The Cornish Guest House by Emma Burstall

Luke had said he wanted their visitors to be enchanted as well as comfortable; he wanted the sort of place that reflected owners of style, taste and discernment.
    She bit her lip. Who was he trying to fool? She closed the magazine that she’d been looking at and put it down, reflecting sadly that she ought to be enjoying the process. After all, not every woman had the same luxury of time and money at her disposal. Instead, however, it just seemed like a terrible chore that she must finish as quickly as possible or Luke would wonder what on earth she’d been up to.
    Pilar and Oscar had returned from the library and it was already dark outside when the au pair poked her head round the door to inform Tabitha that she had a visitor. ‘She is called Shelley Screech, very strange name,’ she said mournfully, as if it were only to be expected in a backward place like this.
    Tabitha jumped up. So preoccupied had she been that she’d forgotten all about the woman who’d responded to the discreet ad that she’d placed in The Lady magazine some weeks ago, asking for help with the cooking, cleaning and general running of the guest house, and at first glance the person who greeted her in the reception room downstairs appeared distinctly unpromising.
    Tallish, thin and pale, she had a slot for a mouth, a prominent chin and mousy hair scraped back in an unflattering bun. She’d clearly made some effort to look smart because she was wearing a grey suit, but it fitted badly and she stared disconcertingly at the floor as she shook Tabitha’s hand, anxious to avoid eye contact. She couldn’t have been more than forty, but her drooping shoulders and lined face suggested a hard life.
    Even as Tabitha invited her to sit down, she was thinking that this wouldn’t do at all. She’d imagined a neat, efficient type, pleasant and hard-working. Shelley looked as if she might blow away in a puff of wind. In any case, she was only the first person that Tabitha had arranged to see and there were others who’d expressed interest. She’d get the interview over with as quickly as she could and fire off a rejection letter.
    While Shelley talked falteringly, in her strong Cornish accent, about her previous jobs as a chambermaid and working in the kitchen of a busy seafront café, Tabitha found her attention wandering. However, her ears pricked up when the woman pointed out that she lived in Callington, some twenty miles and a good forty-minute drive away from Tremarnock.
    ‘It won’t be a problem,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ve got my own car.’
    As far as Tabitha was concerned, this was a distinct advantage, as she’d already made up her mind not to mix with the locals any more than necessary, far less employ them.
    ‘I really want this job,’ Shelley said suddenly, staring straight at her potential boss for the first time. ‘I’ve got two kids, you see, and my husband was made redundant a while back and he can’t work ’cause of his depression…’
    Her voice trailed off and she cracked her bony knuckles nervously. She was perched so precariously on the edge of the chair that it looked as if she might fall off.
    ‘Please…’
    Their eyes met and Tabitha gave a start of recognition. She knew that look – it was desperation. In an instant her mind was made up.
    ‘When can you begin?’ she asked, straightening. If she were making a mistake, so be it; she’d far rather the job went to someone who needed it.
    Shelley’s face broke into a smile for the first time and she looked almost pretty. ‘You mean you’re going to take me on? I’ll work really hard, I won’t stop, and you won’t have no complaints. I won’t let you down, I promise.’
    It was after six by the time she left and Tabitha, who felt that she’d go cross-eyed if she looked at one more interiors magazine, decided to take Oscar in his stroller for a quick walk around the village. The dark streets were almost empty and she pulled up her hood and kept her head