A Castle in Cornwall

by Laura Briggs

  "I don't want to." I poked at the edge of the crepes' plate.

  "It's about love, then." He dug a fork into its contents and began eating them — I repressed a noise of protest in my throat. It's not like I could choke them down anyway.

  "I'm not in love," I said, pretending to scoff. But Michael's scornful reaction drowned mine out.

  "You are the worst liar," he said. "What's more, it's pathetic. How long have I been here? How long have I known you? The answer — 'too long.' Now tell me what's happened. I'm getting tired of browbeating you over it."

  "I hurt Nathan's feelings." I studied the floor, but it was for my own protection, because I didn't trust my self composure now. "I told him I didn't want him to meet my family. I was trying to be nice ... but he was having some sort of desperate crisis about us. Some firm in London wants to hire him, and he should probably take it. I mean ... we might not have a future together. He knows it, surely."

  "He's serious." Michael grunted. "You?"

  I bit my lip too hard, and it hurt. The words were squeezed in my throat, not wanting to come out. I'd been waiting for our relationship to be doomed or disastrous for a long time, and now that it had happened, I didn't know what to do. Everything ended at that point in my imagination — no solution, no fight, no period of healing. I'd never imagined past it, because I'd been hoping it would somehow never happen.

  Michael's hand on my arm felt a bit like steel wool, given how rough his palm is. He gave it a gentle squeeze and shake. The fact that he didn't say anything at all made me feel better.

  ***

  Julianne:

  The farewell party was held at the Fisherman's Rest — not in the back room, where the anchors and mounted fish were once supposed to preside over Pippa's wedding reception, but in the pub's main room, where a noisy crowd was gathered, more than half of whom I suspected didn't know me or Matt at all, but were lured here by the promise of Dinah and Michael's cooking, and St Austell ale.

  "I can't believe you're leaving, too," said Pippa to me. "First me, then Dinah ... who's next? Gemma? It's awful, really."

  "We're not moving away for good," I said. "We're coming back as soon as my friend is well."

  "That's what everyone says," said Pippa, mournfully. "Gilbert Tolbien said it six years ago and where is he now? Still in Edinburgh, I tell you, though he's promised to come back a dozen times yet."

  "Oh, for heaven's sake, he's a heart specialist," said Dinah. "What possible reason could he have for coming here to work in a clinic? Be reasonable — it would hardly be fair to his career, now would it?"

  "Jenny Bryce hasn't come back, either," Gemma pointed out. "'Course, that could be because she put on airs after The Grand Baking Extravaganza, too. Thought she'd make a proper baker in some place with posh tourists."

  "Well, we are coming back," I repeated, firmly. I realized my hold on Matt's arm had tightened, and released my grip again. "This is just a temporary departure."

  "It had better be," said Lady Amanda, who joined us with a brimming glass in her hand. "Even if Kitty is brilliant, she won't have your panache. I will rather miss that when it comes to Cliffs House's events."

  "You won't be missing it for long," I promised. Or, rather, hoped. Lately I had begun to feel more dismal about these prospects. Was it true, what everyone said about not being able to go home again? Only for me it wasn't my old home, but my new one that would be the victim of this logic. Me starting over as an event planner in Seattle, Matt settling in at some laboratory or college. It seemed more real now than before, when the wedding, and our summer deadline, seemed far away.

  "I selected the band myself, you know," said Lord William, proudly. "I thought perhaps you'd like something traditional. A friend of mine saw them at a festival and said they were quite good."

  The music was loud and lively, a mixture of Celtic and Cornish folk tunes played with pipes a fiddle, and a stringed instrument that to me resembled a lute shrunk in the wash. I had taken a turn on the dance floor for one of the 'called' dances, but even Matt's skill wasn't enough to keep me from stepping off on the wrong foot occasionally, and making a breathless and humorous collision with a neighbor. Now we retreated to our place near the bar again, greeting the endless number of guests who did know us, from Marian and Charlotte to the forgetful Harvey Willow and his son David, the local nurserymen, and even Ted Russert, the farmer whose barn I once borrowed for an unforgettable reception. The first event I had planned with Kitty, actually.

