by T A Williams
‘Enough blue up there to make a sailor’s shirt.’ Virginia was doing her best to sound matter of fact. Underneath, she was clearly very excited at the prospect of what lay ahead. ‘The forecast’s for gradual improvement as the week progresses.’
‘About time too.’ Becky looked equally enthusiastic about the dig to come, as well as the chance to get a change of scenery. From what she had told Sam, she was also feeling particularly happy at being in a hotel room just across the corridor from the handsome Italian photographer. Somehow, Sam had already got the feeling that she might have the room to herself before long.
When the launch arrived, Ronnie the boatman helped them load as much of the kit as they could stow on board. He promised to come right back for the rest. The sea, while by no means calm, was much more settled than it had been. Not a particularly good sailor, Samantha was thankful for that. When they got over to the other side, they found two staff members waiting for them. Together with the other students who arrived on Ronnie’s next trip, they all gave a hand moving the baggage to the dig.
Solemnly, they inspected the ruined building. The fact that the floor of the ruin was hidden beneath several feet of rainwater didn’t faze them. They had come prepared. One of the heavier items they had brought was a pump. They spent the morning erecting a tarpaulin over the site and weighing the guy ropes with rocks and boulders. Once they were sure the cover wouldn’t get blown away, they set about preparing all their tools and apparatus.
By the time they settled down for an early lunch break, the clouds had retreated and the sun was hot enough to have them reaching for sun cream. Samantha and Becky decided to go for a tour of the island. Ever-hopeful, Ryan would dearly have liked to accompany them, but Sam could see that Becky had something, or somebody, on her mind.
Sam glanced over her shoulder and saw Ryan shake his head sadly as he watched Becky walking off. Sam felt for him. The Italian was going to prove a daunting rival for Becky’s attentions. Although they had all spent the previous evening at the local pub, Giancarlo had hogged Becky’s attention and would have hogged hers too, if she hadn’t managed to make a strategic seat swap with Ryan after half an hour of non-stop verbal assault. She gave Ryan an encouraging smile and hurried to catch up with Becky on a walk in the sunshine.
So far, only Sam and Virginia knew that Ann was the owner, and they had all been given strict instructions to stay away from the abbey and its outbuildings. Consequently, Samantha and Becky walked off in the opposite direction. A narrow path led them down to the cove with its tiny strip of sand where Ann said she took Henry the Labrador swimming every day. After washing the worst of the dirt off their hands in the clear waters of the little bay, they sat down on a large rock and attacked their sandwiches, basking in the sunshine, but keeping a watchful eye on the sky in case of marauding seagulls. Mrs Pendennis had warned them to be careful as the birds had a habit of stealing ice creams and pasties from the hands of unwitting tourists.
No sooner were they seated than Becky started talking about Giancarlo. This came as no surprise to Sam. Ever since their arrival on the island, it seemed that all Becky could talk about was the Italian from the guest house. All clouds have a silver lining though. Although Sam was sure he, too, would most probably soon pall as a topic of conversation, at least for the present this made a change from listening to Becky prattling on about Miles bloody Vernon.
Thought of Miles Vernon had been troubling Samantha more than her lingering annoyance with Neil. She hadn’t seen either of them for some days, but that didn’t stop her looking over her shoulder a lot in case Miles Vernon might appear. Somehow she was afraid that he wasn’t going to give up. In fact, this trip to the seaside had come at just the right time. Getting some miles between her and him was definitely a good thing. And the added bonus of getting away from the university was that she would no longer run the risk of bumping into Neil again, maybe accompanied by his woman. She did her best to banish thoughts of either man and concentrated on her lunch. Becky concentrated on a panegyric about the Italian. It continued all the way through their lunch break, without Sam being able to get a word in edgeways. Finally she managed to squeeze in one question, although she knew the answer before it came back to her.
‘So you’ve decided Giancarlo’s the one? Sure there’s no chance for good old Ryan?’
