The Island Legacy

by Ruth Saberton

  And anyway, what had he been playing at by even asking her in the first place? Was it just a warped power game, or did he really think he’d be able to seduce her into selling the island? He might have already denied this but Ness wouldn’t put anything past Max Reynard. He was so devious he’d make Machiavelli look like Mary Poppins. She’d met men like him before – her ex, Stephen, had been the same type of spoilt rich boy – and there was no way Ness would ever let herself be taken in by somebody like that again. When she thought how close she’d come to making a fool of herself on that first evening, she went cold inside. Talk about a lucky escape.

  Incensed, she’d stormed into the castle. Sizzling sounds and a mouthwatering aroma from the kitchen suggested that Lucy was busy preparing supper, but Ness didn’t think she could manage a mouthful.

  What if Max was right? What if it was only a matter of time before she had no choice but to admit defeat and sell the island?

  I’ll never sell to him, Ness thought savagely. Never.

  With Biscuit now bounding at her heels and barking excitedly at what looked like a lovely game of chase, Ness raced up to the library. Once there, she dragged the castle’s accounts book from the shelf and hurled herself onto the window seat. She stared at Lucy’s neat royal-blue writing and carefully presented figures until she was cross-eyed and her head hurt. Try as she might, Ness couldn’t see any way that Lucy might have made an error with her sums or conveniently missed out a few hundred thousand or so. Finally she gave up, slamming the ledger shut with a howl of despair.

  Bloody, bloody Max Reynard. He was absolutely right: there wasn’t enough money to run the place. No doubt Jamie had already given him the lowdown on the castle’s finances and he was well aware just how dire things were looking.

  “It’s all right, boy,” she told Biscuit, who’d been snoozing at her feet but was now staring up at her with big worried eyes. Ruffling the fur on his silky head, she sighed. “I’ll find a way, somehow. Maybe I should blow what’s left in the bank account on some lottery tickets?”

  Biscuit cocked his head to one side and looked apprehensive.

  “Okay,” Ness conceded. “Maybe gambling isn’t the best option. So if I can’t gamble our way out of the financial mire, there has to be another solution. I just have to work out what it is.”

  At this the spaniel thumped his tail on the rug, in what Ness took to be approval.

  Resting the ledger on the worn tapestry cushion of the window seat, Ness leaned her hot forehead against the glass and stared across the sea, her eyes widening when she saw that the weather had changed dramatically while she’d been absorbed in scrutinising the accounts. A summer storm was gathering on the horizon and growing closer with every passing moment.

  Ness had believed that life on a Caribbean island had taught her all there was to know about storms. Every spring through to late December, St Antonians guarded their supplies of tinned food, bottled water and candles, and prayed hard that the weather would spare them this hurricane season. Past storms were talked about in hushed tones, as though so much as mentioning a hurricane was to wish one onto the island. The graveyards were crammed with marble headstones and pots of bright plastic blooms that were a testimony to the number that had perished. Living in a dive hotel right next to the ocean, Ness had watched electrical storms split the sky with jagged lightning slashes and heard thunder so loud it had triggered car alarms and made the hotel shake – but never had she witnessed anything as savage as the storm that was now starting to pummel the Cornish coast.

  Before long the rain was falling, dimpling the grey sea and hurling itself against the window; as the clouds advanced with surly determination, the downpour intensified and the droplets became needle-sharp. The sky was no longer the baby blue of earlier but had darkened to a bruised plum colour. White-tipped waves galloped towards the beach. The wind was a low growl, growing louder by the second, and far below Ness’s tower window the Cornish palm trees fringing the grass were tossing their leaves like horse tails plagued by flies. On Lucy’s tea lawn, a bench flipped over as easily as though it were crafted from driftwood rather than oak, while Fern’s slim figure dashed to the shelter of the castle as lightning ripped across the sky. Moments later Lucy was scuttling across the open grass, bent almost double against the force of the wind and with her hair plastered against her head.

