Cottage on a Cornish Cliff

by Kate Ryder

  Greg reels himself in. He mustn’t startle her into a bolt. Softly, softly, catchy monkey. There’s a lot at stake here. ‘Are you still there, Cara?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When I come to London we’ll have fun around town. I’ll introduce you to some interesting and influential people. It will be a wonderful time for you.’

  Cara gazes down at her sleeping baby. Does she want to meet interesting and influential people? Does she want to have fun around town?

  ‘That sounds good,’ she says, without conviction. At the sound of a car pulling up outside, she glances out of the window and breathes a sigh of relief. ‘Sorry, Greg, I have to go. My parents have arrived.’

  ‘Then, I shall detain you no longer. Don’t forget to email a photo of the finished painting when it’s ready.’

  ‘Yes. Bye, Greg.’

  Trying not to disturb her sleeping son, Cara lays Toby carefully on the sofa. When she opens the door to her parents the remnants of a frown are still on her face.

  ‘Thanks so much for coming over,’ she says, kissing her mother on the cheek and giving her father a hug. ‘Toby’s just had his bottle. He’s asleep on the sofa. Would you like a coffee before I go for a run?’

  ‘I’ll make them,’ Carol offers. Her daughter looks strained. ‘You get out there, darling. I bought a chocolate cake for tea. I know how much Sky likes his chocolate!’

  ‘Is Barnaby here?’ asks Ken, looking around for the Labrador, who would usually greet them at the door by now.

  ‘He’s watching over Toby, Dad. He takes his guarding duties very seriously these days!’

  ‘Good dog,’ says Ken, as he follows his wife into the living room.

  Cara slips on a pair of trainers and grabs a fleece from the coat rack in the hallway. Opening the porch door, she steps outside and breathes in deeply. The wind is fresh and she can taste the sea on her tongue. Zipping up her fleece, she heads towards the wooden steps leading down to the beach and, once on the sand, sets off at a steady jog towards the café at the far end of the cove. As she settles into a rhythm, Cara’s muddled thoughts ease and she revisits Greg’s phone call. There was something different about him today. Apart from the usual fine-tuning of her thoughts and words, he seemed softer… almost like a lover.

  Cara puts on a sudden spurt of speed.

  Six

  ‘So, let’s have a look at the house Sammy wants to rent,’ says Deanna, as she enters Oliver’s study.

  Sitting at his desk, working on the day’s emails, Oliver looks up as his wife approaches. He opens the saved file. ‘Here it is.’ He pushes back his chair and is about to rise when Deanna places a restraining hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Don’t get up, Ollie.’ She settles herself on his knees. Working the mouse, she scrolls through the property details. ‘The attic room looks good and I like the roof terrace. The kitchen’s well fitted out and the main bedroom’s a good size. What do you think?’ She glances over her shoulder.

  Even though he’s already studied the details and the property is fresh in his mind, Oliver peers around her body at the screen. ‘Seems a very nice place for a youngster to rent.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ Deanna asks.

  ‘Nothing in particular. Just that she’s young and has had a comfortable upbringing. It’s not that I want Sammy to experience difficult times, but she should have the opportunity to make her own successes. It’s unwise for us to hand everything to her on a plate.’

  ‘That’s your father talking, Oliver,’ Deanna says sharply. ‘Get with the current generation. Don’t you want your daughter to experience the best in life?’

  ‘Of course,’ Oliver responds.

  ‘So, then, what’s wrong with letting her have this place?’ Deanna digs further. ‘It’s not that much money and think of all the fun she’ll have living in Notting Hill and getting to know London.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with it,’ says Oliver evenly.

  ‘Well, then, that’s settled,’ Deanna says with finality. Shifting heavily on Oliver’s lap, she concentrates on the screen. ‘I’m meeting up with Pins next week in town. Sammy and I can view it then.’

  Oliver stares at his wife’s back. What happened to the open discussions they used to have? ‘It’s not settled, Deanna. I will be paying for it; therefore, I will make the decision.’

