Magic in the Mist: A Polwenna Bay short story
Page 4
Now, as she guided the Audi off the main road, Summer became aware that her heart was racing from more than the adrenalin of her flight from London. These sunken lanes lacing the Duchy, rendered cool green tunnels by gnarled trees interlocking their limbs above, were achingly familiar. Cornwall, the county of saints and sinners, smugglers and wreckers, she thought – and her stomach tangled with delicious excitement. Driving westwards, Summer knew every twist and turn of the road, and the names of the small villages and hamlets were as familiar as her own. Trerulefoot, Narkurs, Nomansland and Hessenford: strange foreign-sounding names half-forgotten but suddenly as fresh in Summer’s mind as though she’d seen them only yesterday. These places unfolded before her just like the landscape that peeled away from the narrow lanes into rolling fields of ripening crops and acid-green pastures, dotted with sheep resembling balls of cotton wool. Any minute now the road would bear sharply to the right, skirting an ancient church that slumbered in the sunshine, and then she’d see it: the glimpse of glittering blue sea that meant she was nearly back at Polwenna Bay.
Sure enough the road right-angled, exactly as she knew it would, and Summer found herself braking hard. Lord! She’d been driving way too fast in her haste to put as much distance between herself and the city. Heaven only knew how many speed traps she’d sailed through. She’d probably lost her licence before she’d even hit the M4. At least moving at speed had meant that she’d avoided the paps, though. There were usually a few hanging around the London house in the hope that they might get a shot of Britain’s favourite couple. Usually Summer gave them what they wanted, because it was easier that way – she made sure her image was controlled and they got a picture that could actually be used – but today she’d shot out in such a hurry that the one guy who’d been sunning himself on her wall hadn’t even had time to grab his camera before she’d raced away. With any luck Justin wouldn’t be home until late, as there was often a function on after a match, and by that time the pap would have pushed off for his tea.
The last thing Summer needed was a story breaking off the back of a typical Justin Anderson episode. If the press got wind that she was in Polwenna Bay then she’d be well and truly stuck. The town was tiny; you could sneeze at one end and have Mrs Keverne in the village shop at the other calling out bless you! There wouldn’t be many places Summer could hide, and if some people still held grudges – her stomach lurched at the thought – it wouldn’t be hard to drop her in it. She guessed she was counting on the fact that, no matter what had gone on in the past, the Cornish looked after their own. The network of caves and tunnels rumoured to honeycomb the hillside beneath the town, not to mention the amount of cafés and gift shops that bore reference to wreckers and smugglers, certainly stood testament to Polwenna Bay’s history of remaining tight-lipped. Be it hiding a smuggler from the excise men or keeping quiet about a runaway actress-turned-model, Summer was hoping that all that had changed was the date displayed on the calendar.
And then there it was! On the horizon, the sea was nestling between two perky hills that reminded Summer a little uncomfortably of her latest advertising campaign. Although she was twenty-eight now, she still felt the same excitement that this glimpse of the sparkling ocean had always given her. Summer had woken up to the sea every day for the first sixteen years of her life. Like a stroppy partner, the sea was never the same two days or even two minutes running: it was a constant kaleidoscope of blues and turquoises or greens and greys. Sometimes it turned savage, spitting like a cat and hurling handfuls of brine at the windows of Cobble Cottage, causing Susie to pace and fret until Eddie’s trawler was safely moored against the harbour wall and the gate was firmly shut. On other mornings Summer had flung open the curtains and gazed across a sea as oily-smooth as petrol, the bay reflected as though in a mirror and admiring itself in the sunshine. The best days of all had been those when the sun had been out, the waves had been glittering and, craning her neck, Summer had been able to see a red hanky fluttering from the top window of Seaspray House across the bay. She knew then that a small wooden boat was already making its way across to collect her…
No, no, no. Summer shook her head as though trying to shake the image out of her mind’s eye. Memories like these were staying securely shut away. She’d had them under lock and key since the day the taxi had driven her slowly through the town and away to a new life; to open her personal Pandora’s box now would be nothing short of crazy. The girl who had watched the little boat dancing closer, who had sneaked away from the house to snatch a few forbidden hours exploring the coves and creeks, no longer existed. The feel of that mouth on hers, the blue of his eyes the same as the cobalt water, the way he’d held her face between his hands and looked at her as though he’d never be able to tear his gaze away: all these things that had once meant so much were really as insubstantial as the sea frets that blew in over the bay. That time had gone and Summer knew that her past wasn’t so much a foreign country as another world altogether.
Yes, that girl had left a long time ago, but as she drove the last mile towards Polwenna Bay, Summer couldn’t help wondering whether maybe, just maybe, the boy with the sea-blue eyes might have stayed…
I hope you enjoyed this extract from Runaway Summer and it is available for download by following the link – Polwenna Bay 1 Runaway Summer
Ruth Saberton is the bestselling author of Katy Carter Wants a Hero and Escape for the Summer. She also writes upmarket commercial fiction under the pen names Jessica Fox, Georgie Carter and Holly Cavendish.
Born in London, Ruth now lives in beautiful Cornwall. She has travelled to many places and recently returned from living in the Caribbean but nothing compares to the rugged beauty of the Cornish coast. Ruth loves to chat with readers so please do add her as a Facebook friend and follow her on Twitter.
www.ruthsaberton.co.uk
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