by Carola Dunn
“No. We’ve no idea how long this is going to take.”
It took them some time to find the right ward. Then they were told the consultant had had an emergency case and hadn’t yet finished his rounds. The empty waiting room was dingy, hung with pallid watercolours of rural scenes, evoking the stillness of death rather than any sense of peace and comfort.
“What they need is to liven up the place with a few of Nick’s brightest landscapes,” Megan said tartly.
“Nick?” Ken was investigating a pair of urns. “Tepid tea or tepid coffee?”
“No, thanks.”
“Just what I was thinking. Twin hearts that beat as one. Why don’t you come back, Megan? We had a good thing going.”
“‘Had’ being the operative word.”
“You’re the one who left for the outer reaches of the kingdom.”
“You’re the one who moved out. And moved in with someone else.”
“Yes, well, we all make mistakes.”
“And go on making them, from what I hear.”
“Only because you aren’t there.”
“Nor am I going to be there.”
“Is there someone else? Who’s this Nick? Not that artist bloke who was involved in—?”
He would remember! “My aunt’s neighbour, that’s all,” Megan said firmly. “You’d better stop this, Ken. We’re about to quarrel and we’ve got to work together for the rest of—”
“DS Pencarrow?”
“Yes, Sister.” Relieved to get away, Megan followed the nurse.
“Mr. Chudasama’s going to pull through,” she said, leading the way, “but it’s been touch-and-go. You know what happened to him?”
“Pretty much. I … I was there when he was rescued.”
“Pencarrow! You’re the one who pulled him out! I thought it sounded familiar, but all these Cornish names sound the same to me.” She turned and looked Megan up and down. “Pleased to meet you. That was a job well done. Here we are.” Her hand on a doorknob, she went on, “Doctor says just five minutes, and I’m to stay. You needn’t worry, I won’t repeat anything I hear.”
They went in. It was a two-bed side ward, the second bed empty. The head of Kalith’s bed was raised, a refinement not available in Bodmin Hospital. A breathing machine—ventilator—and an IV apparatus stood beside it, though he wasn’t using either at present. His head was bandaged, and a pillow on each side prevented much movement. His eyes were closed. In spite of the contrast of his dark skin with the white bandage and bedding, he managed to look pale, and alarmingly frail.
“Kalith.” She ought to call him Mr. Chudasama, but she’d been thinking of him as Kalith.
He opened his eyes.
“Mr. Chudasama, this is the lady who saved you from the sea. She wants to ask you a few questions.”
There was no recognition in the dark eyes. “My sister?” he asked in a croaking whisper.
“She’s safe and well. I talked to her yesterday.”
Tears appeared and trickled sideways down his thin cheeks. Sister tut-tutted and wiped them away.
“Kalith, what do you remember? About how you got here?”
“Everything … from Mombasa … to the cave. I tried to … swim for help.”
“You succeeded!”
“Cold water … then nothing … until here.”
“But you remember the journey.”
He remembered the journey. In the brief time available, Megan managed to elicit the fact that he was aware of Gopal’s forays above deck on the freighter. So Pal wasn’t romancing. He hadn’t told Kalith much about what he saw, but at least the boy hadn’t invented the whole story.
“Time’s up,” said Sister.
“Wait!” Kalith reached out towards Megan, then let his hand drop. “My sister … may visit me? And my cousin Ajay?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Megan promised. Outside the room, she said to Sister, “He didn’t ask after his mother.”
“He was worrying, and Doctor said it was best to break it to him: Mrs. Chudasama died early this morning.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Eleanor had the North County Times delivered. Having let Teazle out of the back door, she went to the front door to pick up the paper. Two copies had been shoved through the letterbox. In the top left corner of one, someone—presumably Mr. Irvin, the newsagent—had drawn a red star in felt-tip pen, with an arrow leading down to a photo of Megan.
As though she could possibly miss it! It was a rotten photo. Her niece had a slight frown and slightly pursed lips. The headline almost made up for it, though: “Heroic Rescue by Local Cop.”
