To Turn Full Circle

by Linda Mitchelmore

  ‘One bite wasn’t enough. Ye of so little faith – I told you they were good.’

  ‘And he wants six every other day.’

  ‘That’ll keep you out of mischief.’

  ‘I don’t look for it,’ Emma said. ‘It just sort of finds me sometimes. Anyway, why are we waiting here?’ She patted the red leather of the carousel seat they were sitting on.

  ‘Mr Smythe wants to show off his new motor. He’s gone to the garage to fetch it. He’s going to bring it to the front steps shortly. And who better to show it to than the maker of the most divine-tasting crab tarts a man is likely ever to eat?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘And me.’

  Emma clapped her hands together excitedly. Riding in a motor car – who’d have thought it.

  ‘Would you like to work here if there was an opening, Emma?’ Matthew grinned at her. Winked.

  What did all that mean? Had Matthew been talking to Mr Smythe to ask if he would take Emma on in the hotel? Just so he could get her out from under his own roof? So she wouldn’t blab to anyone – however accidental that blab might be – if contraband goods came in to Shingle Cottage?

  ‘You know I would. But I need to practise my cooking a lot more first. And learn other things like book-keeping. Or, I suppose I could learn on the job, couldn’t I?’

  ‘I don’t doubt you could,’ Matthew laughed. ‘But now, if memory serves me well, you said you wanted to dance on this floor under these chandeliers. Yes?’ Matthew stood up, held out his hands towards Emma. ‘There’s no one here at the moment to see us. Now’s your chance.’

  ‘Yes, but … but, I don’t know how to dance.’

  ‘Then I shall teach you. I’m sure we’ll be able to affect a fairly passable waltz.’

  A waltz?

  ‘I’ve never known a fisherman who could dance before,’ Emma said. ‘Except for country dancing. And I don’t know that it’s proper. Won’t Mr Smythe mind?’

  ‘Some fishermen, Emma – as I’m sure you’ll know from your father – are fairly well-educated. Not all of them are illiterate. And I’m sure Mr Smythe won’t mind us having a little dance on his shiny floor after eating your crab tart. Now …’

  Matthew pulled her from her seat.

  As though she was a puppet he moved her arms into the correct position to dance. Then he began to sing softly. He had a good voice. A tenor voice. He sang about birds and trees and roses and love.

  ‘Take a small step back with your left foot, then move your right foot to the side, then bring your left foot to join your right.’

  Too shocked at the nearness of Matthew to do anything else, Emma did as she was told. She’d never been this close to Seth – so close she could feel his heartbeat.

  ‘Then step back with the right and repeat the process. Good girl. Let me guide you,’ he said in between the words of the song.

  And then he didn’t have to give her instructions any more because it was as though Emma was welded to Matthew; as if they were one person. Round and round the central island seat they danced, as though they had been dancing together all their lives.

  Emma wondered just why and where Matthew had learned to dance so beautifully.

  But then Matthew surprised her even further. He stopped dancing, drew her closer towards him and kissed the top of her head. A chaste kiss, but a kiss that thrilled Emma all the same.

  ‘Thank you,’ Emma whispered, ‘for the dance. And for the kiss. I’ll never forget either.’

  Matthew cleared his throat. ‘Another of life’s skills, dancing, which I hope you’ve stored away in that clever mind of yours, Emma. Now, I can hear that motor outside. Time to go.’

  ‘I said you should have got in first,’ Seth’s brother Miles said – he had a sickening grin on his face that Seth wanted to remove for him with his fist.

  ‘What are you talking about? And make your answer quick. I’ve got work to do.’

  He had the accounts book to get up to date for his father. Although there was no way he was going to put his signature to it. The solicitor had assured Seth that an exchange of deeds was perfectly legal. When they’d left the office his pa had treated him to a steak pie in The White Horse, and a pint of ale. Thanks, his father had said, for not embarrassing him by bringing up mention of signing the books.

  Yes, his pa was definitely up to something. He’d have a fight on his hand refusing to sign, but it was a fight he was prepared to take on.

