The Secret Years

by Barbara Hannay

  Lucy allowed herself a moment to bask in the heady warmth of Nick’s approval, and she chose not to dwell on all the other girls he knew. There was bound to be a host of them, a long line stretching from Penzance to London. ‘I was hungry,’ she said a little too defensively.

  ‘Right, then let’s waste no time in getting you fed.’

  It was still raining, but Nick’s Range Rover was parked on the driveway and he had a large, black English brolly, which he gallantly held over Lucy as they made a dash for the car. As they were driving out of the estate, however, the experience felt suddenly surreal. Her focus had shifted so completely in such a short space of time. For the past few years, her world had comprised the army and home. Afghanistan and Townsville. Her fellow soldiers, her mum, Harry and Sam.

  Now, Sam and Afghanistan were out of the picture. Her mum was furiously trying to reinvent herself with a new man in a new apartment. And Lucy had ended up here in a stately home in Cornwall that was practically a castle. She was whizzing off in a Range Rover with a man who was as close to Prince Charming as she was ever likely to meet, leaving aside the fact that he was her cousin. She almost felt as if she’d fallen down a rabbit hole like Alice in Wonderland. Except there was no Red Queen screaming, ‘Off with her head!’

  Not yet, at least.

  There was nothing fairytale about the weather though. It was still bleak and windy and wet. In St Ives the streets were mostly empty, the gutters running with water. But of course it was very pleasant and cosy inside the little restaurant that Nick chose. After they shed their damp coats, they were shown to a nook in a bay window where the table was set with a crisp white cloth and a brown jug filled with early daffodils.

  Better still, the rain had eased enough to give them a view over the crooked rooftops to breakers frothing against the cliffs in the bay.

  ‘Have you tried a Cornish pasty since you’ve been here?’ Nick asked as Lucy opened her menu.

  ‘No. Should I have?’

  He reared back in mock horror. ‘A hot pasty is Cornwall’s national dish. Part of our county’s culinary heritage. You’ll have to try one. Actually, a pasty is the perfect meal on a cold and dreary day like this.’

  Lucy wasn’t finding the day dreary at all, but she was quite happy to order a pasty with her coffee. When Cornwall’s famous national dish arrived, she thought it wasn’t all that different from an Aussie meat pie. She said as much, but Nick quickly assured her that this was no ordinary pie. The Cornish took their pasties very seriously.

  ‘You can tell these are traditional Cornish pasties because they’re D shaped, and crimped along the curved side,’ he said. ‘They originated among the miners – they made a good nourishing lunch and were easy to hold in one hand.’

  ‘I suppose I’d better use a knife and fork today,’ Lucy said with a laugh as she cut into the plump, enticing crescent of golden-crisp pastry. ‘Mmm, it smells wonderful.’

  After a bite, she released another ‘Mmm,’ and sent Nick a warm smile and a thumbs up. The steak was so tender and rich and the vegetables were fab, too.

  ‘Potatoes and swede,’ Nick informed her.

  ‘Perfect.’ Overcome by hunger, she had to tuck in.

  They had finished eating and were lingering over a second cup of coffee when Nick asked his awkward question.

  ‘I feel as if I know so little about you or your family. What sort of work do you do?’

  Lucy had to think fast to balance the pros and cons of telling him the truth. Given Nick’s feelings about the army, any mention of her job could very well spoil their lovely morning. She wished she knew if Simon Myatt had died recently, or some time back. But perhaps it made no difference. Admitting that she was a soldier would almost certainly bring that awful torment back into Nick’s eyes.

  It was a no-brainer really.

  The cons won.

  ‘I’m in logistics,’ she said. ‘With a government agency.’

  Nick nodded politely, but Lucy could see that he was puzzled.

  ‘An agency? Like foreign aid?’

  ‘Well, yes, sort of.’ She hoped she didn’t look as nervous as she felt. She was uncomfortable about fudging the truth, but she would look a bit silly if she changed her story in midstream.

  ‘We get supplies into where they’re needed,’ she said, knowing this must sound ridiculously vague.

  Nick frowned. ‘I thought that sort of work was mostly covered by non-government bodies.’