  Kitty was leaning against the wall in one of the darker corners of the pub, looking moody and reserved. I had tried to talk to her several times this evening, but her answers were short, and her body language was that of a person trying to discourage all conversation. I thought her restless gaze was looking for someone — surely Nathan was supposed to be here sometime tonight.

  "And I've made you a proper pudding to say farewell," continued Dinah, who had been talking without me noticing it.

  "Sticky toffee, I hope?" said Matthew. "That's my favorite. And you did promise," he reminded her. He caught my eye and winked at me. I smiled back, knowing he was only teasing her.

  "That promise was the only thing which saved me from making a plum pudding," Dinah answered. "No one in the States can make a real English pudding the way a Cornish chef can. You'll be missing it come Christmas."

  I would, actually, as strange as that seemed. "Maybe you can mail us one," I said, jokingly.

  "There's a kind thought," said Lady Amanda. "We should all send you a lovely Christmas box. With lots of things you can't possibly find in America — that won't perish in the mail, of course. And you could send us some from Seattle. I rather fancy those gooey chocolate-covered puffs now and then — what are they called?" She frowned, trying to recall.

  "I can't believe you're really leaving," began Pippa again, mournfully.

  "Not again," I groaned. Lady Amanda squeezed my arm with a wry smile. Just then, we were joined by another party at the bar.

  "I see we be having a bit of a cry," observed Old Ned, who joined us at the bar. "Now, now, it's natural enough. Womenfolk are given to tears when there's a parting. Thank ye, 'tis a kindness of ye, my boy," he said, as Matt placed a pint before him. "I remember once, when Ollie Samuels was going away ...."

  At the table reserved for me and Matt, I sat with a plate of Charlotte's oggies, listening to the music and watching as Gemma and Andy made their way through a lively step dance, along with several other village youths and a few older residents, who were the best at it of all. I remembered the first time I had been part of a Troyl, one that was held in an old stone barn. It had been my first time to stumble my way through a called dance — I didn't dare attempt to learn any step dancing techniques — and my first time to see Matt in a kilt ... which had definitely lived up to Gemma and Pippa's promises on that score.

  If I never came back, would this be enough? All the experiences, all the memories ... could I be happy somewhere else if I had to be, with this little bit of time here alive inside me? And in the pages of my journal ... well, you can imagine that a lot of them are blank after the first month or so of faithful attempts to document my life here.

  Matt sat down beside me. "There's a surprise yet to come," he said. "Charlotte and Julie Finley are doing something a bit special for us tonight, it seems."

  "Are they?" I said. "That's sweet of them." I realized I must sound a little absentminded with this answer. Matt glanced towards the dancers.

  "Another turn?" he asked me.

  "Let's wait until my ankle rests a little more," I said. "I think I twisted it just a little when I tried not to step on Pippa's foot earlier."

  He smiled. "You're not really such a terrible dancer," he said. "You needn't exaggerate it. A few little missteps are common for everyone the first few times they try."

  "Maybe if you'd worn your kilt, it would be easier to persuade me," I answered. Matt laughed heartily in response.

  "Did I tell you," he said, after
a moment of recovery, "that I found a position for when we come back."

  Come back? For a moment, I wasn't quite sure I heard him. "What?" I said.

  "When we come back from Seattle," he said. "A friend of mine has a consulting position opening next year for a garden near Falmouth. It involves the application of some research I did several years ago, which is why he thinks I would be the natural choice."

  I felt my heart skip a beat. Matt was thinking about our return. He was imagining the two of us here again — not just someday, but someday soon.

  "Really?" I said. "You don't think it's too soon to be sure?"

  "Unless something changes, no," he said. "I see no reason not to assume I'll be here when it's open. And if something happens to change our minds in America, I'll decline the position. Simple enough, isn't it?"