  Deanna straightens up. Getting off Oliver’s lap, she paces around the desk, crosses her arms and fixes her husband with a stare. ‘Oliver, you’ve made a lot of decisions in the past that haven’t always been in the family’s best interests.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Just that. I really don’t see the harm in helping Sammy on her way in the world. Just because we didn’t have anything when we first started out doesn’t mean our children have to follow suit. If we can provide them with a leg up, then we should. Don’t you want them to succeed?’

  Oliver holds his wife’s gaze across the desk. There’s something flint-like in the eyes that meet his. She is always so strong. In fact, it was as much Deanna’s inner strength and independent spirit as her attractiveness that first caught his attention. Her character was so different from his; littered as his was with insecurities and mental health issues. The differences between them excited him, but over the years her definite mindset has grown to feel more like an immovable mountain.

  Oliver massages his temples in an attempt to stem the approaching headache. When he speaks again his voice is low. ‘I am insulted by your insinuation that I don’t want to help my children. Of course, I do. I will help them in any way I can, but it’s a huge amount of money to spend on a girl’s first real home. It’s important Samantha understands how to manage money and not simply rely on the bank of Mum and Dad.’

  Deanna considers her husband. His career has provided a lifestyle that neither could have dreamt of when he first started to tread the boards as a professional actor, but it has come at a cost. She has sacrificed a lot, not least her own possible career in the theatre. Bringing up Oliver’s children became her career. She will not permit him to thwart the crowning glory of her career by allowing their offspring to flounder. She will have the best for her children.

  Deanna softens her gaze. ‘Don’t be insulted, Ollie. I agree, it is expensive, but Samantha is sensible. She will understand that she’s one lucky girl having parents prepared to give her this opportunity. It will set her up for taking responsibility as an adult.’

  Oliver mulls over Deanna’s words. ‘I’m still not sure it’s wise to indulge her to such a degree.’

  Impatiently, Deanna turns away. It’s not as if they can’t afford it! Composing herself once again, she turns back to her husband. ‘As I said, when I’m in London next week Sammy and I will view it. That way, I’ll know whether the property is worth the cost of the rent.’

  Oliver watches his wife as she turns away and walks to the door. In her early forties, she is neat and attractive, dressed in a smart pinstriped shirt and close-fitting trousers that caress her still slender figure, despite her having had four children. With long raven locks falling over her shoulders in soft waves, she could pass as a woman half her age.

  At the door Deanna turns. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. What’s this?’ Her manner is suddenly theatrical. Extracting something from her trouser pocket, she approaches his desk once again. Waving the item in front of her husband’s face, Deanna places a small paper doily on the leather desktop in front of him.

  ‘Annette. Call me…’ she says in a flirty voice and fluttering her eyelashes at him in a silly, girly way. But the eyes that meet his are ice-cold.

  Incredulously, Oliver stares at the paper disc. It had completely slipped his mind!

  ‘So, what is it?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ says Oliver.

  ‘If it’s nothing, why did you squirrel it away in your shirt pocket?’

  ‘I didn’t squirrel it away,’ Oliver says evenly. ‘When she gave it to me there wasn’t a bin to put it in.’

&nb
sp; ‘Oh, don’t give me that. Do you think I was born yesterday?’ Deanna’s voice rises with frustration.

  ‘Deanna, there was nowhere to put it so I simply placed it in my pocket.’ With a sigh, Oliver rises from his chair and walks around the desk. Catching hold of his wife’s hands, he looks deep into her eyes. ‘Don’t do this to yourself, Dee. It will eat away at you. You will make yourself ill.’

  ‘What, like you? We can’t have two sick people in this household!’ The minute the words are out she knows she’s overstepped the mark.

  Letting go of her hands, Oliver takes a step back.

  Deanna bites her lip, ashamed at how she’s behaving. She discovered the doily a couple of days ago and its implications have been festering ever since; her imagination working overtime. In what circumstances had it come about? Has Oliver called this Annette, whoever she may be? Her previously unshakeable confidence took a battering that summer two years ago, and she really doesn’t know what her husband gets up to when he’s away filming.

  Oliver watches his wife carefully, surprised at the uncharacteristic vulnerability showing on her face. He opens his arms to her. ‘Dee, come here.’

