by Rachel Ennis
‘While he was sailing along the African coast, Captain Best captured an East India Company ship loaded with treasure. Unlike many pirates of the time he did not kill the crew or brutalise the passengers. Instead he put them in the ship’s boats with water, food, and oars, then set them adrift.
‘When he reached the Red Sea he met up with two smaller pirate ships commanded by Thomas Farrell from Kent, and Cornishman John Boundy. They used to lie in wait for Indian ships returning after taking luxury goods and pilgrims to Mecca and Jeddah. These ships were loaded with gold and silver.
‘The pirates managed to capture one heavily laden ship. But the Indian crew fought back. During the fierce battle, with many casualties on both sides, George’s brother was killed. Captain Best and his remaining crew took their prize to Socotra island where the ship was sold and the booty shared out. Seeing the death of his brother as a warning, George used some of his share to buy a sloop. With a small, loyal crew he made for the Comoros Islands. He sold the sloop, bought a fast schooner, and headed for home. He was twenty years old.’
‘Good God,’ Raymond murmured.
Jess nodded. ‘As a result of his experiences he had the shrewdness and judgement of a much older man. Back in Cornwall, he approached one of the partners of a well-respected law firm to act on his behalf. Claiming his wealth was an inheritance from a wealthy relative in India, he bought a run-down Cornish estate. He restored it and brought his mother to live with him while a small house on the estate was refurbished for her.
‘His lawyer recommended that he should employ a business agent. Through this agent George bought shares in merchant vessels and invested in tin and copper mines. In 1822, at the age of twenty-eight he married Louise Sitwell, the twenty-one-year-old daughter of his lawyer. And their son George Henry was born four years later.’
Jess looked up, laying down the final sheet and gently closing the file.
‘Astonishing,’ Raymond Jelbert said. ‘From pirate to Cornish squire in less than ten years.’
‘What a story,’ said Patrick.
‘Where on earth did you find so much detail?’ Tracey wanted to know.
‘From family papers, journals, and George’s personal log in the County Record Office,’ Jess told her.
‘It must have taken ages.’
‘It did, but it’s absolutely fascinating. I set off on a journey with no idea where it will lead or what I might find.’
Tracey grinned. ‘We’ll be dining out on this for years. I hope you enclosed an invoice?’
‘The envelope’s in the folder.’ Jess stood up. ‘Will you excuse me? I’d better get off home now.’
‘I couldn’t be more delighted, Jess,’ Raymond Jelbert said as everyone rose. ‘Do you have any business cards? Friends are sure to ask.’
‘I clipped a couple to the folder. I’m planning to put a small ad in the village magazine so people will be able to –’
‘What village magazine?’ Tracey asked.
‘Claire Griffin, the vicar’s wife, is setting it up. Her idea is to publish an issue every month featuring reports from all the village clubs, and articles by anyone who’d be willing to write one.’
‘What a marvellous idea.’
‘Tracey, if you’d like to write something about the seasons in your garden, I know Claire would be really grateful.’
‘I’ll drive you home,’ Patrick said as Tracey fetched Jess’s basket.
‘Goodnight, and thanks for a lovely evening.’
‘Thank you,’ Raymond Jelbert insisted. ‘I know you said – but I had no idea –’
‘My husband lost for words is a rare event.’ Tracey kissed Jess’s cheek. ‘I hope we’ll see you again very soon.’
Patrick’s car was a top-of-the-range 4x4. Jess settled onto the cream leather seat and felt cushioned in luxury.
‘How long have you been compiling ancestry charts?’ he asked as they cruised down into the village.
‘I started by creating my mother’s family tree. After a talk I gave at the Women’s Guild I was asked to do another.’ That had been Mor, wanting to find the father she had never known. ‘It’s grown from there.’
‘You certainly have a gift for it. Too often these things are just names and dates. But you brought George Collett to life. Ray was enthralled.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Ray may have told you that Russ and I are moving our boat down here. We’ve visited the marina. It’s impressive.’
Jess nodded. ‘Boss – that’s Mr Kingdon – has put a lot of money into improvements. He has plans to expand further – of course, you’ll know about that. You saw the site of the new holiday complex.’
