Tremarnock Summer

by Burstall, Emma

  Piers didn’t seem to mind the fare and tucked in hungrily, talking animatedly between forkfuls about his morning’s work and occasionally dabbing his lips with the linen napkin. He had excellent manners, Bramble noted. Cassie would approve. She was keen on etiquette and wouldn’t stand for elbows on the table, far less speaking with your mouth full.

  Thankfully, the fresh fruit salad for pudding was an improvement on the previous courses, with small, sweet strawberries from the kitchen garden and thick clotted cream from the nearby dairy. When he’d finished, Piers threw his napkin down and sighed contentedly.

  ‘I can hardly move,’ he said, pushing back his chair and stretching out his legs. ‘I could do with a lie-down now!’

  ‘What about our swim?’ Bramble protested. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve gone off the idea?’

  Katie groaned. ‘I can’t walk far, not after all that.’

  ‘We’ll take it in turns to go on Piers’s back,’ Bramble joked.

  She’d had a large glass of wine with her meal, which Piers had poured. It must have made her loose-tongued.

  He sprang up and stepped around to the back of her chair, ready to help her from her seat.

  ‘Ladies!’ he said theatrically. ‘I can do better than that. I’ll drive you to the stunning beach at Pethgowan. It’s well worth the journey, I promise, and it’ll give you time to digest your meal.’

  Katie started to say that she didn’t think she could come because she was due at The Hole in the Wall at five thirty and would need to change and get ready, but he was having none of it.

  ‘I’ll have you back by four fifteen at the latest,’ he promised, moving around to the other chair to assist her, too. ‘You’ll adore the beach. It’s one of Cornwall’s finest.’

  This time there were no more false starts and he opened the sunroof and windows of his Land Rover while Katie clambered into the back seat, letting Bramble ride up front. She felt like the queen, or a movie star perhaps, as they whizzed along narrow country lanes, her dark glasses on and her blonde hair streaming out behind her like a horse’s tail.

  Piers, beside her, seemed utterly relaxed at the wheel, and they listened to music as they gazed at the passing scenery. Several people on the road or in their front gardens stopped to stare, perhaps imaging they were visiting celebs or local aristos, and Bramble almost wished now that her mysterious grandfather had passed on his title as well as the manor. She quite fancied herself as Lady So and So or Countess Bramble; she could get used to it.

  She smiled, thinking how far she’d come from Chessington and that dull office where she’d worked, until a nasty stab of conscience reminded her that she hadn’t yet returned Matt’s calls. He’d left several messages saying that he missed her, that he’d like to fix a weekend to come and visit and asking her to ring, but something had always seemed to get in the way. She’d do it tonight – or tomorrow perhaps. Soon, anyway, when she wasn’t so busy.

  ‘Nearly there!’ Piers shouted over the music, and she felt a thrill of excitement when she realised that they’d almost reached the bottom of the hot, dusty road that snaked sharply down the cliff side. He stopped for a moment by a gap in the hedge to allow her to admire the view: a slim ribbon of white-gold sand surrounded by majestic precipices that seemed to rise out of the deep blue ocean like prehistoric amphibians.

  ‘Beautiful!’ she sighed, and he nodded, pleased.

  ‘If there’s no space in the car park, we’ll find a slot up the street.’

  Before she knew it, she and Katie were grabbing their straw hats and bags and tramping past caravan parks and bungalows with quaint names like ‘Dunroamin’ and ‘Asyoulikeit’ towards the pathway down to the beach. The world and his wife, it seemed, had had the same idea, and in some places desperate owners appeared to have abandoned their cars entirely, double-parking them on grass verges or blocking driveways.

  Finally, they reached the sand and looked around. To their right was a bar, a wooden chalet pumping out pop music, with a wide deck where glamorous young holidaymakers perched on stools or were propped against the fence, glasses in hand. On the other side, children in brightly coloured bathing suits played with buckets and spades, while parents and grandparents huddled beneath parasols or lay flat out on crumpled towels like basking seals.

  It was a lively scene, to be sure, but Bramble couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. The beach was so covered in hot, sticky bodies that she wondered if they’d find any room to lay their towels.

