A Cornish Affair

Another Coffee

Rosie gestured towards the seat opposite her and putting down his cup, the man sat down and smiled weakly.

"I recognised you when you came in," he began, but nothing followed. Rosie was at a loss as to what to say. There was an awkward pause.

"I've just come into town for some milk. We'd ran out!" Rosie wondered why she'd told him that. It was right up there with 'I carried a watermelon!'. Like he'd care. She raised her eyes to see the man looking at her closely. She was taken aback by the blueness of his eyes. Whisps of brown and ginger hairs in his beard. The sign of a little too much sun across his nose. They'd not seen him sunbathing in the garden. His shoulders seemed to tense as he began to speak once again.

"I owe you an apology, as I said. My behaviour Saturday morning was completely unacceptable." He looked away and played with his cup, giving the impression to Rosie that he was nervous about what he was saying. "I was a bit angry about something. Not being able to park at my own house just tipped me over the edge."

"Apology accepted," Rosie heard herself say, then realised she probably had one of her own to make. "I'm sorry too, for the way I spoke to you. I shouldn't have been so rude.  It's not like me at all." She watched as a smile,  a real one this time, spread across his face.

"I don't blame you. Some nutter rings on the intercom and abuses you down the line. You really have nothing to be sorry about."

"There's something else I should apologise for, on behalf of all of us." Rosie shuffled in her chair before she carried on. "We heard you on the phone last night. When you were shouting. It was wrong of us to have listened." The man leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head. Rosie continued, "I encouraged us to go in, but obviously you were rather loud."

He ruffled his hair and leant back on to the table, elbows either side of his cup and his chin resting on his interlocking hands. His smile was lost. "Can I just ask that you don't go to the papers about it?"

What was he talking about?  Go to the papers? Why would any of them want to do that? Why would the newspapers care? Perhaps he was a bit creepy. No not creepy, eccentric. Living alone in a large house. Rosie didn't know quite how to respond and she didn't want him to think she wasn't taking is dilutions of grandeur seriously.

"No, of course not. I'll tell the others." She hoped this would appease him. And he did seem to visibly relax.

"How are you finding the flat?" he asked,  seemingly remembering his role as proprietor. "Do you have everything you need?" Hannah had been right about his northern accent.

Rosie had just taken another mouthful of drink in the hope of covering her confusion about the paper business.  But this was a question she felt happier with.

"It's lovely.  Perfect really.  Just a shame we can't make the most of the beautiful views." Rosie said replacing her cup. "This area is very picturesque."

"The views were one of the reasons we brought it." There was a morose tone to his voice as he spoke.  He was fidgeting with his mouth,  screwing up his lips, biting them even, as though it was hard for him to get the words out.

"We all love it, my friends and I," Rosie took on the conversation for him, "We're glad we came down this way.  We nearly ended up in Skegness!" Rosie explained with a slight laugh and it seemed to bring another smile to his face.  That was better she thought, watching him change. He looked attractive when he smiled.

"I'll take Falmouth over Skeggy anytime," he picked up his cup and drained the last of his coffee. Rosie sensed he was getting ready to go.

"Can I get you another coffee?"  she asked. She suddenly didn't like the thought of him returning to his empty house,  when she was going back to a group of her closest friends.