‘As I said, it’s impressive. But size isn’t everything. And there’s a waiting list for deep water moorings. You’re local. Do you know Tom Peters’ yard?’
Jess’s heart thumped hard against her ribs. ‘Yes.’
‘Does it have a good reputation?’
‘The best. Tom took it over from his father and he’s worked really hard to update the facilities.’
‘How many does he employ?’
‘Apart from him, there’s Doug and Tom’s son, Chris, who recently started his apprenticeship.’
‘So it’s very small.’
‘Yes. But the thing is, most of Tom’s clients have been with him for years. He only takes on new people when a customer decides to give up or moves away.’ She pointed. ‘My entrance is just past the pump.’
As the vehicle drew smoothly to a stop, Jess glanced across him to her cottage, her heart giving an extra beat as she saw Tom walking down the path. She unclicked her seatbelt.
Patrick glanced sideways and unfastened his own. ‘I’ll walk you to your door.’
‘Thanks, but there’s no need. That is Tom Peters. He’s my –’ she shrugged as remembered hurt stirred. ‘You introduced Russ as your partner. Tom and I – We aren’t – We haven’t reached that stage yet.’
‘Significant other?’
‘A bit OTT, but boyfriend sounds ridiculous at our age.’
His brows arched as he grinned. ‘You think you’ve got problems? I daresay Russ and I will cause a bit of a stir.’
‘Only because you’re strangers. Once the village gets used to seeing you around no one will bat an eyelid. Can I suggest you use the village shop as often as possible? Before you know it you’ll just be Patrick and Russ down for the sailing.’
They both got out, and Patrick waited for Jess to come round to join him. He didn’t touch her as they walked across the road, but to anyone watching it was clear he was escorting her home. Tom waited in the gateway. Though the sun had set and dusk was approaching it was still light enough to see how drawn and tired he looked.
‘Tom, this is Dr Burton, a colleague of Dr Jelbert’s. Patrick, this is Tom Peters.’
‘I was asking Jess about your boatyard,’ Patrick asked as they shook hands. ‘Could you spare an hour in the morning? I’m looking for a deep water mooring and good lay-up facilities. I’m sorry to bother you on a weekend, but we’re going back up-country tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Come any time after nine. I’ll be there till midday.’
‘Thanks. Goodnight, Jess. It was a pleasure meeting you.’ With a nod to Tom he returned to his car. Jess didn’t notice him drive away.
‘You got a minute?’ Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, Tom shifted from one foot to the other. ‘I know it’s a bit late. But this – I wanted – It’s important.’
‘Come in.’
‘You look nice,’ he said as she switched on the light and dropped her basket on the worktop.
‘Dr Jelbert invited me to supper. He wanted me to take his family tree.’
‘You got it finished then?’ He went to the woodburner and added another log while she filled the kettle. Jess wondered if he even realised he’d done it. ‘Pleased was he?’
‘Tracey said they’d be dining out on it for years.’
‘This Patrick Burt
on –’
‘He’s the forensic anthropologist Dr Jelbert asked down to examine and date the bones. He and his partner stayed with the Jelberts for the weekend.’ Seeing Tom’s shoulders relax, she was touched. He was jealous and trying not to show it.
‘So what’s she like then?’
‘Who?’
‘His partner.’
Jess hid a smile. ‘His name is Russell Simmons. They work for the same company and he rebuilds faces from skulls.’
Tom’s brows rose. ‘You mean he’s –? They’re –?’
‘He is, and they are. Do you want coffee? Tea? Or cocoa?’
‘Cocoa’d be nice. He’ll have seen the marina then. You said he asked about my yard?’
‘Because I’m local. He didn’t know about us – not until we saw you on the path. Why have you come, Tom?’
‘To tell you Susan’s gone. Jason come for her half an hour ago. Nothing wrong with the landline.’ His features hardened. ‘I heard the phone ring and caught her picking up the receiver and dropping it again.’
Jess had wondered. She measured milk into a saucepan then put the bottle back in the fridge. ‘Did she delete my messages from your mobile as well?’