  ‘The Le Goff tight-arsed bitch isn’t quite so tight-arsed now. Saw her arm-in-arm with Caunter, didn’t I?’

  ‘I don’t know. Did you?’ Seth struggled to affect indifference.

  ‘Coming out of Nase Head House, they were. Walking down the steps to Smythe’s car as cosy as you like.’

  Seth wondered what one of his father’s crew was doing in an expensive place like Nase Head House. And why Emma was with him for that matter.

  ‘If you say so. Now if that’s all you’ve got to say I’ve got work to be getting on with.’

  ‘Ha! You don’t fool me.’ Miles jabbed a finger repeatedly at Seth, stopping just short of his nose each time. ‘You’re like a dog around a bitch in heat with the Le Goff girl. You were seen walking with her over Crystal Cove way. Likes it outdoors, does she?’

  ‘Shut your dirty mouth! And get your filthy hands away from me.’

  ‘Or you’ll do what exactly?’ Miles sneered.

  Seth balled his fists. The thought of Matthew Caunter being anywhere near Emma, never mind touching her, was making him white hot with a jealous rage he knew he had no right to have. So much for her understanding and tenderness to him over his mother when they’d been down on Crystal Cove. Just because he’d been too busy lately to call on her, she’d switched her allegiance.

  ‘Shove off, Miles,’ Seth said.

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  Miles was being a complete pain in the rear end. Both Carter and Miles had used Seth as a punchbag when he was younger, often leaving him black and blue. He’d already shown Carter he wasn’t going to be used as a punchbag anymore. And if Miles didn’t shut up he’d find that out, too.

  ‘Mummy’s boy too lily-livered to fight?’ Miles goaded. He shoved Seth with his shoulder. Cuffed Seth’s ear.

  That did it.

  Seth turned, and rammed his right fist against Miles’ chin, heard the crack of bone on bone. Saw his brother’s eyes go wide with shock before he thudded to the floor.

  His work could wait. Seth left the room before he gave in to the urge to kick his brother where he lay.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Emma, I ought to have told you before. And I’m sorry now I didn’t. I’m a married man,’ Matthew said, the second they were back at Shingle Cottage.

  ‘Married?’

  ‘You heard.’ Matthew smiled at Emma – a shy smile she thought. The swagger of him had gone for the moment. ‘That dance was a mistake, Emma. And the kiss. I’m a dangerous man to know. Can you forget it happened?’

  ‘I won’t tell anyone about it, if that’s what you mean. But you can’t make me forget it if I don’t want to.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare try.’ Matthew laughed. ‘It would take a stronger man than me to take you on.’

  ‘Is that an insult or a compliment?’

  ‘Take your pick,’ Matthew said.

  Emma mulled it over for a moment – did it matter which?

  ‘Does your wife know where you are?’ she said suddenly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then why didn’t she come with you?’

  ‘She doesn’t approve of what I do.’

  ‘Fishing?’

  ‘That’s just part of it. The less you know of what I’m doing here, the better it will be for us both. But I will be eternally grateful to you over the is
sue of the necklace. My cover could have been blown and …’

  ‘I’m not going to ask what cover,’ Emma said. Although my guess is you’re working undercover for some authority she thought, but didn’t add. ‘But I would like my mama’s necklace back. Reuben Jago said Mama gave it to him in lieu of rent, but I don’t believe him.’

  ‘Hmm,’ Matthew said. ‘I’m not sure I believe him either. But one thing I am sure about, Emma, is that I’ll get that necklace back for you. Come hell or high water.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Emma said. ‘But I don’t want anyone hurt in the getting of it.’

  ‘They won’t be,’ Matthew said. ‘Now if you’ve got no more questions …’

  ‘I have. Just one,’ Emma said. ‘Does your wife know I’m staying under your roof?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And is it her you’ve been going to see, coming back smelling of violets?’

  ‘That’s two questions. But yes, again. Slapton’s not far to go of a night.’

  ‘By road or by sea?’

  ‘You’re like a dog with a bone when you have something in your head, Emma. But to answer your third question – by sea.’

