She didn’t see the strange man fling off his shirt and shoes and wade into the churning water towards them. She hardly felt it when he gripped her beneath the arms and hauled her and Lowenna through the torrent on to dry land, depositing them like beached whales on the shore. All she knew, or thought she knew, was that they were safe.
‘Lowie!’ Was that Wilf’s cry?
‘Thank God, oh thank God,’ Fergus’s cracked voice echoed back.
She coughed painfully, spewing out vomit and salty water that burned her throat. Overhead a helicopter roared. Had it been there earlier? She wasn’t sure. Lots of voices around her now, men in fluorescent jackets with thick Cornish accents, like clotted cream.
‘Could have been fatal...’
‘Aye.’
‘I was in the shop when I got the call... feared the worst.’
‘Folk won’t listen...’
Before long she was being wrapped in a foil blanket and winched up like a rag doll, shaking, choking and helpless.
‘Lowenna!’ she yelled, spitting brine. Down below she could see the lifeboat, the men standing around, someone attending to her mystery rescuer.
‘She’s all right, she’s going to be OK,’ came a disembodied male voice from inside the helicopter itself.
He placed a mask over her mouth and she guzzled fresh, clean oxygen so pure and beautiful that she couldn’t get enough of it; she wanted to cry.
She closed her eyes and could see water in every direction, above, around and below, ice-cold and terrifying. She was struggling to make sense of what had happened but understood only that she’d stared death in the face and had almost taken Liz’s little daughter with her. A groan, the sound of a wounded beast, seemed to come from deep within and the man patted her arm gently.
‘It’s all right, love. It’s over.’
‘I’m so stupid!’ she wailed, but no one could hear.
Her limbs were heavy and she was sinking way, way down. She was tired, so tired; she could sleep for a week, a month – for ever perhaps.
Lowenna was safe. Liz would never speak to her again, and probably Fergus, too. The strange man? She couldn’t think about him. She was back in her warm bed in Chessington, her father holding her hand, Cassie stroking her hair. ‘All right, Crumble?’ She was a child again, cocooned.
Lord Penrose, Piers, the manor, Gus – it was all a nightmare; it had never even happened. Nothing mattered any more, only that she had to rest for a long, long time.
Her eyelids fluttered; her mind was thick and dense, like treacle.
Blackness engulfed her.
20
HOURS PASSED, THE sun set and rose in the early-autumn sky and folk generally continued with their normal activities, going to bed, getting up with the light, eating breakfast, dressing, unaware of the drama that had taken place near a tiny Cornish fishing village called Tremarnock, in a remote corner of the UK which most had never visited or even heard of.
For a few, however, nothing would ever be quite the same again. When Bramble woke from her long sleep, she found herself tucked under crisp white sheets in a strange bed and unfamiliar surroundings. She wiggled her hands and feet, to check that she wasn’t dreaming, before moving her head slowly and stiffly to the left, and the first thing that met her eyes was the face of her father, Bill, then that of his beloved wife, Cassie, who was gazing at her with deep concern.
‘Where am I?’ Bramble mumbled, semi-conscious.
Cassie pulled up the covers under her stepdaughter’s chin and kissed her forehead. She smelled of the same lavender perfume she always wore, sweet and faintly dusty, and her gold necklace, shaped like a lucky horseshoe, grazed Bramble’s cheek.
‘You’re in hospital, love,’ her father said gently. The sound of his voice, deep and gravelly, brought a lump to her throat and she started to cry.
‘It’s all right. You’ve had a big shock, but there’s no permanent damage. We jumped in the car the moment we heard. We’ve been here most of the night. You’ve been out for hours, but the doctors say sleep’s the best healer. You’ll be right as rain before long, you wait and see.’
A nurse in a pale-blue uniform with an efficient smile came to check Bramble’s temperature and pulse, and Bill and Cassie stood back respectfully until she’d finished, watching her every move. When she’d gone, they resumed their places beside the bed, Bill on a plastic chair and Cassie perched on the covers, holding Bramble’s hand.
‘I expect you’re hungry?’ she said. ‘Shall I ask for a cup of sweet tea and something to eat?’
