by Kate Ryder
Deanna suppresses a smile. Of course he’d like Oliver to pay them a visit!
‘Again, thank you.’ A cobweb draping beneath the galleried landing catches her eye. She makes a mental note to remove it as soon as she finishes the call.
‘So, Friday it is,’ says Pins.
*
Zennor replaces the phone and punches the air. With a bit of investigation, she has discovered the name of the property that caught Oliver’s eye and unearthed its owners. However, Dave was right. The house is used as a holiday let, a successful one too, and the owners have no interest in selling. Rising to the challenge, she made further enquiries and has discovered a property that might just satisfy her client’s need for seclusion while offering fabulous sea views.
On her notepad is written a name and a figure falling well within Oliver’s budget. Zennor smiles broadly. What a wonderful career she has! She walks to the kitchen pours herself a large glass of Pinot Grigio and carries it back to her lounge. Through the picture windows of her exclusive, Falmouth maritime apartment she watches as a yacht sails smoothly into the marina. Swallowing a large mouthful of wine, she picks up the phone again and calls him.
‘Hello, Oliver. I hope you’ve had a good night’s sleep and are quite rested after the exhausting day we had yesterday,’ she says.
‘Quite rested, Zennor. Thank you.’
‘I’ve some bad news, but also some good.’
‘Hit me with the bad first,’ Oliver says.
‘The owners of the Helford property you asked me to find out about are not interested in selling at any price. The house is let out successfully and they have no wish to change that.’
‘That’s disappointing, but I can understand their reasoning.’
‘Now for the good news. I’ve made further enquiries and I may have found a property that will pique your interest and satisfy much on your tick list.’ Zennor is unable to contain the excitement in her voice.
‘You have my undivided attention,’ responds Oliver.
She smiles. ‘It’s not on the market, but for the right price the owners will consider selling.’
‘OK.’
‘It’s not on the Helford. It’s positioned on the cliffs at the mouth of the river with unparalleled sea views. It’s four old coastguard cottages that could easily be knocked into one, or extended.’
‘Sounds like a project. Are you trying to put me to work, Zennor?’ Oliver teases.
Zennor blushes. ‘No, I just thought you’d be able to create your dream home in a wonderful clifftop position,’ she says, flustered. ‘After all, it’s all about location.’
‘You’re right, of course. Please arrange a viewing while I’m down.’
‘What about the other waterside property I showed you yesterday?’ she asks, trying to regain some professional composure. ‘The mystery house. Would you like to view that as well?’
‘I’ve given it a great deal of thought but, unfortunately, I don’t think it’s a contender. It looks a fascinating property and will make a wonderful home for some lucky family but – and this is the sad reality I have to consider – it doesn’t offer a great deal of privacy from the water. If I purchased it, once people got to hear that I owned the property the river would most likely be swamped with press and sightseers.’ And stalkers. Oliver shivers. Sylvie would have had a field day. She’d probably have set up camp in a boat with binoculars constantly trained on the house.
‘Right you are,’ says Zennor. ‘What if I pick you up around ten? That’ll give us the morning to explore the property and then I thought we could have lunch at the sailing club.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
‘See you in just over twenty-four hours then,’ she says, already mentally selecting an outfit to wear. ‘If there’s anything different to impart I will call you again.’
Replacing the phone, Zennor watches the yacht glide neatly into its berth.
Twenty-seven
Oliver lays his mobile phone on the coffee table and gazes out of the window towards Mullion Island. Another clear spring day, and a pale sun graces a cloudless blue sky. In sharp contrast to the deep turquoise sea, foaming white waves pound against the base of the cliffs and the harbour wall. It’s an incredibly wild and beautiful scene and the drama speaks to Oliver’s darker side, briefly affording some respite from his inner demons. Contrary to what he told Zennor, he’s had a terrible night’s sleep, tossing and turning, his stomach churning with excitement or tying itself into knots. He is so very close. She is only a few miles along the rugged coastline and he will see her for the first time since leaving Cornwall. And, maybe, his son…
Oliver walks to the bedside table and picks up his watch. Ten o’clock. Not too early to pay a visit to the family that resides in his heart. Grabbing his leather jacket from the back of the chair, he checks he’s got his wallet and picks up his mobile phone and helmet from the coffee table. Taking one last look at the view, he strides from the suite and down to Reception.
