Rose fetched more drinks, waving away Ness’s offer of payment, and then settled herself back at the table. She tipped several sachets of sugar into her tea and stirred it thoughtfully.
“I was working at the castle when your mother arrived,” she said at last. “I used to go over a couple of times a week to give the housekeeper a bit of a hand. It was a different place then, you see, and there were quite a few staff employed. Your Uncle Armand was very sociable in those days and he often entertained.”
Ness nodded. Lucy had said something similar. “Did you know my father?”
“I knew all three brothers. They grew up here and my son played with them as a boy,” said Rose. “They were nice lads, although your father was a real monkey. I remember several occasions when I had to tell him off for something or other. He was always up to mischief.”
“He wasn’t much different as an adult,” Ness sighed.
“They were wild as young men too,” Rose recalled, sipping her tea and gazing over Ness’s shoulder and out the window to the castle. “They weren’t short of money, that was for sure. There were some wonderful parties. Armand was becoming quite famous. The Island Suite was making his name in musical circles. He was supposed to be writing a symphony and everyone was very excited about it.”
“That’s the symphony he never wrote,” said Ness.
Rose shot her a sharp look. “How do you know he never wrote it?”
“It’s what everyone says. He was meant to be writing this masterpiece but it never got written.” Ness put her teacup down with a clatter. “He must have got the musical equivalent of writer’s block.”
Merryn’s grandmother said nothing for a moment. Then she exhaled slowly. “Your mother was around at this time, Nessa. She was very much a part of their crowd.”
Ness stared at her, heart pounding. “You remember my mother?”
“I couldn’t forget Beth Lacey; nobody could. She was like a breath of fresh air sweeping through the place when she arrived. She came to play the violin and help Armand with his composing. She was very musical.” Rose leaned forward. “Are you musical?”
“Sadly not,” Ness sighed. She couldn’t paint either. Addy had despaired.
“Beth was very gifted,” Rose said. “She was beautiful and talented and she loved it here. I’d often see her walking on the beach, barefoot and with her hair blowing in the wind, and she loved the water.”
“Did she?” Ness was thrilled to learn this. Was it from her mother that she’d inherited her need to live near the ocean and her love of diving?
“Oh yes. She spent hours out sailing or swimming in the Grace Note rock pool. It drove Armand mad trying to track her down when he wanted to explore a composition.” Her eyes narrowed. “You look just like her, you know.”
“Do I? I never knew her.”
Rose slumped back in her seat and a shadow flitted across her face. “No, I know you didn’t.”
“So what happened?” Now that she was this close Ness had to find out more. “How did she meet my father? What went wrong?”
“She met your father at the castle,” said Rose. She looked very old all of a sudden, the lines in her face tightening and her gaze somewhere far, far away.
“And?” Ness urged. “Was it love at first sight?”
“I was just a member of staff, love. I wouldn’t have been party to any of their private business. It must have been a very swift thing though. They were inseparable and they certainly married very fast. I suspect you may have been something to do with that.”
“I don’t know. He hardly ever mentioned her to me. I thought he hated her,” Ness said bleakly.
“Love and hate aren’t as far apart as people think,” Rose replied. “It was probably too painful for him to talk about her.”
“Because she drowned?”
Rose didn’t answer but instead looked out across the sea. The water was calm now, a different animal to the raging, spitting monster of earlier. That same water had closed over Beth Penwellyn’s head and taken her away, like Persephone lured into Pluto’s watery lair.
“Rose, if you know anything about what happened, please tell me,” Ness pleaded.
“There were rumours of an argument between the three brothers but I don’t know much more. I wasn’t there that evening and everyone who worked at the castle would have been inside and out of the weather,” Rose recalled. “I heard that Beth slipped into the water and it was dreadfully rough, like last night I should imagine, and Armand tried to save her. He dived into the water over and over again until he nearly drowned himself.”
“My uncle tried to rescue her?” Ness was taken aback. “But what about my father? Where was he?”
Rose looked distressed. “Nessa, I don’t know. I only know what I was told by the staff who were there that night. The brothers had had a big row. I think Adric tried to save her too.”
“But what did the brothers argue about?” Ness cried, beyond frustrated. It must have been something pretty serious if they’d all run outside in the middle of a storm. The wild Cornish weather wasn’t to be toyed with. And why was Beth there too? What had happened?
Rose set her cup down in the saucer with a rattle. “Look, all I can tell you is that the answer is in the music. Listen to the music and it will tell you everything.”
“That’s it? That’s all you can tell me?”
“That’s all I know.” The older woman stood up slowly. Her face looked grey, as though their conversation had taken an enormous amount of energy. “I’d best get going if I’m going to make it across the causeway and see that grandson of mine before the tide turns.”
Ness forced herself to smile and nod. After all, it wasn’t Rose’s fault that Addy had been so secretive. If anyone had kept the truth hidden it had been her father. She just had such a nagging sense that she was missing something huge.
The answer is in the music.
Great. That was a really good piece of advice for a girl who was tone deaf.