Bramble’s stomach growled and for a moment she wondered what the noise was. She would have said yes, but a sudden thought stopped her in her tracks.
‘Lowenna?’ she cried, struggling to rise and finding that she didn’t have the strength.
Bill tutted. ‘Lie down now. You must rest. She’s OK, she’s doing just fine.’
Exhausted, Bramble flopped back on the pillows and closed her eyes again.
‘Where is she?’ she mumbled, licking her dry lips. She needed all the details, to be certain that they were telling the truth and weren’t trying to shield her from anything. Every last scrap of information.
‘The poor little lamb’s got mild hypothermia and her breathing’s not quite right,’ Bill explained. ‘She’ll be here for a while yet, but they’re confident she’ll pull through. You were both lucky they got you out of the water in time. When we got the call...’ His voice cracked and Cassie took over.
‘We didn’t know what to expect. It was such a relief when we saw you lying there, looking just like our Bramble.’ A tear trickled down her cheek, and she wiped it away with a sleeve. ‘That drive was the worst of my life; I thought we’d never arrive. But it’s over now, thank heavens.’
She let out a sob and Bill put an arm around her shoulders and gave a reassuring squeeze. Now that Bramble had come to properly, more memories from yesterday started to flood back and her body trembled beneath the covers.
‘I should never have...’ she groaned, but Cassie put a finger to her lips.
‘Hush now. It wasn’t your fault; it could have happened to anyone.’
She wiped Bramble’s damp nose with a soft tissue, just as she had when she was a little girl. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself—’
‘But I do.’ Bramble batted the tissue away. ‘I shouldn’t have taken the children there, not at that time of day with no one else around. It was stupid and reckless.’
Bill’s dear, kind eyes were fixed on hers and his expression was one of such love and compassion that she wanted to break down completely; she didn’t deserve his sympathy, or anyone else’s, not one bit. She remembered holding Lowenna’s small hand in her own and leading her, so trusting, into the treacherous waves. The little girl nearly drowned, her precious life cut cruelly short. Bramble would bear the guilt until the end of time.
And Wilf! What of him? She groaned in pain. She’d tried to coax him into the water, too, against his father’s wishes. The boy had more sense than her. Her head pounded, as if it were being squeezed in a press, and her thoughts were black and mangled. If only she’d never woken, it would have been so much easier...
‘How did I get here?’ she asked, still trying to piece the fragments together, one by one.
Bill cleared his throat. ‘The little boy you were with – Wilf, I think he’s called? – he raced up the cliff and back to the manor. Luckily, Matt arrived at the same time as Fergus pulled up in his van. Fergus rang the coastguard while Matt and Wilf ran to find you. Matt was a real hero. Risked his life to get you out. Lifeboat would have been too late.’
Matt? Bramble quivered and her brain ached with shock and confusion. As she’d drifted in and out of sleep, she’d thought that she could recall her ex-boyfriend’s comforting, sturdy figure by the water’s edge, waving at her with all his might, but surely she’d been dreaming?
‘Why was he here?’ she asked hoarsely, struggling to understand.
Bill took her h
and. ‘I’m not sure, love. I think—’
They were interrupted by a different nurse wheeling a trolley. She stopped at the end of the bed and handed Cassie a cup of tea and two biscuits for the patient. Now Bill helped Bramble to sit, propping her against the pillows, and raised the cup to her lips. The liquid – warm, sweet and delicious – trickled down her throat and into her empty tummy.
‘Another sip?’ he asked, speaking to her as if she were a baby.
Bramble nodded, grateful. She wasn’t sure that she’d be able to hold the cup herself, and besides, she needed to be babied right now.
‘Matt?’ she asked again between gulps, but her father shook his head.
‘Finish your tea first,’ he smiled. ‘There, that’ll put hairs on your chest. Here, have a bit of biscuit, too.’
Too feeble to resist, Bramble nibbled reluctantly on a corner as her mind darted this way and that. The idea that Matt had turned up was fantastic, yet her father and stepmother seemed real enough, and the food in her mouth, too.
Its sweet taste brought back the fruitcake that she’d eaten with Liz and Fergus only yesterday. It seemed like another life. She wished so much that she could wind back the clock and take Lowenna and Wilf for a walk in the orchard rather than down to the sea. She wished that she’d never offered to look after them at all.
