‘Wouldn’t Davie just love this?’ she asked later as they leaned in the late evening light with their elbows on the harbour wall. A small fishing boat bobbed out on the water, the lights from its lamps dancing on the rippling surface. The waves slapped gently against the wall, and out on the point beyond the harbour the sweeping beam of a lighthouse was beginning to move across the sky. Even though it was not yet fully dark the moon hung in ghostly splendour over the sea.
‘We’ll bring him,’ he said. ‘But for now, it’s ours. I did so want you to see it.’
She reached out to squeeze his hand.
They had dined simply but well, on fresh-caught fish and home-grown vegetables washed down with cider. The contrast with their meal the evening before had only increased Annie’s delight. They pushed themselves away from the wall and, hand in hand, strolled on to the end of the harbour and stood for a moment in silence, breathing in the salt air and watching the bobbing fishing boat.
‘We’ll walk along the coast tomorrow,’ Richard said. ‘There’s another village just round the point there. And inland there’s a famous ring of standing stones above a village called Mallagan. My father used to hire a pony and trap and take us there. Dolly and I would play for hours up there. They always used to have a summer fair – about this time of the year, I suppose it must have been. I’ll ask Mrs Tregowan. Now – who’s ready for bed?’
She sighed happily, closed her eyes and laid her head on his shoulder. ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ she said.
* * *
‘Does the summer fair still visit Mallagan, Mrs Tregowan?’ Richard asked the next day as he tucked into the biggest breakfast Annie had ever seen in her life.
Mrs Tregowan placed another heaped plate of toast on the table. ‘It surely does. ’Tis on now, as a matter of fact. It’ll be up there till at least the end of the month.’
‘We’ll go later on in the week, if you’d like?’ Richard looked at Annie. ‘It isn’t just a fair – it’s a market, too. You’ll enjoy it, I think.’
Mrs Tregowan was hovering, eyeing the boiled eggs and toast that Annie had asked for with something close to disapproval. ‘Are you certain that’s all you want, Mrs Ross?’ she asked.
Annie laughed. ‘Yes, thank you.’ She shook her head a little, glanced again at Richard’s plate that was piled so high with ham, eggs, sausages and bacon that it just might, she thought, have defeated even Davie. ‘Quite certain.’
‘I’ll get in a couple of nice crabs for supper if you’d like?’
‘That would be lovely.’
Annie was enchanted by the picturesque Cornish coastline with its towering cliffs, its coves and inlets, and small, white-painted cottages. That morning they rambled along the cliffs and around the point, passing the lighthouse, to yet another village further down the coast, where they stopped at the pub for a leisurely lunch of bread and cheese and a pint of beer for Richard before setting off back to Tregeeth. This more or less set the pattern for their days. Mostly they walked, sometimes drove further afield; often they sat on the beach reading, talking, or simply watching the sea and the activity around the tiny harbour. The packed lunches that Mary Tregowan provided would, as Annie pointed out, easily have fed four. ‘She thinks you don’t eat enough,’ Richard teased.
‘If we stay much longer I’ll finish up as fat as butter!’ Annie nibbled on a hard-boiled egg. They were sitting on a rug spread on the sand, their backs against a rock. The sun was high and very hot. Richard, in his shirtsleeves and a casually tilted straw panama, was tucking into a huge Cornish pasty with considerable gusto. Annie, dressed in a pretty, short-skirted sundress and a wide-brimmed straw hat, smiled at him affectionately, shaking her head a little. ‘I just don’t know where you put it.’
‘Hollow legs.’ Richard finished the pasty, brushed the crumbs from his fingers and shirt, reached for his cigarette case. ‘Oh, damn it!’ he said mildly.
‘What’s the matter?’
He was looking at the open case. ‘I’m nearly out of fags. I’d forgotten that. I’ll have to drive into Helston. What a drag!’
Annie began to gather up the picnic. ‘Don’t they sell cigarettes in the local shop?’ she asked, surprised.
‘They certainly do. Woodbines, Woodbines, Woodbines or Woodbines. Not quite up my street.’
She laughed. ‘I’ll come with you.’
