The Cure For Love

 

 

Art and Sebastian were Daisy’s greatest passions. In the heart of a London park she was enjoying both — sitting on the grass painting watercolour flowers and daydreaming about Sebastian. It was the perfect blend of work and pleasure on a bright, sunny day. She worked as a freelance botanical artist, mainly for Franklin’s publishing company, painting floral illustrations for books. That’s where she’d met Sebastian. He worked in editorial. She’d been dating him for two years and he’d been hinting recently that he wanted to get married. If he asked her, she’d say . . .

            While she considered the perfect response, a car drove up and parked illegally, ignoring the disapproving stares of people nearby. The driver got out of the car and hurried towards her. Sebastian was devilishly handsome, tall, with light brown hair, and had the appearance of a successful young businessman. At thirty, he was one year older than Daisy.

            She was too busy with her watercolours and daydreaming about the engagement to notice him approach.

            When he asked her to marry him she’d say . . .

            ‘Daisy,’ Sebastian said, causing her to make a wild brush mark across her painting.

            ‘Hells’ bells, Sebastian — what are you doing here?’

            He bent down, swept her blonde hair back from her face and kissed her. Daisy was naturally pretty, with a slender but curvy figure, and soft, pale skin that Sebastian said he adored. According to his circle of acquaintances, she was completely not his type, and judging by his history of entanglements with tall, leggy brunettes they were probably right. Daisy admitted she didn’t have a type. Three and a half boyfriends were the sum total of her relationships, in four different categories — loud, quiet, stupid and vain. Mr vain only counted as half because he’d dumped her while he was working abroad and it was weeks before she realised as he’d forgotten to tell her.

            She went to kiss Sebastian, but he’d already focussed on her work, casting a critical eye over the ruined painting. ‘Call it an abstract,’ he said. ‘A bad clash of colours there anyway.’

            She frowned at her artwork.

            ‘Never mind that,’ he said. ‘I had to see you before I left.’

            ‘You’re leaving?’

            ‘I’m going to the publishers’ convention in Italy. Franklin’s tied up with the book packagers’ deal, so I’m going instead. I’ll be back in a month.’

            ‘A month?’

            ‘I wanted to see you before I caught the next flight.’

            ‘How did you know where to find me?’

            He pulled her close and looked into her clear green eyes. ‘I always know where to find you.’

            Before she could open her mouth to complain, sob or shout, he kissed her passionately, and then glanced at his wristwatch. ‘I have to run. I’ll miss you.’

            For a moment he became quiet and looked at her lovingly. He touched her cheek and a flicker of guilt crossed his face.

            ‘What’s wrong?’

            Sebastian smiled. ‘Nothing.’

            He kissed her again, long and hard, before making a dash for his car.

            As he ran off he called back to her. ‘Don’t let Phillip near your artwork. I don’t want him making any stupid alterations. And ignore any suggestions from editorial. Leave them to me. Oh, and keep an eye on Franklin for me. He listens to you.’

            Daisy smiled and called after him. ‘Anything else I can do for you?’

            ‘Yes, love me forever,’ he shouted.

            The sky darkened and clouds shielded the sunlight as she watched him hurry away.

            In the distance, Sebastian paused, spun around and looked at Daisy. She waved at him. He waved back, got into his car and drove off.

            The breeze picked up speed, blowing her sketch paper away and spilling water on her other paintings, ruining them. The sky darkened further, threatening a storm, causing her to shiver. She collected her artwork and managed to streak her clothes with watercolour paint in the process.

 

It was raining. Daisy ran across the crowded London street towards Franklin’s publishing company using an umbrella to cover her artwork portfolio. She’d been working like a demon all week to take her mind off Sebastian. He hadn’t contacted her, which was usual. He hated anything interrupting business. There was something familiar in his actions that she was strangely comfortable with. It reminded her of when she was a child, how her parents would drop everything, including her at a friend’s house, and fly off to exotic locations. They were an adventurous pair, which she admired, but she’d happily have settled for slightly boring but more available parents.

            Leaving her wet umbrella at reception, Daisy made a beeline for Franklin’s office. He was pleased to see her. Franklin was a tall, dashing figure in his fifties. He had a penchant for immaculate light grey suits and white shirts, worn with silk bow ties, his only indulgence in colour.

            Daisy handed him a selection of floral artwork from her portfolio. ‘Poppies, pansies and, I think you’ll love this — wild flowers at night. I used a pair of night–sight binoculars so I could see to paint them in the dark. The things you can buy on the Internet are brilliant — and I got these earrings too — impulse buy.’

            Franklin glanced at the artwork but seemed contemplative.

            ‘Don’t you like them?’ she said.

            Franklin looked at her. ‘The earrings look great.’

            ‘No, the artwork.’

            ‘It’s splendid.’

            ‘Splendid? I know you well enough to decipher that splendid really means you like the artwork but your mind is on something else, something you don’t want to ask me.’

            ‘I need a favour, Daisy. You know the artist I commissioned to do a portrait of Celeste for her twenty–seventh birthday?’

            ‘I heard he’s recovering nicely.’

            ‘He’s agreed not to sue,’ Franklin said. ‘We’re settling out of court.’

            ‘Quite a temper your daughter’s got.’

            ‘She didn’t like what he did with her nose. It was a bit skew–whiff.’

            ‘What’s the favour?’ she said, biting back any remarks about Celeste’s nose.

            Franklin took a photograph of his beautiful but aloof daughter, Celeste, from his desk drawer.

            ‘No, no, I can’t paint Celeste. You know I don’t paint people.’

            ‘I’d like to give her the portrait when she gets back from Italy,’ he said.

            ‘Celeste’s at the book convention?’

            ‘Yes, so you’d have time to finish it.’

            ‘I can’t paint people,’ she said.

            ‘What about that bumblebee you did? His little face was so cute.’

            ‘His stripes were the wrong way round.’

            ‘Everyone thought you were being surreal.’

            Daisy raised her eyes in mock surprise. ‘Whatever gave them that idea?’

