Hidden Treasures

by Fern Britton

  Helen laughed and looked over at her son, who had stopped to buy ice cream for them all. She watched as he beckoned Terri over to collect hers and gave her a hug. Could Terri be the one?

  After the ice creams, Sean, who had had enough of shopping, spotted the sign pointing to the cliff path and smugglers’ caves.

  ‘Heave-ho, me hearties! There’ll be doubloons in the offing.’

  Chloe and Terri ran after him, rags of laughter falling around them. Helen followed behind, thanking whoever was up there for this perfect day.

  The path split in two after about a quarter of a mile, one direction continuing up the cliff path while the other led down to the beach and its caves.

  They settled on the caves, which were set in the undercliff and reached by a steep set of steps, hand hewn into the rock. The old caverns where local smuggers had plied their trade were shrouded in darkness. Sean and Chloe took out their phone torches and tried to see how far they went. Terri and Helen chose to sit on a flat warm rock to watch the yachts in the distance.

  After about five minutes the brother and sister returned, disappointed.

  ‘It’s all blocked by a rockfall. And anyway, it smells of wee.’ Chloe wrinkled her nose and sat down next to her mother. Sean plonked himself down next to Terri.

  ‘Lovely day for surfing,’ said Helen. ‘I’m having lessons.’ Three pairs of eyes looked at her. ‘The vicar is teaching me.’

  As she had hoped, they all clamoured for more information, which she gladly gave.

  ‘I’ve arranged to meet him at the fireworks tonight.’

  ‘I shall need to ask what his intentions are towards you, Ma,’ said Sean.

  ‘He’s my friend, that’s all,’ Helen insisted.

  ‘Mum, what about the horrible hunk with the dog who had a run-in with your knickers?’

  ‘You mean Piran Ambrose?’ Helen felt two pairs of eyes on her. After filling Sean and Terri in on the story, to a loud chorus of disapproval at his rude behaviour, she chose to play it casual. ‘I’ve barely seen him in … oh, it must be weeks. People tell me he’s actually quite nice. You just need to get to know him.’

  ‘And are you going to get to know him?’ Terri slipped her arm under Helen’s and squeezed it.

  Sean and Chloe looked at each other, then chorused, ‘Not if we have anything to do with it.’

  *

  Later that evening, around 6 p.m., Helen and Chloe were suited and booted in warm shoes and coats. They stopped at the vicarage to pick up Simon, whom Helen had arranged to collect the previous day. He was wearing his usual black coat, but with a checked scarf round his neck and plain black trousers tucked into socks and walking boots. Sean and Terri had gone back to their hotel earlier and they were all due to meet up at the fireworks display.

  ‘Hello. What a super clear night! You must be Chloe.’ Simon shook her hand as she jumped out of the passenger seat to nip into the back.

  ‘Lovely to meet you, Simon. You sit at the front, I’m fine here at the back.’

  Simon got in and assiduously did up his seat belt. As Helen drove out of the village he turned and gave Chloe a proper look.

  ‘Goodness, Helen. This can’t be your daughter. You look like sisters!’

  ‘I know! Uncanny, isn’t it?’ Helen replied, laughing. ‘It’s like looking in the Wicked Queen’s mirror!’

  ‘Mum! I can see why you like this man.’ Chloe was laughing too.

  Simon turned back to look at Helen, his heart bumping with pleasure.

  *

  They managed to squeeze into the harbour car park, although the traffic was already building up, then made their way to join Terri and Sean, who were keeping seats free for them on one of the benches by the harbour railings.

  ‘Well done,’ said Helen, hugging Sean and kissing Terri. ‘You’ve got a prime spot here. Let me introduce you to Reverend Simon Canter.’

  ‘Just Simon, please.’ He shook hands with them all. It had been a long time since he’d felt part of a family.

  The display was due to start soon. In the gloom they could make out a dredger anchored a distance out on the water, with dark figures flashing torches on the deck.

  ‘Is that the hub of the display out on the boat, Simon?’ asked Helen.

  ‘Yes. The horizon behind makes a perfect backdrop. It’s all done by computer, these days. Jolly clever.’

