A Castle in Cornwall

by Laura Briggs

  It was humiliating. I didn't want to be humiliated in front of Nathan, or have my relatives laughing at him and making fun of him. Even if it seemed like good sport to them, it wasn't. Not to me. Probably not to him, either, although he didn't fully know it.

  Until now, I'd managed not to let myself think about it, or worry about it too much, because this moment wasn't supposed to come.

  "So?" said Nathan. "So they laugh at me. I think I can handle it."

  "I can't," I muttered.

  "Kitty, come on. I think it's time to give this secrecy thing up. We might as well tell people what we are ... it's not like saying the words will make it any different, will it?"

  "You told your folks about me, I suppose?" I said. I locked an eye on Nathan, seeing his blush come and go as quick as paper in a flame. "That's what I thought. You've never mentioned me, have you?"

  "I'm on the other side of the ocean," protested Nathan. "If they had thought I was dating someone seriously over here, they'd be demanding all kinds of details. I thought we'd take a step forward, then I'd tell them."

  "And we're taking that step with my lot, are we?" I said. "So you don't have to be part of an uncomfortable Skype call in front of your family, or whatever —"

  "I'll tell them, I swear," said Nathan. "I was only thinking yours were closer."

  "We're not having dinner at Mum's," I said. "That much I can promise you. I'm not showing up with some bloke whom I've been dating secretly for months, and let her pick you apart." Mum seemed harmless enough at first, but that was before she really found ways to poke her claws under your skin.

  "Maybe that's fine with you," he said. "But it's not for me. I don't want to go on like this, Kitty."

  We were both quiet, arguing inside instead of with each other. Both probably considering how many uncomfortable things we would face by saying those words. Either breaking up or telling everybody what they already knew, but we didn't: that we were deeper into this relationship then we'd ever been before. At least it was true for me.

  "What, then?" I asked him. "Are we breaking up? Unofficially, of course?" I crossed my arms.

  "You don't have to be so sarcastic," he said. "You haven't explained how we can keep seeing each other without becoming part of each others' lives. We're not frozen in time, Kitty."

  "It's not like no one knows," I said. "Julianne does. Most of Cliffs House, really." I looked at him. "Who've you told?"

  "A few people I know in Truro ... I told them I spent evenings with my girlfriend."

  Girlfriend — not a word he'd ever said in front of me before. I twisted the button on my coat, trying to think clearly, with my head too crowded with feelings. "Then we're both just as guilty," I said.

  "I don't want to be guilty anymore," he said. "That's the difference between us. I want things to change. They can't stay like this, Kitty. I can't stay like this."

  "You're not coming to my house for dinner," I said. "If you want me to tell everyone, then fine. I'll tell them, but we're not doing that so quickly."

  "Maybe I'll show up anyway," he said. "Are you going to close the door in my face?"

  "Is it impossible for you to be sensible?" I said. "I'm trying to protect you!"

  "Then stop it," he snapped. "I don't want it, I don't need it, and I've already told you why."

  "I guess we've got nothing else to say on that subject, have we?" I answered. Snobbily.

  I stepped out from underneath his coat and into the rain, ignoring his protests, and continued on in the direction of Mum's cottage by myself. I could feel his frustrated scowl aimed at my back, even with a blanket of light rain and the darkness between us. But it couldn't possibly match my own, which was growing darker with every step I took, and the thought of what he was asking.

  Nathan was being ridiculous about this. A meal with my family, 'round Mum's table — it would send him screaming from her house before dessert was served. He should be thanking me that I wasn't pushing my mental family on him, the way someone else would, not demanding that I introduce him for an evening of mutual misery.

  Nothing serious had been said between us yet. It's not as if we were getting married or something. Only I knew he was in the right to ask to be a proper part of my life; and there was only one way to stop it from happening. That's why my face was still hot with anger and unhappiness, and by the time I reached the front door, all trace of our goodnight kiss was forgotten.

  ***

  Opening night. The white shingle with A Midsummer Night's Dream, painted in red letters, now hung below the playhouse's official sign. Gerard had decked the windows with posters, but they were all dark rectangles come evening, when villagers were trickling inside the tiny foyer. Backstage, Gerard looked handsome and dignified in his rented posh suit coat, which he wore for every opening night.