‘Does Maria know where I am?’ she asked now, thinking that the older woman would wonder what had happened.
Bill handed the cup and saucer to his wife.
‘That housekeeper of yours? She does. Fergus told me he’d spoken to her when he came here to see you.’
She started again. Fergus had been here, by her bed, while she’d been sleeping? She’d believed that her tenant would want nothing more to do with her. It seemed odd to think of him conversing with her dad and stepmother while she, Bramble, had been lying there unconscious.
‘Did he, did he say anything – about the accident, I mean?’ she asked anxiously, avoiding her parents’ gazes.
‘He, um—’
‘He seemed very concerned about you,’ Cassie replied quickly. ‘He was glad to hear you were doing OK. He said his little boy had a big shock, but he’s proud of him for acting so quickly and getting help. He said the coast’s treacherous round here and people don’t realise.’ She shivered. ‘People drown every year, no matter how many warnings they put in place. The sea’s so unpredictable; it can change in a heartbeat. He said Matt’s a strong swimmer, but sometimes no one can save you, not even the lifeboat men.’
Bramble grabbed Cassie’s soft, plump arm and squeezed. ‘You’ve got to tell me what Matt was doing here.’
‘We’re not sure, sweetheart. Honest. He’s staying somewhere in the village—’
‘He’s in Tremarnock? Now?’ She couldn’t compute it.
Bill nodded. ‘Says he’ll pop in for a quick visit tomorrow – if you’re well enough, that is.’
For a moment, Bramble’s heart lifted at the prospect of seeing his kind, handsome face again, of feeling his solid, reassuring presence. Then she remembered their final conversation. What was she thinking? He’d probably come here to insult her. She deserved it.
‘Of course he must visit,’ she murmured, determined to put him first for once. ‘I need to thank him for saving our lives.’
‘Bramble, love...’
She recognised the tone and knew what her father was going to say; she could hear the words before he’d uttered a single one. He was going to tell her that moving to Cornwall had been a terrible mistake, as he’d known all along that it would be. He might clothe it in slightly different language, but what he’d really mean was that Polgarry Manor was jinxed, that she’d had a narrow escape and that she might not be so lucky next time. She should cut her losses and come back to Chessington before it was too late, pick up where she’d left off.
She felt tears spring to her eyes again. Perhaps Bill was right; maybe this accident had been a sign, a massive red light warning her to quit while she still could. After all, she had no money, and no friends – for even if Fergus forgave her, which was by no means certain, not one single other person in Tremarnock would trust her now. This could be God’s way of telling her that it was time to admit defeat. The Piers débâcle had been but the entrée while the near-drowning was the main course. If she had any sense, she wouldn’t stick around for dessert.
‘Don’t – please,’ Bramble told her father. ‘I know what’s coming. I’ll think about it – OK?’
Bill took a deep breath and nodded, but he wouldn’t give up, she was sure of it.
*
It was late afternoon by the time she was allowed to go home, and Bill and Cassie drove her in their black Skoda, which smelled of polish and was always immaculately clean. Bramble sat in the back, with Cassie’s tartan rug over her knees, and was almost surprised as they passed the familiar lanes and fields to find that nothing had changed, for her own world had been turned upside down.
‘My! It’s gigantic!’ Cassie commented as they approached Polgarry, and Bramble felt a stab of sadness, for she’d longed to show her parents the manor, to win them over and make them fall in love with its crumbling stones and quirky turrets, its rambling gardens and faded, tumbledown splendour. Yet now this felt almost like a goodbye. Soon, perhaps, she’d be handing over the keys, turning her back on the place for ever and heading once more to London. The beginning of the end, that’s how it seemed to her, and her parents sensed it, too.
‘It must cost a fortune to heat and light,’ Cassie tutted, ‘and I’ll bet the cleaning’s a nightmare.’
‘There’s not even a carport,’ Bill sniffed, drawing to a halt and applying the handbrake. ‘Our house might be compact, but at least the Skoda’s under cover. Places like this weren’t built for modern living. Inconvenient, that’s what they are. That’s why they don’t make ’em like this any more.’
