by Kate Ryder
‘Charlie, I have to go to Cornwall. Please keep an eye on the boys.’
Charlie draws back from kissing Kayleigh. He looks across the pool in surprise, flustered and embarrassed at being caught out by his dad. ‘What? You’re going to Cornwall now!’
‘Yes, something’s come up that needs my urgent attention.’
‘When will you be back?’ Charlie asks.
‘Not sure. Probably Sunday. I’ll let you know if it’s any different.’
Charlie pulls a face. ‘I guess I haven’t much option.’
‘Sorry to disrupt your plans for the weekend,’ Oliver says. He gives Charlie and his pretty girlfriend a brief smile before turning away and striding down the path in the direction of the house.
Through the leisure barn’s large plate-glass windows, Charlie watches his father’s rapidly disappearing figure in disbelief.
Fifty-four
The sky is heavy with clouds and a thick mizzle settles over the cove, subduing it in a cloak of grey melancholy. As Oliver rides the Harley onto the dirt track he notices only four cars in the café’s car park. No doubt, summer visitors in Cornwall have found other things to do on this wet and dreary day. He’s made good time, even though the driving conditions are lethal. The rain let up somewhere around Taunton and gave brief respite, but from Launceston onwards the mizzle has set in, mirroring the feeling in his heart. He cannot shake off the idea that fate plays its final card and the outcome is anything but certain. He pulls up in front of The Lookout; his stomach in knots. Removing his helmet, Oliver takes a deep breath, only to find his lungs incapable of taking in enough air.
Dear God, please not a panic attack now!
He hasn’t got time for any hold-ups. Taking rapid, shallow breaths, Oliver props the Harley on its stand and walks to the porch door. It’s locked. He rings the bell, but there’s no answer. With a mouth dry with apprehension, he walks around the bungalow, cupping his hands at the windows and peering in. All is neat and tidy. Everything is in its place, apart from Sky’s room. The floor is typically strewn with toys. He checks the shed, to see if Bethany’s rabbit is in its hutch, but there is no hutch. A different time. He continues to circle the property and arrives at Cara’s bedroom with its seaward-facing French windows, but the shutters are closed. He cannot see in. Standing back from the bungalow, Oliver takes a long hard look. Closed up. No signs of Cara or the children… or Barnaby. Even Basil, the cat, has not put in an appearance. He turns and scans the cove, but no one is on the beach today. All is silent and still. The tide is halfway out and quiet waves lap the shoreline where a flock of gulls carefully eye the grey sands.
Oliver strides down the track towards Janine’s house and knocks on the door. Silence. No one at home. Letting out a groan of frustration, he goes back to the Harley and puts his helmet on. He starts up the bike and turns it in the rough circle at the side of The Lookout, and then rides down the track towards the car park.
The café’s interior is warm and welcoming and gentle music plays in the background. The doors leading to the glazed decked area are closed to keep out the weather, and the few customers sit at tables in the main café. Oliver glances towards the counter. A middle-aged woman observes him, and her eyes open wide when he removes his helmet and walks towards her.
‘I’m looking for Janine,’ Oliver says, without pleasantries. ‘Is she around?’
The woman shakes her head.
Oliver groans. ‘When will she be back?’ he asks urgently.
‘Not until Monday, my ʼansum. She’s taken the twins to visit her sick father.’
Oliver drags a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t suppose you know where Cara is?’
The woman shakes her head again.
Disheartened, Oliver walks away. At the door he turns back. She’s still watching, wide-eyed, and he smiles briefly at the startled woman. ‘Thanks.’
He steps outside and scans the cove again, hoping that Cara will suddenly appear, but the beach remains empty. ‘Where are you?’ he shouts into the mizzle.
The gallery?
With renewed hope, Oliver fires up the bike again, puts on his helmet and roars away up the lane leading out of the cove. There are a number of cars on the wet roads – the occupants seeking out the next indoor activity on this miserable summer’s day – and Oliver weaves in and out of the traffic as fast as he dares. Although Porthleven is no more than a few miles from the cove the journey seems interminable but, eventually, he arrives. Turning down Harbour Road, he rides into the alleyway leading to the courtyard and quickly dismounts. Removing his helmet, he peers through the gallery window. The lights are on but there’s no sign of anyone. With heart in mouth, Oliver enters.