‘Good morning, Mr Foxley,’ says the young woman behind the desk.
‘Morning.’
‘Will you be having supper with us this evening?’ she enquires brightly.
‘Not sure. Probably best to assume not.’
‘Is there anything I can get you? A paper perhaps?’ she asks, flashing him a dazzling smile.
‘No, thanks. I’m out for the day.’ Smiling briefly, Oliver heads towards the hotel’s entrance. He knows from experience that if he looks back he will see her eyes following his every move. That’s why he likes the freedom of the Harley. It allows him to travel incognito. Oliver walks purposefully across the forecourt towards the motorbike. Opening the cap of the fuel tank, he checks the level. Then, putting on his helmet, he straddles the bike and fires it up. He allows the engine to run for several minutes before riding the bike towards the road. As he passes the hotel’s main entrance he notices the receptionist and a couple of waitresses watching him from a side window.
With no direct coastal route to the cove from Mullion, Oliver turns inland, passing the school in Cury where he dropped off Bethany and Sky on several occasions. Even though it’s many months since he was last in the area, it all seems so familiar. As the bike eats up the miles he feels time turning in on itself. He wonders what reception he will receive. He will put no pressure on her. Cara must feel comfortable with it all. He joins the main road and heads towards Helston for a mile or so. On reaching the barbed wire fencing defining the outer limits of RNAS Culdrose, Oliver turns left and follows the coast road for a couple of miles. As he draws nearer to the cove, his heart hammers in his chest and his stomach tightens into a sickening knot. The last time he was this nervous was the first time he had dinner with Cara on her own. He felt like a love-struck teenager on a first date, not knowing what to do or how to react.
The single-track lane twists and turns and Oliver rides carefully down the hill. It would be too awful if anything should happen to him now, just as he is about to embrace his past. He takes the last bend and the beach café suddenly comes into view with the cove stretching out before him. It’s as familiar to him as if he lived here himself; the scene is etched upon his heart. Oliver lets out a long breath, only now realising he was holding it in.
As he rides into the car park he’s surprised to see the sign above the door no longer states Rick’s Beach Hut but, instead, Janine’s Coffee Shop & Café. Times have changed. With a sense of foreboding, Oliver switches off the engine and kicks down the side stand. He dismounts and removes his helmet. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he gazes along the cove. So many nights in Surrey he has looked out at the forest, longing for it to be this view, to smell the salt in the air and hear the sound of the surf. Now he is here! He looks along the empty beach and watches the waves breaking against Anvil Rock, the flat-topped rock jutting out of the water a hundred yards offshore. He turns in the direction of The Lookout, the furthest of half a dozen assorted properties nestling high above the beach with the cliffs
rising dramatically behind them. Nothing has changed. It’s still the same view. Perhaps a couple of the houses have had a facelift, but Cara’s modest bungalow appears unaltered. It’s still a charmingly hotchpotch affair, like a child’s Lego building with several afterthoughts. He wonders if, at this very moment, she is working in the flat-roofed extension that houses her studio.
Attempting to regulate his breathing and still his clamouring heart, Oliver takes another deep breath. He will have a coffee. That will give him time to gather his thoughts and emotions and decide how he’s going to do this. It’s vital he doesn’t screw up. He must get it right. Oliver walks towards the building that holds so many memories for him. This is where he experienced love at first sight. He’d never truly believed in the phenomenon until it sought him out. This is where he gained empathy for all those women who find themselves speechless in his presence, having experienced the very same when he first met Cara. Since that summer he’s revisited the area in his mind a thousand times, but now he’s here he wonders if he has the nerve to go through with his plan. Is Cara right? Would it be better to leave things well alone? With his fingers on the door handle, Oliver hesitates. But he’s come so far, he can’t bottle out now. Slowly, he pushes down on the handle.