            ‘And the cat, don’t forget the cat,’ Franklin reminded her.

            ‘I’m not proud of that piece. We cheated.’

            ‘We had a tight deadline to meet. Using the photocopier was sheer genius.’

            She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t right.’

            ‘The cat was fine. She’s had kittens since.’

            ‘No doubt.’

            Franklin pushed the photograph across the desk towards her.

            Daisy pushed it back. ‘Bumblebees and cats aren’t people. I can’t paint faces.’

            ‘The bee and the cat had faces — eyes, nose, mouth —’

            ‘Fur and whiskers,’ she said.

            A man with a bushy moustache popped his head round the door of the office. He spoke directly to Franklin. ‘The printers are shitting shoe horns.’

            Franklin gave the man the thumbs–up. The man hurried off.

            ‘I’ll need to sort out the printers,’ said Franklin. ‘Will you please do the painting?’

            Daisy looked at the photograph. ‘Celeste hates me. She won’t want the portrait if I painted it.’

            ‘She doesn’t hate you. She’s just envious of your talent. I thought you could possibly scribble some obscure pseudonym on the painting. Pretend it was created by a mysterious fellow from Europe. Celeste would love that.’

            Daisy smiled. ‘For a nice man you’re terribly devious.’

            ‘All men are. We just like to pretend that women are the ones of unfathomable depths.’

            He handed her the photograph.

            ‘No promises,’ she said, putting it in her portfolio.

 

Daisy was working at night in her apartment in London, trying out various styles of sketches of Celeste, including unflattering cartoon drawings depicting her as a sly looking cat. Her artist’s studio was set within a normally tidy lounge, though tonight numerous crumpled roughs of Celeste were scattered around.

            Drawing faces wasn’t her forte, and besides, her heart just wasn’t in it. She missed Sebastian. And why of all people did Celeste have to be in Italy with him? 

            ‘I wish I was in Italy, and Celeste was in London,’ she said, studying her latest sketch. ‘And I wish I could get her blasted nose right.’

 

It took three weeks to get her nose right and finally finish the painting. With a huge sigh of relief, she zipped it safely inside her portfolio. It had been another long night. Never again would she paint a person, especially snooty Celeste.

            Casting a weary glance out the window at the glittering lights of London, she got ready for bed. She was tired, irritable and felt lost without Sebastian. He hadn’t answered any of the messages she’d sent to his hotel. Men! Men! Bloody men! But she still missed him terribly. Tomorrow she’d give Franklin the painting and then treat herself to lunch at her favourite restaurant. Sebastian would be home next week.

 

‘Bloomin’ typical,’ she grumbled to herself. The morning was grey as charcoal, it was pouring rain and she’d had to park streets away from Franklin’s building. Celeste’s painting, inside her portfolio, got the full shelter of her umbrella. No way was she risking it getting soaked in this weather. Wet, bedraggled hair was a small price to pay to get it there undamaged.

            Leaving the umbrella dripping at reception, she carried the bone dry portfolio through the open plan offices heading for Franklin office. Everyone stared at her. Hadn’t they ever seen someone with wet hair before?

            At the far corner of the offices a small crowd had gathered. As she got nearer she saw they were drinking a champagne toast. Then the crowd parted to reveal Sebastian and Celeste standing together, back early from Italy. Celeste held up her glass in celebration.

            Daisy’s world flipped into slow motion. She could see the faces of the crowd staring at her as everything slowed right down. Celeste smiled and made sure Daisy saw the sparkling diamond ring on her engagement finger.

            Sebastian stepped forward, and it took a few moments before Daisy could comprehend what he was saying.

            ‘Don’t be mad at me, Daisy. I hope you can find it in your heart to be happy for us.’

            Franklin stood like a statue in the background.

            The shock and anger hit Daisy hard, and the slow motion feeling was replaced with the urge to run away.

            She dropped the portfolio, and it fell to the floor, opening at the finished painting of Celeste.

            She left it lying there and turned to run away, but Sebastian grabbed hold of her arm.

            ‘Let go of me, you bastard!’

            She tried to break free, but there was a scuffle. Daisy threw a wild punch at Sebastian but he ducked down and Celeste got the full force of the punch right on her nose.

            Amid the gasps and confusion, Daisy ran from the building into the crowded street. The noise of the city was overwhelming; everything was closing in on her.

            Hearing Sebastian’s voice calling after her, she ran off, disappearing into the crowd of umbrellas.

 

Daisy looked terrible — like a strangely attractive maniac running amok at night in her own house. She’d wept away the daylight hours, and was now busy trashing everything she had belonging to Sebastian.

            The doorbell rang.

            She opened the door to find her neighbour, Archie, a young man and an interfering idiot, standing there with an accusing glint in his eye.

            Rage burned inside her. Tonight he’d come to the wrong bloody door.

            ‘I heard noises,’ he said. ‘Is everything alright?’

            ‘Everything’s fine.’

            ‘You seem rather . . .’ he glanced at her hair and indicated that it was sticking up. ‘Your hair is somewhat wild.’

            Daisy sounded slightly aggressive. ‘Wild?’

            He rephrased tactfully. ‘Windblown, yes, windblown rather than wild. The underground plays havoc with the hair gel.’

            Her tone was fiery. ‘This is the new me.’

            Archie almost swallowed his Adam’s apple. ‘And very nice too.’

            Daisy gave no further response except to glare at him.

            He walked away, and she closed the door.

            Fifteen minutes later she set off the fire alarm in her kitchen burning Sebastian’s love letters in the toaster. By the time she managed to switch the alarm off (hit it with the handle of a floor brush), interfering Archie was back again.

            ‘The fire alarm —’

            ‘No fire, no problem,’ she said.

            ‘A friend of mine burned his house to the ground frying sausages,’ he said.

            ‘You’re quite safe, I’m making toast.’

            Sensing he was not welcome, he turned to leave, and then made a final offer. ‘If you need a hand to rearrange the furniture just knock me up.’

            Daisy was calm but threatening. ‘Go away.’

            ‘Right . . . right . . .’