With one copy under her arm, reading the other, she returned along the passage to the open back door. Teazle was sniffing about under the gorse and blackthorn bushes on the other side of the path. The morning was misty and chilly, and Eleanor was in her dressing gown, so she called the dog in.
“It looks as if David Skan has done us proud,” she said as they went upstairs. “Thank goodness he hasn’t put me on the front page. I hope he’s managed to leave me out altogether, as I asked him.”
She fed Teazle but postponed her own breakfast in favour of reading the complete article. The photo on the inside page delighted her. “If that doesn’t touch a few hearts, I don’t know what will,” she told Teazle, who wagged her tail and curled up on her bed for a nice after-breakfast nap.
The paper had no picture of Kalith, of course, but Skan had written about his heroism as equal to Megan’s, or more so, as he had no idea where he was going. Altogether, although she was briefly mentioned near the end, Eleanor thought he and his editor had done a wonderful job.
And he’d got the story into the Guardian too, though only a couple of paragraphs. With any luck, they’d follow it up, and other nationals would join in. Not that she was greedy for glory for Megan, but anything to illuminate the plight of people forced by hard-hearted governments into the Nayaks’ situation …
Her mind wandered to their present situation. She could go downstairs and help Jocelyn sort out household stuff for them. Joce was unlikely to appreciate the offer. Or she could go out on one of her donation-collecting trips. If anyone offered something that would be useful to the Nayaks, she could ask if they’d mind it going to the Indian refugees rather than the LonStar shop. She would take the local paper with her, folded open to show the picture of the children.
After breakfast and a bath, she and Teazle headed Otterham way. Inland the sun shone; the hedges were aflutter with birds squabbling over scarlet hips and crimson haws.
They called at tiny hamlets and farmhouses tucked into valleys on the edge of the moors: Trevilla Down, Penhale, Cairo, Kernick, Cardew, Trelash, Tredarrup Cross, Penwenham. Bits and pieces accumulated, but the prize was a floor lamp, perfect for the Nayaks. The donor was happy to agree to let them have it. The only problem was fitting it into the car. They took off the shade, and Eleanor folded down the passenger seat, and with a struggle they manoeuvred it in. The dog wasn’t happy, and Eleanor knocked her elbow against it every time she changed gear. They turned homeward.
They arrived back in still misty Port Mabyn just in time for lunch at the vicarage.
Jocelyn greeted Eleanor with the news that she had rung up the Plymouth hospital again. “And this time I spoke to someone less close-mouthed. Kalith is expected to recover.”
“Oh, wonderful!”
“Unhappily, his mother died this morning.”
Timothy said gently that he would pray for Mrs. Chudasama, then was lost in silent reflection. Jocelyn, serving a delicious-smelling casserole that had been simmering in the oven all morning, told Eleanor what had been collected for the Nayaks. St. Petroc’s congregation and the Bodmin Womens Institute, some of them also Red Cross volunteers, had already provided a kitchen table, some chairs, and other necessary odds and ends. Most of what Jocelyn had gathered from the shop was small stuff, kitchen equipment and linens.
“That’s lucky,” said Eleanor, “because I picked
up a rather large lamp this morning and the donor particularly wants it to go to the Nayaks, but it only just fitted in the car.”
“Then it had better stay there,” Jocelyn said firmly. “You can deliver it to them another day. I have to get back to the shop and everything is already loaded in my car. We can’t possibly rearrange it now.”
Nick drove, Eleanor beside him with Teazle on her lap, to avoid getting dog hair on the sheets, pillowcases, towels, blankets, and eiderdowns piled high on the backseat. Nick hadn’t seen the paper. Eleanor told him about Skan’s article and pictures, and Jocelyn’s news of Kalith and his mother.
“She didn’t find out about Jay’s sister, though, the pregnant one they kept in hospital in Bodmin. I do hope she’s all right.”
“We’ll soon find out. Jay’s the policeman? Perhaps we ought to take him with us to see the Averys. He might notice something we’d miss,” Nick suggested.
“Better not. He has no official standing here. It would be terrible if he got into trouble for impersonating a police officer.”
“I wasn’t proposing that he should try to make an arrest.”