Once Rose had left, Ness stared out across the beach and watched the stooped figure make her slow progress across the causeway. The disappointment at being given only a riddle, rather than the answers she needed, was overwhelming. She’d pinned so much hope on Rose knowing something important; that she knew no more than anyone else was a real blow. How many more dead ends would there be?
As she sat in the café and thought about her lost parents, the damage to the island and the rapidly spiralling costs, Ness didn’t think she’d ever felt quite so alone. What if there were no answers at all? And what if Armand’s trust in her had been misplaced and she couldn’t carry this new burden? What if she had no choice but to sell the island?
The answer is in the music.
Ness frowned. Maybe if she figured out what this meant everything else would fall into place. That was a hope she had to cling to.
One thing was for certain, anyway: nothing could possibly get worse than it already was.
Chapter 19
“The tea room’s ruined, the causeway needs some urgent repairs and another good storm will finish the pier off. You can bet your entire fortune that Lucy won’t have been able to afford to keep the insurance up to date either. So basically, they’re screwed.”
As he described the damage that last week’s summer storm had wreaked on Pirran Island, Jamie Penwellyn could hardly keep the expression of glee from his face – and he was lounging in the office chair as though he owned Reynards. Although Jamie was the bearer of what might be considered good news, Max found he was itching to wipe that smug smile off his visitor’s gloating face. What sort of man revelled in seeing his family’s fortunes brought so low and enjoyed the thought of his sister struggling? Or saw a situation where she could have been injured as a cause for celebration?
The answer was one like Jamie: a spineless individual who’d always look for the path of least resistance. Of course, without his type companies such as Reynards wouldn’t have made nearly as much money. There were a
lways Jamies to be found, happy to cash in an inheritance for a quick buck or sell a legacy as it slipped out of an elderly relative’s grasp. Of course there were. How else would a big developer acquire so many plum properties? Such greed and desperation had played straight into Max’s hands on many occasions.
Unable to bear looking at his unexpected guest any longer, Max swivelled his leather chair around and gazed out of his office window. The floor-to-ceiling glass afforded him a dizzying view of London. Planes circled in a cloudless sky and countless windows glittered in the sunshine while the traffic moved by below, soundless and smooth from this vantage point. But Max wasn’t seeing this living picture. He was seeing Nessa Penwellyn – with her angry sea-green eyes, determined chin and cloud of red hair – as she told him she’d never sell to him. Try as he might to banish the image, he was also seeing those lush curves in that clinging wet vest top. He recalled that although her words had told him to keep away, Ness’s body language had been saying something completely different.
This mental picture was proving very hard to erase – a fact that left Max feeling wrong-footed. He was used to being able to take or leave women. It was unsettling to find himself thinking about Ness and hoping that she was safe and not too distressed.
By all accounts the unexpected summer storm had been severe; Adam had alerted Max to the extent of the damage in the town and to their potential development. It sounded bad and, even before he’d received Jamie’s gleeful update, Max had guessed that the island had been hit hard. Apparently Adam’s son, who usually played the piano up at the castle, had stopped visiting for the time being, while Lucy concentrated on the tea room and the local ferryman recovered from an injury. When Max had asked just how serious the damage was, his best friend had seemed reluctant to tell him.
“What’s all this?” Max had demanded, rather put out. “Are you going native on me? You’ll be up there rebuilding the place for them next. Shall we rename you Dances with Islanders?”
He’d been joking but Adam hadn’t seen the funny side. Instead Adam had replied rather stiffly that he would certainly be giving Lucy Penwellyn a helping hand if she asked, because she’d been good to Josh.
“Traitor,” Max had teased. “I thought you were on my side?”
“I didn’t realise we were taking sides here, Max,” Adam had said before ringing off.
Max frowned. Adam had always been his wingman, the Goose to his Maverick, and to find that his friend’s loyalties might have shifted a little made Max uneasy. Adam was employed to head up the team that would renovate and develop the castle; it was no good him getting sentimental at this stage. Likewise, Max couldn’t allow his thoughts to drift to Nessa Penwellyn. This was business. There would always be plenty of women. Ness might be sexy as hell but she was also an obstacle he could do without. Dinner, some fun and a sale. Then she’d be out of his system. That was how it usually worked.
Still, Max hoped she was all right. The storm must have been savage if the damage was anywhere near as bad as Jamie was telling him.
Christ. What was the matter with him? He wanted the bloody castle, not the woman who lived in it. What did it matter what happened to her? The main thing was getting Nessa Penwellyn to sell. How he achieved this didn’t matter. All that counted was the final result.
Infuriated with himself for dithering for as much as a nanosecond, Max spun the chair around again to face Jamie, who was staring at him expectantly.
“So could you advance me some more funds? Maybe another twenty grand or so? Just until the sale is sorted?”
Max wasn’t often surprised in business, but Jamie Penwellyn came close to making his mouth fall open with disbelief. Jamie had seriously come here to ask for more money? Things must be bad. Adam had described how Jamie had taken the grand piano away and presumably sold it for a good price. He must be motoring through the cash. In Max’s experience, that made him a loose and rather dangerous cannon.
“You owe me a lot of money, Jamie,” Max said slowly and with an edge of menace in his voice. “You promised me all sorts of things that you haven’t delivered, and I’m not feeling inclined to be patient. What are we going to do about it?”