  Lucy lifted her shoulders in a shrug. ‘Not always.’

  Luckily, Nick was too polite to probe deeper and he dropped the subject, but Lucy felt as if she’d disappointed him. After all, he’d told her quite a lot about the work he’d done at Penwall Hall.

  Truth was, her claim to work in a government agency was a response that she and her fellow soldiers often gave when they were out socially in civilian dress. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of being a soldier. Far from it. The army had been good to her and she’d worn her first stripes and later her officer’s pips with pride.

  But like most of her comrades, she felt uncomfortable answering questions about active service, particularly questions about Afghanistan. To answer in brief terms could sound dismissive, and to try to do justice to the memory of her experience there and, more importantly, to those who died there could be too confronting.

  Nick had lost a brother in Afghanistan and she didn’t want to risk giving him answers that he might not want to hear.

  Besides, government logistics wasn’t too far from the truth – and she was only going to be in Cornwall for a week.

  As Nick paid the bill and they headed outside, however, he said, ‘The weather’s clearing. Would you like to drive to the Lizard Peninsula? I think it’s actually more spectacular than Land’s End.’

  ‘Isn’t that miles away?’

  ‘Nowhere’s very far away down here.’

  That was true.

  ‘And you can’t leave Cornwall without seeing Kynance Cove.’

  ‘But —’

  ‘It’s okay, Lucy. I’m free today.’

  She was flattered and secretly thrilled that he was prepared to give up an entire day to be with her. There was only one problem –her original problem with this man – and now she was sinking deeper under his spell.

  It wasn’t just about Nick’s looks any more. He was great company, too. Interesting and attentive. Considerate and fun.

  If Lucy was honest, she liked every single thing about the guy.

  But being with Nick kept her in a constant state of jangling, bone-deep tension – lusty tension, let’s face it – and she didn’t know how to turn it off. Her reaction was purely instinctive, defying logic and commonsense.

  She only hoped she would survive the next few days without doing or saying anything foolish.

  19

  Touring the Lizard Peninsula with Nick was both delightful and dangerous for Lucy.

  On the one hand, she was able to see the Cornish coast at its most dramatic and beautiful, and to visit famous place names like Helston and Mullion Cove, where Nick entertained her with stories of smugglers and shipwrecks.

  Even the weather smiled on them. With immaculate timing, the sun broke through the clouds just as they chose to walk out on the headland at Kynance Cove. The stunning beauty of the churning sea, the jagged, remarkable cliffs and the thatched-roofed, whitewashed houses were bathed in gorgeous bright sunshine.

  Nick explained that the rocks here were serpentine or soapstone, famously suitable for carving, and he promptly bought Lucy a lovely souvenir, a polished stone candle holder from a gift shop.

  But along with the fun, there was danger, too, and for Lucy the peril came not from the wind and the rain that sent them scurrying back to the warmth of Nick’s Range Rover, but from the many happy smiles and sizzling glances that passed all too frequently between them.

  She knew it was dangerous to enjoy Nick Myatt’s company so enthusiastically, to spend the whole day feeling so exquisitely ha
ppy and floating. And wanting. There were solid, commonsense reasons why she shouldn’t give in to such weakness. Even if Nick hadn’t been a blood relation, there was still the small matter of geography and the fact that she would soon be leaving for the other side of the globe. And finally, crucially, there was Nick’s justifiable aversion to the army.

  Sadly for Lucy, these logical arguments were poor defence against his charms. Each minute she spent in his company, she found him more and more appealing, and it didn’t help that he sent out plenty of signals that he found her company as agreeable as she found his.

  Eventually, the cloud-shrouded afternoon had sunk into twilight and they drove home over moors covered with thick heather and past winter-bare fields dotted with stark stone farmhouses. By the time they reached Portreath, it was quite dark and Nick turned into the car park of The Seaspray Arms.

  He sent Lucy a quick grin. ‘We might as well grab a bite of supper.’

  She tried not to sound too pleased. ‘Might as well.’

  As had happened on her first night here, heads turned as they entered the bar, but this time it was Nick who was the centre of attention. He didn’t seem bothered though. He simply exchanged friendly greetings or nods with locals as he guided Lucy through the crowded bar to the snug dining area on the far side.