            As she closed the door on him, the toaster ejected a flaming love letter into the air. She stamped the flames out and continued her rampage against anything belonging to Sebastian.

            Archie returned a third time. Daisy answered the door wielding the brush. Not a word was spoken but he got the message that she was in no mood to be bothered by him and scuttled off.

            Moments later, the doorbell rang again.

            Daisy flung the door open, intent on strangling Archie. But it was Franklin. He was taken aback by the venomous welcome.

            ‘I brought your portfolio, minus Celeste’s portrait, which was perfect by the way. I didn’t think you’d want it.’ He looked into the apartment. ‘Except for a bonfire.’

            She invited him in.

            ‘Did you know?’ she said.

            He shook his head. ‘The engagement came as a shock to me too. It won’t last.’

            ‘I really trusted him.’

            ‘Apparently the staff knew about the affair for the past year.’

            ‘He’s been two–timing me for a year? A year! I assumed they’d started the fling in Italy.’

            He handed her a key and a piece of paper. ‘This is the key to my cottage in Cornwall. Get away from London for a while. Let things blow over.’

            She didn’t want to accept the key. He placed it down on the table. ‘I’ll leave it here, with the address, in case you change your mind. It would do you good. I know you don’t have any family in London —’

            ‘Or friends I can trust,’ she said. ‘Two–faced, backstabbing bastards!’

            ‘You should get away for a while. I won’t tell anyone, especially Sebastian, where you are. Mrs Lemon keeps an eye on the cottage for me. You can stay as long as you want.’

            After Franklin left, Daisy decided to go out. She walked alone in the city, thinking about what had happened, wondering what to do. Finally, she returned home and went to bed.

            It was 1am and she couldn’t sleep. She checked her mobile phone for messages. Nothing. She switched it off and threw it on a chair. It could rot there. Everyone who had her number, apart from Franklin, had betrayed her.

            She wandered through to the lounge, saw the keys to the cottage and decided to pack her bags. She put the bags in her car and drove off into the night.

 

Later, a road sign indicated — Cornwall.

            The dawn was rising as she reached the small coastal town where Franklin’s cottage was located. It was a picturesque area, comprising of a main street with shops, and cottages dotted around the outskirts. She stopped to find directions. The only person up and about was Sharky the baker.

            He got out of his van to give her directions. He was about the same age as Daisy and twice the size; not fat, just big and brawny. His baker’s whites were clean and tidy, though his hat barely contained his thick brown hair.

            She showed him the piece of paper. ‘I’m looking for this address.’

            ‘Franklin’s place — on holiday are you?’

            ‘Is his cottage near here?’

            ‘Right over there,’ he said. ‘The one with the fancy blue shutters and tacky crazy paving at the bottom of the hill.’

            ‘Something tells me you don’t like him.’

            ‘Au contraire, Franklin’s great. I just don’t like what he’s done with the cottage. We tend to speak our minds down here. Blunt but honest.’

            ‘Then you won’t mind if I thank you and then drive on because I’m in no mood to chat to anyone.’

            She went to drive off, but he leaned on the car and tried to establish a conversation. ‘Insulting but honest — good try. Keep working on it.’

            She noticed the logo, SHARKY THE BAKER, emblazoned across the side of his van.

            ‘Thanks again for your help, Sharky.’

            ‘Anytime, sorry I didn’t catch your name.’

            She drove away without giving him any other information.

            ‘Secretive city type,’ he said. ‘I love a challenge.’

 

Daisy parked her car outside Franklin’s cottage. It was set slightly apart from several others that were dotted around. The garden was well kept with a small lawn, rose bushes and a colourful selection of flowers alongside the crazy paving. Although it was barely dawn, a neighbour, Mrs Lemon, was already up and spying on Daisy from her window.

            Other curtains twitched, noting the newcomer’s arrival.

            Oblivious to being the target of several sets of eyeballs, Daisy took her luggage inside. The interior was comfortably furnished in shades of cream, with a traditional log fireplace in the front lounge. The kitchen opened out on to the back garden and had a window that she imagined would let in plenty of sunlight. Numerous photographs hung in the hall, mainly of Franklin and various friends who had stayed at the cottage. One photograph showed Franklin and Sebastian smiling together. She gave an involuntary growl at the rat.

            By now, both Mrs Lemon and her daughter, Karen, were spying on Daisy, furtively peering out of their living room window with a pair of binoculars. Karen was aged early twenties, a modern and attractive brunette. Mrs Lemon tended the cottage for Franklin and decided to phone him about the strange young woman who appeared to have moved in.

            Franklin was asleep in bed, alone, when the phone rang. ‘Hello?’ he said sleepily.

            Mrs Lemon was brusque. ‘A strange young woman has moved into your cottage. She has keys!’

            ‘Daisy is a friend of mine, Mrs Lemon. She’ll be staying at the cottage for a while. I want you to see to it that she gets everything she needs.’

            ‘Oh, like that is it?’ Her tone was laced with innuendo.

            ‘No, it’s not like that,’ he said calmly. For some odd reason her harsh manner had never annoyed him. In fact, he often wished she would work in his London office. A bit like hiring a verbal rottweiler. On days when the printers were indeed shitting shoe horns, she would be an asset.

            ‘What I’m going to tell you is strictly confidential,’ he said. ‘This goes no further than you and me.’ He went on to confide the details of Daisy’s situation with Sebastian.

            Mrs Lemon couldn’t wait to tell every juicy detail to her daughter. ‘That weasel Sebastian has ditched his girlfriend, Daisy, and got engaged to Celeste.’

            ‘Franklin must be delighted at the prospect of having Sebastian as a son–in–law,’ Karen said dryly.

            Mrs Lemon picked up the binoculars and spied on Daisy who was busy rummaging in the boot of her car. ‘He’s taken pity on the girl and is letting her stay at his cottage. He’s always been a soft touch for a sob story.’

            Karen took a turn at the binoculars. She watched Daisy collecting another bag from her car. ‘What did you say her name was?’

