by Fern Britton
Within a few minutes she was back. While the bill was extortionate, the champagne was good.
Helen raised the glass to her lips and was just about to toast Penny when the words died on her lips.
‘Oh no.’
‘What?’ Penny turned to see what Helen was looking at. Sitting at a table adjacent to theirs were Helen’s ex-husband Gray, and his new girlfriend, the actress Dahlia Darling. Dahlia was of indeterminate age, but had once been the Purdy of her generation. She and Gray had been an item for a while now, having met on the set of Mr Tibbs and Helen suspected that her vain, selfish and serially unfaithful ex had got himself more than he bargained for.
Dahlia spotted them first. Grabbing Gray’s hand, she headed over to their table. She was charm personified and if she felt any awkwardness or jealousy at Helen’s presence, she was far too regal and professional ever to let on. Helen, for her part, felt nothing but joy that Gray was now somebody else’s problem.
‘Darlings!!’ Dhalia greeted them effusively and demanded that the waitress bring them more champagne.
Gray gave them both a hug and Helen was sure he held her for longer than was strictly necessary.
‘We’re meeting my agent and his wife – we’re out celebrating because I’ve just managed to get a cameo in Downton!’
‘That’s thrilling!’ said Penny. ‘Just make sure that you’re free for the next series of Mr Tibbs – it wouldn’t be the same without you.’
‘Don’t you worry, my darling. I wouldn’t miss it for the world, would I, Gray?’ Dahlia threw herself at his neck and gave him a fulsome kiss on the cheek. As she did so, he pointedly locked eyes with Helen and threw her one of his ‘puppy-dog left out in the rain’ looks that she knew so well.
They chatted, laughed and shared old jokes, enjoying Dahlia’s anecdotes despite the noisy surroundings. After a while Helen excused herself to go downstairs to the Ladies. There were mirrors everywhere and she felt like Alice in Wonderland as she was assailed by vision after vision of herself reflected into infinity. Disconcertingly, when she sat down on the toilet seat she was horrified to see herself reflected mid-wee. Whoever thought this was a good idea? she wondered, and deduced that it was bound to be a man.
Heading towards the stairs, she hoped that they would be able to leave soon. They had a table booked at Chez Walter and she was finding the club and the company of Gray and Dahlia rather wearing. She thought longingly of Pendruggan.
As she reached the stairwell, her heart sank as she saw Gray heading down the stairs towards her.
‘Helen, darling, you look ravishing. How are you, you look a bit sad – are you?’
‘No, Gray, you’re projecting – I’m perfectly happy, thank you!’
‘I don’t believe you. I’ve done nothing but dream about you for months. How could you throw something so good away? Come on, Helen, you know how good we were together.’
He took her hand and moved as close to her as he could in the confined space of the stairwell. His face was inches from hers.
‘The grass not so green on the other side, Gray? The only person who threw anything away was you. You didn’t seem to want the vow of fidelity, but I can honestly say that I’ve never been happier – you did me a favour! I wish you and Dahlia well – you make a lovely couple!’
And with that, she extricated herself from his clutches and tripped back up the stairs.
‘Come on, Penny, it’s time to go,’ she said when she reached their table, interrupting Penny mid-flow. ‘We’ve got a date with a man called Walter. Dahlia, remind Gray it’s Sean’s birthday next week, won’t you!’
‘Hold your horses!’ Penny downed the rest of her Bollinger and sprinted out after Helen into the night.
6
It was Sunday. They’d treated themselves to a fry-up for breakfast before heading off to Paddington to catch their train. Not a sleeper this time, and they had a five-hour journey ahead of them, but they’d stocked up with the Sunday papers and plenty of Haribos and had now ensconced themselves in First Class.
‘I can’t believe we managed to run into all those people. You know, the ones we’d rather not see.’
‘Well, they do call it London Village. It’s worse than Pendruggan!’
‘I’m glad we’re going back. I’m not sure London is quite what I remembered,’ said Helen. ‘Perhaps we’re not really Londoners any more?’
‘But they say that when a woman is tired of London, she’s tired of life.’