  A pretty girl with a perfect peaches-and-cream complexion couldn’t quite hide her surprise as Nick asked to be shown to a corner table. Lucy supposed he wasn’t in the habit of bringing his girlfriends here. He would probably take them to much fancier restaurants in St Ives or Penzance, or even further afield, perhaps, to London, Paris . . .

  They were deep in conversation over a delicious roasted parsnip soup, and Nick was plumbing the depths of Lucy’s limited knowledge of the Australian outback, when a woman’s voice practically shrieked his name.

  Lucy turned to see a group of four – two men and two women – grinning broadly at them and waving excitedly.

  ‘Ah,’ said Nick softly, so that only Lucy heard. ‘I should have warned you.’

  One of the women rushed up to them. She was rather glamorous in a carefully casual way, with stylish fair hair and neat pearl earrings, a grey fur coat, tight designer jeans and knee-high, slim grey boots.

  ‘Darling, Nick,’ she cried, flinging her arms around him and kissing him European style on both cheeks. ‘How absolutely marvellous to run into you like this, especially with such a lovely companion.’

  She beamed at Lucy and waited rather obviously for an introduction.

  ‘This is Lucy Hunter from Australia,’ Nick said, touching a hand to Lucy’s shoulder.

  ‘Australia? How wonderful.’

  ‘Lucy, Amelia. Amelia Hartford.’

  ‘I’m one of Nick’s oldest friends,’ Amelia added as she held out her hand to shake Lucy’s. ‘I don’t dare tell you how many years we’ve known each other. So lovely to meet you, Lucy.’

  ‘Thanks. Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘And here’s the rest of our motley crew,’ Amelia added as she beckoned to the others, who quickly gathered around her.

  A solid, balding man called Guy proved to be Amelia’s husband, and with him was a sandy-haired couple, Emma and Michael Jacques. They were all similarly well-dressed in casually tailored clothes that might have come straight from a fashion magazine, and they spoke with plummy accents, but Lucy thought they seemed very warm and genuine. As they introduced themselves, though, they appeared particularly pleased with her – almost as if she was some kind of rare exhibit – which she found rather puzzling and just a little disconcerting. She could only assume that Nick was normally more private than she’d imagined.

  ‘Darlings, we’ll leave you to finish your meal in peace,’ Amelia said, as she gave Nick an almost motherly pat on the arm. ‘But you will come and join us in the bar for a drink before you leave, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course,’ Nick assured her, but he offered Lucy an apologetic smile as they resumed their meal. ‘It’s hard to hide in a place like this.’

  She couldn’t tell if he really minded. ‘Do you want to hide?’

  His gaze met hers and lingered. ‘Sometimes the idea is very appealing.’

  Warmth swept through her and she hoped she wasn’t blushing. ‘I thought they seemed nice.’ Trying for a posh English accent, she added, ‘Jolly decent chaps.’

  Nick smiled. ‘Oh, they are. Frightfully decent. And – and they mean well.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘They fuss,’ he clarified rather uncomfortably. ‘At least they have ever since – since Simon, my brother, died.’

  Lucy felt an urge to reach out, to give Nick’s broad hand a sympathetic squeeze. Perhaps she would have done this if their venue hadn’t been so public.

  Then again, it was time to be careful. She felt as if she was walking a very fine line between being a sympathetic cousin and a girl on a date. To remind herself of this, she said, bluntly, ‘I’m surprised you didn’t introduce me as your cousin.’

  Nick frowned. ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘Why?’ Was he really deliberately thickheaded? ‘Because your grandmother and mine were sisters. That’s why I’m here. Because we’re related by blood.’

  ‘But my father was adopted,’ Nick said quietly. ‘I thought you must have known that. My grandmother couldn’t have children, and my father and his sister were both adopted.’

  Adopted!

  Lucy felt as if she’d run face first into an invisible glass wall. Perhaps she might have known this fact if her family was normal and actually spoke to each other about such things.

