“Could I have a word?” Madlyn asked. “I’ve asked for a half hour from the bakery. I told them personal business…?”
“What, with me, then?” The mention of the bakery made Kerra think Madlyn must have come about a job, and who could blame her? For all the relative fame of its pasties, one could hardly expect to build a career at Casvelyn of Cornwall. Or to have much fun. And Madlyn could give surfing instruction if Kerra was able to talk her father into offering it.
“Yes. With you. Could we…somewhere?”
Alan came out of his office, then. He was saying, “Kerra, I’ve just had a word with the video crew and they’ll be available?” when he saw Madlyn. His look went from her to Kerra and rested with Kerra. His expression was warm. He nodded and he said, “Oh. I’ll speak with you later,” and then, “Hullo, Madlyn. Fantastic to see you again.”
Then he was gone and Kerra was faced with whatever reason Madlyn had for coming to speak to her. She said, “I s’pose we could go up to the lounge?”
“Yes, please,” Madlyn said.
Kerra took her there. Outside and below, she saw that her father was directing two blokes who were making something of a mess out of a flower bed, which edged a lawn that was clipped for bowling. They had containers of shrubbery meant to go at the back of the bed and Kerra could see that the labourers had nonsensically planted the shrubs at the front. She muttered, “What are they thinking?” And then to Madlyn, “It’s to give the less adventurous something to do.”
Madlyn looked confused. “What is?”
Kerra saw the other girl hadn’t even glanced outside, so apparently nervous was she. She said, “We’ve done a pitch for lawn bowling over there, beyond the rope-climbing setup. It was Alan’s idea. Dad thinks no one’s going to use it, but Alan says a gran or granddad might come along with the family and not exactly want to abseil or rope climb or whatever. I tell him he’s not got the first clue about modern grans and granddads, but he’s insisted. So we’re letting him have his way. He’s been right about other things. If it doesn’t work out, we can always do something else with the area. Croquet or something.”
“Yes. I can see how he would be. Right, that is. He always seemed…He seems very clever.”
Kerra nodded. She waited for Madlyn to reveal the reason for this call. Part of her was prepared to tell the girl up front that Ben Kerne wasn’t likely to offer surfing, so do save your breath in that regard. Part of her wanted to give Madlyn a chance to make her case. Yet another part had a small suspicion this might not be about employment at all, so she said helpfully, “Here we are, then. D’you want a coffee or something, Madlyn?”
Madlyn shook her head. She went to one of the new sofas and perched on the edge. She waited for Kerra to sit opposite her. Then she said, “I’m very sorry about Santo.” Her eyes filled, quite a change from their previous encounter. “I didn’t say properly when we talked before. But I’m so very sorry.”
“Yes. Well. I expect you are.”
Madlyn flinched. “I know what you think. That I wanted him dead. Or at least that I wanted him hurt. But I didn’t. Not really.”
“It wouldn’t have been so strange if you’d wanted that, at least that he be hurt as much as he hurt you. He was rotten in the way he treated you. I thought he might be. I did try to warn you.”
“I know you did. But, see, I thought that you…” Madlyn pressed her hand down the front of her pinny. The whole kit she wore was terrible on her: the wrong colour, the wrong style. It was amazing to Kerra that Casvelyn of Cornwall could hold anyone in their employment, making their girls wear such a getup. “I thought it was jealousy, you see.”
“What? That I wanted you for myself? Sexually, or something?”