He shook his head. ‘There’s really no need. You’d have to pack everything up, change – no, it isn’t worth it. We’ve only got another couple of days, and we’re going to Mallagan tomorrow. You don’t want to waste time in the car today just because I’ve got a memory like a sieve.’ He stretched his long legs. ‘Besides, you’re enjoying your book.’ He grinned. ‘Again,’ he added. ‘I’m surprised it isn’t falling to pieces.’
Annie glanced to where the much-thumbed book lay. ‘I’ve told you before – I’m not sure “enjoy” is quite the word to use about Passage, but at least I think I’m beginning to get to grips with it.’
He leaned forward, kissed her slightly sunburned nose. ‘And his views on marriage?’ he asked lightly.
‘Are interesting,’ she said primly.
He scrambled to his feet, picked up his jacket, swung it across one shoulder. ‘I won’t be long.’
She watched his tall figure striding across the sand towards the harbour road. When he reached it he turned and waved. She lifted a hand. Once he had gone she picked up her book. ‘Interesting, but wrong, Mr Forster,’ she said aloud, very firmly.
* * *
‘Do me a favour?’ Richard asked the following morning, watching her from the bed as she stood at the washstand.
Annie turned, towel in hand. ‘Mm?’
‘Wear your red dress today? It suits you so well.’ He smiled. ‘Your skin has gone the colour of honey.’
She laughed. ‘I was going to wear the blue—’
‘I prefer the red.’
‘Very well.’ She crossed to the wardrobe, dropping a kiss on the top of his head on the way. ‘The red it must be, I suppose. Tell me – are you ever going to get up? Or are you planning to spend the day in bed?’ It was another in a string of lovely mornings, the air was fresh and saltily tangy, the sun streamed through the window, the seabirds cried above the sound of the waves.
Richard leapt, naked, from the bed and caught her about the waist, sweeping her into a spinning waltz. She could feel the warmth of his hands through the silk of her dressing gown. She squealed with laughter. ‘Richard! Put me down.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘not until you’ve given me a kiss. Two.’
They were late for breakfast.
‘Goin’ to the fair, then?’ Mrs Tregowan asked, eyes twinkling as she observed the faint, becoming flush of colour in Annie’s cheeks. ‘Saturday’s a good day. There’ll be plenty goin’ on.’
‘Yes, we are. And then we thought we might go on up to the north coast.’
‘Aye. It’s quite nice up there, so they say.’ Mary Tregowan’s tone was disinterested to the point of dismissiveness. ‘Though I wouldn’t bother myself.’
‘Do you honestly think that she’s never been to the north side of the county?’ Annie asked later as they drove away.
Richard grinned. ‘She’s probably never been any further than Helston,’ he said.
They arrived at Mallagan late in the morning, when the market was in full swing. They strolled along the rows of stalls selling everything from bolts of cloth and kitchenware to vegetables and fresh-caught fish, to where the animals were penned: calves and piglets and lean moorland sheep. The fairground beyond was only just stirring, though a few children and young people were riding the horses on a giant roundabout whose cheerful barrel-organ music boomed above the chatter of the hawkers and their customers. Gaily coloured swing-boats, worked by tasselled ropes, stood in a row. ‘Take the little lady for a ride, sir?’ The man wore a flat cap and a bright bandanna; his smile was wide and very white. ‘Only a penny a go.’
‘Fancy it?�
� Richard asked.
‘Why not?’
They scrambled up the steps and settled themselves in the gondola seats. The man set them off with a push, Richard hauled on the rope and the swing-boat went higher and higher, above the heads of the crowds. ‘If Davie could see us now!’ Annie called, laughing, holding onto her hat.
Richard grinned. ‘Why should children have all the fun?’
They wandered the fairground hand in hand. Richard tried his skill at the coconut shy with no luck at all; Annie kissed him and told him she didn’t like coconuts anyway. They rode the bounding horses of the brightly painted roundabout, Annie seated decorously side-saddle; they rolled ha’pennies and won a celluloid doll in a stiff net skirt – which Richard presented to a wide-eyed little girl whose face lit up as if Christmas had come; they ate sticky, too-sweet candyfloss and had to lick their fingers clean like a couple of children.
‘Uh-oh,’ Richard said, pointing. ‘Look what I spy!’