  Would it be appropriate to put his arm round her? Just as Simon was about to send the message from brain to arm, Sean interrupted:

  ‘Fancy some tea and chips? The girls and I are just off to get some.’

  Helen shifted slightly away from him to reach for her purse and a ten-pound note. ‘Yes, please. My treat.’

  Then another familiar face arrived. ‘Hello, you two.’

  ‘Hello! Come and join us, Don,’ said Helen, smiling warmly.

  ‘Better not. I’ve left Dorrie behind the bar. I only nipped down to see Piran. We’ve got a table booked for four of you tonight. Shall I make it five?’ He looked at Simon.

  ‘Simon, we’d love you to join us for supper. Can you bear to put up with us all evening?’

  ‘Well, I … I’d love to. Thank you.’

  ‘Right you are,’ said Don. ‘See you later then.’

  It was now or never. Simon lifted his arm and was just about to move it casually along the back of the bench and around Helen’s shoulders, when she grabbed his hand in her gloved one and said, ‘I am so excited! I love fireworks. Brings back lovely memories of parties in our Chiswick back garden when the children were small.’

  She thought back to those times, but her smile faded as she realised her memory had played tricks. They hadn’t been particularly nice at all. Either Gray would get home late, or not at all; while the children would be overexcited, then bored by her attempts at lighting damp Catherine wheels, which never spun round like they should. By the time Gray eventually turned up, the whole event would have collapsed into screaming kids, tearful wife and a barbecue that reeked of sausage cinders. She pushed it all out of her mind. This was her life now and it was full of promise.

  The display was magnificent, huge bursts of colour reflecting in the high tide and the booms reverberating around the old buildings. The final five minutes was a non-stop barrage of rockets, whizzes, bangs and stars. The last rocket soared above everything else and when it exploded it spelled out TREVAY in golden letters.

  There was loud and lengthy applause before the crowd turned as one, hurrying to be the first car out of the car park.

  *

  The Dolphin was packed, but Dorrie and Don had kept a nice table in the corner snug for Helen’s party.

  Don welcomed them in, took their order for drinks and left them to look at the menu.

  He was back quickly with foaming pints for the two men, and a jug of steaming mulled wine for the women.

  ‘We didn’t order this,’ said Chloe.

  ‘On the ’ouse. It’s a Dorrie special. Cheers, ladies! Ready to order?’

  The food was excellent as usual and simple in style. Pumpkin ravioli in sage butter, sea bass on a bed of chilli-butter beans, and a plate of local charcuterie with warm crusty bread, all of which were declared delicious. Once that was cleared away, just as they were deciding if they could squeeze in a pudding, there was some excitement at the bar as Dorrie called for quiet. From their corner, they couldn’t see Dorrie or the person she was referring to, but a hush fell over the pub.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve ’ad a great night in Trevay with the fireworks and all the money we’ve raised for charity, but it wouldn’t have been possible without one man. ’E’s a special friend to all of us and we wouldn’t ’ave ’ad such a spectacular display without ’im. Show your appreciation, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, for our own Guy Fawkes – Mr Piran Ambrose.’

  An enormous cheer went up in the crowded pub. Simon got to his feet and applauded. Chloe, Sean and Terri stood up and craned their necks to get a look at this man who’d been so rud
e to Helen.

  Helen remained seated.

  Piran had heaved himself up on to the bar and, after the applause had died down, looked around at the assembled throng who were sitting down again.

  ‘Thank you, Dorrie, and thank you, Don. Where are you, man?’

  Don made himself known behind the bar. Piran continued:

  ‘Don helps raise funds for the show through his tireless committee work and endless raffles, car boot sales, et cetera. He also gets all the licences and safety checks through that we need. I don’t know what we’d do without him.’ Loud cheers accompanied raucous applause. Piran continued: ‘Our chosen charity this year is the graveyard conservation at Holy Trinity down in Pendruggan. It looks like we’ve raised almost four thousand pounds this year,’ – the crowd cheered even louder – ‘which is what I shall tell the Reverend Canter tonight, when I go and see him at the vicarage.’

