Phillipa Ashley - A Perfect Cornish Christmas

She lay awake at night, trying to envisage what her biological father might look like. What kind of a man was he? Not the most upright kind, if he’d had an affair with a married woman … unless he hadn’t even known her mother was married? Had it been a full-blown affair, or only a one-night stand? Did he have a family of his own now, or even then?

If he did, that meant she would have half-siblings she didn’t even know about. In fact, it was more than likely she did .

The questions constantly pecked at her mind. Was he short, tall, fat, skinny? Did he even look that much like her? Despite having half of his DNA, she could easily resemble her mother with very little trace of her father.

Was he even alive? Scarlett had asked herself that one many times, but hated to think of it. It made her go icy, because that meant she would never know him at all.

Perhaps that’s why her mother refused to say who he was, or even admit what she’d done – because she knew the man was dead, and there was no point trying to find him? Or if he was alive, her mother might be protecting him and his family because he was someone they knew …

Night after night, she’d tormented herself with all these questions, and no matter how hard she tried to accept that she might never know, she found it impossible.

In her calmer moments, she had considered her mother’s feelings, even if she’d never told her that. What had it been like to keep this secret all these years? If, of course, her mother had even known that the mystery man was her father … she might have assumed that Roger Latham really was Scarlett’s dad.

Despite trying to put herself in her mother’s shoes, as Ellie had suggested, Scarlett was finding it hard to accept Anna’s complete denial of the facts. No amount of persuasion or pleading from Scarlett in private would tempt her to say anything. However, Scarlett had seized on the idea that her dad might be Cornish, and that, combined with her troubles with Rafa and loss of business, had helped her decide to make the move to Porthmellow.

Ellie, bless her, hadn’t hesitated – OK, only a teeny bit – to say she could share Seaholly Manor with her. Scarlett knew she would have to come clean at some stage but until – and unless – she knew her hunches were right, she didn’t see much point in stirring up more trouble.

‘Here you go. Come on, let’s have these in front of the fire.’ Ellie handed Scarlett a steaming mug topped with a whirl of clotted cream and cinnamon. Scarlett took them into the sitting room where the flames glowed in the hearth and a tang of woodsmoke hung in the air. Ellie followed soon after with a plate of mince pies.

‘Not too soon, is it? Honestly, people would eat them year-round if we made them. We had some left at the café so I took them home. It’s definitely not too early for the customers but the damp and fog kept many people indoors today.’

Scarlett took one of the sugar-dusted pies. ‘It’s never too soon for a mince pie.’

Once she’d finished her mince pie and unwound a little, Ellie helped her take her bags upstairs.

‘I put you in Auntie Joan’s old room. I hope that was OK?’ Ellie said. ‘It’s the biggest and it’s had a new bed and a bit of a makeover since she passed, but some of her stuff is still here. It won’t upset you, will it?’

‘Of course not. I love being surrounded by her treasures. I’m glad Mum and Dad decided to keep her dressing table set and knick-knacks. Are you sure you don’t mind? Don’t you want the biggest room?’

‘They’re all pretty spacious and mine is closest to the bathroom. You can even get a glimpse of the sea on a clear day,’ Ellie said.

‘I don’t feel so bad, in that case.’

‘I’ll leave you to unpack while I put some dinner on.’

‘I don’t want you waiting on me hand and foot,’ said Scarlett.

Ellie put on a stern face, which funnily enough reminded Scarlett a hell of a lot of Auntie Joan – minus the perm and pearls of course. ‘Actually, after tonight I was hoping you’d be waiting on me. You’ll be wishing you were Cinderella when I give you the household rota.’

‘Better enjoy tonight while I can, then,’ Scarlett said with a smile, thinking how happy her sister seemed. Living in Porthmellow really suited her.

‘Better had.’

The stairs creaked as Ellie jogged back downstairs. Hearing the clang of pots and pans and Ellie humming in the kitchen below, Scarlett drew the curtains and sat down on the bed. Her pulse quickened as she looked around the room. Auntie Joan’s dressing table was a 1950s mahogany affair and Scarlett knew that its drawers held treasured reminders of her. Joan had been her mother’s auntie, so Anna had been in charge of deciding which possessions to keep or give away. Most of the book collection was downstairs in the floor-to-ceiling fitted bookcases that lined Joan’s study, but a few were kept here in Joan’s bedroom in an alcove full of shelves.

Taking a deep breath, Scarlett crossed to the shelves and scanned them. Inside one of these books was the postcard that she’d been waiting to examine ever since they’d sorted through them the previous summer.

Although she couldn’t remember the exact inscription, she knew it had something to do with a ‘special night’ or a ‘memorable night’ and had been addressed to her mother, with love and kisses at the end. It was definitely more than a friendly card, or she’d thought so at the time. However, even though the card had struck her as odd, she’d dismissed it from her mind until her parentage had been called into question.

Whilst hunting for it felt disloyal to her dad, who she loved dearly, she couldn’t let the chance to know about her roots pass her by. There was a yawning chasm in her life story that no amount of reassurance or denial could fill. She couldn’t rest until she’d found the truth and now that she had an opportunity, she was filled with nervous excitement and dread.

She tried to calm down. She was searching for a book with a distinctive cover of painted seashells and a starfish. She ran her finger over the shelves, looking for the slim volume. Treasures of the Cornish Seashore. Or something like that.

It had been on the bottom shelf, if she remembered rightly, when they were sorting out Joan’s things. A faded softback from the 1970s with the postcard of St Ives inserted – hidden? – in the centre.

She gave the bottom shelf a closer inspection, sure she must have missed the book, but still couldn’t locate it. Frowning, she checked the middle and top shelves; the alcove was narrow so it wasn’t likely she’d missed it, but she was tired after the drive … On her third careful pass over every spine, she had to admit defeat. Damn, she wanted to pull out every book just to make sure. Had she completely misremembered the title? There were guides to flowers and birds and rocks and minerals, but no treasures of the seashore.

The book definitely wasn’t on the same shelf as before.

She felt completely deflated, and had to remind herself that she hadn’t moved all this way only to track down a postcard.

She was about to double check all the shelves again when she heard the front door open and Ellie’s voice.

‘Hi! It’s horrible outside. Come in, quick.’

Scarlett crossed to the bedroom door, which was open a little way. She put her ear to the gap, intrigued by the fevered edge of excitement in Ellie’s voice. Ellie laughed and then the front door closed and a man’s voice could be heard.

‘I saw the car. I’m not stopping, because you have visitors, but I wanted to say that I’ve finally got hold of the new door panel for your car.’

Scarlett listened even harder. Wow. Ellie and her mystery man both sounded like dogs with two tails. They were obviously very happy to be in each other’s company.