“All the same, if the Averys actually were involved, seeing him would alert them to our suspicions.”
“Which could surprise an admission out of them, or could make them flee. No, you’re right,” he conceded. “A confrontation might work, but that’s up to the police. Too much risk of it turning nasty. As it is, Chaz’s clothes give us a perfect excuse to call.”
“Julia first,” said Eleanor. “I telephoned to tell her we were coming and she said she’ll be in all afternoon. She’ll be able to tell us more about the Averys before we go on there.”
“Don’t mention them to the Nayaks.”
“Of course not.”
The Nayaks were delighted to see Eleanor and to meet Nick, whom she introduced as having helped to save Kalith. They had heard about Kalith’s improvement and his mother’s death from Megan. Apparently she and another detective had turned up that morning to ask more questions. While the children fussed over Teazle, Eleanor asked after Jay’s sister. She was being kept in hospital only because of the crowded conditions in the council house.
“Soon the Borough Council will find us a second house,” the senior Mr. Nayak said.
“The new houses are being built for people from London,” Jay explained. “Officially, ‘Metropolitan overspill relocation from the Greater London Council.’ Otherwise known as slum clearance, they say. The local people seem to prefer us, at least for the present.”
“Everyone is being most kind,” said his father.
With many hands to help, Jocelyn’s car was quickly emptied, but Mrs. Nayak senior’s pressing invitation—relayed by her daughter-in-law—to stay for a cup of tea could not be turned down. Eleanor and Nick left later than they had intended.
“I hope you know how to find Mabe Burnthouse,” said Nick. “What an extraordinary name for a village.”
“I looked at the map, and Julia gave me directions. Don’t get confused if you see a sign to just plain Burnthouse, though. There’s another one a few miles away.”
“An epidemic of arson?”
“And another Mabe, as well.”
Nick groaned.
However, they quite easily found the village and Julia’s house, a modern bungalow with a garden still ablaze with roses. Apart from Merlin, her large but mellow dog, she was alone at home, packing to go back to Exeter University and happy to have an excuse for a break. She thanked Eleanor for returning her clothes.
“I was hoping to get them back in time to pack. Tea?” she offered, “or a beer? Or I could pinch some of Dad’s sherry. And water for Teazle, of course.”
Though Eleanor felt she had drunk enough tea for the afternoon, refusing offered hospitality was no way to get someone talking and she could hardly condone petty larceny, even from a parent. Nick opted for beer.
“D’you mind the kitchen? I always slop stuff all over the place when I carry a tray through to the lounge. Mum despairs of me.”
“The kitchen is fine,” said Eleanor.
When they were sitting at the kitchen table, Nick said, “We’re taking Chaz’s stuff back, too. I hope he hasn’t already gone off to Exeter, but we can always leave it with his family. Flushing, isn’t it? We hoped you could tell us how to find the Averys’ house.”
“You can hardly miss it. It’s one of the big ones, right on the water, just west of the village, the last or next to last before Trefusis Point. White, with a slate roof and lots of gables. It’s the family mansion. They all live together, under his grandfather’s thumb.”
“All?” asked Eleanor.
“Sounds claustrophobic, doesn’t it? Grandfather, who runs the family business. He’s a widower, I think. At least, Chaz never talks about his gran. Chaz’s dad and mum—He escaped from the shipping business. He’s an architect, and Mrs. Avery runs a boutique or something, but I suppose they like the mansion life. Chaz’s sister, who’s at boarding school, and his uncle Paul, who’s divorced and his wife took their kids. I don’t blame her; he’s never at home.”
Julia had the makings of a first-rate gossip. Nick hardly needed to encourage her. “Never?”
“He’s a ship’s captain, you see, one of the Avery Line ships. They go all over the world. Chaz says he used to like it when he was young, but now he’s fed up and wants to take over running the business.”
“That sounds reasonable,” said Eleanor, trying not to meet Nick’s eyes. So the uncle was a ship’s captain, was he? “Isn’t Chaz’s grandfather about ready to retire?”