  ‘I’m here, Piran!’ piped up Simon.

  There was another round of whoops and cheers as Simon stood up and waved. Piran jumped from the bar and strode over to him. He shook his hand and clapped him on the back. ‘What you doin’ in the pub, vicar? Have you fallen into bad company?’

  ‘No, I’m with Helen and her family.’

  Piran turned and at the sight of Helen his face darkened.

  ‘Mrs Merrifield.’ He gave a curt nod to the expectant faces of the rest of the party and then, turning back to Simon, said quietly, ‘I see you have fallen in with … company. We’ll speak later, vicar, OK?’

  ‘Certainly, Piran. And thank you so much. What a wonderful donation.’

  Piran shook Simon’s hand again and turned back to the crowd. ‘The Reverend Simon Canter, everyone. He knows he’ll see you all in church tomorrow morning! Isn’t that right, vicar?’

  There was laughter and then Piran was swallowed back into the crowd.

  Helen excused herself and went to the ladies’. She closed the door of the cubicle and surprised herself as tears fell silently on her cheeks. Why was this man so horrible to her? How could people like him? What had she done? She quickly blew her nose and tried to pull herself together. This reaction left her feeling completely mystified. Perhaps it was the emotion of having the kids with her. Or maybe the last few months of this completely new chapter in her life had taken more of a toll on her than she realised.

  As she left the cubicle and washed her hands at the little sink, she heard a familiar voice outside: Piran.

  ‘What’s she doing, hanging around the vicar? Who are those people she’s with?’

  Don’s voice: ‘The vicar’s fallen for her, I reckon. He’s invited her to the diocesan dinner in the new year. Helen told Dorrie.’

  ‘Who’s that city boy with the dumb blonde and the mouse?’

  ‘Her son and daughter and his girlfriend. They’re staying here. Nice people, Piran.’

  ‘Just keep an eye on the vicar, will you? Don’t want him getting hurt again. She’ll be off back to London once she gets bored of us hicks – you watch.’

  Helen could stand it no longer. Plastering a big smile on her face, she came out of the loo and walked straight into Piran’s line of vision. Don had the grace to look sheepish.

  ‘Oops, excuse me! What are you two hicks doing outside the ladies’ gossiping like a couple of girls? Dear me, with all this excitement I shall never want to go back to London. Especially as I am so looking forward to my date with dear Simon at the bishop’s party.’

  Don was looking at his feet. Piran was staring at her with an inscrutable look on his face.

  ‘Good night, gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get my mousey daughter home.’

  Helen turned on her heel, and with all dignity collected up her party and led them out.

  17

  The next day Dorrie was on the phone full of apologies. Don had told her what had happened and she had given both him and Piran a flea in their ears.

  ‘Don’s on the sofa for the foreseeable future, Helen. Like a pair of old washerwomen, they are. Don’s ever so embarrassed, but Piran … I don’t know what goes on in ’is mind at times. He just listened to what I had to say and left. Perhaps ’is new Truro lady’s got under his skin.’ Helen heard her sigh at the other end. ‘Anyway, I hope this doesn’t affect our friendship, Helen.’

  Helen reassured her that it was water off a duck’s back and that this sort of thing happened in small communities. No harm done. But when she got off the phone she resolved not to have anything more to do with Piran Ambrose. Which was a pity, because she wanted to solve the mystery of the tin box. Never mind. She’d sort something out with the other woman from the museum in Trevay; Janet Coombes, was it?

  It would have to wait till the spring though. Christmas was looming and she wanted it to be perfect for her and the kids. Chloe was coming to stay with her again and Sean and Terri had accepted her invitation for Christmas, booking themselves back into the Dolphin.

  *

  In the meantime, much to Helen’s irritation, Gray had been phoning again and whingeing about Selina, his latest squeeze, and angling for an invitation for Christmas. Helen had been short and to the point with him.

  ‘Gray, this is not my problem, it’s yours. You are a man of fifty-three, not twenty-three. You have plenty of friends you can spend Christmas with. We are separated, remember?’