‘Yeah, right, good old Ryan. That’s not going to happen.’ Becky finished one of her massive sandwiches and threw a piece of crust into the rocks. Seconds later, a large seagull dropped down from the cliffs and scooped it up. Sam covered her food with a protective hand, just in case. Becky stood up reluctantly, collecting her things together and wiping her mouth with a tissue.
Sam swallowed a mouthful of water and caught her eye. ‘Back to the treadmill?’
‘Suppose so.’ Becky had a sudden thought. ‘By the way, how’s your mum? I forgot to ask. Didn’t you go up to see her at the weekend?’
Sam looked up. With all the rush to get ready for the dig, she hadn’t had much time to think about her mother either. ‘Definitely a good bit better.’ Sam saw Becky’s eyes open in surprise and nodded. ‘I know. She’s been really down for over a year now, ever since Dad left. She’s been on and off medication and I was beginning to think she was never going to get better. But, you know, Becs, I spent the weekend with her and she was brighter than I’ve seen her for months.’
‘So, she’s happy you’ve broken up?’ Becky sounded bemused.
‘Not at all. She’s sorry, but I think maybe I hadn’t realised just how miserable this Neil business has been making me feel. Maybe she sensed an improvement in me and it’s communicated itself to her. Hopefully, she’ll start to pick up again now.’
‘Well, that’s all good news, isn’t it?’
Sam gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘Damn right it is. If I’d known the effect it was going to have on her, I’d have dumped Neil months ago.’
‘So what about you, then, Sam, now that Neil’s out of the picture? Going to find yourself another man?’ There was no immediate response, so she tried again. ‘Anybody on the horizon?’
Sam stuffed the half-eaten remains of her monster cheese, ham and egg sandwich into her backpack and looked up. ‘Christ, Becs, I’ve only just broken up with Neil. I think I deserve a bit of time out after that. Anyway, I’m perfectly happy without anybody in my life for now. Like you’ve said yourself, the whole Neil thing has really turned me off men for a while.’ As she spoke, she found herself once more thinking of the man from Cambridge. Was she really that happy without someone in her life? She hadn’t seen James again since their trip to the island had been confirmed. In consequence she hadn’t been able to tell him that she would be going away for a few weeks. She had, in fact, deliberately called into the Wobbly Wheel on a couple of occasions just in case, but with no success. Presumably he was working, or with Clio, but she regretted not having been able to talk to him before she left.
Becky went on to ask the question she had been studiously avoiding for days. ‘Sam, about Neil; didn’t you suspect he might have another woman? Surely you must have noticed a change in him. You’d been together for ages, after all.’
Samantha pulled herself to her feet and shook her head. ‘It was painfully obvious that things were getting worse between us, but, honestly, the idea of infidelity never crossed my mind for a moment. It shows how little I knew him really. I genuinely thought he was only interested in beer and rugby. Of course now I think back on it, I realise that explains why, in spite of him saying he was going to rugby training two evenings a week, he never seemed to lose any weight.’ She had never been fully able to put her finger on what had happened to them. ‘The last straw was him misbehaving at Moira’s wedding, but I think I’d been falling out of love with him for ages. It’s an awful thing to say, but maybe I was just getting fed up with him.’ She caught Becky’s eye. ‘And maybe he sensed that, and that’s why the other woman came along. Anyway, that doesn’t bode too well for my being able to sustain
any future relationships, does it?’
‘You’ll have future relationships, I’m sure of it.’ Becky grinned at her. ‘Why, just the other day you got a lovely red rose.’
‘Well, one thing’s for sure. If I do find myself another man, it won’t be Miles bloody Vernon.’
She shook her head as she thought of Miles Vernon again. After the running incident, she had seen nothing more of him, although she was still troubled by the mystery of how he had found out her address. Becky had sworn on all she held dear that the most she had given him was the phone number. Still, she was safe here. Samantha looked around the beautiful little bay and breathed deeply. The light sand, sprinkled with strange flat pebbles, was unmarked apart from where they had walked. It was almost like having their very own desert island.
