“In the summer it always feels busy with all the holidaymakers,” Trystan called back to her. “In the winter it’s quiet and feels pretty cut off.”
“And sometimes we really are cut off,” Mirren said. “The weather can make it impossible to get to the mainland. Usually not for more than a few days at a time, but it can be frustrating if you’re waiting for a parcel to arrive and suddenly the post isn’t getting through.”
“Or the shops start running out of fresh food,” Trystan put in.
“But the views are decent so it’s not all bad.” Noah pointed to the horizon as they breached a gentle hill. The narrow road before them led down to a stunning bay with a long sandy beach and water in the most stunning shades of green and turquoise.
“It’s gorgeous.” Keira closed her eyes to savour the smell of salt and seaweed that drifted on the breeze. The screech of gulls drew her attention and she watched the black-headed birds circling just out to sea.
When they turned onto the lane that ran parallel to the beach Noah leaned forwards, laying a hand on Trystan’s shoulder to get his attention. “I assume you’re staying at Mum’s?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to come up to the house?” Mirren asked. “Or shall I drop you here?”
“Drop us here,” Noah replied. “We’ll get settled before dinner.”
Mirren brought the cart to a slow stop in front of the row of four stone cottages with grey slate roofs and white doors and window frames. “I’ll pick you up again in a bit.”
Stepping onto the lane, Keira stared out over the beach and the boats bobbing gently in the bay. Trystan and Mirren called goodbye and the cart continued along the lane, which ended after another couple of hundred metres.
Noah pushed the gate and stepped onto the gravel path leading to the bright white door of the second cottage from the end.
“Would Trystan normally have stayed here with you?” Keira asked, following him up the path. “I’m not disrupting things, am I?”
“No. It’s cool. He’ll be quite happy staying with Mum. There’s loads of room at the house.”
“Tressa Cottage,” she said, reading the name on the plaque beside the door. “That’s pretty.”
Noah’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Mum wanted to name the cottages after flowers, but Dad wanted a simpler approach. He said they should just be numbered: one, two, three, four. Eventually, they came to a compromise.”
“What does Tressa mean?”
“It’s the Cornish word for third.” Stepping back, he pointed at each cottage in turn. “Kensa, Nessa, Tressa and Peswera. First, second, third and fourth.”
“I didn’t realise Cornwall had its own language.” She cringed, hoping she didn’t sound utterly stupid.
“It died out in like the 18th century or something. I think it’s been trying to make a comeback. My dad had a thing about Cornish names. Mum always joked that her name was what first attracted him to her.”
“Mirren is a Cornish name?”
“Yeah. Dad wanted all his kids to have traditional Cornish names too.”
“Noah doesn’t sound particularly Cornish.”
“It’s not. I’m the only one who didn’t get a Cornish name.” He opened the door. “Mum will no doubt tell you that story at some point, but you should get in and have a look around. We’re all meeting in the pub at seven.”
Stepping over the threshold, Keira looked up at Noah. “Is your dad …” She trailed off, assuming it was enough of a prompt for him to fill her in.
“He died a while back,” he said quickly, a flash of pain in his eyes.
“Sorry.”
Smiling weakly, he gestured into the room. “Come and have a look around.”
The front door opened straight into the living room, which was a good size and cosily furnished in creams and soft pastels, with hard wood flooring partially covered by a large rug. A couch and two armchairs were arranged around a wooden coffee table. In the corner, a small TV was perched on a low cabinet, leaving the fireplace and neatly stacked logs around it as a striking focal point.
“This place is gorgeous,” Keira said, moving further into the room.