            ‘Daisy. She’s an artist from London and works for Franklin.  Apparently Sebastian had been diddling about with Celeste behind her back for over a year.’

            Karen studied Daisy. ‘She doesn’t look like Sebastian’s type.’

            Mrs Lemon gave her daughter a knowing nudge. ‘Another one bites the dust.’

            ‘I dated Sebastian twice, TWICE.’

            Mrs Lemon grabbed back the binoculars and hung them by the strap around her neck. ‘Three times if you count the fiasco at the village fayre.’

            ‘You should have been a mathematician, mother. You’re obsessed with numbers.’

            ‘And everyone watching you from the bric–a–brac stall.’

            Karen sighed. ‘Must you keep bringing that up?’

            Their conversation was interrupted when they saw the tall, broad–shouldered figure of Jake Wolfe walking past their house. Jake, who was in his early thirties, owned the town’s health food shop and was a local celebrity author. Karen worked for him as a shop assistant and had an occasional crush on her boss. He just missed being chocolate box handsome, and had sexy dark hair with silky strands that fell casually over his forehead, despite his attempts to sweep it back. His eyes were aquamarine blue, and Karen blamed them for the effect he had on her — along with his sexy smile.

            Mrs Lemon pulled Karen back from the window. ‘Get back, get back, I don’t want Jake to see us being nosey.’

            They were too late. Jake caught a glimpse of Mrs Lemon.

            ‘Damn, he’s seen me! Quick, Karen, pass me a duster.’

            Karen grabbed the nearest equivalent — a cloth from an armchair.

            Mrs Lemon snatched the cloth, slung her binoculars around so they hung down her back out of sight, and made a blatant show of polishing the inside of her front window. She waved at Jake. He nodded politely and walked on.

            As Jake walked away, they saw Daisy lock up her car and go into the cottage. He didn’t even notice her.

            Mrs Lemon and Karen looked at Daisy, then at Jake — and exchanged a knowing look.

            ‘Daisy must be devastated . . . heart broken,’ said Karen.

            ‘That would be interfering,’ said Mrs Lemon.

            Karen smiled. ‘Wouldn’t it.’

 

Daisy had fallen asleep on the comfy sofa. Nothing was unpacked. A sketch pad and pen were lying on a table, her artist’s case was open, and a cartoon drawing of a horrible looking rat was stuck on the picture in the hall covering Sebastian’s face. Franklin could still be seen smiling.

            By mid day in the Cornish town, gossip was circulating about Daisy’s arrival. Mrs Lemon had told them everything. Each person had passed on the gossip to another. The gossip trail led to Jake Wolfe’s health food shop situated across the street from Sharky the baker.

            Jake’s shop was bright, quaint, and heavily stocked with products. Karen was wearing her shop assistant’s outfit and was talking to Jake’s uncle, Woolley, about Daisy and Sebastian. Although Woolley was retired, he still helped Jake with the business.

            ‘This girl Daisy is staying at Franklin’s cottage you say?’ said Woolley, chewing over the gossip.

            ‘Yes, and by the looks of her, she’s really broken hearted — if you know what I’m getting at,’ said Karen, winking at him.

            ‘Jake’s cure for love?’ said Woolley.

            Karen nodded. ‘She’d be an ideal guinea–pig.’

            Woolley was thoughtful. ‘She’s a city girl. She could be perfect.’

            Sharky, who was in the shop buying liquorice, joined in their conversation with a barbed remark aimed at Karen. ‘I thought you’d be ideal, Karen, considering you’ve got a crush on Jake and he’s not interested in you.’

            Karen glared at Sharky.

            ‘Oh, I forgot, maybe you’re still pining for Sebastian,’ he said. ‘You must have fond memories from the fayre, especially when you got to twirl his tombola.’

            ‘I’m not pining for any man, especially a rat like Sebastian — or a half–arsed baker who thinks he can win me over with the promise of a custard flan.’

            While they bickered, Woolley continued his original line of thought. ‘This new city girl could be ideal. Does Jake know she’s here?’

            ‘Jake’s blinkered to everything except his work,’ said Sharky. ‘Someone’s going to have to tell him.’

            Karen looked at Woolley. ‘You’re his uncle.’

            ‘No, it’s best coming from someone who’s seen her. Jake will ask me what she’s like and I’ve never met her,’ said Woolley.

            ‘She’s cute, and pretty intelligent I’d say,’ Sharky announced.

            ‘You’ve met her?’ said Karen, sounding surprised.

            ‘Uh huh! And I like her, but gut instinct tells me she’s trouble — and I’m never wrong.’

 

 

 

 

 

Twilight shaded Franklin’s cottage in deep blues and purple. Far off in the distance grey clouds moved in from the sea bringing a rainstorm with them.

            Despite the weather, Sharky was in a jovial mood. He didn’t think he had a snowball’s chance in a frying pan of impressing Daisy. He was a realist. But even realists enjoy flirting and fanciful gestures. He sometimes wondered if perhaps fate would have an off day and he’d actually win the girl. Wouldn’t that be a novelty.

            Carrying an armful of bakery goods and fresh milk, he knocked on the door.

            Daisy was asleep on the sofa, sprawled out like a rag doll that had been cast aside for a more glamorous model.

            Sharky knocked on the door again.

            She woke with a start, her eyes stinging and crimson from weeping in her sleep. She looked at the time on the clock and realised she’d slept right through the day. ‘Triple shite!’

            Her clothes were dishevelled as she went to the door. Whoever it was would have to take her at her crumpled best. It was only when she padded along the hall that she noticed she was wearing two different coloured socks — one pink, one yellow.

            Sharky smiled warmly at her as if her unkempt persona was just fine by him.

            ‘I brought some groceries — fresh bread, milk, sticky buns . . . the buns come with a warning — they’re completely addictive.’

            ‘Thanks, that was very thoughtful of you.’ She reached for her purse on the hall table to pay him but he wouldn’t hear of it.

            He’d been hoping she would invite him in but she didn’t.

            ‘I thought you might need something to eat as you’ve slept right through the day.’

            ‘I haven’t,’ she said. ‘I’ve been . . . working.’