  Matthew sighed, letting his breath out noisily.

  ‘No more questions. Wisdom, Emma – define the word, please.’

  ‘In this instance you mean the wisdom to keep my thoughts, about what you might also have been doing when you go to see your wife, to myself.’

  ‘Exactly. So do.’

  ‘Thank you for the dance,’ Emma said. ‘And the kiss. They were both lovely. I’ll never forget them.’

  And then before Matthew could chastise her, yet again, she ran up the stairs to her room.

  June passed in a flurry of tart making and July was now nearing its end, too. Nase Head House was gaining such a good reputation that the hotel was almost always fully booked and Emma was making her tarts every day. Best strike while the iron was hot was what Matthew said, because trade was bound to fall off a bit once autumn came and went and winter spread out its icy claws, freezing railway lines and making the roads too dangerous for cars and carriages.

  On 25th July a Frenchman – Louis Blériot – had flown in an aeroplane from Calais to Dover and Emma had joked to Matthew that her feet wouldn’t touch the ground she’d be that busy making tarts when people could come by aeroplane to Devon. In her heart, Emma was glad it was a Frenchman who had been the first to make a flight. How exciting it all was. The world was changing, and on days like that Emma was glad she was part of that world.

  When there wasn’t any crab available Emma improvised and used bacon, or trout, or prawns – whatever Matthew could provide or she could buy in the market. Mr Smythe wrote her a note to say how pleased he was with everything she made. Emma guessed that the cook was less pleased. But she didn’t care – her savings were mounting up now.

  Today’s tarts were ready for collection but Emma had some left-over pastry. She added a handful of sugar and worked it in. Then she made a sugar syrup and peeled apples to make a tarte tatin. She could hear her papa’s voice in her head as she worked, telling her how one of the best recipes ever had come about because two French sisters had made a mistake in their patisserie in Paris, rescuing that mistake with a unique combination of pastry and apples and sugar.

  It was ready to take from the oven just as Matthew returned from wherever it was he had been. Not out fishing today, Emma was certain of that because he’d gone out wearing his best clothes, not his working ones – although he had been carrying the canvas bag he took out fishing with him. What was in that bag Emma wondered? But she was learning not to think too much about what might be in the bag or to ask.

  ‘Mmm, but that smells good,’ Matthew said. He licked his lips.

  ‘Tarte tatin,’ Emma said.

  ‘And what’s that in good, plain English?’

  ‘There isn’t really a translation. It’s just what it is. But I suppose the nearest in English would be a very syrupy, fancy, upside-down apple tart.’

  ‘Do we have to eat it?’

  Emma laughed. ‘What other plan would you have for it? Door stop? Bookend?’

  ‘Selling it.’

  ‘To Mr Smythe?’

  ‘Who else?’

  Emma felt her eyes widen with sudden realisation – a seed of something had just been planted in her mind; something that could grow and grow and grow given the right environment. And a bit of luck.

  There must be other hotels which might take what I cook.

  Emma placed the palms of her hands down on the table to steady herself – her head was suddenly full of ideas and they were making her giddy. Yes. Why have only the one outlet for her cooking? If Mr Smythe should change his mind about taking her tarts, or the cook learned how to make them just as well – although she doubted the oaf she’d seen ever would – then her income could be lost overnight.

  Matthew would be moving on somewhere soon, she was sure of it – just as soon as he had accomplished whatever it was he had come here to do. Where would she go when he left? There was an empty shed down on the quay – could that be put to good use?

  ‘Emma, you’re an open book,’ Matthew said. ‘Am I reading you correctly?’

  ‘I expect so,’ Emma said. ‘How many hotels are there in this area, do you think?’

  ‘How would I know? Lots, I should think. I’ve heard the rail journey along the coast to get here is one of the loveliest in the country. The town’s a lot busier now, I’ve noticed, so no doubt that bit of information has been passed on by word of mouth. And more and more cars are appearing on the roads.’