  As though sensing Ness’s thoughts, Biscuit whimpered and fled out of the room, his claws clicking faster and faster as he hurtled down the tower’s steps. Ness didn’t blame him. It felt like being under siege as the wind battered the walls and the sea hurled fistfuls of salt spray up at the mullioned windows. She was returning the accounts ledger to its shelf and was about to follow Biscuit when there was a loud crack, swiftly followed by a crash. Tearing to the window, Ness saw that a section of the tea shop’s roof had lifted and was twisting with every savage gust, flapping and floundering like a landed fish until another, stronger gust ripped it clean away. Slates were tossed across the lawn like confetti and the storm seemed to turn into a living, breathing entity as another section of the roof was raised, then fell back down and rose again like a ribcage housing a monstrous pair of lungs.

  The castle would be safe, Ness reasoned. After all, it had stood on the island for centuries and withstood lifetimes of violent weather. The latches rattled against the glass, and draughts howled down the chimneys and gusted along the passageways, but the core of the old building would barely tremble. It was the newer sections and the ruined parts that were under attack now from the salvo of the wind and rain. The tea room and the small visitor centre were fairly recent additions, and although they were partly joined to what had once been the stables they were mainly constructed from glass and timber. They’d been designed to look pretty and make the most of the views, but they’d been built as cheaply as possible and the roofing was already rotten in places. It wouldn’t last against a gale of this ferocity.

  Ness raced down to the Small Hall. For once she didn’t stop to look up at the portraits, but ran straight to the kitchen. It was hard to think clearly with the roar of the storm and the crashing waves adding to the pounding of her heart, but she was terrified of what might be about to unfold. The Pilgrim’s Gate was weak, the ruined walls of the old chapel were precarious enough, and both the pier and the causeway already needed work. Max’s words, spoken with a deadly honestly that even she had no choice but to acknowledge, echoed in her memory. The only way to save the castle is to sell it, he’d said. Without money it will fall down and you’ll end up selling anyway.

  Was Max Reynard some kind of evil prophet? Ness wouldn’t have put it past him to have even the weather on his payroll. Men like him stopped at nothing to get their own way.

  She burst into the kitchen where Lucy and Fern were huddled by the Aga, their clothes steaming while they attempted to dry their hair with tea towels. Fred was slumped at the table with his head in his hands and his cloth cap dripping steadily onto the battered surface.

  “My plants! What about all my plants?”

  “They’ll be sheltered in the garden, Fred,” Fern said gently. “When this blows over I’ll help you sort them out. It’ll be fine.”

  Fred didn’t answer, although whether that was because he couldn’t hear or because he was too lost in despair it was hard to say. The garden was his pride and joy.

  Lucy’s gaze met Ness’s over the gardener’s soggy cap. “Oh, Ness, it’s just awful. We’ve lost half the tea-shop roof and the visitor centre too. I just don’t know what we’re going to do…”

  Her words ended with a sob and Ness knew that Lucy didn’t need to say any more. They’d lost more than half the roof: if the tea shop was badly damaged they’d also lose the one small income stream that had been keeping them going. A deluge of rain and sea spray wouldn’t do the building any favours, and repairing it was an expense they couldn’t afford.

  “We’ll fix it,” Fern said staunchly. “Won’t we, Ness?”

  “Of cours
e we will,” Ness agreed, although she had no idea how. Max and his seven million pounds flickered through her mind and she banished him swiftly. That was not the way. Maybe she could find an overlooked antique or something.

  Lucy laughed bleakly. “Oh, girls! Fix it with what? Magic?”

  “There’s magic on this island, so why not?” Fern crossed her arms and raised her chin, looking very young all of a sudden.

  “How did the roof come away?” Ness asked.

  Her cousin sighed. “It’s needed repairing for a while and Merryn’s managed to keep it together as best he can. I was going to talk to you about getting a new one put on because I didn’t think it would last a winter storm. I should have known better than to wait. Storms here can be just as vicious in the summer.”

  “But how could so much damage happen so fast?”