  I had a case of the nerves, given that I've never been onstage as anything more than a background player. Andy had peeped between the curtains. "It's a full house!" he hissed, with a grin.

  I took a deep breath. It came out again like a balloon releasing dribs and drabs of air because I was shaking a bit. The stage was lit up, the scenery was in place for act one, and Nellie in black stagehand garb was putting some last-minute tucks in Rosie's fairy queen costume.

  "See you onstage, love o' my life." Lyle drew me against him in a mock embrace. I pushed free.

  "Get off," I said. "We're not onstage yet, are we?"

  "Kat still has her claws bared, does she?" He made a showy theatrical bow. "Forgive me for friendliness. Break a leg out there, aye?" He passed his arm around Rosie's waist now. "Here's the love of my life, then."

  "Go on with you," she said, with a protesting laugh. She pulled away from him, trying to fix her gauzy dress — and ignoring a decided smack from behind her as Lyle moved on.

  "Cheeky devil!" said Rosie, indignantly. "What a coxcomb thou art, wastrel!" She called after him. Her indignation dissolved into a snort of laughter once he was out of earshot.

  "Oh, you dodged a bullet with that one, pet," she said to me. "He's vain enough these past few days, strutting 'round like he's the only rooster in a henhouse. Not that it bothers me at my age." A flirtatious smile appeared on her lips. Rosie maybe young for her years, but loves to play up the fact she's not a lass anymore.

  "Never needed to dodge," I answered, finishing tucking my hair up in a knot. "He was never going to pull the trigger." For all his sweet-talking ways, I had known deep inside that Lyle wasn't serious about me. Even when I had wanted to believe otherwise, I had known it: right up to the afternoon he drove away from Land's End and left me behind him, mentally and physically.

  "They're pretty," said Rosie. She wasn't looking at my hairpin ornaments, but at the flowers in front of my mirror, a cluster of spotted lilies and two-toned stem roses in a vase, delivered this evening from Marian Jones's floral shop.

  I blushed. "Just a bit of well wishing from somebody," I said, shoving the card underneath my powder case.

  "Don't be coy with me," said Rosie. "I know who sent them, and it wasn't your mum."

  Mum wasn't coming tonight — matinees were good enough for her, she said, and besides which, I was only going to get into trouble running 'round with this lot. Her usual words on the subject, anyway.

  "He's a good one, your lad. Thoughtful of him to send you some opening night." She glanced at some of the other dressing tables. "Yours are the only ones 'round here, except for the ones for Millie at show's close."

  It was true that none of the other players had more than a rose or two in a bud vase. I tried to do something with the curls at the base of my neck, but my fingers weren't operating properly. "He probably ordered some a few weeks ago," I said. "Thought it was traditional." He certainly didn't order them after the fight we had walking home, I reckoned. We'd said little enough to each other today as a result.

  "Fifteen minutes to curtain!" reported Nora, who was carrying her costume draped over one arm, doing double duty as one of the crew and the ca
st. "Your director will have a word with you momentarily, and Gerard will be along after he's seen to the lights."

  It had been lovely of him to send flowers. It was exactly the sort of thing Nathan was good at doing — and the sort of thing that would earn some snide laughs from my oaf cousins, too. All about my posh boy who wasted money on wilting flowers, and wouldn't let me walk home in a little rain shower, like I'd melt into a puddle of sugar.

  He said he didn't care if they made a joke of him. But I didn't want to picture his face when he knew that half of what was said about him was spoken in a mean jest — or with pity for him as an ignorant outsider. My stomach clenched fiercely for this thought, which didn't help my nerves one bit.

  I snapped one of the roses off short, and tucked it into my knot of hair. I slipped a pin to hold it in place, and tried not to think about how I'd used one of these pins to impress Nathan by breaking into his car. That past was starting to feel like the past... but what was in the future before me, besides this moment onstage with the players? With strangers across the Pond wanting to meet me —

  I shut my eyes, seeing only the flash of orange and yellow from the rose in my mirror for a brief second. Then I opened them and went to join the rest of the cast waiting in the darkness for the curtains to open, and the scene onstage to begin.