  It was. My heart suddenly felt lighter, although I couldn't explain exactly why. It just made me feel better to know that Matt and I were on the same page, and that despite all the fears I had for leaving my job and saying goodbye to my charmed life here, that his hopes were the same as mine.

  "You're right," I said, sliding my arm around his, and drawing him closer. "It's perfectly simple. I don't know why I worry as much as I do." I rested my head on his shoulder.

  "What's your favorite thing to do in Seattle?" he asked me, softly.

  "I don't know," I said. Come to think of it, I didn't. "Why do you ask?"

  "I just thought I should find out," he said. "So I can imagine how good — or bad — I'll be when I try it."

  "Mmm...in that case, it's playing paintball. Zombie apocalypse style."

  "Very funny," he answered. "If it's drinking coffee, don't be ashamed to say it."

  "Har, har," I said. "I did more than that. I bowled, and went to movies and plays, and went to friends' houses for game nights ..."

  "That's better," he chuckled.

  The magic of Charlotte's pasties and Matt's words were beginning to fill me with contentment. It was good to be home, good that the wedding at the castle was almost over. And it would be good to have one last chance to be home alone with Matt in our cottage before our lives began anew.

  I noticed Kitty was still waiting alone on the other side of the room, and I wondered where Nathan was tonight.

  ***

  Kitty:

  I wished there was a chance Nathan wasn't coming tonight, although I knew it couldn't be, not unless he'd had a puncture somewhere between here and Truro. But the way he'd rushed off as soon as this afternoon's performance was finished was as if he had pressing business elsewhere. Probably reviewing his employment options in light of stupidly deciding to stay around Ceffylgwyn.

  I wanted to see him. And I wanted to avoid him, too. I didn't know which one was stronger, really, as I managed to avoid having anything more than a half pint and a bite of Michael's Christmas cake when it was circulated through the room.

  "... and they'll be having loads of fun in America, and won't come back here, probably," Pippa was saying to someone. "Imagine living in a proper city — with skyscrapers and modern buildings, even."

  Might as well be London, I thought. Or any metropolitan spot in the world, for that matter. Maybe I should've taken the dowager's advice, and set my sights on something bigger. What would I do with Julianne gone anyway, the only reason I had the job in the first place? They'd probably be ready to toss me out once she was gone. The new planner would want their own assistant to come along.

  I sipped my glass, feeling a bit unhappy. I scanned the room, and saw Nathan watching me from near the doorway.

  He must have just come in. He was talking to somebody, but he didn't look very interested in the conversation. I knew I didn't look any more interested in mine when Talisha pulled me into a conversation on the best indie comedy films we've seen.

  I thought I'd lost track of him, until I turned back to the bar and found him in front of me. Awkward. No avoiding it, though — not without going around him and being rude in front of everyone.

  "We need to talk," he said.

  "About what?" I asked.

  He scowled. "Look," he said. "I'm sorry, all right? If I hurt your feelings, I'm sorry. But I thought ... I feel like I have a right ..." He stopped speaking, because the nearest party guest looked as if they were listening to us.

  He took me by the shoulders and steered me out of foot traffic in the pub. We stood in a private nook in the shadows behind the bar, where no one else was talking. "I wasn't thinking that you had different feelings from me," he said. "If that's what made you angry, you can stop feeling that way."

  "It wasn't about our feelings, it was about whether you were doing something daft," I said. I wished he hadn't picked here and now to talk about this. "Haste and repentance — those go hand in hand, you know."

  "What? Because I said I think it's stupid not to be more open about us?" he said. "Those are my feelings, and forgive me if I think the only reason you would oppose them would be for a very obvious one."

  I felt the blood leave my face. "That I don't care for you?" I retorted, incredulously. "Don't be mental." It made me angry, because he couldn't possibly believe it. It wasn't a good tactic if he wanted me to admit I was wrong before, about us being open.

  "Is it crazy to suggest, since you're the one holding us back?" he said, raising his voice, then remembering to lower it again.

