Free The Cornish Guest House by Emma Burstall

do anything. As far as I’m concerned, she’s a stuck up so-and-so who left her manners in Manchester, or wherever it is she comes from.’
    Liz couldn’t help agreeing.
    The couple from Ashley House came over to say hello and while they looked after Pat, Liz excused herself and went in search of the loo. She wanted a few moments on her own to collect her thoughts. It had crossed her mind that to cheer Pat up she should offer to help with the flowers herself, but that was the last thing she needed.
    She was already a member of the Parish Paths Group, which aimed to keep rights of way open to the public by clearing vegetation, rebuilding stiles and kissing gates and repairing footpath surfaces. What with that, running her own business and helping at the restaurant, too, she had quite enough on her plate.
    The trouble was, in a place like Tremarnock there were numerous worthy causes to throw yourself into, from providing hot lunches for elderly residents to driving teenage mums-to-be to and from antenatal appointments. Living as they did so far from the hallowed portals of Westminster, sometimes it seemed as if the rest of the country forgot they existed and they just had to get on and do it all themselves.
    There were several closed doors to the right and left of the corridor, and she opened them in turn, hoping to find the bathroom. The final door was locked, probably occupied, so she waited a few moments, resting her back against the wall. She felt tired, suddenly, and uncomfortable. She’d been looking forward to the party and to seeing all her friends, but now all she wanted was to slip away to Bag End.
    It was quite clear to her that, however hospitable Luke might be, Tabitha was a tricky customer who didn’t really want them there, but Robert had promised Luke that he’d look in after the restaurant closed so, come what may, she would have to hang around.
    The door to the kitchen at the far end of the hallway was ajar, delicious smells were wafting out and there was a great deal of activity going on inside. A girl in black, like the other helpers, was standing by the island in the middle, taking things off baking trays and putting them on platters, until a stout, older woman in a white apron pushed her aside impatiently and rearranged what she’d done.
    The door burst open and the young waiter that Liz had seen earlier emerged with another tray of drinks. He had sweat on his brow and an air of confusion, and she shot him a sympathetic smile. She knew what it felt like. Sometimes, on a busy evening at A Winkle In Time, it seemed that her feet hardly touched the floor.
    Now she could see inside the kitchen more clearly and noticed Tabitha, standing with her back to the stainless-steel fridge-freezer, keeping out of the way. She was fiddling with the bracelet on her arm and appeared not to know what to do with herself. Feeling like an intruder, Liz would have averted her gaze, but the stout older woman barked at one of the girls, making Tabitha start, and she glanced up, catching sight of Liz for the first time.
    Their eyes locked momentarily until they both looked away quickly, but not before Liz had noticed something peculiar in the other woman’s expression, a flicker that made goose-bumps run up and down her spine. She wasn’t imagining it, she was certain: Tabitha was frightened of something. No, more than frightened, she was petrified.
    Liz hesitated, not quite sure what to do, then the loo door opened and Audrey stepped out, wearing a quirky long, loose, emerald-green dress that had been on one of the mannequins in the window of her shop last summer.
    ‘Liz!’ she cried, her cheeks flushed, her lips painted crimson. She had dark hair tipped with platinum streaks, cut pixie-short and artfully mussed. ‘I didn’t realise you were here!’
    She was bubbling with party spirit, having clearly managed to set aside any pique that she might have felt on learning that her catering services had been spurned in