by David Haynes
He winked back. “Yes they do Henr…” It suddenly dawned on him what she had just called him and it must have shown on his face. Henrietta continued.
“I can’t say I particularly enjoyed your book. It’s not really my cup of tea, but I read it all anyway. Very dark in places and to be honest I could have done without all the bad language. But it was very powerful and wonderfully well written.”
Joe felt his bottom jaw drop. He didn’t imagine his target audience would be pensioners in rural Cornwall. “You’ve read it?”
“Don’t get too excited. I’d read the label on a bottle of brown sauce if I thought it would stop dementia or Alzheimer’s. Anyway, I don’t care about all that media stuff; it doesn’t interest me at all. What interests me is why Joseph George is sitting in my living room, and drinking my tea?”
May jumped in, she didn’t want Joe mentioning the swimmer; not yet. “Can you keep a secret Henrietta?”
“Only if it’s a naughty one.” She shuffled forwards.
“Joe’s my boyfriend.”
“I see.” She looked to the ceiling and squinted. “Yes, I see now. You’re our mystery man living in the cottage on the cape? The elusive and reclusive Joseph George.”
Joe sighed and slumped into the well-worn sofa. There were now two locals who knew all about him.
“Oh don’t look so beaten, Joseph. I know enough about you to know you didn’t come here to be the life and soul of the party. If it’s privacy you want, then it’s privacy you’ll get. Besides it makes me feel superior to know something that the local biddies don’t.”
“Thank you Henrietta.” He looked to the ceiling.
Henrietta winked at May again while Joe was staring into space. “Joseph? You do know your cottage is built on the spot where Coppinger and his gang beheaded the revenue officers in 1798 don’t you?”
Joe lurched forward. “You’re kidding? Right on that spot? That’s amazing.”
May had to bite her lip to stop a snigger. Henrietta continued; her expression was serious. “Of course, after that, the pressure became too much for him and the authorities made him public enemy number one. So, on a cloudless and moonlit night, Coppinger put out in a small boat from the cove. He raised his sails and was carried away to The Brisons by the South Westerly wind. He was never seen again.”
“That’s fantastic.” Joe beamed. “Maybe we should get together again and put all this down on paper? I could come over and bring my computer. People would love to hear the stories, I’m sure.”
Henrietta threw her head back, and laughed hard. Her wispy hair flew in all directions. After a few seconds she stopped. “That would be lovely, Joseph, just lovely.”
Joe just looked back wide eyed.
“You should see the views from Joe’s cottage Henrietta. You can see for miles in every direction. The view over Priest’s Cove is particularly beautiful.”
Henrietta narrowed her eyes. “Yes I’m sure it’s stunning.”
May continued. “I’m not surprised it’s such a pull for the tourists. Joe’s very lucky to have it all so close. Of course, at this time of year, there’s not so many people coming and going. Not many at all in fact; just one or two. It’s a shame really because it’s such a powerful place in the winter.”
“Yes it is.” Henrietta paused then added. “Powerful and dangerous.”
Joe remained silent, he could see where May was going, although she didn’t look to be gifted in the subtlety department. May pressed on. “Like that man they found a couple of weeks ago, obviously not a local. I’m not sure anyone from here would go swimming down there in November.” She turned and looked at Joe. “Did they find out who he was?”
Joe was uncomfortable at being brought into the conversation and shook his head. It was one of those situations where all three of them knew what May was alluding to, but none of them would spell it out. Not yet anyway.
“It’s strange that, don’t you think Henrietta? No one has come forward to identify him. It’s sad.”
The gentle, relaxed look on Henrietta’s face had disappeared now. In its place was a look of careful contemplation; she was weighing up the situation.
“Why do you say, it’s sad?”
“Because it looks like no one in the world knows he’s gone.” May shrugged her shoulders.
“Or, maybe someone does know and doesn’t want to say?” Henrietta added with a measured slowness.
Joe interrupted. “Why on earth would they keep quiet about it? He’s dead!”
Henrietta took a long, deep breath. “Perhaps because both a dead man and his secrets should be left alone.”
“Who was he, Henrietta?” May asked gently.
13
David Polglaze parked his panther black Range Rover in the village square car park and walked towards the church of St Just. He paused briefly to look around and see if anyone he knew was about before pushing through the wrought iron gates. He followed the path down the side of the church passing the ancient gravestones marking long forgotten parishioners. The names on the stones had long ago become illegible; smoothed over by the passage of time.
He knew exactly which area of the graveyard he wanted and he walked purposely to the furthest corner. An ageless yew grew high and wide darkening the earth beneath. Immediately in front of the enormous trunk was a pale grey granite monument which matched the sombre colour of the church. The top of the monument had been engraved.
