Mystery Guest at the Red Lion

The new guest at the local bed & breakfast was what everyone was talking about that sunny weekend morning. Mystery still surrounded the story, as it was being told and retold by each resident of the small fishing village, Clovelly.

The talk of the morning at the café on the high street was all about this new stranger. Who she was, where she came from, and what she was doing here. Edith heard many versions of the same story while serving tea and home-made sandwiches to the locals. She had been working at the café since she was a young woman, and in those 30 years, nothing spurred the little crowd quite as much. Holly, the village’s hairdresser, came in to pick up the two dozen cupcakes Edith had prepared for her and quickly brought it up.

“What do you reckon about that new girl that showed up? I heard she’s inheriting some money from some rich fella nearby.” 

That was new for Edith. So far, her neighbour said she’s a new teacher, taking a job at the local school. The girls working at the café with her said she’s an author, writing her next novel based on their home. One of her customers heard that she’s a business woman, looking for somewhere to invest. 

All stories, however, agreed on one thing. A blonde woman, looking young enough to still be in her 20s, arrived late the night before in a taxi, and got a room at the hotel by the shore. No one had seen her before, and she wasn’t in the village to visit someone. And from there, the rumours started.

“I’ve heard quite a few things, not sure what to believe. But I definitely look forward to selling her a slice of cake.” Edith responded with a smile, before Holly went on her way. She was sure this was all she was going to talk about while cutting and styling hair for the rest of the week.

She took some tea and coffee over to one of the tables in her little tea shop - two mothers with their teenage sons. Edith’s known the two women since they were the same age as their sons, and she used to serve them carrot cake and orange juice. She now overheard the two lad’s talking.

“I wonder if she’s fit.” one of them said, while the other laughed picturing this woman.

“Jake, that’s not appropriate.” one of the mothers said passively. “But I did hear she’s quite attractive,” she said back to her friend. “Long blond hair, and legs that go for miles, all those things they say of models.”

“Is she a model then?” the other woman asked, and Edith could feel another rumour starting.

“What would a model do in Clovelly?” was the last thing Edith heard before she returned to the counter. “What would any stranger do in Clovelly?” she asked herself, thinking about the mystery guest.

Peter has worked at the Red Lion Hotel for most of his life. He started washing pots as a teenager, and never left. He did all jobs needed, and worked his way up. For the past ten years he has worked the reception desk and met all kinds of people. The rooms were always full during the summer holidays, with families visiting from all over the county. Groups of young people sometimes showed up, looking for that quaint village experience, or couples wanting a quick getaway. A few times they have been fully booked by big companies who thought their little fishing village would make for a great company holiday or team-building experience. 

He used to think he had seen it all, and was prepared for anything. But never had he checked in a guest like the lady the night before. He knew the whole village was talking about her. There wasn’t this much talk when young Poppy Stafford almost gave birth in the hall while waiting for an ambulance to get there. But somehow word got out about this mysterious stranger and everyone was talking about her. The housekeeper was asking a lot of questions when she got in that morning, before she even got to cleaning any rooms. The lads cooking breakfast wanted to know if she’s coming down for food or if she wanted some breakfast sent to her room. Even the postman had heard about her, from many people. 

The stories they were all saying sounded like they all saw too many movies: she was there to take over the hotel from the old owner, Bob; she was an actress preparing for her future role by taking in the village life; she was a criminal on the run. They all spread rumours but none of them had met her. Peter did.

He was there when she arrived the night before, wanting to check in. She got out of a taxi in a black coat and carried a small suitcase. That made Peter think she wasn’t staying for long but when he asked how long the room would be needed, she responded “Indefinitely”. He asked for a name for the register, and she claimed her name was Lucy Green, but the more time passed, the more Peter was convinced this was a fake name. He tried to do the usual small talk he did with all guests while the checking in was going on.

“So, what brings you to Clovelly?”

“Oh, just a small tourist trip.” she had said, looking around at the modest hallway they were calling the lobby.

“Right, right. You know, it’s a bit cold this time of year, but there’s still some lovely places you can go to. We have a couple of flyers just here if you want to have a look,” he kept it going, pointing at the stacks of papers on the other side of his computer monitor. “Lucy” nodded politely, grabbed one from each pile, and started going through them. “Will you be paying cash or card?” he asked at last.

“Cash please.” the stranger replied quickly, seeming anxious to finish checking in and being shown to her room. She had paid in cash for 5 nights, which he has very rarely seen - rich tourists would sometimes carry around a lot more cash than Peter found reasonable, and they would stop at the Red Lion on their way to or out of Cornwall. 

Peter chose one of the nice rooms they had free for their new guest, and offered to take Lucy’s luggage up to the room. The girl seemed hesitant at first but gave in eventually. Once they got to the room, Peter took his leave pretty quickly and left the girl to it. Who knew, maybe she was just there for tourism. But there was nowhere to go and nothing to see in their little village, definitely nothing to warrant an indefinite stay. Yet he leaned against his desk and wondered.

Emily Wright was sitting on the corner of her bed in the small hotel room. She had got ready for the day as soon as she woke up but wasn’t ready to face the day yet. The view out of the window was a gorgeous picture of the sea and surrounding hills. But thinking about going outside made her anxious. Was she ready? Could she step out into the world as the new and improved Lucy? She borrowed the name from her favourite childhood doll, something no one could link back to her. 

Twenty-four hours prior, Emily lived in a London high-rise apartment, and worked into the evening most days for her bosses. She was respected and people could count on her. But the day before, at lunch, it dawned on her that no-one could count on her, not even herself. She needed to get out and not be found.

So she did. 

Emily chose a place on the map where no-one would know her, and packed just enough to figure out what she was going to do next. She chose the hotel by the sea, and checked in as soon as she arrived. After one night of disturbing, guilt-filled dreams, she decided it was time to get to know Clovelly and its people. She walked past the guy in reception and strolled up the paved alleyways, until she made it to the high street, the busiest area of the small village she chose. She skipped the hotel breakfast so decided to walk into the café nearby, to grab a sandwich instead. It was a small space, with a handful of tables inside, homemade cakes on the counter, and the feeling that Cottage Tea Rooms would welcome her in. 

“Good morning, may I sit down for some breakfast?” 

“Of course my dear, I’ll be with you in a second” an old lady said in the most pleasant tone. Emily chose a table in a corner, and had a look at all the people also in the café. A small crowd but she somehow felt all eyes on her. She thought that was something she was going to have to get used to, especially if she finds her place in a village as small as the one she managed to find. 

The old lady approached Emily to take her order, ever smiling.

“Good morning love, I’m Edith, welcome to Cottage Tea Rooms.”

“Morning Edith, I’m Lucy.”