  "I'm not just protecting you, I'm protecting both of us," I argued. "Two people being honest can be messy — even if they have saintly families and spotless lives. And neither of us do."

  "Do we always have to argue?" he asked.

  "You're the one starting it," I hissed. "Why else would you say that I don't care about you?"

  Nathan moved aside, so we could see each other beneath one of the lights, without drawing too much attention from anybody else. His hands were still on my shoulders, as if trying to keep me from looking away. Not without reason, because I was having a hard time resisting the unhappiness in his eyes.

  "You could just tell me the truth," he said. "Couldn't you tell me, Kitty? If there's a reason ... if I'm crazy, and expect too much out of this."

  His voice was soft and pleading. It took the heart out of me to answer by asking what of his own truths on that score, given his chance for London. I could only think of the depth of what was between us, and how it felt as if it had a life of its own.

  His hands framed my face and he kissed me. Hard, the way he had been intending to that day in the theatre, before he worried about mints and other things — like whether I'd fancied Lyle more than him, probably. And I kissed him back, holding the collar of his shirt to pull him closer.

  We broke from it. I met his eyes, and looked into the blue of them with a feeling that hurt and felt wonderful at the same time. I was brave enough and mixed up enough to say words I'd been thinking about before he showed up. And they were the wrong ones.

  "I think you should go to London if you want to. I won't make you stay here. I won't ask you."

  Nathan's face changed in a second's time. I wasn't sure if he'd seen a ghost, or couldn't believe my words. As if he'd expect anything else of me, given how crazy we were at this moment. Given the fact that I couldn't imagine him staying here forever anymore than I imagined us thwarting the odds.

  "So that's how you really feel." He looked crushed. "I guess it would be easier if we both go our separate ways, wouldn't it?" he added, bitterly. "No one turns back, no one left behind."

  He sounded crazy to me. "What do you want me to say?" I asked. "It's not that I don't —" I almost said 'love you,' and only stopped myself in time, "— it's not that I don't care about you. That's why I'm saying it. I'm being fair to you."

  If he told me what he wanted to hear, I knew it wasn't too late for me to say it. If they were the words on the tip of my tongue even now, I would kiss him again to prove it, and we'd figure the rest of it out later. It wouldn't be words of goodbye he was waiting for, because he didn't come to this farewell party to tel
l me he was leaving me behind.

  "What if I want —" he began. "I can't. Not like this." He released a frustrated sigh. "This place drives me nuts sometimes. I can't think of what to say, how to make you understand —"

  He would've kept speaking, but there was a commotion as Charlotte and Julie appeared from the pub's back room, bearing with them a huge Stargazy pie to Julianne and Matt's table.

  "There won't be a proper one of these in the States, love," said Charlotte, as the other guests whistled and cheered for this variation on the Tom Bawcock's Eve traditional dish. No doubt, they had used Julie’s own special recipe, the one she had perfected in her time living near Mousehole, where the festival is held every December.

  "Heavens, that is a treat!"

  "Looks like a proper fisherman's pie, that does."

  At the sight of the fish heads protruding from the crust's edges, eyes staring at us in passing, Nathan's own eyes grew wide, his train of words and thoughts coming to a full stop. In this moment, with all the pressure I was feeling, I didn't care about the party or the fish pie or anything else, except getting out of there and being alone.

  "I'm going," I said. "Goodnight." And for the third — or maybe fourth — time since Nathan Menton had known me, he called in vain for me to stop as I maneuvered the crowded pub to freedom.

  ***

  Julianne:

  "Make certain the flowers have plenty of water and preservative — wait, Gemma, those are for the chief bridesmaid, we need to keep them separate from the centerpieces."

  "The photographer is arriving early, apparently, to take some photos of the bride in the garden," said Marjorie, as she slipped her mobile into her cardigan pocket. "Do tell Ms. Krensky that the caretaker has promised to remove his garden cart before that morning, so she won't be quite so rude about it as she was before."