Annie turned. Laughed. ‘A fortune teller!’ she said. ‘Gypsy Valentino, no less!’
‘Want to visit him?’ Richard asked.
‘Of course! Coming?’
He shook his head. ‘I can’t keep a straight face. I put the bad ones off and if I ever come across a real one he’ll probably put a hex on me. You go ahead. I’ll see you over there by the rifle range. I’ll bet you didn’t know I had secret yearnings to be the next Buffalo Bill, did you?’
He watched her as she slipped into the darkness of the gypsy’s booth, her red dress bright in the shadows, then strolled over to the rifle range.
Ten minutes later, a small felt doll attached to a safety pin in his hand, he turned to find her standing silent beside him. ‘Hello, I didn’t hear you arrive. Look what I’ve won for you—’ He stopped. ‘Annie? Is something wrong?’
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘No, of course not.’ She took the little brooch, bent her head to pin it to her dress.
He took it back, frowning, fastened it for her. ‘You’re shaking,’ he said.
‘It was chilly in the tent. I’m quite all right. Please don’t fuss.’
He eyed her but said nothing. She turned away. ‘I’d like to walk up to the standing stones, please,’ she said.
The stones stood on a rocky outcrop above the village. They climbed the steep and narrow path in silence, the sounds of the funfair dying behind them. Annie leaned against one of the ancient dolmen, her eyes on the distant sparkle of the sea.
‘Annie, what’s wrong?’ Richard asked quietly.
She shook her head. ‘Nothing, honestly. I think I may have had a bit too much sun, that’s all. I have quite a bad headache.’
He put a concerned arm about her shoulders and drew her to him. ‘Do you want to go on to the north coast? Or would you rather go back?’
She lifted her head; her eyes were shadowed. ‘Could we? Go back, I mean? Would you mind?’
‘Of course not. We’ll go back to the Ship – I’ll get some aspirin in the shop – and you can have a quiet lie-down. How does that sound?’
She smiled wanly. ‘If you really don’t mind—?’
He took her hand. ‘I really don’t mind,’ he said gently. ‘Come on, we can be there in an hour and you’ll be right as rain in no time.’
She hardly spoke during the ride to Tregeeth, but lay with her head thrown back on the seat, her eyes closed. Back at the inn, she took the aspirin that Richard had bought and allowed him to lead her up the stairs to the bedroom, where he drew the curtains. The room was cool and shady. She kicked off her shoes and lay down on the bed, one arm thrown up to shield her eyes.
‘Do you want to get into bed?’ Richard asked.
She shook her head, smiling a little. ‘No, I’m quite happy like this. Once the tablet works and the headache goes I’ll be much better. Why don’t you go for a walk? There’s no need for you to sit around with me.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Of course.’
‘Perhaps I’ll take a stroll around the harbour then.’ He stopped at the door. ‘I’ll see you later,’ he said, a little uncertainly.
She did not open her eyes. ‘Yes.’
Annie heard the door close behind him, and his light, receding footsteps. The nagging headache that she did indeed have was fading a little. For a long time she lay very still in the warm, sea-washed quiet, eyelids drooping. The curtains moved in the gentle breeze from the water, that also stirred her hair against her cheek…
Milky eyes and nibbled flesh. Gaping mouths and thin, decaying fingers, reaching – reaching…
Davie? Davie, where are you?
The cold and pitiless water, lapping and shifting; filling lungs and ears and eyes; deep, deep water, endless, bottomless, no light, no warmth, no hand or toehold – clutch at your loved one – you cannot save him – you cannot save yourself—
Davie!
‘Annie – for Christ’s sake! What the hell are you doing?’
She jumped awake, found she was standing at the top of the narrow stairs, Richard’s horrified face on a level with her own. He stood a step or so below her, holding her arms in a painful grip. Confused, she swayed, and his hands tightened further.
‘Christ Almighty – if I hadn’t come back—’ He stopped, his mouth tight.
Annie pulled away from him, turned and walked back into the bedroom, sat on the bed and dropped her face into her hands, sobbing. She could still see those faces, there behind her eyelids, still feel – physically feel – the chill, dead weight of the water, the sucking and the cold suffocation…
‘Annie!’ Richard was speaking urgently. He took her wrists in his hands and, none too gently, forcibly pulled her hands from her face. ‘Will you tell me what the hell’s going on?’