He shrugged. ‘I didn’t ask. She’d only have lied. I’m some sorry, Jess.’ He sank onto the sofa, supporting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his face. ‘Took in good and proper, wasn’t I?’
‘That’s the downside of being kind,’ Jess poured steaming milk onto the mixed cocoa and stirred, then took the pan to the sink and ran cold water into it. ‘There will always be people who try to take advantage.’
‘I dunno what I ever saw in her.’ He sighed.
‘At least you got Chris out of it.’ Carrying the mugs over, Jess put them down on the coffee table then sat beside him.
‘True. Doing well he is, dear of him.’ He rested his hand on the sofa between them, palm up. She laid hers on top of it. His fingers curled over, holding hers tight.
‘Easy,’ she lifted their clasped hands. ‘You’ve got some grip, Peters.’
He loosened his grip. ‘Sorry, bird.’
‘What happened?’
‘I told her to ring Jason, or ring a taxi. I wanted her out. ’Course, she turned on the tears. I may be slow but I aren’t stupid, and I’d had enough. I told her to get upstairs and pack her bags else I’d put the lot out in the yard. That got her moving. Jason turned up half-hour later. When I shut the front door behind them, no word of a lie, Jess, it was like a black cloud lifting.’
She squeezed his hand briefly. ‘What about Chris? How did he take it?’
‘He don’t know yet. Doug took him off sailing this morning. Doug’ll feed him and Chris have got his own key. He can see her whenever he want to. That’s up to him. But I told her straight, she don’t set foot in my yard ever again.’
He gazed at their clasped hands then raised his head to meet her eyes. ‘I’ve missed you awful. Like an ache it was. Day and night. I don’t never want to go through that again.’
Jess rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Me neither.’
He tilted her chin, whispered, ‘Jess.’ His mouth covered hers, his lips soft and warm. This was home, she thought as he drew her close. The kiss deepened. His fingers were gentle, knowing, on her bare skin. She leaned into his touch and heard his breath catch. She stopped thinking. The cocoa grew cold.
Chapter Nine
Jess heard the shower running, stretched and smiled, then looked at the clock on her bedside table. 6.30am. Tempted to turn over and snatch another few minutes, she swung her legs out of bed. The shower stopped.
Slipping her arms into a cotton robe, she padded barefoot across the landing as Tom emerged from the bathroom, rubbing his hair with a towel, another round his waist.
‘Morning.’ He leaned in to kiss her but she turned her head so his lips met her cheek.
‘No! Not till I’ve cleaned my teeth.’
He smelled of soap, shampoo, and toothpaste. ‘You hungry? Fancy a fry-up? I’ll do it.’
Thoughts of muesli and fruit juice flitted across her mind. They didn’t linger. ‘Yes please.’
‘Should be ready by the time you are.’
As she emerged from the bathroom, mouth-watering smells were wafting up the stairs. She dressed, ran a comb through her curls, picked up the wet towels and went down. The table was set with a rack of toast, butter, and marmalade.
She put the towels in the washing machine. ‘Can I help?’
‘No. Go and sit down.’ Using the tea towel to carry the plate he set it in front of her. She looked at the two crisp rashers of bacon, two grilled tomato halves, and the fried egg lightly covered, exactly as she liked it. Her eyes pricked. Moved to tears by a fry-up. How daft was that?
‘All right is it?’
Looking up, she saw her radiant smile reflected in his eyes. ‘Perfect.’
He brought his own plate, tossed the towel onto the worktop and sat down opposite her. ‘So, what you doing today then?’
‘I’ve got some bits to do here, then I’ll pop in and see Elsie. She’s friends with Olena Panchyk who might be able to tell me about the old Refugee camp.’
‘Meet me for a drink at the pub lunchtime?’
Jess nodded. ‘I hope it goes well – your meeting with Patrick Burton.’
‘So do I. But I can’t compete with what Boss have got down at the marina.’