  ‘I believe that’s why Granny took such a keen interest in your mother,’ Nick went on. ‘When Georgina died, Granny wanted to bring her niece, Rose, back to England, to raise her as her own.’

  Stunned, Lucy stared down at her now empty soup plate.

  Georgina’s sister Alice hadn’t been able to have children. No wonder her letter had sounded so desperate. But Ro had called her a bitch. Lucy couldn’t help wondering what on earth had gone wrong.

  But more significant now was the fact that she and Nick were not related by blood.

  Not kissing cousins . . .

  She felt as if this changed everything. Perhaps she really could be just a girl on a date, a ridiculously happy girl. Then again, perhaps it changed nothing. There were still a couple of very convincing reasons to resist Nick’s charms.

  The waitress materialised to clear their soup plates and, after she’d left, Nick said, ‘I know it’s a bit forward of me to comment, but I’m surprised you don’t have a travelling companion.’

  ‘I came here on the spur of the moment. I tried to persuade my best friend to join me, but her hot new boyfriend made a better offer and she couldn’t bear to leave.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Nick’s dark eyes shimmered as he held her gaze. ‘And what about you?’ He spoke super casually. ‘Is there a boyfriend? Perhaps several boyfriends?’

  ‘Not currently . . . No.’ Lucy felt more flustered than she would have liked, so perhaps it was fortunate that their mains arrived then. As she squeezed lemon over her fish she began to feel calmer, and she realised that she should tell Nick about Sam. Clear the air. Cards on the table.

  ‘Actually, I’ve just broken up with a guy.’ She managed a small smile and then dropped her gaze quickly to her meal. ‘We were on the brink of getting married, or at least setting a date, but then we – we realised it wasn’t going to work.’

  She paid attention to her meal, carefully scooping a piece of succulent white fish onto her fork, and managed to avoid seeing Nick’s reaction.

  After a bit, he said, ‘I’m sorry. That must have been hard.’

  ‘It wasn’t fun.’ Picking up her wine glass, she took a fortifying sip. Set it down. ‘So I guess while we’re on this topic, I might as well ask about you.’

  ‘About my girlfriends?’ Mild amusement glimmered. ‘I’m fancy-free.’

  ‘Really?’ She couldn’t keep the surpr
ise from her voice.

  Nick shrugged. ‘Like you, I had a close brush with the altar but I escaped.’

  ‘Gosh. Both of us?’

  Lucy drew a deep breath. She knew there must be more to Nick’s story, but he was probably as unwilling as she was to supply the gory details. She certainly wasn’t prepared to tell him that she and Sam broke up over her job in the army. No point in raising a topic that would completely spoil their evening.

  ‘I’m really enjoying this meal,’ she said, clumsily changing the subject. ‘I thought Queensland’s reef fish were hard to beat, but this is sensational. What’s it called again?’

  ‘Turbot. It’s very good eating.’

  ‘Mmm. Divine.’

  They both opted out of dessert, and went into the bar where Amelia’s gang, happily ensconced on sofas near the fire, greeted them with enthusiasm.

  It was all rather pleasant. Lucy was subjected to a battery of questions about Australia and how long she planned to stay in England. There was some talk among the men about a shooting weekend. Apparently pheasant shooting was one of the winter activities offered at Penwall Hall. Amelia mentioned it was about time she threw another party.

  ‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could fit it in while you’re still here, Lucy?’

  It was while Nick was at the bar collecting a round of drinks that Amelia leaned closer to Lucy and spoke in a conspiratorial undertone. ‘It’s just wonderful to see Nick so relaxed and enjoying himself,’ she said.

  Lucy hoped she didn’t look too surprised. Despite Nick’s claim to be fancy-free, she was still quite sure he must have any number of pretty girls desperately interested in him.

  ‘I know I’m being forward,’ Amelia went on. ‘But Nick’s a very old and very dear friend, you see, and we’ve all been rather worried about him. The truth is, he hasn’t been out with a girl for ages.’

  Lucy knew she was expected to comment, but she couldn’t find an intelligent response to this.

  Amelia leaned even closer and spoke out of the corner of her mouth. ‘At the risk of sounding like the village gossip, you know Nick’s brother died last April?’