  ‘And aeroplanes!’ Emma said. ‘Oh, I can’t wait to see one going over. Just think, people from all over the world could be coming here and …’

  ‘It was a very small aeroplane from what I read in the papers. Don’t try to run before you can walk, Emma.’

  ‘I’m not. But don’t try and hold me back.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare,’ Matthew laughed. ‘But trust me a little longer. I’m going to have to leave soon, and I want to make sure you’ll be secure when I do. I owe you that. Do you understand?’

  ‘Not completely,’ Emma said. ‘And I don’t want you to leave …’

  ‘But we both know I must.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Good. Now get that fancy apple tart ready to go. I’ll be passing Nase Head House later so I can deliver it – even though I think I could eat the whole thing in one sitting.’

  ‘I’ll make you another,’ Emma said, tears in her eyes.

  She was going to miss Matthew more than she’d thought she ever would.

  But Matthew had seen her tears. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the tear that was escaping down Emma’s hot cheek. ‘That tart could be your passport to better things, Emma. So, when you’ve packed it I want you to go into town and spend one of those sovereigns I gave you to buy yourself something pretty to wear. Something with lace, which my wife assures me, and on which she’s spent no small part of my fortune, is the latest thing. You and I are going to be eating at Nase Head House not very many hours from now.’

  ‘We are?’

  Matthew reached out to touch Emma’s left ear, and then her right. ‘Ears not working? Didn’t I just say we were?’

  ‘But the likes of us don’t eat in places like that.’

  ‘Do you learn nothing, girl? Didn’t I tell you that if a man’s got the money to be somewhere or to buy something then he can?’

  ‘Or a woman,’ Emma said.

  ‘Or a woman,’ Matthew laughed. ‘Goodness, but the man you end up with will have a challenge on his hands. But you’re not quite a woman yet.’

  I nearly am, though, Emma thought. Come Michaelmas.

  ‘Why are we going to Nase Head House?’
she asked. ‘Isn’t what I cook good enough for you?’

  ‘You know it’s good enough for me. But I fancy a change. Nothing wrong with that, is there?’

  Emma could see what Matthew said was sound. And also that he was tiring of her persistence.

  ‘It’ll be expensive, though, won’t it?’

  ‘More than a cup of tea, yes.’ Matthew laughed.

  ‘Well, I can’t afford it. It would take all my savings, and …’

  ‘A man doesn’t ask a woman to dine with him and then expect her to pay, Emma. You’ll have to get used to that.’

  ‘I will?’

  ‘Pretty girl like you, yes. There’ll more than likely be a queue of men after me inviting you to dine in the future. Now, are you accepting my invitation or not?’

  ‘Oh, I am. Thank you. Thank you.’

  A bubble of something that was a mixture of excitement and apprehension fizzed inside Emma – she thought she might burst with it. Gladwyn’s had some pretty blouses in the window. A silk, apple-green one with a froth of lace running down the front – the buttons almost disappearing in its loveliness ­– had caught her eye. She’d go and see how much it was. But first she’d go up to the cemetery and tell Mama and Papa and Johnnie her news.

  ‘Oh!’

  Emma stared at her papa’s grave in disbelief. There was a simple stone tablet at the head of his grave – Guillaume Le Goff. Lost his life to the sea. 15th January 1909.

  Who could have put it there? Who had paid for it? Who had had the kindness to do it? Matthew? She’d told him about her mother’s grave being covered in horse droppings and the grass ripped up and flowers strewn everywhere. But as far as she knew he didn’t know the exact locations of either of the graves.

  Only Seth knew that. Yes, it had to be Seth. She rushed over to her mama’s and Johnnie’s grave and there was an engraved tablet there, too. Rachel Le Goff and her son, Johnnie Le Goff. Cruelly taken from us. 1st March 1909.

  Emma ran a finger in the grooves of the engraved letters, felt every single one. Then she kissed her fingertips and touched the top of the tablet.

  ‘Whoever’s done this I’m glad, Mama,’ she whispered. ‘And I’ve kept Shingle Cottage neat and tidy just the way you did. But I’m going to have to leave soon. I’m going to start a business. Can you believe that?’