            He eyed her ruffled appearance and didn’t believe her.

            ‘Any idea how long you’ll be staying in Cornwall?’

            She shook her head. ‘I’m in two minds what to do.’

            He looked down at her socks. ‘Clearly.’

            She’d seen the day she’d have bothered that her socks were odd, but perhaps her fashion buds had been numbed by Sebastian’s betrayal because she really didn’t care.

            ‘Would you like to have dinner sometime?’ he said.

            ‘No.’

            ‘Good to see you’re practising the blunt but honest tack.’ He leaned closer. ‘Though we both know you’ve been sleeping all day.’

            ‘I’m an artist. I was dreaming about my creative work.’

            ‘I dream I’m tall, rich and handsome, but that doesn’t help me bake the fresh rolls at 4am every morning.’

            She looked him up and down. ‘You’re tall enough, own your own business and, well . . . you can’t have everything.’

            Sharky laughed. ‘It’s great to see you haven’t lost your sense of humour.’ He walked away and then said over his shoulder, ‘They say laughter is the best glue to mend a broken heart.’

            She closed the door and pondered his remark. Why would he say a thing like that? No one here knew her business.

            Still fuzzy headed, she went through to the kitchen and put the groceries on the table, wondering whether or not to eat the food he’d brought. After a few moments consideration, hunger got the better of her.

            Cupping a mug of hot, sweet tea with plenty of creamy milk, her mind replayed the incident when she’d punched Celeste on the nose. Oh how she wished she’d done it harder instead of by mistake. And to think of the hours she’d spent trying to get her nose perfect for the painting.

            She took a gulp of tea to help swallow the rage that was stuck in her throat.

            Stuff Celeste’s nose! Her nose was perfectly straight. It was the rest of her that was twisted. But not half as twisted as Sebastian. How could he have duped her for a year? Where had she gone wrong? She’d suspected something wasn’t right a few times, but he’d said she was being paranoid.

            She bit into a sticky bun. How had he managed to persuade her to even think she was paranoid? But of course, Sebastian was so adept at the art of persuasion.

            Twilight became night as she gazed out the window, lost in thoughts of harsh regret, watching the rainstorm, wishing she’d done things differently.

            Waves of nostalgia threatened to drown her self–esteem but she kept bobbing to the surface like a champagne cork, fighting to see the world for what it was. Rather like the stripes on that little bumblebee, everything felt surreal, the wrong way round. She should be wearing the diamond engagement ring and marrying Sebastian and Celeste should be sitting in Cornwall eating sticky buns. Though cakes probably never passed Celeste’s lips. She was surprised anything passed those lips. Nothing seemed to please her. She had a mouth like a pussycat’s arse — pursed tight when it wasn’t happy. Now that was something she could have painted. Faces she was rubbish at, but a cat’s backside depicting Celeste’s pout would have got the full colour of her artist’s palette.

            She stared out the window at the stormy sky. How had she ended up in this despairing situation? Sitting in Cornwall like an abandoned waif gnawing the crumbs of a sticky bun was just plain wrong.

            Realising her self–esteem was sinking fast, she put the brakes on her thoughts, and wandered through to the hall.

            Seeing waterproofs and Wellington boots, she decided to try them on, having first hit the wellies on the floor to empty out any spiders, though there hadn’t been a beady eyed arachnid in sight.

            Dressed for the rainy weather, she ventured out into the windswept night. No one else was about.

            The large coat and hat drowned out her identity, and she savoured the freshness of the elements. She stretched out her arms and wished the wind would blow away the sorrow inside her.

            Unfortunately the wind blew something else away . . . the contents of her pockets.

 

Jake Wolfe’s house was situated on a hill overlooking Franklin’s cottage and the town.

            Jake sat in his study having dinner. His study was full of books, files, jars and various paraphernalia. He was single, successful and lived alone, apart from the numerous times when his uncle, Woolley, was there, like tonight. The town’s health food shop was one of several shops belonging to Jake. He was also the author of herbal books. His latest book was his finest project involving years of research following on from the work of his late father to find the herbal cure for lovesickness. He believed he had found the cure for love. The missing key ingredient was a rare sea plant that was found off the coast of Cornwall. He had a few drops of the precious essence left, enough to test the latest version of his remedy which he believed was even more effective than the original mix. All he required was someone, preferably a young woman, who was at the height of broken heartedness, to test it.

            Woolley poured himself a cup of tea. ‘You don’t usually listen to gossip, but a young woman, Daisy, is staying in Franklin’s cottage. She works for him as an artist and he’s given her the use of the cottage to get over the shock of being jilted by her boyfriend — Sebastian.’

            ‘The arrogant, egomaniac who used to come down here for fishing trips with Franklin but got his tackle entangled in more women than he did in fresh mackerel?’

            ‘The very fellow.’

            ‘Never liked him.’

            ‘Daisy thought Sebastian was going to marry her but he went off and got engaged to Franklin’s daughter, Celeste.’

            Jake sneered. ‘They’ll be the couple from hell.’

            ‘And poor Daisy. Poor, broken hearted city girl.’ Woolley looked at Jake waiting for the penny to drop.

            Jake hurried over to the window and looked down at Franklin’s cottage. ‘Are you sure she was in love with Sebastian?’

            ‘Yes, she’s truly broken hearted. They’d been dating for two years, then . . .’ Woolley demonstrated someone being kicked into orbit.

            ‘Find out everything you can about her. I’ll get the remedy ready.’

            After Woolley left, Jake went over to the window again and gazed down at the cottage. Through the pouring rain he could see a light glowing inside. A few of the women in town had dallied with Sebastian, but he was curious to know what Daisy was like and what peculiar gap in her nature had attracted her to Sebastian’s smooth as rancid butter charms.

           

Daisy was attempting to climb in an open window at the side of Franklin’s cottage. The rain poured down, and she slipped and became snagged up in the roses.

            Woolley saw her and went over to help.

            ‘Need a hand?’