  “The rotten part of the roof was only tacked down, so it started to lift when the wind first picked up.” Fern filled the kettle and returned to the Aga; her small hands were shaking so much that the kettle landed on the hotplate with a clatter. “I was cleaning up when the storm came in. I should have thought of something to save it but I didn’t know what to do. Before I had time the first section was already off.”

  “It’s not your fault. The main thing is that we’re all safe,” Ness said. Then an awful thought occurred to her. Never mind stones and buildings. What about Merryn? Was he safe in his camper van over at Grace Note Bay? If the wind took that he could be seriously hurt – even killed. “Where’s Merryn?”

  “I think he went to check the boat,” answered Lucy. “I thought he’d be back by now.”

  Ness frowned. “You don’t think he’s still out there do you?”

  “He’s not come back,” said Fern, looking worried.

  “He’ll be sheltering, that’s why,” Lucy reassured her. “Merryn’s St Pirran born and bred, love. He can ride out a summer storm. He won’t be outside in this weather. I would have thought he’d have headed here though. The castle’s the best place to be when a storm comes in.”

  “What if he isn’t sheltering at all but trying to save the tea room?” asked Ness slowly. Instinct told her this was just the kind of thing Merryn would do. He’d do anything not to let Lucy down and to help protect the island. “Could he have gone there?”

  Lucy blanched. “Well, yes… I suppose so.”

  “It’s exactly what he’d do,” Fern agreed.

  The three women looked at one another as horror dawned. Ness dashed to the window but could hardly see beyond the glass for the heavy rain. Before she had time to think about what she was doing, she was flinging open the kitchen door and stepping out into the gale. Instantly the breath was ripped from her lungs and rain needled her face as she lurched across the courtyard and hurried under the precarious archway, before staggering down the grassy banks to the tea room.

  “Merryn!” she yelled, but the storm only snatched her words. With rain running down her cheeks like tears, Ness ran all the way to the tea room, hardly able to believe the sight that greeted her.

  The blond wood façade had been ripped away, leaving the building wide open like a doll’s house; the shop’s display area was exposed as though ready for a giant hand to place a toy inside it. A good section of the roof had peeled away too, revealing bare beams and dangling wiring. Flakes of plaster were falling like snow and one of the outside walls listed drunkenly. Ness found herself stumbling as the gale blew harder.

  “Careful!” shouted Fern, her voice harsh against the wind as she tugged Ness back. “This lot could come down at any minute.”

  Holding onto one another, the two women managed to make their way along to the tea room’s back door, while the wind whipped around the courtyard.

  “Merryn!” Ness shouted. “Merryn!”

  Fern’s fingers clutched Ness’s arm, the silver rings biting in painfully. “Did you hear that?”

  Ness strained her ears. Against the howl of the wind and the pounding of the waves it was hard to hear much at all.

  “He’s in there,” Fern insisted. “Listen!”

  Ness heard a faint calling from inside the building and, without a thought for what they might find inside or the danger it could place them in, she and Fern were clambering over the fallen plasterboard and rafters.

  Merryn was in the wreckage of what had been, only half an hour before, the tea room’s kitchen. He was sprawled on the floor, clutching his wrist – which was bent at an angle that made Ness feel queasy. There was a jagged cut above his left temple and his blond hair was matted with blood.

  “Something fell,” he gasped, his eyes dark with pain. “Jesus, Ness. I’m so dizzy. I can’t move.”

  “Hold on,” she called. “I’m coming.”

  Fern lay a warning hand on her arm. “What if he’s got concussion or damaged his spine? We shouldn’t move him, should we?”

  Working at the dive hotel and being rostered out on the boats too, Ness was well aware of first aid; usually she would have been in total agreement. This occasion, though, was going to have to be the exception to everything she knew. The building was swaying and creaking like a galleon tossed on the ocean. They had to make a decision and soon.

  “He can’t stay inside. It isn’t safe. We need to get him out as fast as we can.”

  Ness ducked between the splintered beams and dodged broken plasterboard that stirred with every gust as though the building was in its death throes. Rain, tears and dust blinded her and the exposed sky was navy blue, throwing the wreckage into bleak relief. She glanced upwards and her heartbeat quickened as she realised the whole structure was reeling and rocking around her. Another roar from the wind made the place shudder and Ness knew there might only be moments before more of the roof caved in.