  ‘Pretty cool, huh?’ Piers grinned, taking her by the arm and guiding her through the swathe of people while Katie followed behind. ‘They call it mini-Ibiza round here. There’s music and dancing at night all through the summer. It’s party central.’

  Bramble loved a party as much as the next person, but as she tripped over bags and dodged flying Frisbees, she found herself pining for the peace and quiet of her estate. Still, they were here now and the sea beckoned, so as soon as they’d located a patch on which they could dump their stuff, she stripped down to her bikini, which she’d put on underneath her clothes before they left.

  ‘Come on!’ she told the others. ‘Hurry up!’

  Piers took a moment to climb into his swimmers – a pair of bright-pink trunks decorated with toucans – before folding his shirt and trousers in a neat pile and removing his sunglasses and Panama. He placed them carefully on the other things and ran a hand through his hair.

  ‘Lovely!’ he said, stretching his arms lazily above his head, though whether he meant the weather or Bramble, she couldn’t quite tell, because his eyes ran up and down her tall, slim body, taking it all in. She, in turn, had a quick peek at the light sprinkling of dark hair on his chest – no silver there – and the nice flat abs, though she was careful not to linger.

  They picked their way down towards the ocean, Piers leading the way and the girls following, and just before they reached the shore they were accosted by a short, dark, hairy man in a very tight pair of turquoise Speedos.

  ‘I say, who have we got here?’ he drawled, looking at Bramble and Katie with interest. He had a narrow, bulging forehead and remarkably thick eyebrows.

  Piers slapped him on the back. ‘Anatole, my good man! I thought we’d find you!’

  Anatole, it seemed, was an old pal from agricultural college.

  ‘Bramble has just moved into Polgarry Manor. She inherited it from her grandfather,’ Piers explained, and the stranger looked impressed.

  ‘Did she now? Lucky girl!’

  He winked at Piers and grinned, revealing a row of small, babyish, square teeth. Bramble saw Katie scowl and hoped that she wouldn’t make a scene. She could be dreadfully rude if she took against someone.

  ‘Do you live round here?’ Bramble enquired, keen to deflect attention.

  ‘I’m in London mostly, but my folks have a little place in the village.’

  ‘Little? It’s a mansion!’ Piers laughed. He fake-whispered to Bramble: ‘Swimming pool, tennis court, croquet lawn, you name it.’

  Anatole looked gratified. ‘You must come over sometime, say hello to the folks.’

  ‘We’d love to, wouldn’t we?’

  Bramble stared hard at Katie, who remained stubbornly silent, but Piers’s friend seemed more interested in the mistress of Polgarry anyway.

  ‘And what about you? Where do you hail from originally?’ he asked, and when Bramble mentioned Chessington, he made a strange noise at the back of his throat like a snort, or was it a cough?

  ‘Isn’t there a theme park there?’

  Bramble nodded.

  ‘I went on a school trip once. Knee-deep in chavs.’ He chortled. ‘I remember gazing at the sea of fake Adidas tracksuits. Never seen anything like it in my life!’

  Bramble blushed, wishing that she hadn’t mentioned Chessington at all. To be honest, it had never occurred to her that the people there looked inferior, and she felt suddenly self-conscious in her Primark bikini.

  Uncertain how to respond, she shift
ed uncomfortably from one foot to another, but luckily Piers came to her rescue.

  ‘Polgarry’s stunning, an absolute jewel. Needs a lot of work, of course.’

  Anatole raised one black eyebrow. His skin was very dark, too; he must have had some foreign blood in him.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll sort her out,’ he laughed. Bramble wasn’t quite sure what he meant. Then he turned to Katie. ‘Are you from Chessington as well?’

  ‘Born and bred,’ she said curtly. ‘But you can’t be English. You’re too small and swarthy.’

  Bramble would have kicked her friend in the ankle – hard – but she was too far away. A flicker of irritation crossed Anatole’s face, but he soon recovered.

  ‘Well spotted! I’m Russian, actually, or my parents are. They came over as children.’

  ‘Descended from Russian nobility,’ Piers chipped in helpfully, ‘but he won’t tell you that; he’s far too modest.’