As the door opens, Janine looks up and does a double-take.
‘Goodness me! How are you?’ she booms, emerging from behind the counter and rushing across the room. She wraps him in an enormous hug.
‘All the better for seeing you, Janine,’ Oliver splutters, taking a step back to admire the woman standing before him.
Almost the same height as him, she was always a force to reckon with. His heart softens at the memories her presence invokes: how she helped them during the tragic incident with Sylvie, and how she was always there for Cara. She is part of their story too.
‘So, what do you think of my newest project?’ Janine asks, smiling broadly and opening her arms wide to encompass the café.
‘Very nice,’ he says, taking in the shabby-chic reinvention of Rick’s former empire. ‘How long have you had it?’
‘A few months. Did you know Rick and Tan tied the knot? They gave up the café and bought a boat. That’s when he offered it to me. I jumped at the chance.’
‘Rick and Tan married!’ Oliver raises an eyebrow and grins. Janine giggles.
‘Yes. They threw a huge party here to celebrate. They were so meant to be, even though they couldn’t always see it. I know Rick made out he had a wandering eye, but we all knew it was Tan who had that.’ She winks at Oliver, knowingly. ‘But, in the end, she said whatever distance she tried to put between them, like magnets they always bounced back. Mind you, not sure how long the honeymoon will last, being confined to a yacht!’
Oliver laughs. ‘I can imagine that will be some challenge!’
‘Oh, Oliver, it’s just so great to see you!’ Janine claps her hands together. ‘I thought you’d never come back.’
‘I’m here on a bit of business,’ Oliver says, careful that his face doesn’t give away any emotion.
‘Would you like a drink or a bite to eat?’ Janine asks.
‘Coffee, please.’
‘I can do regular, espresso, Americano, cappuccino, latte, or Irish?’
‘Espresso would be fine, thanks, Janine. A bit early for Irish!’
‘Go grab a seat,’ Janine says.
Oliver walks to a window table and pulls out a chair. From here he can see the full length of the cove. As he places his helmet and gloves on the seat next to him, he scans the beach for signs of anyone he might recognise. Hanging his leather jacket over the back of the chair, he glances around the café. A single man, two couples and a family make up Janine’s customers.
‘Here you go,’ Janine says, arriving with a cup of coffee and placing it on the table in front of him. Making sure none of her other customers are trying to gain her attention, she pulls out the chair opposite and sits down. ‘How have you been?’
Briefly, his face registers the strain. ‘Life goes on.’
Janine smiles sympathetically.
Oliver glances around again at the subtle alterations Janine has made. Gone is the wooden masculinity that marked Rick’s Beach Hut, despite Tania’s attempts at feminising it. In its place are cool, muted washes bringing to the interior a light and airy feel. As he registers the art on the walls his heart misses a beat.
‘I see you have Cara’s paintings on display.’
‘Aren’t they just beautiful?’ Janine exclaims. ‘Even though it’s still early in the season I’ve sold a few. I’ve already had to restock.’
‘How is she?’ Oliver asks softly.
Janine’s gaze returns to Oliver. ‘Getting on with life,’ she says simply. He stares into his coffee cup. ‘You know she won that art competition?’
He nods. ‘I never doubted she would.’ Oliver’s gaze meets Janine’s. ‘I am so proud of her,’ he says, his heart swelling with love and warmth.
‘Well, things have changed for Cara quite a bit since then. Her gallery is now sought out by people desperate to own an original Cara P!’
Oliver smiles. ‘And the children?’ he asks tentatively.
‘The children are fine, Oliver,’ says Janine kindly. ‘Bethany is rapidly turning into a beautiful girl, and Sky is as cheeky and disarming as ever.’ She hesitates before mentioning Toby. One of the few people aware that Oliver is his father, she also knows he has played no role in the baby’s life. Would Cara want her discussing Toby with him? But how can she not? ‘And Toby is a joy. He has brought so much happiness to them all.’