“The place is in a state, old boy. They’ve lost the tea room and it’s going to cost a fortune to fix the causeway. There’s no money left anywhere and I know for a fact that none of the organisations that have helped in the past would be willing to dish out grants while the place is in such a hazardous state. There’s no more in the pot. That’s a fact. Nessa will have to sell up because it’s game over.”
Max steepled his fingers beneath his chin.
“That wasn’t the answer to the question I asked. What are you going to do to get things moving? I seem to recall that you promised me you would make sure everything was sorted. Or was that all hot air?”
“I will sort it!” Jamie retorted. An angry flush spread across his cheeks.
Max raised a cynical eyebrow. “I look forward to seeing how. Maybe we should just settle up now? You sold a Steinway recently, I believe? That should just about cover anything I loaned you.”
“How the hell do you know that?” Jamie looked genuinely shocked.
“I have my sources. So, shall we cut our losses?”
Not even a flicker of his eyelashes gave away the fact that Max was toying with his visitor. Judging by his waxy pallor, Jamie believed he was only seconds away from having to admit he was broke. Max didn’t even want to imagine where Jamie’s money went, but unless he was suffering from hay fever in this air-conditioned office, his perpetual sniff was a bit of a giveaway.
“Let’s not be hasty,” Jamie was saying now, leaning forward across the desk in his desperation to impress. “I think the storm will do all the work for us anyway.”
“You could be right, which renders you redundant,” Max agreed. “I need you why, exactly?”
“I’ll visit again. I’ll persuade Lucy to get Ness to see reason,” Jamie promised. “Lucy will agree once I’ve finished. I swear it.”
It wasn’t Lucy who needed to agree, Max thought with growing irritation. He was tired of Jamie and, amusing as it was to goad him, this wasn’t getting them anywhere. Max needed to chat with the organ grinder rather than the monkey – and when the organ grinder (so to speak) was a sexy redhead he couldn’t stop thinking about, talking to her rather than an intermediary made even more sense.
Yes, he’d do that before he started dwelling on the double entendre!
“Let’s hope so,” was all he said to Jamie, who nodded and then left as hastily as he could, no doubt en route to whatever loan shark or dodgy broker he could find. Poor Lucy would be getting an earbashing too – which of course would be totally pointless, since it was obvious that Nessa Penwellyn was a woman who made up her own mind and stuck to it. She wouldn’t be bullied or railroaded; she was as bloody stubborn as they came. In spite of his frustration with the project Max smiled, because people probably said just the same about him.
It was time they had another chat. Maybe this time she’d be a little more inclined to listen to reason?
Max picked up his desk phone to instruct his PA to hold all calls. Then he plucked his mobile out of his jacket pocket. Scrolling through the contacts, he found the number he was looking for and pressed the green call button. As he spun his chair around to watch the city street beneath him, Max listened to the ringing and imagined the phone shrilling for attention in the cool depths of Pirran Castle.
“Hello?” The answering voice was breathless, as though its owner had run through passageways and climbed stairs to reach the phone. Maybe she had, who knew? Max hadn’t been inside the castle for a while but he did remember how vast the place had felt to him as a boy.
“Ness.” He leaned back in the chair, the leather creaking as he cradled the handset against his ear. What a stroke of luck that she’d answered rather than Annie Luckett or that surly Merryn. “It’s Max Reynard.”
There was a gasp at the end of the line. “
How did you get this number? Did you bribe somebody? Or did you have one of your minions torture a local until they talked?”
He laughed. “A beer would be far more effective than torture in St Pirran. No, as much as I’d like to say that I bribed several people and then killed the one who gave the information away, I’m afraid the actual answer is far more banal. I found the number for Pirran Castle ages ago in the telephone directory.”
“Oh. Right.” Ness sounded wrong-footed and there was a pause before she added sharply, “I’m guessing this isn’t a social call?”
“It could be if you’ll have dinner with me?” In the tinted glass, Max’s reflection was smiling. He was enjoying this game of social chess very much.
She snorted. “I’d rather starve.”
“From what I hear about the damage to the castle and the causeway, that might happen,” Max said evenly. “Look, Ness, I couldn’t live with myself if I allowed you to fade away. One dinner?”
There was a brief hesitation. “So you can pump me for information, I suppose?”
His lips curved at this and she blushed, aware of the double entendre.
“How uncharitable.”
“How accurate.” Ness sounded bitter. “You’ve heard about the storm and you’ve come sniffing around again to buy at a knockdown price, haven’t you?”
“Not at all. I’d offer you the same as before. Seven million.” Beyond the window the city sparkled and glittered, a man-made shrine to mammon where seven million was to so many what seven quid was to others. For a fleeting moment Max imagined his father’s look of disgust. Malcom Reynard wouldn’t have had any time for city boys who made their money from gambling with possibilities. Good honest work was what Malcom had respected. Making a cheeky offer to a woman who was in a desperate situation was not something his father would have done either. Feeling a prickle of shame, Max said quickly, “Look, I’ll even go to eight if we can move fast.”
The Island Legacy Page 23