  ‘Helen, you’ve changed. You’ve grown so hard.’

  ‘And not before time.’ She heard him tut. ‘Why don’t you spend Christmas with the diaphanous Selina?’

  ‘She’s going to her parents.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘They don’t know about me.’

  Helen laughed. ‘Ha! So they don’t know she’s hanging out with a man the same age as her father?’

  ‘He’s a couple of years older than me, actually.’

  ‘I see. So let me get this straight. Your girlfriend can’t take you home with her, your friends haven’t offered invitations to spend Christmas with them, and you think you may as well come down here where good old Helen will look after you. Well, it doesn’t work like that any more, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Hit me where it hurts, why don’t you? Oh, Helen, you really are the perfect wife. Why don’t we call the whole divorce thing off? You can still have your life there and I can have my little flat here and we can meet up for romantic weekends. What do you say?’ He put an extra growl in his voice. ‘You still have the sexiest legs I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘Gray, you are a cheating, sexist pig who pulled my heart out and stamped it into the dust. You plundered my love, my self-esteem, and my address book for my mates’ phone numbers. How can I resist you?’

  ‘Someone got out of bed the wrong side today. Menopause, I expect. I’ll leave you to it.’

  And he hung up.

  *

  Later that day he sent a sniffy email advising her that he wouldn’t be coming down for Christmas. He was taking Selina to Verbier. Helen pressed the delete button furiously. Then, just as quickly, opened a new mail to him saying, You are not invited anyway, and pressed send before she could change her mind.

  *

  The weather was getting chilly and the skies rather bleak. Her walks on the beach were more of a challenge than a pleasure as she forced her way through the strong buffeting winds, usually getting a faceful of stinging sea spray for her efforts.

  Simon was a constant pal. They had fallen into a cosy pattern of mid-week suppers together and catch-ups over a pot of tea. He was a dear friend, of whom she was getting fonder and fonder. He was pedantic and set in his ways, yes, but he was always there and ready to share. He’d be a perfect husband … maybe even for her … if she could imagine having sex with him, which she couldn’t.

  *

  On a Sunday afternoon walk early in December, they talked about Christmas. For Simon it meant a lot of extra services and diary dates for school carol services and the like. But the major event was the ‘Village Entertainment Evening’. Leading the committee this year were Poll
y and Pete, who had decided to stage ‘Pendruggan’s Got Talent’, a local version of the hit TV show. A handful of acts had signed up already and two of the three judges had been decided on: Simon, because he was ‘The Boss’, as Polly called him; and Queenie, because of her vast knowledge of celebrity culture.

  ‘We’re looking for a third judge.’ Simon turned his large, bespectacled brown eyes on her.

  There was a pause and then Helen shook her head vehemently. ‘No. Not me. I couldn’t. I’ll make tea, sell tickets, but not that. Absolutely not.’

  ‘I wasn’t actually thinking about you. More your friend Penny.’

  ‘Oh!’ Helen didn’t know whether to feel crushed or relieved. ‘Well, I can ask her and see what she says, though I know she is very busy.’ Then she remembered how rude Penny had been to Simon when she’d last come down. ‘Was she your choice?’

  ‘Well, it was a committee thing. Queenie was telling everyone about the filming that might happen here, and about your friend being in television, so I said I’d ask you.’

  ‘Well, Penny owes you big time after being so mean when she was pissed, so tell the committee that, yes, she’ll do it. I’ll make sure of it.’

  *

  Penny had been very sweet about being volunteered for the job and even arranged for her locations manager, production designer and director to come down at the same time. ‘We may as well kill many birds with one stone. I’ll get my PA to call the Starfish and wangle some rooms.’

  Pendruggan’s Got Talent was booked for the seventeenth of December and as Penny was coming down on the twenty-third anyway, she decided simply to stay on after the show.

  Most of Helen’s time in the run-up to the show was spent at the vicarage, co-ordinating press and publicity, printing programmes, and organising ticket sales and the line up of talent. And because Pendruggan had no village hall, the church would have to serve as the theatre, which meant persuading the flower ladies to sort out the decorations.