you see them for the first time…’

  ‘I will and thank you.’

  Clemmie placed the pen and pad back in the pocket of her pinny before returning behind the counter. Verity devoured the finger sandwiches in a matter of minutes and as she sat back in her chair sipping prosecco, she watched the world outside the window pass her by and wondered if Betty Rose could shed any light on the postcard from the past. And if she could, what exactly she might say.

  Chapter Five

  An hour later, Verity walked towards the bay and kicked off her shoes. Paddling at the water’s edge she embraced the sunshine that had finally followed the dismal weather of the morning. She looked across to the lighthouse that was guarding the scenic coastline and wondered whether it was still in use. She began to walk across the bay towards the sand dunes, which led to a coastal path that meandered to the top of the cliffs where the puffins could be found.

  Thankful for the sea breeze, Verity powered her way to the top of the cliff and stood in amazement. Clemmie was right. She hadn’t seen anything quite like it before. Thousands of comical creatures, each in its glossy black dinner jacket with a crisp white bib and a brightly coloured, parrot-like bill, and with orange feet, covered the rocky cliffs. A sign informed visitors that they couldn’t touch or feed the puffins, and it was clear that this part of the island belonged to the puffins and the puffins only. Verity was in awe. Perching on the edge of a rock she pulled out her phone and began to video them so she could remember this moment. This was the first time she’d ever seen a puffin up close. They were incredible. She sat still, watching the adults return from fishing at sea, sand eels hanging from their mouths, to feed their pufflings. She could happily have sat and watched them for hours, but she wanted to stretch her legs and she knew exactly where to head. She was curious to discover the real-life Cliff Top Cottage, which, according to her map research, should be just a little further on up the cliff path.

  The most sought-after cottage on the island (according to Granny’s stories) stood three hundred metres above the sea with fantastic views of the Puffin Island coastline, including Blue Water Bay and Castaway Cove, where lobster boats and fishing boats bobbed on the waves. Fish were clearly plentiful in these waters, something welcomed by puffins and locals alike.

  Verity took the gravel track towards the top of the cliff, excited to be greeted by the most gorgeous-looking cottage, just like in her granny’s stories…but was surprised to find there wasn’t much picturesque about Cliff Top Cottage. In fact, it looked as if it had been abandoned years ago.

  It definitely lacked tender loving care. The garden around it was a little overgrown, the front door and windows rotting away but miraculously still intact. Verity knew this could be transformed into a place of beauty as it once had been, according to descriptions from the past. Knowing she was trespassing but too curious to pass up this chance, she walked up to the front window. Surely it wasn’t possible for anyone to still be living here? Cupping her hands against the grimy window she peered into the gloom.

  The room was sparsely furnished. A battered old sofa and an armchair stood beside a rug in front of an open fire. Verity nearly jumped out of her skin when she noticed an elderly gentleman asleep in the chair, a flat cap on his head and what looked like a glass of whisky in his hand. She took a deep breath and watched him for a second. Then, just as her pulse began to settle, his eyes flicked opened and he stared straight at her. She stumbled backwards as his eyes widened, and before she could do anything he was up and out of the chair. The look on his face wasn’t welcoming but she couldn’t blame him. She shouldn’t have been snooping. Within seconds the front door had been flung open and the man was charging towards her. ‘You tourists think you can come onto my land whenever you like but you can’t!’ He pointed to the wooden sign hammered into the ground. ‘Private Property, Keep Off. Just like it says. Now shoo.’ His voice was gruff, and he wasn’t anywhere near as welcoming as the other islanders she had met.

  Verity began apologising profusely. ‘I’m so sorry, I was just curious to see this place.’

  ‘The path is that way.’ He dismissed her with his hand. ‘You people think you can wander up here but this is my space. You tourists have the rest of the island. Be on your way.’

  He stormed back inside and shut the door with a slam. Verity was thankful it didn’t fall from its hinges.

  She knew she’d overstepped the mark but she hadn’t meant any harm, and there was a way of speaking to people. Turning and walking away she dared to look back over her shoulder. The man was standing in the window watching her. Verity couldn’t help wondering what had happened here. Cliff Top Cottage had featured many times in the stories her grandmother had shared. Henrietta had described it as cosy, with oak beams and a log fire, certainly nothing like the dilapidated cottage of today. In her stories the wild cliff top flowers grew all around, and a garden gate led to a lawned garden with a patio area to the side of the cottage for sitting in during the summer months. Racking her brain, Verity couldn’t remember who her granny had said lived there. Still, those stories were from a long time ago and it was possible the previous occupants had moved on since. Verity knew the upkeep of any property was a massive commitment and cost. The man who’d shooed her away looked as if he might be in his seventies, so perhaps age had prevented him from returning it to its former glory. Or maybe he liked how unwelcoming the property had become. It was obvious from the few seconds she’d spent in his company that he didn’t welcome visitors.

  ‘But what a view,’ she murmured, welcoming the light breeze as she headed back towards the harbour. This might be her only chance to wake up to this view so she made the decision there and then: she would drive the van down to Blue Water Bay and park for the night. She’d watch the sunset and enjoy every second sleeping under the stars, even if it was only for a few hours before she drove back over the causeway. Taking a breather, she sat down on a rock. She took one look at the puffins, then briefly closed her eyes and tilted her face up to the warmth of the sun.

  She suddenly felt as if she were being pushed. Her eyes sprang open and she screamed, then made a strangled noise as she was met with a pair of huge eyes. A wet tongue swiped across her face and two gigantic paws pounded against her chest, causing her to lose her balance.

  ‘What the…’ she shouted, stumbling backwards. ‘Get off me. Get this dog under control.’

  There was a sound of footsteps hurrying along the path. Verity was trying to get up off the ground and to keep the dog licks at bay. The dog managed to give her another lick before his lead was clicked into place.

  ‘Jimmy, get down.’ Sam attempted to reprimand him but all he could do was laugh. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve tried to tell him he can’t go kissing every new girl in town, but in our defence, he’s just a friendly guy.’ There was a spark of humour and a glint in Sam’s eye.

  Verity’s mouth fell open. She knew she was catching flies but she couldn’t help it. Here he was again, Sam Wilson, making her heart thump twice as fast as he extended his hand to pull her up. She was secretly pleased. ‘He’s your dog?’

  ‘He is, and, as you can see, he’s a little excitable. But don’t worry, he’s very friendly.’

  ‘I know he’s friendly, I’ve never received so many kisses in such a short time.’ Verity smiled as she ruffled the fur on top of the dog’s head.

  ‘I find that hard to believe.’ Sam caught her eye, and the blush upon her cheeks darkened slightly. ‘But we’re sorry, are you okay?’

  ‘Dented pride and dirty shorts, but I’ll live.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. We couldn’t have death by kisses on our conscience, could we, Jimmy?’

  The giant chocolate curly labradoodle danced around for a moment before sitting down by Sam’s side.

  ‘He’s the size of a Shetland pony. Who exactly is taking who for a walk?’

  Sam laughed. ‘He’s taking me. Let me introduce you properly. Jimmy, this is Verity, Verity, this is Jimmy…Jimmy Chew…because he likes to chew shoes and usually no shoes are safe. He’s seven months old and still growing into his paws.’

  Verity stared. ‘Wow! Seven months. Look at the size of him.’

  ‘He’s like a mini human but has the most lovable nature.’

  ‘I can’t argue with that.’

  ‘He doesn’t normally take such an instant liking to just anyone, he’s got good taste. Isn’t that right, Jimmy?’