“Well, all I know is what Chaz tells me. He says his uncle Paul is a good seaman, but whenever he gets into port he goes on a bender. Not just booze, apparently; he’s into gambling, too. As soon as he gets home, he goes off to horse races and blows all his money. There was a huge row a couple of years ago, when the old man had to bail him out.” Julia’s voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. “Chaz said the bookies were after him!”
“I can see why his father doesn’t want to hand over the reins, then,” said Nick. “Uncle Paul doesn’t exactly sound trustworthy.”
“Didn’t you say Chaz isn’t your boyfriend?” Eleanor was beginning to feel some qualms—though, given the situation, not many. “He seems to have confided a lot of the family’s dirty linen.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. He was boasting, not confiding. He thinks his uncle is terrific. It’s from him he learnt that racialist stuff he spouted when we helped to rescue the Indian. A lot of Uncle Paul’s crew are Indian, apparently, and he despises them. At least, Chaz says those things without thinking.” Her brow wrinkled. “I rather gather his uncle means it. But his grandfather gets on well with the common sailors, white or brown. When he was a captain, before his father retired, when his ship called at Falmouth he always had a party for his crew at the house.”
Eleanor glanced at Nick, who looked as puzzled as she felt. The head of Avery Shipping liked Indians. Captain Paul Avery disliked Indians. Mr. Rupert Avery, architect, had been questioning Boscastle fishermen about smugglers, thinly disguised as a sailor and in a state of high anxiety. How on earth did these pieces fit together, and where did the Nayaks’ voyage and misadventures come in?
Obviously, Julia wouldn’t know. Chaz almost certainly hadn’t known when Megan pulled Kalith from the sea. He might know now, though. Whether he’d talk about it was another matter, but he hadn’t been exactly reticent about family affairs with Julia.
Eleanor looked at her watch. “Good heavens, it’s later than I thought. We’d better be moving on now.” She stood up. “Thank you so much for the tea, Julia. It was very kind of you.”
“Do you know how to get to Flushing? You can drive round the long way, or cross over from Falmouth on the ferry. No, I’ll tell you what. I’d love to take you across in our boat. I’m dying for an excuse to go out on the water one more time before term starts. Calliope’s just a little sailing dinghy, but there’s plenty of room
for three and the dog. Teazle, not Merlin. Let’s go quickly, before Mum and Dad come home. I’ll leave a note.”
“Sailing?” said Nick. “There doesn’t seem to be much wind.”
Julia laughed. “Don’t worry, we’ll use the outboard, though with the river current and the tide going down, we’ll hardly need it.”
“No wind, calm water?” Eleanor said hopefully.
“Yes, and there won’t be much traffic—most people have laid up their boats for the winter. We can go ashore right at the Averys’ place.”
The boat was moored at Penryn harbour, just a few minutes’ drive away. Eleanor was relieved to see steps going down to a wooden pontoon—she didn’t feel like performing acrobatics to board. It took Julia several attempts to start the outboard; she swore it was just because it was cold, it wasn’t going to strand them in midriver.
As promised, the engine, the current, and the ebbing tide carried them swiftly downstream between rows of buoys and occasional moored vessels. Huge puffs of cloud drifted overhead, the sun breaking through at intervals; swirls of mist rose from the water. At first, the river twisted between low green hills, dotted with occasional houses. Then Falmouth town and harbour spread along the southern bank, and the village of Flushing appeared straight ahead on the north bank.
Instead of making straight towards Flushing, Julia steered the little boat round the last bend. The Penryn River widened dramatically. In front of them now were the Falmouth docks, with several large ships moored at the quays.
Eleanor wondered whether one of them had brought the Nayaks all the way from Mombasa.
Their course curved to the left. Mudflats interspersed with patches of sand and seaweed lined the river’s edge, below a high, clifflike bank splotched with red valerian. Here and there, small boats were pulled up on the beach, and moored offshore floated a motor launch and a couple of yachts.
Along the top of the bank stood a few large houses, well spaced, each with a long flight of steps down to the beach. Behind them rose a smooth, steep hill. Eleanor would have noticed the Averys’ mansion at once, even if they had not been heading directly towards it. White and many gabled, as Julia had described it, it had the grandest staircase leading up to it.