  Deanna looks up. She’s so confused – a state of mind unfamiliar to her. She’s always been in control and engineered their life as she saw fit, but now it all seems so murky. The only thing that is clear is her desire to make a name for herself, unfettered by any association with Oliver’s fame.

  ‘Come on, Dee,’ he says quietly, ‘let’s not fight.’

  She allows him to pull her into a hug.

  ‘You cannot let jealousy eat away at you like this,’ Oliver says, gently stroking her hair. ‘It’s not good for you.’

  ‘I’m not jealous, Oliver,’ she says, her voice as cold as steel. ‘I’m just sick and tired of being undermined by all these women who imagine they have a chance with you. How dare they think they can make a claim?’

  ‘As you well know, they don’t have a chance,’ Oliver says, his gaze sliding across the room to the two Cornish paintings displayed on the study wall. ‘Only you have a claim.’

  Seven

  Cara drives into the restaurant car park and sees Tristan standing on the verandah with his wife, Jane. Finding a parking space, she quickly climbs the wooden steps to join them.

  ‘Hi, Cara. We’re so pleased you could make it,’ Tristan says, giving her a hug.

  ‘How are the kiddos?’ asks Jane, kissing her on the cheek.

  ‘Full on! Thank God for parents who enjoy having grandchildren for sleepovers,’ says Cara, catching a swift exchange of looks between the couple.

  ‘We’re waiting for Morwenna but we might as well go in,’ says Jane, linking arms. ‘The others are already here.’ As they enter the glassroom with its retractable roof, she squeezes Cara’s arm. ‘It’s so good to see you. It seems an absolute age.’

  ‘Life,’ says Cara. ‘It has a habit of running away.’

  ‘We will have to remedy that!’

  Set back from the beach at Maenporth, the restaurant enjoys uninterrupted views over Falmouth Bay to the Roseland Peninsula but now, at seven o’clock in the evening, the surrounding scenery is in darkness. Only a handful of lights give away the location of properties nestled amongst the cliffs, and in the distance, across an expanse of ink-black water, is the repeating flash from St Anthony’s lighthouse.

  For Cara, it’s a rare night out with her and her late husband’s closest friends. She’s known them since schooldays. Already seated at a window table are Martha and Stephen, and Sarah and Rob. Tristan and his sister, Morwenna, yet to arrive, complete this close circle of friends. Jane is the only outsider, having moved to Cornwall from upcountry, but they’ve never considered her a blow-in and her recent marriage to Tristan has sealed her position within the group.

  ‘Great you could join us,’ Sarah calls out down the table from her seat nearest the window.

  Rob springs to his feet and pulls out a chair. ‘Hi, Cara.’ He gives her a quick hug.

  ‘What’s your tipple?’ asks Stephen. ‘We’ve gone straight to wine.’

  ‘That’s fine with me.’

  ‘Steve, pass a menu to Cara,’ instructs Martha, giving her husband a nudge. ‘Sarah and I are having the fixed-price menu but the boys are going for a pick-ʼn’-mix!’

  ‘I’m having the crab chowder to start with, followed by guinea fowl and finishing off with rhubarb mess,’ says Sarah.

  Cara scans the options.

  ‘Hi, everybody. Sorry I’m late.’ Like a whirlwind, Morwenna rushes in.

  ‘Nothing new there,’ mumbles Tristan. ‘Seem to remember you were late at your birth!’

  As a ripple of laughter reverberates around the table, Morwenna pulls a face at her brother and removes her coat. She pulls out a chair next to Cara. ‘So, guys, what’s news?’

  Again, Cara catches a swift look between Tristan and Jane. She regards them curiously. As the conversation rolls around the table, she picks up an open bottle of wine. ‘Are you having white, Morwenna?’

  ‘Please!’

  ‘How about you, Jane?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ Jane says, covering her empty wine glass with her hand. Cara looks at her in surprise. ‘I’m sticking to water tonight.’ Thoughtfully, Cara considers her friend. Suddenly, she breaks into a broad smile.

  As the level of conversation increases around the table, Morwenna leans into Cara and whispers, ‘The reason I was late is because Tas phoned.’

  ‘Tas!’ exclaims Cara. ‘But you haven’t heard from him for months.’