She and Becky retraced their footsteps to the cliff top. A staccato cough, followed by a background purr, announced that the others had got the generator working. They needed that to power the pump to shift the flood. They went back into the tent and watched as the powerful pump made short work of removing the water. Gradually, before their eyes, the three stones steps she had felt with her toes were revealed, leading down to waterlogged plants and soggy mud. As the water reduced to a shallow puddle, the pump was turned off. Outside, the noise of the generator stopped and Ryan came back. He looked across at Virginia.
‘Ready to go?’
She beamed at him. ‘We’re ready. Good luck everybody.’
Chapter 29
Giancarlo hummed to himself as he pulled on his boxers. The previous night he had done his best to help the woman in Polwenton get over her loneliness after her husband had left her alone and returned to London. Looking out of the window during a particularly enthusiastic moment of their tryst, Giancarlo had been impressed and proud to see ripples spreading out from the yacht, across the marina. The earth had indeed moved, and with it the waters. And it wasn’t a small boat either.
His good humour was also as a result of having arranged to take Becky and Samantha out for dinner that evening.
The students had returned from their first day of archaeological exertions full of enthusiasm. Becky told him how excited they were to have already made a find. She lowered her voice. ‘It’s all hush-hush, but we found a hand.’ Beside her, Ryan, the red-haired boy, looked disapproving.
‘A hand?’ Giancarlo tried to sound excited, but in fact that didn’t sound particularly interesting, or pleasant. He had, after all, just finished what was breakfast to him.
‘A skeleton hand. We’ll have to get it carbon dated, but it looks old enough to be medieval.’
Giancarlo still couldn’t see how a few bones could be so stimulating, but that was unimportant. What mattered was that Samantha and Becky were now looking and sounding much more animated than the previous day. And, he noted with considerable interest, the heat of the sun had encouraged Samantha to strip to a tank top. The contours now revealed only heightened his initial sense of attraction.
Back in his room, he sprayed deodorant under his arms and, on impulse, added a good squirt down the front of his boxers. He was looking forward to the evening ahead. Aware of the depredations inflicted upon his figure by the relentless succession of Mrs Pendennis’s cooked breakfasts, he opted for a baggy T-shirt that concealed his waist. Not for the first time, he summoned up a mental picture of Beppe. He knew he would have to watch his waistline if he stayed over here much longer.
At seven o’clock they met up in the lounge. Both girls were looking good. The sun had added a glow to their skin and Becky, in particular, was showing off quite a lot of skin. Giancarlo had to admit that, while not as drop dead gorgeous as Samantha, she was nevertheless a very attractive girl. And those attractions, he could well see, were being aimed at him. He couldn’t miss the jealousy in the eyes of the red-haired man, who was glowering over a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits. Giancarlo chose to ignore him as he led the girls out to the car.
‘I thought we should go to Polwenton. It’s a beautiful little seaside town with a number of places to eat.’
‘Ooh, Giancarlo, that sounds amazing.’ There was no doubt about it. Becky was showing all the right signs, even if Samantha appeared less interested. Still, he told himself, the night is young.
It took half an hour to do the ten miles to Polwenton. Time and time again they had to pull off the narrow road to let another vehicle pass. Cornish roads had evidently been built long before the invention of the internal combustion engine. Polwenton was a considerably bigger town than Tregossick and a popular tourist destination at that time of year. Not surprisingly, the car parks were full, even at the exorbitant rates the Cornish local authorities demanded. As a true Italian, this didn’t bother Giancarlo. He parked in a bus stop. They made their way down through the maze of narrow streets to the waterfront and found a table on the terrace outside one of the pubs. All around them, a chaotic jumble of stone cottages, no two the same, covered the hillside as far up as they could see. The pub itself was clearly very old, the ridge of its roof twisted by the passage of time and the weather. But, at least for now, the weather was far from inclement.
Giancarlo bought a bottle of wine for the girls and a mineral water for himself. Given the choice between alcohol and sex, he plumped for the latter any day. And he knew to his cost that the two did not mix, at least as far as men were concerned. As for girls, that was a different matter. He filled both wine glasses to the brim and raised his water in a toast.