  Katie grinned nastily. ‘Funny that. I am, too, sort of. Working-class nobility through and through. We go back generations. My dad’s a chippie and my mum’s a school dinner lady. She can make a mean roast dinner with meat and three veg and a pudding with custard for less than a pound a head. She’s famous for it.’

  Anatole’s small black eyes lit up with glee. ‘A dinner lady? Excellent! I need to meet her!’ He rubbed his hands together before pausing thoughtfully, as if filing the information away in a safe place for some future use.

  A slightly awkward silence followed and Piers was about to fill the gap when they were interrupted by a tall, languid-looking girl in a knitted white bikini who sauntered up and rested an arm casually on Anatole’s furry shoulder.

  ‘Hey, lover boy, what’s new?’

  She had a deep, sultry voice, almond eyes and sleek black hair that might have been brushed a hundred times the previous night like Cinderella’s. Her olive skin gleamed like a mirror and even her lips were full and glossy, giving her a sort of polished sheen, like a well-groomed horse. Around her neck was a small gold chain with a tiny winking diamond in the centre and there was another in her tummy button. Bramble, who thought she was quite beautiful, smiled nervously, and Piers introduced the girl as Anatole’s girlfriend, Sheba, with an equally exotic-sounding surname that Bramble couldn’t catch.

  ‘Fiancée,’ Anatole corrected swiftly. ‘We’re getting married in Nice next summer.’ He snaked an arm around Sheba’s slender hips and pulled her closer. ‘Her parents have a place there.’

  ‘Of course they do,’ muttered Katie, not at all subtly, and Sheba looked at her oddly.

  ‘Let’s swim!’ Bramble said quickly, fearing that Katie might be about to explode and grabbing her arm. ‘I’ll race you to the orange buoy.’

  The girls ran towards the water’s edge, closely followed by Piers, and plunged, squealing, into the froth. After a few strokes Bramble grew used to the temperature and felt her body relax as she stretched out her limbs, ducking under every now and again and tasting the salt water on her tongue. She easily beat Katie to the buoy but was no match for Piers, who lunged as soon as he was close enough and hung on, waving and grinning, until Bramble drew near, then he stretched out a hand, which she took, and reeled her in like a fish.

  Slippery seaweed trailed around the bottom of the buoy as well as the bobbing chain that anchored it to the seabed. Unable to get a grip, she would have drifted off had he not put an arm around her waist and held her tight. Feeling the brush of his smooth, ice-cold skin against hers made her shiver, but he didn’t seem aware of her trembling. Soon Katie swam up and seized the other side of the float, making it lurch to and fro, while Piers clung fast.

  ‘That was further than I thought,’ she gasped, blowing water noisily from her nose.

  Bramble peered behind her friend and spotted the small figures of Anatole, in turquoise, and Sheba, in her white bikini, by the ocean’s edge. They hadn’t come in then. To be fair, Sheba didn’t look like much of a swimmer; the water would mess up her shiny mane.

  Some smallish children floated up on a pink lilo and Piers checked if they needed help, but they said no, turned around and started sculling back. He didn’t seem in any hurry to release Bramble and she stayed as still as she could, paddling gently, because she was enjoying the moment and didn’t want it to end. Now and again his hand wandered higher or lower on her side and the pressure of his fingers seemed to increase. She did wonder if it were deliberate, but he might just have been making sure that she didn’t float off.

  ‘It’s just perfect,’ she sighed, tilting her head and gazing up at the powder-blue sky, dotted with clouds. A light aircraft buzzed lazily by, trailing an advertising banner in its wake, and some way off two swimmers in masks and snorkels popped up their heads and chatted for a while, treading water.

  At last Piers shifted slightly, as if he’d had enough, and when she turned to look she noticed the beads of water on his lips and trickling down the front of his neck. They were so close that she could have brushed them away with her mouth, her tongue...

  ‘I’m going back!’ shouted Katie, who was out of sight on the other side of the marker.

  Reluctantly, Bramble cast off and started heading back to the shore. All the way she was acutely conscious of Piers’s presence beside her, his lithe body finning through the waves, the rhythmic strokes of his arms and legs, and she sensed an electric charge between them so hot that it almost hurt. Surely he was experiencing it, too?