  Morwenna laughs happily. ‘Fourteen and a half, to be precise! The last time I spoke to him was the Christmas after Oliver returned to his wife.’

  It’s like a kick to the stomach, and Cara quickly composes her face.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ continues Morwenna excitedly.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘On Rick and Tania’s yacht in the Caribbean, lucky sod!’

  ‘All right for some,’ says Cara, wondering if Oliver is with them.

  ‘He said being in their company brought back memories of our time together and he had to find out how I was.’

  ‘And how are you?’ asks Cara.

  Morwenna gives her brother a swift glance. He was always overprotective of her where Tas was concerned. But Tristan is engaged in conversation with Rob. She turns back to Cara. ‘I’m not getting my hopes up. I’m playing it cool, as you always said I should, but he’s going to phone me again next week.’ Morwenna can’t stop the smile.

  ‘Was anyone else on the yacht with them?’ Cara asks, chastising herself for having to pose the question.

  ‘Don’t think so. He didn’t mention anyone else,’ Morwenna says, realising her insensitivity too late. ‘Oh, Cara, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to talk about Oliver like that.’

  Again, she feels the kick. She has to move on! She has to…

  Cara shrugs her shoulders. ‘It’s OK, Mo. It’s just a shock to hear his name.’

  Under the table, Morwenna squeezes Cara’s knee. ‘He’d be here if he could. I’m sure he would.’

  Cara gives her friend a thin smile. As the conversation and laughter gather pace, she is soon distracted from her thoughts and the evening passes in a whirl.

  Tristan finishes his dessert. Half rising to his feet, he taps his wine glass with a spoon and says, ‘Hey, guys, Jane and I have something to announce.’ A hush descends around the table, as six expectant faces turn towards the newly married couple who are grinning from ear to ear. ‘We’re having a ba-by!’

  As congratulations abound, Jane looks across the table at Cara and smiles.

  ‘I knew it, Jane. I just knew it!’ cries Cara, rising from her chair. Running around the table, she embraces the couple. ‘That’s just wonderful. I’m so happy for the two of you.’

  Leaning back in her chair, Morwenna looks stunned. ‘Well, brother, you’ve truly excelled yourself!’ Tristan smiles sheepishly. ‘Do the folks know?’

 
; ‘No. We didn’t want to mention it until Jane was at least three months.’

  ‘So, am I going to be aunty to a boy or a girl?’

  ‘We’ve got an appointment next week,’ says Tristan. ‘We will know then.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ exclaims Morwenna. ‘This is the best of all days. Not only have I heard from…’ She manages to stop herself before mentioning his name. As Tristan gives his sister an inquisitive look, to distract him she turns to the rest of the table. ‘Did you hear that, everybody? I’m going to be an aunty!’

  It’s past eleven by the time they leave the restaurant. A clear, cold night. As Cara drives out of the car park, she waves to her friends and heads west towards the Lizard, aware of a stunning night sky full of stars. Unusually, her thoughts have taken her to a dark place. Passing the Royal Naval Air Station just outside Helston, she turns onto the A3083 and a few minutes later turns right onto the coast road. On either side, gnarled and wizened trees top the Cornish hedges. She normally sees the road as something from a fairy tale, leading to the cove where she feels safe and protected from the outside world, but tonight she feels adrift and the scenery offers no comfort. After a couple more miles she reaches the beach café. As the car turns onto the track, its headlights sweep across the building and highlight Janine’s new sign proudly displayed above the door, in preparation for the forthcoming tourist season. Things are changing. The thought makes Cara feel even more adrift.

  Most of the houses along the track are in darkness, but the light from The Lookout’s porch winks at her from the far end. Usually it’s a reassuring beacon, but not tonight. Coming to a halt in front of the bungalow, Cara switches off the engine and sits for a while listening to the silence. Eventually she gets out. Walking to the edge of the cliff, she looks out over a cove cloaked in darkness and peers in the direction of the ocean. The sound of breakers in the distance tell her the tide is out. The beach is forty feet below. If she were of a different character it would be so easy to take that step. She glances up at the night sky and marvels at the density of stars and planets adorning the canopy above. The Plough is plain to see and the Pole Star, too, is bright in the heavens.