            ‘I’ve locked myself out,’ she said, trying to unravel her coat from the bushes. ‘The wind blew everything out of my coat pockets including the key. I couldn’t find it in the long grass in the dark.’

            He pulled her free but they both stumbled back and ended up splattered in mud from a huge puddle in the garden.

            ‘Think you could have another go at climbing through the window?’ he said.

            ‘Yes.’

            He didn’t doubt it. Any woman who could date Sebastian for two years had to have buckets of gumption.

            Daisy wrestled with her coat, finally taking it off, and the hat, and throwing them down on the grass. She was soaked anyway and she could wriggle better without them.

            ‘My name’s Woolley,’ he said, helping her to climb up. ‘Woolley Wolfe.’

            ‘You’re not a bogus burglar are you?’ she said, almost standing on him to reach the window.

            ‘Nah, you’re quite safe. I’m harmless’.

            ‘It wasn’t my safety I was bothered about — it was yours. I’ve had a horrible day . . . two days . . . I unintentionally skipped today and I’m on the edge of an outburst of vileness.’

            ‘I’ve avoided marriage like the plague.’

            ‘What?’

            ‘Love, it’ll do that to you — warp your brain and drive you bananas.’

            She lost a wellie trying to squeeze through the window.

            ‘Oops, your wellie’s too big for you.’ He shoved it back on to her foot.

            ‘Thank you,’ she said, and scrambled head first through the window, all dignity cast to the wind.

            Some rumbling inside the cottage was followed by the front door being opened.

            Woolley picked up the coat and hat from the grass, shook some of the mud off and took them round to Daisy.

            ‘Do you want to come in and clean yourself up?’ she said.

            He shook his head and she could see raindrops and damp leaves from the bushes dangling off his beard. ‘My nephew, Jake Wolfe, lives in the house on the hill.’ He pointed towards the house. ‘I’ll go up there. Don’t want to leave a puddle in your hall.’

            He began walking away and then turned to her. ‘Jake would love to meet you. I’m sure he could sort you out. He’s a bit of a genius.’

            He waved and walked on, bracing himself against the downpour.

            ‘A genius at what?’

            His voice was blown away by the gusts of wind. She couldn’t decipher his answer.

            ‘Sort me out?’ she said, closing the door against the raging elements.

 

Woolley arrived back at Jake’s house.

            ‘Daisy locked herself out of the cottage. I gave her a leg up to get in through a window.’

            ‘How does she feel?’

            ‘Eh . . . quite trim, not too heavy — some of the weight was in her big wellies.’

            Jake sighed in exasperation. ‘No, does she seem upset, heart broken?’

            ‘Oh eh . . . hard to say. She was blonde though. Definitely not Sebastian’s type.’

            Jake searched through his files for his research charts. ‘What personality type is she?’

            Woolley hesitated.

            ‘Come on, Woolley, you’re good at judging character.’

            ‘Determined, angry, thoughtful and rather wild.’

            ‘Strong but vulnerable — if it works on her I’ll have found the ideal remedy.’

 

Daisy went into the town next day, having found the key to the cottage. Although she’d made an effort to tidy herself up she still felt like the walking wounded.

            The locals watched her as she walked down the main street. She was aware of them looking but assumed it was because she was a newcomer.

            The local postman, Mr Greenie, smiled at her. ‘Cheer up, there’s plenty of fish in the ocean.’ He walked on.

            Mr Greenie was the town’s electrician, handyman/gardener, fire chief and various other professions. None of the jobs required his full time attention so he wore different hats for each job.

            Daisy wondered about his remark but couldn’t make sense of it.

            The day was bright and fresh, washed clean with the previous night’s downpour. The town’s main street was filled with small, bustling shops that looked picturesque in the sunlight. She walked past Jake Wolfe’s health food shop and saw a sign in the window. She stopped to read it.

            Broken hearted?

            Jake Wolfe noticed the attractive blonde outside the window. He watched her reading the sign. Being a small town it was easy to tell a newcomer. She had to be Daisy.

            Daisy’s curiosity was triggered. She certainly felt miserable. The idea of a natural pick–me–up appealed to her. What harm would it do to go in and have a look at what was on offer? She stepped inside.

            Karen was working in the shop and went to approach Daisy.

            Jake cut in.

            ‘We need more strawberry jellies,’ he said to Karen.

            Karen stomped off to get them from the stockroom at the back of the shop.

            Jake watched Daisy browsing for a few moments. She was far more attractive than he’d imagined, and it threw his senses slightly causing him to be over zealous.

            ‘Can I help you?’ he said, taking in her natural beauty. Her skin was pale and soft, and even without a scrap of make–up it looked lovely. She tucked a long strand of silky blonde hair behind one ear, unintentionally emphasising her sensual features. She wore grey jeans and a short sleeve white blouse that he thought suited her perfectly.

            She hardly paid him any notice. ‘Just browsing.’

            Where would the natural remedy be she wondered looking around the shelves packed full of enticing products. She didn’t want to ask about the remedy. She just wanted to read what was on the label. It had to have a label surely. Most items in the shop had three.

            Then she saw a framed editorial feature from a newspaper showing Jake Wolfe and his herbal remedies. She remembered the name. He was Woolley’s nephew.

            Jake pursued her. ‘I assumed you were interested in my cure for love.’

            ‘Excuse me?’ she said, looking up into possibly the most gorgeous blue eyes she’d ever seen. His sculptured cheekbones gave his face a classic, handsome appearance, and she couldn’t see any family likeness between him and fuzzy whiskered Woolley.

            ‘I saw you reading the sign in the window.’

            ‘What sign?’ she said, in no mood to feel pressured. She wished she’d worn her heels instead of flat shoes because his six–foot stature wouldn’t have seemed so dominant.

            ‘The sign you were reading — broken hearted, feeling blue, come inside, we have natural remedies for you.’ His tone was deep and accusing.

            ‘You’re mistaken,’ she said, and walked away thinking — arrogant arse.

            Jake went after her. ‘I can help. I’ve been working on a herbal cure for lovesickness. The remedy is ready for someone to test it.’