‘October 20th 1919.
Sacred to the memory of The Thirty One – No longer to labour in the dark.’
David looked at the words. “Any more room in there? I might have two more for you soon.” He turned and walked towards the church door.
He’d never been a fan of the church or of religion. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in God, rather that it was simply irrelevant to his life and ambitions. Still, it didn’t hurt to have contacts within the organisation; in much the same way as he’d fostered contacts in a great number of organisations which could further his cause.
Inside the church, David took in his surroundings. He hadn’t been in the church often enough to feel totally comfortable or confident. This deference wasn’t out of respect for the church but from instruction at the hands of his father many years ago. Although driven by the same instinct to make money, Hugh Polglaze retained enough of the old mining community in his bones to know how important the church was to them. It didn’t pay to upset people unnecessarily, especially if your livelihood was based on their toil.
He walked slowly into the main body of the church and stood in the nave with his hands on his hips. He understood the architecture within the church was considered beautiful. When he was a young boy his father had taken the time to explain the history, and the design helping him to understand. He understood but didn’t appreciate. He remembered it had left him cold and unimpressed, although his father’s concise explanation and attention to detail had been exact. This attention to detail was something he was pleased to have inherited from his father.
He remembered how he’d been more interested in the large stone which stood proudly upright at the front of the church. The stone had been found buried inside one of the walls when renovations had been done. On the side of the stone was the inscription - Selus Ic Iacet – Selus lies here. What had interested David about this as a young boy was his father’s account of the life of Selus or King Salomon as he was also known. He had been a warrior prince and possibly a king of Cornwall in the fifth century. He had fought for the freedom of his countymen; men who would’ve followed him into hell if he’d asked. To have a Cornish king buried in his village was a powerful driving force, particularly when he was likely to be a relative of King Arthur.
David walked forward and touched the stone in the same way as he had on many times since his father’s lesson. It was cool under his touch but as he traced the Latin inscription he felt warmth spread through his hand; he smiled and closed his eyes. He imagined the scene of a bloody and vicious battle;
limbs being crushed and heads being smashed. There he was at the side of King Salomon. Once, when he had been with his father in the church, he had done the same thing. An expression of joy was painted across his face as he imagined he was a king of Cornwall, fighting for a just cause.
David opened his eyes and removed his hand from the cool surface of the stone. His father had grabbed his hand that day and wrenched it away from the stone
‘Never let your imagination rule you, David. Our name runs through the spine of Cornwall and this wasn’t achieved by wasting time daydreaming. It was achieved in the world of reality and of hard work. Remember that and Polglaze will always be strong.”
“And it never has father. You’ll see exactly how strong we’ll be. I promise you that.”
“Pardon me?” the voice echoed through the wooden vaulted roof space.
David spun around quickly and saw the smiling face and dog collar of Reverend William Treleck walking towards him. “It’s been a while David.”
David took his hand which Treleck gripped with a strength David thought was excessive. “Yes William, it’s been a while. I think a little too long for both of us.”
David didn’t smile and was pleased to see the cordial expression on the Reverend’s face dissolve under his inscrutable regard.
“So, what brings you here today? Would you prefer we go to the vicarage, David?”
David had purposely not gone to the vicarage, even though his intention was to speak to Treleck. He wanted to see and touch the Selus stone again; to feel some of its power in his finger tips. Now he was standing next to it again, he didn’t want to lose that feeling.
“No I think I’d like to stay here.” He cast his eyes about the church. “I see my donations are keeping the place spick and span.” David’s grandfather had set up a fund of sorts after the mining accident and that fund trickled an income into the church. There had been times when David had considered changing the conditions on the fund but the Polglaze name and the church were joined. Whether he liked it or not.
“Those contributions are well received, David and might I say well used.” Treleck pointed to the Bell Tower. “We plan to start work on the tower early next…”
David interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I haven’t come to discuss the plans for the church, William; it doesn’t interest me. What interests me is Hooper’s diary and exactly how its contents became common knowledge.” He raised his eyebrows.
Reverend Treleck had been dealing with people like David Polglaze for his entire life and his previous life as a secondary school teacher had prepared him for a degree of confrontation. “Saying common knowledge is a gross exaggeration, David. Apart from us, I there’s only one other person who knows of its existence.
“Was.” David interrupted.
“Pardon?”
“Was only one other person who knew it existed.”
Treleck grimaced. “Yes and I hope for your sake you had nothing to do with that, David.”
Polglaze simply stared back.
“David?”
He waved his hand dismissively. “It certainly wasn’t my decision to go Atlantic swimming in November. I’m not responsible for that.”
“So, what exactly are you responsible for?”