‘I’ll be out in a moment,’ Carol’s voice carries from what Oliver knows is the small kitchen at the back of the gallery.
On edge, he waits; his patience thin.
Carol appears in the doorway, a mug of something steaming in her hand.
‘Oliver! What are you doing here?’ She deposits the mug on the sales counter and rushes forward to give him a hug. His leathers are wet, and she stands back quickly.
‘Carol, I’m looking for Cara.’
Something in his voice makes Carol pause. She looks up into strained eyes and starts at the pain reflected within; such obvious signs. Her face crumples and the tears come unbidden. Quickly, she wipes them away.
‘What, Carol? What?’ Grabbing her by the arms, Oliver searches Carol’s face. Her eyes are red-rimmed and he knows she’s been crying for some time.
‘She’s gone,’ Carol whispers, breaking out into a fresh set of tears.
Turning away, Oliver rakes a hand through his hair. If he were of a violent disposition he’d pick up one of those glazed pots and throw it at the wall. He turns back to Carol.
‘What do you mean gone?’ he demands, as blind panic engulfs him.
‘Gone,’ Carol repeats, sobbing uncontrollably.
Oliver hugs her to his chest. ‘Where has she gone?’ he asks more gently.
Carol takes a deep breath. ‘America. Greg has stolen my beautiful daughter and grandchildren.’
Feeling his legs are about to buckle, Oliver grabs the counter to steady himself as the blood drains from his face.
Too late! In the end he was just too late…
‘When?’ He feels like howling.
‘This morning,’ Carol replies between sobs. ‘I can’t believe it. I never did like that man. I always thought he was trouble.’
But Oliver is hardly listening as his mind considers the possibilities. ‘Carol, are you saying she flew out this morning?’
‘No, she and the children left for London this morning. She’s on the ten past eight flight.’
Oliver glances at his watch. Shit, it’s going to be tight.
‘Heathrow, I take it?’
‘Yes. Virgin Atlantic.’
He hurries towards the door, but turns back. ‘I will do all in my power to prevent her from going. And, Carol, I promise to do all that I can to bring your grandchildren back to Cornwall.’
Through bloodshot eyes, Carol watches him go.
Impatiently, Oliver fires up the Harley. Turning the motorbike in the tight courtyard, he rides through the alleyway, checks there are no cars coming down Harbour Road, and then roars out of town and away to the main road. If this weather persists – or worsens – the journey to London will be hell, but there’s no time to lose. He has to get there to prevent her from boarding.
Fifty-Five
With the family’s travel documents in her hand, Cara pushes a trolley piled high with suitcases towards the check-in desk. Heathrow is busy and the departures hall resounds to excited chatter and laughter. She can’t believe she’s actually doing this, but she has made up her mind. As Greg has requested, they will embrace all he has to offer and consider making a life for themselves in the States. She glances across at her children. Bethany smiles at her. Holding hands, Sky and Toby amuse themselves by circling each o
ther. She found it almost impossible to explain her decision to the children, but with Bethany moving up to secondary school next term, if ever there was a right time to consider a change of life it is now. Sky was more anxious about leaving Barnaby behind, but she promised that if they decide to settle in America he will be flown out. Cara looks up at the departures board. No boarding gate number allocated to their flight yet.