Putting down her knife, Jess reached across and placed her hand on his. ‘When I spoke to Will the other day he said the only difference between Boss’s yard and yours is size. The work’s the same. Every boat coming into your yard gets your personal attention. Doug and Chris work under your supervision. Because it’s your yard, and your name, you want satisfied clients who stay with you. For the men working at the marina it’s just a job. I’m not saying they don’t do their best. I’m sure they do, or they wouldn’t last long. But they haven’t got the same personal investment.’
He raised his cup in salute. Then his smile faded. ‘Did you see that half-page ad Boss put in the paper? Must have cost hundreds.’
‘I did, and it’s very impressive. But an advert is no guarantee of quality. What keeps your clients loyal is knowing you work to a high standard and they get value for money. That’s exactly what I told Patrick Burton.’
Warmth softened his gaze. ‘But that was before –’
‘Tom, I know you, and I know how you run the yard. Your ex-wife stirring up trouble between us doesn’t change the fact that you’re honest, hard-working, and fair with your customers. Are you looking for new clients?
He nodded. ‘We’ve lost three boats because of bereavements. Two were sold, the other was moved down to Helford. Mind you, that did free up a deep-water mooring –’
‘Which is exactly what Dr Burton is looking for. And you’ll have a space for lay-up.’
Shoving back his chair he came round the table, caught her face between his rough palms, and kissed her. ‘I love you, Jess. You’re good for me.’
She laid her hand over his and looked into his eyes. ‘I love you too. Now finish your breakfast. Then go and convince Patrick Burton and Russ Simmons that your yard is the only place for their boat.’
Chores completed, she opened her laptop and searched for information on WWII POWs. She discovered that in 1946 the UK had over 400,000 German prisoners. Many had been transferred from Canada and the US. After Germany surrendered in May 1945, these prisoners were kept on and used as forced labour in ‘reparation.’ In 1947 the Ministry of Agriculture fought against repatriation of German prisoners as they made up a quarter of the land workforce.
Trying to locate POW camps in Cornwall she learned there were few official lists, and the camps mentioned were located mainly in the south-east of England, the North, and Scotland. Most had been temporary and were pulled down after the war.
Twenty minutes later she found a mention of the two military camps and an anti-aircraft battery to the north of Polvellan village. She hoped to
find the names of POWs who had worked on local farms. Then she would look for a post-war repatriation list. By comparing the two and striking out those who went back, she would be left with those who had stayed.
But when she logged on to the National Archive she discovered that there weren’t any such lists. No detainees, Displaced Persons, ex-POWs, or former forced labourers had ever been registered by name. What kind of organization was that? With a snort of disgust and frustration, she closed her laptop. She’d go and ask Elsie about Olena Panchyk.
Unusually, Elsie’s door was closed so she knocked. ‘Hello, Tegan.’ She kept her smile brief. The girl was hurt and wary. Being over-friendly would make her suspicious. ‘Is Elsie in? I wanted to ask –’
‘She’s gone to chapel.’ Her tone was sullen, her manner hostile as her eyes dipped away from Jess’s. Honey-brown hair hung loose to her shoulders and a long fringe tangled with her eyelashes. She started to close the door.
‘Are you bored? You must be a bit fed up.’
‘What?’ The door stilled.
‘Do you want to come in with me till your nan gets back? I won’t ask questions, promise. I know what it’s like to be talked about. When my husband died he left me with a load of debts so I lost my home. I scraped together just enough to buy next door. Your nan will tell you it was a wreck, nothing like it is now. I was born and grew up in Polvellan. When I got married my proud gran made sure everyone knew I had a big house in Truro. So when I moved back here and worked as a labourer for Fred Honey while he and Jase did the renovations, it was all round the village in no time.’
Tegan’s gaze met Jess’s then slid away. But the door stayed where it was.
‘Most people don’t mean any harm, Tegan. They’re interested, that’s all. That’s why TV soaps are so popular. Seeing other people facing problems makes you realise you aren’t the only one. There will always be a few who are spiteful. It’s usually because they’re unhappy or jealous. But that’s their problem. It’s not yours. Your life is your business, no one else’s.’
Tegan looked up.
‘Come on,’ Jess said. ‘At least it’s different walls to look at.’ The corners of the girl’s mouth tilted briefly. ‘We’d better leave a note for your nan so she won’t worry.’