The Postcard: Escape to Cornwall with the perfect summer holiday read. Fern Britton
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the most entertaining I’ve had in a long time.’
‘Intriguing. What was your life before this one?’ he asked.
Penny told him about what she did, about her production company and Mr Tibbs, her thrilling time in Hollywood with the film Hats Off Trevay.
‘That was your film?’ asked Kit in amazement.
‘Yep. Well, me and quite a few other people too, but it was amazing.’
‘What a life you’ve had. How on earth have you managed to settle down in sleepy Pendruggan?’
She shrugged. ‘Oh. You know. I have a wonderful husband and Jenna my gorgeous daughter. Lots of blessings.’
‘You must miss the excitement of your old life, though?’
She picked up their coffee mugs and took them to the sink. ‘Maybe. A bit.’ She kept her back turned so that Kit wouldn’t see the disloyalty she felt at having suggested her marriage wasn’t happy. She and Simon were going through a difficult patch admittedly. Everything he did annoyed her. The way he ate, breathed, looked— She pulled herself up sharply at these terrifying thoughts. Keep going, Penny, keep going.
‘Well, I’d better be off.’ Kit was standing and tying his stripey jumper round his neck.
Startled, Penny stood up straight. ‘Yes of course. Well, thanks again for the flowers and the company.’
She opened the back door to let him out and found her best friend Helen rounding the corner.
‘Oh Helen, you must meet Kit. Helen, this is Kit, our new neighbour at Marguerite Cottage.’
Helen shook his hand. ‘Lovely to meet you. Queenie is all agog with the news of two young men arriving in Pendruggan.’
‘We’ll try not to disappoint,’ smiled Kit, tapping his nose conspiratorially.
Penny turned to him. ‘If you want any fish or lobster, Helen is the woman to go to. Her partner, Piran, catches them all the time.’
‘Sounds amazing. Adam loves my curried lobster.’
Helen beamed excitedly at him. ‘Oh, Piran and I love curry.’
‘Well, I must cook for you when we’re settled.’ Kit bent to kiss Penny’s cheek and shook Helen’s hand. ‘Lovely to meet you, but I have a date with Puffing Bob.’
‘Gasping Bob!’ Helen and Penny shouted in unison and they watched Kit stroll over to Marguerite Cottage just as Gasping Bob’s rusty Rascal van rattled its way towards him.
‘He seems nice,’ said Helen.
‘He is. Very,’ said Penny, and immediately burst into tears.
Helen bundled Penny back into the kitchen. ‘What’s happened, darling?’
‘It’s my mother,’ sobbed Penny. ‘She’s dead.’
‘What?’ Helen was shocked. ‘When?’
When Helen had heard the whole story, short though it was, she became very practical.
‘You must phone your sister and ask her when the funeral is.’
‘I don’t think I have her number.’ Penny’s head was in her hands. ‘And the last time we spoke it was so awful. I can’t ring her.’
‘For goodness’ sake, Penny, she’s your sister. She should have phoned you by now, anyway.’ Helen stood up and looked purposeful. ‘Right, where is your address book?’
Penny looked at her, pale-faced. ‘In my office somewhere.’
‘In your desk?’
‘Probably.’
‘Right. I’ll get it and we’ll call her.’
‘I’m not sure I’m up to that.’ Penny struggled out of her hair and followed her friend to the office. ‘Please, Helen. I can’t. I need to feel a bit stronger before I—’
It was too late. Helen was in the office and pulling at a drawer. As she did so the house phone rang.
‘Don’t answer it!’ Penny almost screamed. ‘Leave it.’
The two women stared at each other before the answerphone picked up. They listened to Penny’s recorded voice telling the caller that she was unavailable and to please leave a message. She would get back as soon as possible.
It was Jack Bradbury.
He was shouting. ‘Penny! Jesus. Don’t you ever answer your calls or look at your emails? Mavis Crewe is pulling out and if you don’t get me six new scripts and a Christmas special soon I can promise you that you will never work for me or Channel 7 ever again!’
He hung up.
Helen looked at her friend properly.
Penny shoved her hands inside the saggy pockets of her ancient cashmere cardigan dropping her pale,swollen-nosed and red-eyed face to the floor.
It was the first time in twenty-five years that Helen had ever seen Penny Leighton look defeated. ‘Open your emails,’ she said.
Penny hovered for a moment; she’d got into an awful habit of hiding things and Helen would be cross with her if she knew the emails were deleted. She took a deep breath and then made her decision. She went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine.
Helen was back in Gull’s Cry, her cosy cottage across the village green from the vicarage. She’d listened to Penny as she’d sunk a bottle of wine and then eventually been persuaded to go to bed. Helen nestled the phone between her shoulder and chin and put a pan of water onto the Aga for spaghetti. ‘I’m really worried about her, Simon.’
Simon, sitting in his study, phone in one hand, his head in the other, was feeling helpless. ‘She’s just a bit tired, that’s all.’
‘I think it’s more than that.’ Helen saw her boyfriend, Piran, walking up the path with a brace of mackerel in his hand. ‘I think she should go to the doctor.’ Piran pushed open the front door and Helen put her finger to her lips and mouthed ‘Simon’ at him before pointing to a bottle of wine and a corkscrew.
She heard Simon attempt a half-hearted laugh before he said, ‘I’m not sure she needs the doctor, just a couple of good nights’ sleep. Jenna’s teething, work’s a bit stressful, and her mother dying …’
Helen rolled her eyes at Piran and said, ‘Simon, seriously, for my sake, could you go to the doc’s with her? Tell her you’ve made an appointment to check on Jenna’s teeth or something. Go together, the three of you. Then throw in that you’re worried about Penny. Please?’
Simon fiddled with his propelling pencil, a wedding gift from his parishioners, and sighed. ‘OK.’
Helen was relieved. ‘Good. Is she still asleep?’
‘Yes. I checked on her a little while ago and she’s fine. What actually happened earlier?’
‘I think Mavis Crewe isn’t going to write any more Mr Tibbs scripts and Jack Bradbury is taking it out on Penny. Also, I think she really should get in contact with her sister about when the funeral is. But when I suggested that she looked so … well, the only way I can describe it is that she seemed to have all her legendary courage drained from her. I ran her a bath and popped a hot water bottle in her bed and she didn’t argue. Just did it and got into bed. That’s not like her, is it?’
Simon pushed his glasses up onto his forehead and rubbed his eyes. ‘No. It isn’t.’
‘Can you phone the sister?’