Kate and Clara's Curious Cornish Craft Shop - Ali McNamara Page 0,2

record this.

I put my hand over the camera lens.

‘Mum!’

I shake my head at her. Scowling, she lowers her phone.

‘May I call you friends?’ Julian enquires, a concerned expression falling over his chiselled features. ‘My father was so very much a part of life here in St Felix for so many years that I feel you are all his friends and family, and therefore mine too.’

Poppy snorts next to me and hurriedly takes another sip of her orange juice to conceal her amusement.

Julian seems to sense some dissent in the crowd and looks with concern in our direction. A disarming smile is immediately cast my way.

I smile politely back.

‘You’re in there,’ Poppy mutters, nudging me.

‘I hardly think so,’ I say, pulling a face. ‘I do have some standards.’

‘He must be loaded though,’ Poppy whispers with amusement. ‘Now the painter dad isn’t around any more the dough must all be his. If you can get past the silly facial hair and the dodgy voice, it’s all yours.’

‘Stop it!’ I hiss, trying not to laugh.

‘St Felix was such a huge part of my father’s life for so many years,’ Julian continues, ‘which is why he loved to paint it in his own unique way.’ He gestures to one of the paintings behind him. ‘So I know how utterly thrilled he would have been to know that all his St Felix paintings are being displayed here at the Lyle Gallery this summer for both you, the locals, and all of St Felix’s many visitors to admire.’ We raise our hands to applaud but Julian continues: ‘In fact, I’m sure many of you small business owners will very soon be thanking my father that there will be even more visitors to the town this summer as a result of this exhibition, so I ask you to raise your glasses in appreciation of the genius that was, and still is, Mr Winston James!’

‘He almost had me there,’ Poppy says, as we half-heartedly raise our drinks, ‘but then he told us how grateful we should be, and while I agree that the visitors are a bonus for all of us, he’s a bit pretentious, isn’t he?’

‘He does seem very full of himself,’ I say, looking around for Molly who seems to have slipped off somewhere.

‘His pomposity is spilling out of the top of his head,’ Poppy says in her usual direct way. ‘Oh, do excuse me, Kate, I’ve just seen Rita over there. I need to speak to her about some flowers we’re supplying for a wedding reception at The Merry Mermaid. Back in a bit.’

Poppy waves at Rita and then weaves her way through the crowd of attendees, many of whom now seem to be clambering to speak to Julian.

Where has Molly gone? I think again, looking around me. It wasn’t like her to wander off.

Actually I have to admit to myself, it was more like her these days. Since Molly had become a teenager a few years ago she’d changed – not physically, she was still small and wiry, but in other ways. Now she dressed in jeans, heavy boots and T-shirts with bold emblems on them. However, it wasn’t really her appearance that made the difference, it was that she was becoming ever more independent.

Feeling even more awkward standing on my own with no one to talk to I turn towards the painting nearest to me and pretend to examine it closely.

Poppy is right: the style is a bit childish at first glance. St Felix Harbour at Dusk it says on the little name tag underneath the picture.

Hmm … I guess it is, I think, looking more closely at the canvas. It was easy to recognise the town’s distinctive harbour with the small lighthouse at the end, and in front of that the whitewashed stone cottages that still line the edge of the harbour, now mostly shops, cafés and holiday accommodation rather than homes for fishing families as they were in the fifties. However, the perspective of the picture seemed off – a deliberate trait perhaps? Also, the artist had used really basic lines and brush-strokes to complete his work – making it look very much like a toddler’s view of the fishing village I now called home.

‘One of my father’s favourites,’ a deep rounded voice says over my shoulder.

I spin around and find Julian James standing a little closer to me than I feel comfortable with. He’s holding a glass of red wine and he takes a long slow sip of it as