David was becoming agitated with Treleck; he hadn’t come here to be interrogated.
“I’m responsible for wondering who our dead swimmer told about the diary. That’s my concern.”
“David, no-one has come forward to identify him, and from that I’m assuming that he was alone in his undertaking, ergo there is now only you and me who’re aware of it.”
David grunted. “Well I say we destroy the damn thing and be done with it.”
“Yes and when the yearly audits get conducted, and Hooper’s years are missing, I’ll be asked to account for it. The church is very fond of keeping records, as well you know. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
“You mean, you won’t just let any Tom, Dick or Harry walk in to your office and read it?”
Treleck’s face tightened and David enjoyed the flash of anger he saw in the Reverend’s eyes.
“Nobody just walked in to my office. I was tricked. When he came to me and asked to see the collection for academic purposes, to further his theological studies, it was my duty to allow him access. Do you know how many years are stored here David?”
David ignored the question.
“There’s a diary for every year since 1366. He knew exactly which year he was looking for; it was no accident he found Hooper’s diary.”
“Well, perhaps you should’ve watched over him? Anyway, if anyone else comes asking about the collection I’m sure you won’t make the same mistake. Will you.”
“We wouldn’t have to worry about mistakes like that if you hadn’t decided to start digging in the earth. You explicitly told me there were no loose ends still dangling, no living relatives.”
“There aren’t now.” David stated simply.
“So you say.”
David clicked the remote locking on the Range Rover and heard the re-assuring sound of the alarm deactivating. If it weren’t for that ridiculous diary he wouldn’t have to worry about any of this. He might have to arrange for the diary to ‘go missing’ along with a few other parts of the collection.
He climbed into the car and sank into the leather upholstery; the power of the Selus Stone had waned during his conversation with Treleck. If he closed his eyes now, it wouldn’t be the scene of a bloody battle with King Salomon at his side he’d envisage, but a dying swimmer reaching up for help.
He was about to start the car and drive but thinking about the swimmer turned his attention to May and the paper. He hadn’t meant to release the story about Levant so soon but he hoped that would divert her attention away from the dead body. If she didn’t take the hint, he might have to insist.
He climbed back out of the car and walked across the village square to the little office. He didn’t have any particular interest in journalism or journalists for that matter, but in buying the paper he had obtained an opportunity for self-publication. Perhaps, even more importantly, it had also provided the opportunity to foster advantageous relationships with small businesses in the area. He was surprised at how much extra revenue could be made from advertising the most strategic venture. Of course, the most beneficial aspect of owning the paper was May. There had been more competent and experienced applicants for the job, but the paper wasn’t about competence or experience. It was about strategic advertising, and he took care of every part of that aspect. No, May was simply the most attractive candidate, and in the early days, malleable to his ideas.
He pushed the office door, without knocking as he always did, and sighed when he realised it was locked. He wasn’t surprised, she’d been elusive for the last few days, but he was irritated. He tapped her number into the screen on his mobile; the phone rang several times before he got her answer phone message.
“May? It’s David. I’m at the office but you’re obviously out looking for the latest news. Call me when you get this message, I’m eager to know how the Levant piece is coming along. See you soon.” He tried to sound cheerful and ambivalent but he knew his manner wasn’t either of those things.
He opened the office door and walked inside. He didn’t know what he was expecting to find but her absence was frustrating. It was clear she wasn’t as excited about the mine story as he was but he knew her well enough to know she was getting bored. Her boredom was part of the reason why he’d introduced her to Levant. He hadn’t intended to bring it out yet, but her fascination with the swimmer had forced his hand.
Her desk was covered in a haphazard confusion of differing coloured folders. Her apparently disorganised filing process had always remained a mystery to him. He flicked through them until he found the Levant file; it was lying half opened next to the keyboard. Maybe she’d started the article after all. He picked it up and looked inside; the photocopied documents he’d
supplied were all in there, still in the careful order he’d presented them in. He pushed the documents back inside and closed the file. He was about to drop the file onto the desk when he noticed her digital recorder lying amongst the files.
He picked it up and pressed the play button. May’s voice sounded crystal clear through the little speaker.
“Interview with Joseph George, dated Wednesday the Ninth of November.”
The name Joseph George sounded vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place it. He allowed the recording to continue. What was she up to?
14
May felt the vibration in her pocket an instant before the Broadway cast of Joseph and The Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat started singing ‘Any Dream Will Do.’ She smiled at both Joe and Henrietta in turn. “It’ll finish in a second.” She took the phone out of her pocket. The display read, ‘David Polglaze.’ She sighed; the phone call had taken the impetus out of the conversation, just when Henrietta was on the verge.