  Had she ever felt quite this way about Matt? She tried to remember. She’d fancied him like crazy at first, sure, but after a time wild lust had faded, to be replaced by a more cosy kind of familiarity. She could slob around in her baggy pyjamas in front of Matt, clip her toenails even, and he wouldn’t bat an eyelid, but he’d never intrigued her like Piers, who came from a different world entirely.

  When they reached the beach again, Anatole and Sheba had wandered off somewhere. Piers was all for going to find them but Katie wasn’t keen.

  ‘I really have to get back now,’ she said. ‘Sorry to spoil the fun.’

  Plucking up her courage, Bramble asked Piers if he’d like to meet her at the pub that evening, ‘to keep an eye on Katie’, but he said that he was busy.

  ‘I have an appointment with another client, unfortunately.’

  He looked so sad that Bramble couldn’t be too disappointed; he would have come if he could.

  ‘No problem. There’s always another night.’

  As they drove home, Katie in the front this time, she and Piers made small talk while Bramble hardly said a word. She was in a reflective mood, thinking about Piers and what her feelings might mean. She didn’t believe in fate, but it did seem as if he’d been put in her path for a reason, because wasn’t he just ideal – to the manor born, so to speak?

  Her imagination took flight and she could picture him living in Polgarry, helping her to restore the place to its former glory. Perhaps in time they’d even hear the sound of children’s voices in the gardens or echoing around the ancient walls. They’d have gorgeous children, she just knew it, and they’d all talk just like him.

  He’d introduce her to his upper-class friends, show her what was what, and with him at her side she wouldn’t feel embarrassed with Anatole, Sheba or anyone else because she’d become one of them, cool and sophisticated. She might even ask Sheba for a few styling tips when they got to know each other better.

  She hugged her arms around herself, lost in delicious images of the future, and didn’t even notice when they swept through the rickety iron gates and drew up at the door to the manor. Mrs Fenton-Wallis. She mouthed the name silently. It had a certain ring to it.

  10

  ‘SO, WHAT DO you think? Isn’t he gorgeous? Do you like him? I really do!’

  Bramble hadn’t gone to the pub to support Katie on her first shift after all. Instead, she’d had a long soak in the peeling but now spotlessly clean bathroom that the girls had scrubbed when they’d first arrived at the manor. She’d put on a face
pack and lain back in the foam, humming along to the radio, her mind filled with pictures of Piers driving that Land Rover, Piers pulling on his pink trunks, Piers stretching out his hand to reach hers by the buoy, slipping it around her waist ever so lightly and leaving it there...

  Afterwards, unable to sleep, she’d sat up in bed flicking through old magazines that she’d brought with her from London and waiting for her friend to return. Before Katie had even had a chance to put down her bag or remove her shoes, Bramble was firing off questions like corks from a popgun.

  ‘How old do you think he is? He’s very well-spoken, isn’t he? I could listen to him for hours!’

  ‘Hang on a minute!’ said Katie, perching on the end of the bed and taking off her canvas trainers with a groan. ‘My feet hurt. I’m absolutely knackered!’ She did, indeed, look exhausted, with a sweaty face and smudged mascara. ‘It was so busy in there. I haven’t stopped all evening.’

  Bramble clicked her tongue impatiently. ‘Never mind that. What’s the verdict?’

  Her friend leaned back, crossing one nicely tanned leg over the other, and despite her weariness her face lit up in a huge, mischievous smile. ‘Yeah, he’s absolutely yummy!’

  Bramble took a deep breath and sighed contentedly. ‘He is, isn’t he? So tall and handsome.’ There was a dreamy, faraway look in her eyes. ‘I like his silvery hair, too, don’t you? It makes him look soooo distinguished.’

  Katie, who’d been lounging on her elbow, sat bolt upright and frowned, knocking Bramble’s magazine off the bed and on to the floor, where it landed with a splat.

  ‘What do you mean, silvery? He hasn’t got any silver. His hair’s fair.’

  Bramble looked confused. ‘Don’t be silly.’ Then she giggled. ‘His chest hair’s not grey, though, and his legs aren’t particularly hairy. I kept wondering what colour it was underneath those pink trunks.’

  The penny dropped and Katie’s mouth fell open. ‘I thought you were talking about Danny!’