Oliver uncurls his fists, unaware until now that his hands were clenched. This is the first time he has talked to anyone about his son.
‘I hope to see them,’ he says, his voice sounding very small.
‘Oh, Oliver.’ Janine smiles compassionately. ‘They’re not here.’
With the onset of panic, his heart starts to race.
‘Cara is in the States and the children are with their grandparents.’
Cara in the States! What’s she doing there?
Oliver glances along the cove in the direction of The Lookout.
‘That American art critic invited her out for a few days,’ Janine says. ‘I must say, he seems very keen.’
Despite years of training, Oliver is unable to keep the intense emotion from his eyes.
Janine’s arm darts out across the table and her hand encompasses his. ‘You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?’ she whispers.
‘Is it that obvious?’ he says gruffly. Janine nods. ‘I just want to know they’re OK.’
‘They’re OK, Oliver.’ She squeezes his hand before withdrawing hers. ‘They’re a remarkably resilient family,’ she says in awe. ‘They’ve been through so much.’
And I so want to alter that, and yet I am powerless.
Oliver nods.
‘Excuse me for a moment,’ Janine says, looking over Oliver’s shoulder at the man in the far corner waving to catch her attention. ‘I think I’m needed.’
Twenty-eight
As Cara waits for the luggage carousel to fill with suitcases, she glances around the baggage collection area and sees the young American on the down escalator. He looks a little jaded after the flight and wisps of wavy dark hair escape from his man bun.
Lucky guy spending the next year travelling, she thinks, though it’s not something she would swap her life for. Her children are her raison d’être and it’s important she considers Greg’s offer carefully. She tries to ignore the flutter of fear.
Noisily, the carousel jerks into motion and the first of the bags appears at the top of the chute. A suitcase slides down and joins the revolving platform at the bottom, almost falling off, and a woman darts forward to grab it. All at once a number of bags slide onto the chute, all jostling for space.
‘Hello again.’
Cara turns. Clear brown eyes.
‘Hi.’
‘Did you enjoy Upper Class?’ he
asks.
‘I’d be lying if I said no,’ she says with a guilty smile. ‘How was your flight?’
‘Once I’d cut the legs off the kid kicking the back of my seat it was fine.’ He laughs at her horrified face. ‘Only joking! Bet you had none of that upfront.’
She laughs. ‘It was very grown-up!’ Behind him, she spots her suitcase on the chute. ‘That’s mine,’ she says, positioning herself to extract the bag from the moving carousel.
‘Let me,’ he says. ‘Which one?’
‘Oh, thanks. The blue suitcase with the surfer stickers.’ He gives her a quizzical look. ‘My son stuck them on.’
Pulling the suitcase towards him, the young man places it on the floor beside her. ‘Son? You don’t look old enough.’
She smiles politely. ‘One daughter, two sons.’
His eyes open wide. ‘Then you must have had children very young.’
‘You’re being very kind.’
‘No, I’m not,’ he says. ‘I mean it.’
Cara gazes at him. Even though he’s obviously had a trying flight, the young man fizzes with life. That’s how Christo once was. Her heart pinches. How cruel life can be, changing in an instant.
‘Well, I’d better get going,’ she says, glancing at her watch. ‘I have to be at Paddington by four.’
‘Yes.’
‘Goodbye, then. Enjoy your year of travel.’ She smiles at him.
With her mind already focused on the onward journey, Cara doesn’t see him watching her walk away as she makes her way through customs. Emerging onto the arrivals concourse, she looks around for signs to the Heathrow Express.
‘Would you mind if I travelled with you into London?’ he asks, coming up fast behind her with a large rucksack on his back.
She looks at him in surprise. ‘Where are you heading?’
‘I haven’t booked anywhere. Thought I’d find a hotel once I got here.’
Cara raises her eyebrows. ‘Is that how you plan to travel in Europe?’