She sat for a moment, fighting for control. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered at last.
‘What happened? What’s the matter? Annie, you were right at the top of the stairs – you could have fallen… You could have—’ He stopped.
‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated. ‘It was the dream. The drowning dream. I had to find Davie—’ The tears came again and she bowed her head.
He sat beside her on the bed, drew her head onto his shoulder, his movements gentle now. ‘But, darling, why? Why should the dream come back now? You’re not unhappy, are you?’
She did not speak for a moment, then, ‘It was the gypsy,’ she said, her voice muffled.
‘What?’
‘The gypsy,’ she repeated, pulling a little away from him and sniffing. ‘He said—’ She could not go on.
Richard took both her hands in his. ‘Darling, look at me,’ he said. ‘You aren’t telling me that you really believe in that nonsense, are you? God Almighty, if I’d thought that I’d never have let you—’
She was shaking her head. ‘You weren’t there,’ she told him.
‘So tell me. What was it he said?’
Annie drew a deep breath. ‘At first it was just the usual stuff. He had a crystal ball that sparkled and lit like a rainbow when he touched it. He said I had recently found happiness—’
‘He saw your bright new wedding ring, no doubt,’ Richard interrupted dryly.
Annie shrugged. ‘Perhaps. He said I had an… an aura of gentleness—’
‘Well, of course you have. It doesn’t take a bloody charlatan fortune teller to see that.’
‘Richard – please—’
He shook his head. ‘Sorry. Go on.’
‘Then suddenly the globe went… milky. Dark.’ She shivered. ‘He looked at it for what seemed ages without speaking. Then he lifted his head and looked at me. He didn’t smile, as he had before; his eyes seemed to go right through me. When he spoke, his voice had changed, too—’
‘Changed?’
‘It was deeper. Sort of… echoing.’ She stopped, swallowed.
‘What did he say?’
‘He said, “You do well to fear the treacherous waters. Not for others, but for yourself.”’ Her voice shook as she spoke. ‘T
hen he said something about the happiness and the gentleness being treasures, treasures to be preserved, or looked after’ – she made a rapid gesture with her hand – ‘something like that. He said they were not to be squandered amongst the damned souls of the drowned.’ Her voice had fallen to a whisper. ‘Richard – how did he know?’ she asked.
‘Oh, this is bloody ridiculous,’ Richard snapped. ‘I’ll break the bastard’s bloody neck. How dare he turn a party trick into such dangerous drivel?’
‘But – how did he know?’
‘He didn’t, you silly thing. He guessed. It was a coincidence. Oh, for God’s sake – do you think you’re the only one who’s afraid of drowning? It’s not hard to play on it, is it? He could just as easily have picked on fire, or illness. We all have our ogres. We all have our fears.’ He drew her close to him again. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to shout. I honestly didn’t realise just how deep this thing went. No more fortune tellers. And I think we’d better forget Charlie Draper as well. Lord only knows what could happen if he stirs things up, as he’s bound to do. Sleepwalking is dangerous. You could have broken your neck. What on earth does it matter if you hate boats? It isn’t the end of the world, after all—’
‘No,’ she said firmly, straightening her back.
He looked at her questioningly.
She lifted her chin. ‘You’re right. This is absurd. And it’s gone on for too long. I’m a grown woman, not a silly frightened child. I will go and see your Mr Draper. I want to, I want him to help me. I won’t let this ridiculous thing dominate me—’
‘But—’
‘Please, Richard. I’ve made up my mind. As I say, I’m not a child. And if he can help me, at least I want him to try.’
He looked at her for a very long moment, then sighed. ‘If that’s what you want then I can’t stop you, of course. But I must say I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think it will help, and it might do a great deal of harm. I wish I’d never bloody suggested it!’
‘I don’t care,’ she said, and her voice was stubborn. ‘You can surely see – I’ve got to try.’
He gathered her to him. ‘If you say so, my darling,’ he said softly. ‘If you say so.’
Treacherous Waters Page 18