  "Lucky Loreena," whispered Rosie. "She's in a toga and Roman sandals out there. I'm squeezed tightly enough in this corset to crack nuts with my ribcage." The Amazonian queen hefted her cardboard shield and spear into a more amenable position as she whispered something to Sy.

  Lyle and Martin were waiting just ahead of me, in costumes that looked a bit like something between a soldier and a gladiator. Behind me, the peasant boys in their loose, ragged work costumes. Including Nathan, who was probably an utter bundle of nerves, too.

  If I wasn't still so peeved, and he wasn't so far away right now, I'd give him a kiss for luck — but only because he looked like he needed one.

  Millie's voice was muffled on the other side of the old rust-colored drapes. A squeaky sound came from the gears as Gerard hoisted them open. The house lights were low, and the audience was applauding for the first characters onstage, Theseus and Hippolyta.

  I didn't feel quite so ill by the time it was my turn onstage. I was too quiet at first, and my voice shook a bit, but I got past it after a few lines. The knots in my stomach were gone pretty soon, and only came back for Nathan's first scene — but even he managed to get his few lines out without a hitch.

  Without a hitch. That's description enough of opening night itself. By the time Puck spoke the closing lines, we were all a bit sweaty, tired, and ecstatic as we took our bows. The lights were up, and I could see lots of familiar faces in the crowd, including the staff from Cliffs House, and Lady A and Lord William besides. As always, Gerard emerged with a bouquet of flowers for Millie — showy enough roses, but not as pretty as mine, really.

  "Here's to a smashing opening night!" Gerard lifted his pint. "To the cast who made it possible ... and the lovely director herself!"

  Millie waved her hand. "It was all Shakespeare," she said. "Well ... perhaps with a teensy bit of me involved, of course."

  "Then to the bard," said Martin, raising his glass now. We echoed his toast as a group — all of us from the play, mostly still in costume at the Fisherman's Rest as the society's tradition dictated for opening night's post-performance drinks. A headache for Nellie and Nora, who would have to clean all these costumes tomorrow, and repair damages — like the crushed Mad Hatter's top hat last time, which someone stood on in a dare.

  Even with the thrill of being onstage, I didn't do more than sip my pint, and not just because I was a bit prudish these days for the sake of my job. Nathan had given me a congratulatory hug after the show, and I'd kissed his cheek and told him jokingly that his fairy wings looked daft — but none of it had felt quite the same as it usually did.

  We were still on the outs, I suppose. It wasn't a pleasant feeling at all, possibly worse than stage fright. I had thought feeling sick while standing in the dark couldn't be topped until now.

  Lorrie, her hair festooned with fake flowers, looking fresher than my wilted rose, managed to nudge her way across the room to join me. "How did you like your first real taste of stage life?" she asked me.

  "I've never been so scared," I said. "And I've never had quite so much fun, either."

  "My first was King Lear, two years ago," she said. "Opposite Martin onstage for it. He and Lyle are rather enjoying being dressed up like Russell Crowe, I see." They were mock dueling with the cardboard swords from the play, giving the poor shields a bit more beating than they were designed for.

  "He's not that much fun, really," she said, reflectively, after taking a sip of her drink. "Lyle."

  "He asked you out, did he?"

  "Sort of." she said. "More like I persuaded him to have a pint here one evening. Bit of a bore, isn't he? Thinks he's a gift to womankind, pays you a bit of a compliment ... then turns around and pays it to the girl behind you."

  "That's a pretty apt sketch of his character," I said.

  "You know, I gave him a little gift for good luck," Lorrie continued. "Just a trinket, really. He didn't get me so much as a stem rose for opening night." She laughed. Even if she wasn't serious about him, I knew it stung a bit, being ignored. "He's quite the Casanova, isn't he?"

  "He'll grow up someday," I said. "I mean, I grew up, so he's bound to, right?"