‘I don’t s’pose the lords and ladies worried about inconvenience, because they weren’t the ones who had to run up and down all those stairs,’ Cassie said, unfastening her seat belt, pulling down the mirror and patting her gingery hair. ‘They had servants to do it for them.’
‘Speak of the devil,’ Bill muttered, and Bramble turned to find out what he meant.
For once she was almost relieved to see Maria at the door, wearing her usual severe expression. She, at least, had never uttered a word against Polgarry. Indeed, she seemed as much a part of it as the stones themselves.
‘Is that the housekeeper you told us about?’ Cassie asked in a small voice. ‘She looks very fierce.’
Bill moved around to the side of the car to help Bramble out, and she took his arm as they made their way slowly towards the grand entrance where Maria was waiting.
‘I trust you are feeling better, Miss Bramble?’ she said, moving aside to let them pass. ‘Will you require dinner for three tonight?’
Bramble thanked the housekeeper but said they’d rather have a light supper. ‘Just sandwiches perhaps? Don’t go to any trouble.’
She wanted to show her parents everything, every nook and cranny of the place that she’d come to call home, and she was about to lead them into the drawing room when her legs gave way beneath her and she stumbled slightly, losing hold of her father’s arm. Cassie wasn’t quick enough, but Maria grabbed Bramble before she fell, stooping to pull her upright so that she could take the weight with her shoulders. She staggered slightly as they rose but was stronger than she appeared.
‘You are not well. You must go to bed,’ she said firmly, leaning forwards a little to keep Bramble stable, and Bill supported his daughter by the other arm as they helped her upstairs.
Once undressed, she lay back against the cool pillows and sighed. It was a relief to be in her own room again, surrounded by her familiar things and looking out at the rolling Cornish fields instead of drab brick walls and concrete car parks. The air smelled sweet, thanks to the vase of delicate yellow and white freesias on her side table; Maria must have put th
em there.
She herself was standing by the door and seemed in no hurry to leave.
‘I will bring you my chicken soup; it will build up your strength,’ she said in a tone that suggested she’d brook no objection.
‘Chicken soup!’ Cassie exclaimed when she’d retreated. ‘Now there’s something I’ve never made myself. I used to buy you Lucozade when you were poorly. Do you remember? I don’t think chicken soup’s a particularly English thing, do you? Well, I suppose Heinz Cream of Chicken’s quite popular, but I prefer the Cream of Tomato variety, always have.’ She frowned. ‘I never thought to give you chicken soup when you were ill. Maybe I should have.’
Bramble was too tired to reply, and Bill was too occupied with strolling around the room, taking in the antlers on the wall, the spinet, Lord Penrose’s dressing table and the heavy mahogany wardrobes.
‘Bit cumbersome,’ he commented, standing in front of some thick, mirrored doors and scratching his head. ‘Wouldn’t you prefer built-in? I would. With a nice sliding front. It’d look neater and take up less space.’
His daughter suddenly experienced a strong urge to be alone.
‘Can you show our guests to Katie’s old bedroom, please?’ she asked Maria when she returned with a tray of soup – complete with a solid silver spoon engraved with the initials AP for Arthur Penrose, a linen napkin and some milk in a crystal tumbler – which she set down carefully on the bed. Cassie’s eyes were on stalks.
‘Of course.’ Maria beckoned Bill and Cassie out and closed the door gently behind them. She seemed to sense that her mistress needed peace and quiet. Perhaps she, too, found the parents irritating.
Bramble ate half her soup and drank a little milk, then placed the tray on the floor beside her. She must have dropped off to sleep, because when she opened her eyes again the big silver moon was gazing at her through the window, shining right in her face as if to say, ‘Wake up, wake up, it’s time to play!’
Reaching for her mobile phone, she discovered that it was after midnight. She must have been unconscious for hours! She would have closed her eyes and tried to doze again, but her brain slipped into overdrive as snippets of the previous day’s conversations came back and Matt surged into her mind. What had he said to her in the water? She couldn’t remember. But she did recall his strong arms dragging her out. He’d seemed ferocious in his determination, like a man possessed, but then hadn’t he always been so in a crisis? One hundred per cent dependable, as Katie had always said.
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