            ‘I said you’re mistaken. I only came in to buy . . .’ she searched for a likely product. ‘Some herb tea.’ She picked up a packet of tea.

            She could almost hear his brain calculating his next move as she headed for the front counter to pay for the tea with the intention of then making a bolt for it.

            Jake followed her.

            ‘Look, whatever Sebastian did to upset you —’

            Daisy almost dropped the packet of tea. ‘You know Sebastian?’

            ‘Yes, and when I heard about your predicament I thought you would be ideal to test my cure for lovesickness, especially as you’re from London. City girls tend to react differently to things than country girls, probably because their pace of life is faster, everything’s more intense.’

            ‘That’s nonsense.’

            ‘Perhaps it is, but if I could study you, I’d be able to find out. We’ve had some despondent holidaymakers here from the city of course, but they soon start enjoying themselves. Cornwall is like that. It’s good for relaxing, good for the soul. But you’re here to hide from Sebastian and what happened to you. You’re the most miserable young woman we’ve had here in ages.’

            Upset, confused and stressed out, her first instinct was to run, so she did, dropping the tea on the shop counter.

            Jake hurried after her into the street and grabbed hold of her arm.

            She pulled away from him, but his grip was strong, stronger than Sebastian’s and she started to wriggle wildly.

            ‘I apologise,’ he said, managing to deal with her wriggling. ‘I shouldn’t have been so . . . so . . .’

            ‘Overbearing, arrogant and blunt,’ she shouted. Her face flushed bright pink and rage welled up inside her. ‘Let go of me.’

            He let go of her. ‘I admit I have a tendency to be blunt but my offer is genuine.’

            ‘Who the hell do you think you are talking about my private affairs as if it were headline news?’

            ‘Small towns tend to gossip about newcomers,’ he said.

            ‘Oh well, that makes it all right then, doesn’t it?’

            ‘Franklin told Mrs Lemon why you were here and the story got bantered about a little. When she saw you moving into the cottage she phoned him and he let slip about Sebastian ditching you horribly.’

            Daisy blinked at his tactless remark. ‘You’re blaming Franklin?’

            ‘No, Mrs Lemon shouldn’t have divulged a confidence, but she’s renowned as the local busy–body.’

            Karen hurried out of the shop. ‘Don’t you talk about my mother like that, especially to a stranger,’ she said, her glossy dark ponytail swishing like a cat’s tail.

            ‘I’m not a stranger,’ said Daisy. ‘I’m the miserable, broken hearted city girl who is staying in Franklin’s cottage and got ditched horribly by Sebastian. Apparently everyone in town knows my entire life story!’

            ‘Yes, I know.’ Karen dismissed Daisy’s remarks as common knowledge and seemed more intent on arguing with Jake.

            Sharky the baker was within earshot, having heard the verbal fisticuffs from across the street in his shop.

            ‘If you ask me, Sebastian must be crazy, stupid or both,’ said Sharky. ‘No man in his right mind would want to marry Celeste. She came into my shop a few months ago to sample my raspberry torte. What a fiasco that was. Sebastian hasn’t an inkling when it comes to women.’

            ‘Isn’t that a bit like the pot calling the kettle black?’ Karen said to Sharky.

            Sharky took the bait. ‘You’re just miffed because you can’t get your claws into Jake.’

            Karen glared at him. ‘And your nose is out of joint that I’m not interested in you!’

            Woolley and Mrs Lemon approached from nearby shops and joined in the fray. Woolley gave Daisy a smile of acknowledgement and introduced her to Mrs Lemon. In the sunlight, Daisy thought he looked even fuzzier than she’d imagined, and Mrs Lemon had features sharp enough to clip a hedge and her mousy hair was pulled back in a bun.

            ‘I asked Karen out once, once — as a bet,’ Sharky said to Daisy.

            Karen was outraged. ‘I was a bet? Whose bet?’

            Woolley intervened, preventing Sharky from revealing the truth.

            ‘Right,’ Woolley said, trying to sound sensible, ‘that’ll do. No need to drag up the past.’

            Jake’s eyes squinted at his uncle. Instinct told him the old rascal had been involved in the bet.

            ‘You made a bet with Sharky?’ Jake said to Woolley.

            Woolley gave Jake a furtive look. ‘Not really a bet, more like a . . .’

            ‘Dare,’ said Sharky.

            Karen was insulted, and it took a lot to insult Karen.

            Daisy listened to their bizarre antics. In these wild moments she almost forgot about Sebastian.

            ‘I could tell you a few shockers about this lot,’ Mrs Lemon said to Daisy. ‘No wonder the women in this town have to rely on romance novels.’

            Sharky mocked Mrs Lemon. ‘Oh Hugo, she sighed breathlessly, as he pressed his hard lips against the searing heat of her pulsating beauty.’

            Mrs Lemon shook her head at Sharky. ‘He hasn’t a clue,’ she said to Daisy. Then she said to him, ‘The only bun you’re ever likely to stuff in the oven is your sticky pastry.’

            Woolley laughed.

            Mrs Lemon turned on him. ‘And you’re past it. Sell–by–date 1956.’

            Woolley was indignant. ‘I’m retired.’

            Mrs Lemon poked her nose into Woolley’s face. ‘You’ve always been past it.’

            Jake smirked at Woolley.

            Mrs Lemon looked at Jake. ‘And as for you, Jake Wolfe, you sit up there in that big house of yours all alone with not a woman in sight, brewing your weird potions. Cure for love indeed. I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous, and ironic coming from a man who’s never known true love.’

            Jake went to protest but Mrs Lemon said to Daisy, ‘He’s too busy with his nose stuck in books and herbal hocus–pocus nonsense to have a steady girl.’

            Woolley stepped forward in Jake’s defence. ‘Jake’s had loads of women.’

            Mrs Lemon folded her arms across her tightly buttoned coat. ‘Name three.’

            Woolley became flustered.

            ‘Not a word,’ Jake said to Woolley.

            ‘The macaroon girl from Devon,’ said Karen. ‘Right little floozy.’