*
Oliver frantically searches the crowd. The journey was taxing and he’s taken several risks to get here in time. His stunt bike-riding skills have been put to the test and, once arriving at Heathrow, he as good as abandoned the motorbike without giving much thought to its security. If it’s nicked so be it. After all, it’s only a possession and one that can easily be replaced. This, on the other hand, is the most important moment of his life and something that is irreplaceable. As he roared up the M5, only just outrunning the ‘grey mist’ that greedily snatched at his heels, he screamed, ‘Not now. Back off. You will not claim me now!’ With his thoughts turning ever darker, he knew he wasn’t going to make it in time. Would Cara be flying Upper Class? If so, she would enter by a difference entrance. That could make all the difference in the world to his timing. Think! If Cara was paying for the tickets she would probably fly economy, but if Greg was paying? What would he be prepared to spend on them? Attempting to get inside Greg Latimer-Jones’ head, Oliver grimaced with concentration. Economy. He’d pay for economy tickets. However much he wanted to impress Cara, Greg would never fork out on Upper Class tickets for all her family. By this point, he would believe he’d shown her enough to secure her loyalty. But now, searching the departures hall, Oliver wonders if he’s miscalculated the man. He looks for the Virgin Atlantic check-in desks and, setting off in their direction, scans the crowd, ignoring the numerous double-takes and amazed faces turning in his direction.
*
‘Not long now,’ Cara says to her children as they move further up the queue.
‘I’m thirsty,’ says Sky.
‘Once the bags are checked in we’ll go through to the departures lounge,’ explains Cara. ‘I’ll buy you a drink then. You OK, Beth?’
‘I’m OK, Mum,’ Bethany replies with a smile.
So grown-up, thinks Cara. She turns back to face the front of the queue and doesn’t see her daughter’s eyes open wide in surprise.
Oliver approaches the little family that so completely captured his heart two summers before. He winks at the young girl, now a tender, budding beauty, and puts a finger to his lips. He glances at Sky, a breaker of hearts in the making if ever there was one, and then his gaze falls upon the little boy holding firmly onto his half-brother’s hands. Oliver’s heart falters. He studies his son carefully, recognising the unruly mop of dark hair and the wayward kink in the boy’s fringe. However hard he tries, and whatever he does – especially if his hair grows long – that kink always reappears. And the look in the little boy’s blue eyes is a look that he is entirely familiar with.
Cara nudges the trolley forwards, heavy with suitcases. Nearly there… only one couple between them and check-in.
‘Cara,’ Oliver says softly.
A shiver runs up Cara’s spine. She’d recognise the deep timbre of his voice anywhere. But, surely she’s imagining it? Slowly, she turns.
Oliver searches her face. No visible response. The glazed look is in place; her emotions firmly locked behind a thick layer of impenetrable glass.
‘You don’t have to do this.’
‘I do. We do. We are,’ she says, as the black leathers, biker boots and black helmet in his hand trigger a memory. It was him at the cove that day! Hesitantly, she meets his gaze.
‘But why? Your life is here! You don’t need anyone else to make you a success,’ Oliver says.
Behind her, the ground hostess clears her throat and Cara turns. There is now no one between her and check-in.
Oliver catches hold of Cara’s hand. The electricity between them is still there.
‘I love you, Cara,’ he says, gazing into her eyes. ‘I know I haven’t been around for you, but I won’t give up easily. Leaving is my last option. If you continue to push me away I will walk away knowing I gave it my all.’
Cara catches her breath. She cannot allow him to undermine her decision now. After all, what can he offer?
Suddenly Oliver understands. Everything that has gone before has led to this day and he has so much to lose. Taking a deep breath, he gets down on one knee and says, ‘Cara, my beautiful golden girl, love of my life, will you do me the honour of being my wife?’
With his eyes fixed on Cara and his heart hammering rapidly against his ribs, Oliver thinks he hears a collective intake of breath from around the hall. She is still shrouded in a thin veneer of sophistication but as he gazes into Cara’s dark brown eyes a crack appears in the aloof, cold stare directed at him.
‘But how?’ she asks in not much more than a whisper.
‘Because I love you. I always have… even before we met.’
‘But what of your wife?’ A small frown furrows her brow and Oliver longs to kiss it away.
‘Don’t worry about Deanna. I will put things right, as I should have done two years ago.’
Cara gazes down at the beautiful man on his knee in front of her. She knows how much he protects his family’s privacy; she can only imagine what this public display is taking from him.
‘Cara, you are my everything,’ Oliver says. ‘There's nothing that I wouldn't do for you.’
Saturday, late afternoon – Heathrow. The noise should be deafening but you could hear a pin drop.