  Now Lyle's arm was wrapped around Loreena's s waist — he had a sharp eye for spotting a woman weak for his looks, even if only a little bit so. Even Loreena's common sense melted just a fraction for his flirtation under the influence of a pint and all the post-production enthusiasm.

  "Nathan's rather brave in his humiliation, don't you think?" said Lorrie. She was watching the other side of the room now, where the cast members in their fairy costumes — minus the fairy wings, but not the glittery head garlands — were doing their best to disguise their costumes beneath various coats or jackets as they sipped their pints.

  "It was rotten luck," I said. "Him ending up with those parts, I mean."

  "Not many men like that would've put up with it for their first time among the players," said Lorrie. "You should be proud of him."

  I knew as well as she did why he put up with it, of course. He could have walked away if he had wanted to, but he never would have gone. And I was proud of him — dreadfully so, even though I couldn't find the words.

  He caught my glance, a small, albeit sadder version of a smile on his lips. I felt myself blush quickly, a bit of color in my cheeks under that gaze as I offered him a faint smile in return.

  "Surprised he toughs any of this place out," grunted Sy to Lorrie, as he squeezed himself through the pub's crowd to claim the only empty chair beside her. "Probably getting tired of hanging about in some country village. The lad was saying he's had a job offer up London way — some sort of firm browbeating him about a fresh image, or whatever those posh types need when they're in financial straights."

  "What lad?" I said.

  "Andy. What's been chasing 'round with the old Ben's daughter. Says what's-his-name over there had turned it down twice. Seemed a bit teasy all day to me, so's won't be surprised if he doesn't regret doing it. That's how all those type are — act in haste, repent at leisure."

  I reckoned he was regretting it now. Turning it down to stay in Truro, and giving me that daft speech about meeting my Mum and telling his parents — those two things weren't a coincidence. He wouldn't make that mistake a third time, not after what we'd said.

  It kept hopping into my thoughts the next day. A drizzly day that boded no good for anybody's mood, since the whole world looked grey through the manor's windows. Even discussing pate-stuffed mushrooms and garlic hummus with toasted brioche, Michael's latest and last creations for the wine competition's menu, didn't take my mind off it.

  "Why so glum?" he asked. He snapped his fingers when I ignored him. "Hey, l
ook at me," he commanded. "Don't look at the floor. Eyes are half the conversation."

  I gave him a look that would wither anybody else but the Cliffs House chef. "Who? Me?" I retorted, sweetly. "It's the weather, like everybody else," I said.

  I hadn't been writing down ideas on the menu sheet — just drawing little stick people on a stage. One of them was Nathan, obviously; it was holding a mobile phone.

  "It's not the weather. I know when it is. You know how?" he said. "I get a pain in my right hand — the one I broke years ago. When it's that kind of gloom, it affects people's feelings. A wind from the north stripping life out of humanity. This is just a summer shower."

  He spoke brusquely, somewhere between a bark and a grumble. Michael's skin was chapped from steamed pots and heat waves from his oven, so he looked as if he'd been laboring over a bonfire all day. That weathered look, the voice, and his rough features, made him seem fierce and aggressive in the kitchen, a general armed with a chopping knife. Pork chops cowered before him. Cakes don't dare emerge underbaked.

  Thus far, he hasn't exactly grown on everyone, given his fearsome looks, but he and I get on well enough. Gemma's afraid of him — then again, maybe that's why I like him.

  "Maybe mine are affected anyway. You know, if people don't have proper light, they fall into a state of depression. Decrease in Vitamin D does it."

  He shoved a skillet onto the stove's eye, and thumped a plate in front of me. "Crepes," he said. "Eat up."

  "I'm not hungry," I said.

  "Who in their right mind seriously isn't hungry for crepes?" he demanded.

  "Me," I lied. It was hard, since Michael's crepes are extremely delicious, and sometimes he gives me a French lesson while I'm eating them. But today, I simply hadn't the stomach for them.

  "Then you've got a big problem."

  I was silent.

  "Katherine." It's not fair of him to use my full name. The one only my mum uses, and usually when she's peeved at me, and it instantly rouses me for battle and stubborn replies. "Don't lie to me. Spill it."