            ‘I never touched her macaroons,’ said Jake.

            Although their antics had been distracting, Daisy started to feel overwhelmed.

            They were all squabbling when Daisy cut in. ‘What is wrong with you people? Don’t you have anything better to do than gossip?’

            They looked at each other in silence.

            Daisy sighed. She’d had enough of them and walked away. As she left, she heard them arguing with each other again.

            ‘Cornwall, big mistake,’ Daisy said to herself. ‘I should’ve stayed in London — it’s quieter.’

            ‘Mad as hatters the lot of them,’ a man’s deep voice said behind her as she crossed the street.

            She spun around to see a gorgeous blonde haired man grinning casually at her. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his expensive jacket. She estimated he was around the same age and height as Jake Wolfe.

            ‘It’s a popular misconception’ he said, ‘that rural life is tranquil. Personally, I go to the city when I want to get away from the chaos.’ His smile lit up his attractive grey eyes.

            Daisy smiled at him. Her face ached from too many hours crying and hardly a smile for the past three days.

            ‘Roman Penhaligan,’ he said, extending a strong, elegant hand.

            Daisy went to introduce herself but hesitated. ‘Is there any need for me to say who I am? Everyone seems to know all about me.’

            ‘No one knows everything about anyone,’ he said. ‘We’ve all got secrets. But yes, I do know the gossip, Daisy. It’s difficult to ignore it when it’s relayed at full volume across the main street.’

            There was a sense of calmness about him that she liked.

            ‘I was hoping to stay in Cornwall for a little while but I don’t know if I can stand it,’ she said.

            ‘Well if you manage to survive the craziness until the weekend, I’m having a party at my castle. You’re welcome to join us.’

            He had a castle? She hated being so impressed.

            ‘It’s just along the coast. You can’t miss it. It’s the only one with turrets,’ he said with a smile, not sounding in the least bit big headed.

            ‘If I survive the mayhem, I may take you up on your offer, though I’m not sure I’ll be the cheeriest of company.’

            He fixed her with a direct look. ‘You don’t need to be. Everyone will be dancing. Come along and let your hair down.’

            Oh how tempting his offer sounded, but was she ready to let her hair down? It was too confusing a thought, especially as she was secretly seething mad at everyone knowing her business.

            She watched Mr Penhaligan walk away and reflected on the gossip — and Jake Wolfe. She was angry at his attitude. He knew she was an emotional wreck, but all he was bothered about was his blasted remedy. He was possibly the most selfish man she’d ever met, and the competition for that category was fierce.

 

Later in the day Daisy sat by the coast sketching the scenery. From the hill she was on, she could see wild grass and patches of flowers that led down to a beautiful sandy shore. White waves rolled up over turquoise water and disappeared into the sand.

            Woolley approached her. ‘I thought I should redress the balance of the gossip. Mind if I sit down?’

            He sat down beside her.

            ‘You can’t take back the things you’ve all said about me,’ she said.

            ‘No, but I can tell you a few snippets about us.’

            ‘I’m really not interested in gossip.’

            ‘At least let me explain about Jake and his cure for lovesickness.’

            She continued sketching while Woolley talked.

            ‘Jake’s mother ran off when he was a boy. His father was heart broken, never got over her leaving. He was a herbalist, like Jake, and spent the rest of his life searching for a cure for love.’

            Daisy glanced at him.

            ‘Anyway, Jake now owns several health food shops and he’s also written books. His latest book is all about the cure for love. Jake’s a determined sort. He’s spent years searching for a remedy. He means well, and he thinks he’s found the cure for lovesickness. Now he’s working on an improved version of the remedy.’

            ‘I don’t think there could ever be a cure for love.’

            ‘Don’t be too hasty to dismiss it. Love is a symptom of our emotions. Jake believes he can treat the symptoms and mend a broken heart.’

            ‘So we could all choose who we wanted to love?’

            ‘No, but we could get over being dumped a lot better. It’s a cure for lovesickness, unrequited love.’

            ‘Like a few glasses of whisky?’ she said.

            He smiled and leaned closer. ‘Imagine if you could take a sip of the remedy and feel better about . . . not what Sebastian did to you . . . it’s not a remedy for treachery, but what if you didn’t feel any love for Sebastian ever again. Wouldn’t that be worthwhile?’

            ‘It’s tempting, but . . . is the remedy any good? Has Jake really found the cure?’

            ‘He believes so. The special ingredient is a very rare sea plant that’s found off the Cornish coast. Jake dives for it every year. Sometimes he finds it, sometimes not. Depends on the tides. He’s got a tiny supply left, so it’s not something to be wasted. He would like to use a couple of drops mixed into the remedy to gauge your reaction.’

            ‘What’s in the actual remedy?’

            ‘Herbal essences matched to your emotions, such as jealousy, spite and paranoia.’

            ‘Paranoia? I could have done with some of that when I was dating Sebastian. But then again, I was right to be suspicious.’

            ‘Well Jake’s got plenty of potions. He’s always concocting stuff.’

            ‘Surely there are plenty of women he can test his remedy on. Why me?’

            ‘Because you’re the only one who is on our doorstep right now — and you’re from the city. He’s tested the latest version on a few people in and around this area, but he’s yet to test it on a city girl. He seems to think you’ll have a different outlook being from a big city. Maybe this is true, we don’t know. I also sense you’re a decent sort who deserves to feel better about things.’

            He got up to leave.

            ‘You don’t really know me,’ she said.

            ‘I know a good hearted young woman when I see one.’

            He started to walk away.

            ‘I set fire to Sebastian’s love letters in the toaster,’ she said.

            Woolley smiled. ‘Mrs Lemon tried to take my eye out with a knitting needle once.’

            ‘You and Mrs Lemon were an item?’

            ‘That’s a secret. Even Jake doesn’t know about her and me.’

            He walked away.

            ‘Many moons ago was it?’ she said.

            ‘Nah, a few months ago.’

            ‘Did you take any of Jake’s remedy?’

            ‘No, I opted for the old–fashioned cure — whisky and a pork pie.’