‘We won’t let it get us down,’ said Tom on the drive home. ‘We’re learning a lot about the district. I have a suspicion that whenever new people arrive, those agents start by showing them all the rubbish they’ve had on their books for months. You have to sift through it before they come up with the good stuff. Let’s see what they have to show us next weekend.’
Comforting as Tom’s theory was after a disappointing weekend, it proved to be false. The properties they were shown on their next visit were for the most part bizarre or at least eccentric by their suburban standards: a water mill, the wing of a former monastery and a house built into the side of a cliff.
‘Haven’t you anything better than this in our price range?’ Tom asked.
‘I’ve shown you everything I can,’ the agents replied with depressing regularity. ‘It’s not a good time to buy.’
‘We’ve discovered that,’ said Anita.
When they got back, they found a letter from their solicitor. There was a danger of losing the sale of their house in Croydon if contracts were not soon exchanged.
They were reading the Sunday papers in bed before turning out the light when Anita gave a cry of excitement.
‘Darling, this is it! Listen: Near Penzance. Immaculate granite-built cottage in idyllic setting, superbly restored and modernised. Inglenook with wood burner. Open beams. Luxury fitted kitchen. Two reception rooms. Cloak/shower. Spiral staircase to three good-sized bedrooms, one with bathroom en suite. Double garage. Landscaped garden. Offers invited in excess of £60,000.’
Tom snatched the paper from her. ‘Is there a number to call? Yes.’ He reached for the phone.
‘It’s eleven at night,’ said Anita. ‘You can’t call them now.’
‘Try stopping me,’ said Tom. He dialled the number.
Anita put her head close to the phone to try to catch the conversation.
The call was answered almost at once. Tom gave his name and apologised for calling so late.
‘That’s all right,’ said the gentle-sounding voice. ‘I expect it’s about the cottage, is it?’
‘Actually, yes. I would have rung before, but we’ve only just got back from Cornwall ourselves. We’ve been looking at cottages, and found nothing suitable. When my wife noticed your advertisement, I felt I just couldn’t let this chance slip by.’
‘I understand.’
‘Could you tell me some more about the cottage, Mr, er...?’
‘Glass. Wilfred Glass. Well, I could, Mr Sullivan, but it’s only fair to warn you that I’ve been inundated by calls about the cottage. You must be at least the twentieth.’
‘I see. But you haven’t sold it?’
‘Not yet. Several people are coming to see it tomorrow, however.’
‘Tomorrow? I don’t know if we could manage that.’ Tom turned with eyebrows raised to Anita.
She nodded her head vigorously and mouthed the word ‘yes’.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Tom. ‘I think we could make a special effort to get there.’
‘I’d hate you to come a long way and be disappointed,’ said Mr Glass.
‘I presume you won’t make a decision before everyone’s had a chance to see it tomorrow. I mean, if someone were to make an offer before we got there...’
‘Rest assured that it won’t be gone,’ said Mr Glass. ‘There are so many factors one has to take into consideration in selling a house.’
‘Exactly,’ said Tom. ‘I think you could regard us as reliable purchasers. As a matter of fact, I’m about to take up an appointment as manager of a bank in Penzance. And we have already sold our own property.’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Glass. ‘I also have in mind that I want the cottage to go to people who will treat it well. I’m very attached to the place. It’s been an important part of my life. I wouldn’t be leaving now if it were not that my mother is in her eighties and needs looking after. She lives in Plymouth and refuses to leave the house. But there — she looked after me as a child, and I’d hate to put her in some old people’s home. What time can you get here tomorrow?’
Tom estimated two o’clock, and that was allowing for a very early start to beat the morning rush-hour around London. There was not even the chance to let them know at the bank that he would not be coming in. He was sure the manager would be sympathetic — he had more than once suggested Tom took a few days off for house-hunting — but it ought to have been arranged in advance. It wasn’t the same thing at all to call the bank from one of the service points along the motorway. He didn’t like doing it, but for once in his life the bank had to take second place.
They found Stennack Cottage on the St Just Road a few miles west of Penzance. The country here was more stark and dramatic than the outskirts of the town with its sub-tropical shrubs and palms. An ancient engine-house and chimney stack, relics of the great days of tin mining, stood on the skyline, covered in ivy. Below was the sea, more green than blue in the brilliant sunlight.
‘It’s wilder than I expected,’ said Tom.
‘I’m going to love it,’ said Anita.
The cottage was set back from the road and surrounded by a low granite wall topped by blue hydrangeas and flame-coloured montbretia. It was a solid-looking whitewashed building with a grey slate roof. Wilfred Glass was standing in the porch dressed in faded blue jeans and navy fisherman’s smock, a smiling neat-featured man in his forties with straight, light-coloured hair.
‘The kettle’s on the stove,’ he told them as they introduced themselves. ‘Come in and have some tea. What stamina you must have to make a journey like this twice in two days!’
‘Needs must, when the devil drives,’ said Tom.
‘I hope the devil had nothing to do with your promotion, darling,’ Anita said with a smile at their host. ‘This is a beautiful room, Mr Glass. And the fire as well — so welcoming.’
‘Not the real thing, I’m afraid,’ said Mr Glass. ‘It’s one of those gas burners, but it is quite realistic.’
With the tea he offered them buttered buns, distinctly yellow in colour. ‘Saffron,’ he explained. ‘They’re very popular here, and they taste better than they look. As a bachelor, I’m very reliant on the cakeshop in St. Just. Do you enjoy cooking, Mrs Sullivan?’
‘She’s marvellous at it,’ said Tom.
‘I think you’ll like the kitchen, then. I had it designed by some people in Penzance who specialise in kitchens.’
It was the first room they inspected when they got up to start the tour of the cottage. Mr Glass was right: it was a dream of a kitchen, fitted with pine-clad units, a ceramic electric hob, eye-level grill, double-bowl sink with waste disposal unit, fridge-freezer and micro wave oven. The view from the large double window was across open fields to the sea. It was the first time Anita had seen a kitchen she would not want to alter in the least.
‘Everything’s included,’ Mr Glass told her, ‘and that goes for the washing machine and drier and the washing-up machine in the utility room as well.’
The rest of the rooms were just as impressive, with coved ceilings and subtle lighting and stylish decoration. As they came down the white spiral staircase, Anita turned to Tom and whispered, ‘This is the one.’
‘I’ll show you the garden,’ said Mr Glass.