  She crouched beside Merryn and, grabbing his good arm, tugged him to his feet. His face turned almost green.

  “Shit! That hurts!”

  “I’m sorry,” Ness said, “but I need to get you out. It’s not safe in here.”

  Her heart was playing the xylophone against her ribs. Fern was on his other side now, her pretty face pale with worry, and somehow they managed to drag him through the debris and out of the building. Moments later the visitor centre rocked for a moment, as though undecided, before collapsing like a house of cards, taking with it what little remained of the tea room’s roof.

  “That was close,” breathed Fern.

  “Too close,” Ness agreed grimly. “Come on, we need to get Merryn indoors.”

  Together they half pulled, half dragged Merryn up the path to the castle and negotiated the steps up to the kitchen. By now all three were soaked to the skin and shivering. And this was June? thought Ness in disbelief. England certainly had crazy weather. No wonder her father had loved the heat of California.

  “You’re not even this much of a dead weight when you’re pissed,” Fern was saying to Merryn as they heaved him up the steps and all but fell into the kitchen, where Lucy was ready with towels and hot tea.

  “I don’t ever feel this crap when I’m drunk,” Merryn groaned, collapsing onto the sofa next to the Aga. “I’m so sorry, Lucy. I couldn’t save the roof.”

  Lucy was close to tears. “I don’t care about the roof. I just care about you being safe.” She glanced at his wrist and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my. That looks nasty.”

  “It feels nasty,” said Merryn. His eyelids drooped. “God, I’m exhausted.”

  “Keep him talking. Don’t let him sleep,” Ness instructed Lucy. “He’s concussed and I think his wrist’s broken too. He really needs a doctor. I don’t suppose we can get him off the island?”

  Lucy shook her head. “Not until the storm blows itself out or the causeway’s clear. That won’t be for at least five hours though.”

  “Could we ask the coastguard to send a lifeboat?” Fern wondered.

  “We can’t risk a lifeboat crew for a broken wrist,” Ness said firmly. On St Antonia they’d been miles from any hospital and often been
forced to make tricky decisions when there were accidents. She was sure they’d be able to look after Merryn until the tide turned in their favour. He seemed more alert now and she wasn’t as worried as she had been earlier. Having him checked over properly was going to be a priority the minute it was possible, but until this could be done without risking anyone else they’d need to work together here.

  Turning to Lucy, she said, “I need a first-aid kit and the biggest wooden spoon you’ve got, as well as a couple of old bed sheets and some masking tape.”

  “What are you planning on doing to me? A bit of S and M?” Merryn asked, with a ghost of his old smile when Fern brandished Lucy’s wooden spoon at him. “I’m more than happy with normal sex.”

  That was more like it. If Merryn could think about sex at a time like this then he’d survive, Ness thought.

  “You truly have had a bump on the head if you think I’d sleep with someone who looks like an extra from Casualty,” Fern shot back.

  Merryn started to laugh and then winced. “Christ, pain’s overrated. Christian Grey needs his head read.”

  “Talking of heads, can you let me know if your vision blurs or you feel sleepy?” Ness asked. “It’s really important you do that, OK?”

  “I can see two of you.” Merryn said slowly. “Or am I just having an amazing fantasy?”

  “You,” said Ness, “are a dreadful patient.”

  At this point Lucy returned armed with bed sheets and tape, and Merryn’s banter stopped abruptly. Lucy’s face was taut with worry.

  “I don’t know what we’d have done if anything had happened to you, Merryn Hellier,” she said, sitting down beside him while Ness gently did her best to splint his broken wrist with the wooden spoon.

  Merryn’s teeth were gritted through the pain. “You’d be fine. Probably get an odd-job man who could actually fix your roof.”

  “He wouldn’t be you,” Fern replied softly, taking his hand. She didn’t wince when he squeezed her own so tightly that it turned blue.