‘Cin cin.’
‘Salute.’ To his surprise, this came from Samantha.
‘You speak Italian?’ His eyes flicked down across her body and he scrutinised the disappointingly conservative white top she was wearing. Not that she didn’t still look great, but she clearly hadn’t made the effort that her friend had. Beside her, Becky had gone with a blue blouse and a white bra that flattered her figure. The top three buttons of her blouse were undone and Giancarlo noticed that her breasts were a little pinkish from the sun. He blessed the instinct that had made him sit across the table from the two of them. He sipped his water and surveyed the view with satisfaction. From time to time he also raised his eyes to admire the scenery around the little harbour, the marina and across the mass of yachts moored in the estuary.
‘A little.’ Such had been his concentration on Becky’s bust, he had almost forgotten his question. He raised his eyes to Samantha’s face as she elaborated. ‘I spent a few summer vacations working for a holiday firm in the Mediterranean. Have you ever heard of Porto Ercole?’
Not only had he heard of the place, but his father kept a yacht there. Soon he was happily chatting about nautical matters and outlining the respective merits of the islands of Giglio, Elba and Capri. The level in the wine bottle dropped and the conversation flowed. Giancarlo was enchanted. The evening was going just the way he had hoped.
Then a funny thing happened. Samantha, getting rapidly more and more fed up with the Italian’s constant babble, allowed her attention to wander. Becky was more than compensating for this lack of interest anyway, now leaning halfway across the table towards him. Sam looked up the road just as the light was beginning to fail and she found her eyes following a very slick-looking silver sports car as it crawled down the hill in a slow stream of traffic. There was something familiar about it. Something very familiar. She turned to Giancarlo, interrupting his flow of nonsense and asked him a question.
‘See that car, Giancarlo? Any idea what make it is?’
He swung round and followed her eyes. An expression of admiration and approval, not dissimilar to the expression on his face as he surveyed Becky’s cleavage, spread across his face. ‘That’s a Porsche 911. Beautiful car, isn’t it. I keep hoping my father will buy me one.’
‘Ooh, Giancarlo, that would be lovely.’ Becky could already imagine herself alongside him, roaring up the Appian Way, the wind in her hair. ‘Isn’t it sexy?’
That was not the adjective Samantha would have used. Somehow she felt that ‘creepy�
� was far more suitable.
Chapter 30
Sam spotted Ann and Henry walking across the field towards the little cove on Monday morning. It was not yet eight o’clock in the morning and the others, including Virginia, hadn’t arrived yet. It had been a lovely, lazy weekend and Sam had woken early and set off on a run at six. A shower and one of Mrs Pendennis’s breakfasts and Sam felt on top of the world. Ann, on the other hand, didn’t look it. Sam made her way across to them, meeting up with them at the top of the narrow path to the beach.
‘Hi, Ann. Good morning, Henry.’
‘Hi, Sam.’ Ann looked and sounded tired, but the dog more than made up for it. He was evidently in a frisky mood and he launched himself at Sam and proceeded to lick her hands for all he was worth. She knelt down and scratched his ears.
‘Rough night?’ Sam glanced up at Ann and saw her nod.
‘I just can’t seem to shift that figure all in black from my mind. I kept having bad dreams and then waking up scared.’ She shook her head. ‘And I got even more scared when I looked in the mirror this morning. I must look dreadful.’
Sam could see that she was tired, but she was still stunningly beautiful, so she told her so and received a gentle smile in return.
‘Thanks, Samantha. You say the nicest things. Mind you, the other reason I’m a bit tired is that I had to go to Switzerland for the weekend.’
‘I thought I heard the helicopter last night. That was you coming back, was it? A trip to the Alps doesn’t sound too much like hard work.’
‘I wasn’t lying around, stuffing myself with fondue, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s the Locarno Film Festival and the studio insisted I went there to promote the new film.’