Shifting uncomfortably on his knee and with a wry smile on his face, Oliver says, ‘I don’t mean to hurry you but I’m not as young as I used to be. If I don’t get up soon I fear I may never move from this position again.’
A small smile appears on Cara’s lips. Mesmerised, Oliver watches as her naturally beautiful, free spirit fights its way through the impenetrable glass wall that has kept it a prisoner for so long. A tear trickles down the side of her face and, incapable of speech, Cara nods.
Oliver gets to his feet. Taking her in his arms, he kisses her deeply. She’s soft and yielding, and her body moulds beautifully into his. As Cara’s healing light enters his soul, Oliver’s angst and desperation lift from his heart. Home… at last.
He’s more muscular than she remembers and his body is taut with a coiled power that makes heat curl low in her belly. The rasp of his stubble makes her head swim and blood courses faster and faster through her veins; sensations she’s not experienced for so very long. He’s warm and there’s something undeniably masculine that makes her shiver.
Over their kiss, Oliver and Cara become aware of a repeating sound. Reluctantly, they draw apart. Holding each other close, as if frightened they may lose each other again, they look quizzically at each other. Wolf whistles above the noise make them leave their bubble and glance outwards. A number of people have gathered, and they cheer and clap, aware of witnessing something momentously wonderful taking place today.
The ground hostess clears her throat again. ‘Excuse me, but will you be wanting your seats?’
Oliver gazes down at his beautiful girl. ‘Will you?’
‘No,’ she sighs, gazing back at him. It was such a stupid idea; how did she think it would ever work with Greg? She could weep with relief.
‘I believe that’s a no,’ Oliver says to the hostess with a wide smile. He turns to the children. ‘Beth and Sky, I promise to love and protect you for the rest of your lives. I hope you will agree to me being your dad.’
With a wise, beaming smile, Bethany nods. Sky bounces Toby’s hands up and down, chanting, ‘We’ve got a dad again! We’ve got a dad again!’ Catching the excitement in his older half-brother’s voice, the little boy giggles.
A loud cheer goes up from the crowd and several cameras flash, but Oliver couldn’t care less. Let the photos find their way into the national press. In fact, he wants to shout his love from the
rooftops! Gazing deeply into Cara’s dark brown eyes, he watches the emerald green and golden lights dancing within and, once again, has the feeling of being drawn into their hidden depths. Without hesitation, Oliver dives straight in.
Epilogue
Nine Months Later
The room is impressive, light and airy, and extends the full length of the first floor of all three previously derelict cottages. The perfect space for a party! All is white – Cara’s trademark – even the exposed A frames. Floor-to-ceiling windows open out onto a glass balcony from where there are magnificent, uninterrupted views across the bay. Oliver gazes across a sea of faces and smiles, relishing an increasingly familiar deep-rooted satisfaction. Finally, he is in the right place at the right time.
Amongst the guests are Tristan and Jane, with baby Christo stealing the show; Carol and Ken and their friends, Sheila and Barry, doing a sterling job keeping young Toby entertained; Janine and her husband, newly returned from the rigs, and their twins, Milly and Molly; Johnny, returned from Europe especially for the occasion, has spent most of the afternoon and evening paying very close attention to Sammy; and even Zennor has turned up for the celebrations with her new boyfriend, the owner of a number of successful estate agency offices across the South West. Charlie and his girlfriend, Kayleigh, are also here, as is Sebastian, down for a couple of weeks from boarding school. Oliver’s heart melts as he catches sight of Sky and Jamie playing with Barnaby and Frodo, their recently acquired five-month-old black Labrador. Like a shadow, the puppy barely leaves Jamie’s side, and the change in his son is astounding. Gone is the quiet, introverted boy of Surrey days; in his place is an inquisitive, intelligent and increasingly happy young lad. In the same class as Bethany, he has settled quickly at Mullion School. This new living arrangement works well for them all. It’s the new start they all needed. Even Deanna, fully immersed in her theatrical career in London, has found love with a highly regarded theatre director. Lastly, having served them well as a family home for a couple of decades, Hunter’s Moon is about to go on the market.