‘Well, I never heard anyone in Cornwall say that,’ Helen responded.
‘But we’re not really Cornish – and we never will be. Look at Queenie: she’s lived in Pendruggan for five decades and they still think of her as an outsider.’
‘That’s probably because she still sounds like a Billingsgate fishwife!’
‘True!’ laughed Penny.
‘I hate to ask, but did you hear from Simon yet?’
Penny looked apprehensive. ‘No. Today’s impossible because he’ll be conducting services all day. I’m afraid even if he could get to the phone he wouldn’t call. He’s still peeved with me.’
‘I’m sure he isn’t. Simon isn’t one to harbour resentments,’ Helen reassured her.
‘Perhaps not. But maybe he was right: I should have stayed in Pendruggan and helped out.’
‘Everything will be fine. You’ll see.’
*
They reached Truro in the late afternoon and the journey back to Pendruggan passed without incident. The bad weather had blown over and the coastline was bathed in a magnificent sunset; the sky ablaze with vivid purple and orange hues.
‘Red sky at night,’ said Penny.
She dropped Helen at the village green, by the gate to Gull’s Cry. They gave each other a big hug.
‘Thanks for coming with me,’ said Penny sincerely. ‘It may not have been the weekend we expected but it has certainly made me appreciate what I’ve got.’
‘I’d have been furious if you’d asked anyone else!’
‘You’ll be at the blessing of the tower in Trevay on Tuesday?’
‘I’ll be there with bells on!’ Helen joked.
‘Very funny!’
Helen pushed the little gate open and waved to Penny. Then she turned to face Gull’s Cry.
What she saw almost took her breath away. Outside the cottage, Gasping Bob’s wiry brown body was on top of the ladder, fixing some heavy tarpaulin to the roof. He turned around and waved to her from above, making a noise that sounded like one of his ‘Ah’s’. She waved back at him, delighted that something was finally being done to sort the roof out.
The door of the cottage opened and out came Piran, trowel in hand. His hair was covered in flecks of white plaster and paint.
Despite the risk of denting his reputation as the grumpiest man in Cornwall, Helen threw herself into his arms. He was still her grumpiest man in Cornwall, after all.
‘Careful now, maid.’ He held the dirty trowel away from her, and Helen could tell from the light in his eyes that he was pleased to see her too. ‘How was the big smoke?’
‘Great,’ she answered, rather too quickly. Then her eyes turned to Gasping Bob. ‘At last! Something is being done about the leaks. Not that I’m complaining, of course!’
Piran looked sheepish. ‘Lost my key last night, had to sleep here.’
Helen smiled. ‘Ah … Not very nice, is it?’
‘Yeah, well. Spent all night bailing out. Sorry, Helen. I was a bit caught up in meself. Should have sorted it before now. But I’ve repaired the plaster up there, and Bob thinks the roof should be sorted in a couple of days.’
‘Good old Bob. He’s a sight for sore eyes.’ She surveyed Bob’s skin-tight shorts and narrow bum. ‘Well, he’s a sight, anyway.’
‘Don’t let him hear you say that – he’s got quite a rep with the ladies.’
Helen laughed and kissed Piran’s nose, plaster and all. ‘Cornish men! There’s no one like you!’
They made their way inside the house a
nd Helen dropped her bags by the door.
‘Home sweet home,’ she said, meaning every word. ‘How are things at the Roman fort?’
‘I’ve got something to show you,’ he said.
He went over to his big overcoat and took something out of the pocket. A shy look in his eye, he handed it to Helen. It was something small but quite heavy and wrapped in tissue paper.
‘What is it?’
‘’urry up and open it!’ he urged. ‘But be careful.’
‘All right, all right!’ Helen teased open the tissue paper and caught her breath as she saw what lay inside. It was a silver coin, tinged with green and bent and battered at the edges. Helen could tell it was very old but remarkably well-preserved. On the ‘heads’ side was what appeared to be a Roman head and the words ‘Claudius Caesar’.
She looked at Piran quizzically.
‘The Roman Emperor, Claudius. We found it a couple of weeks ago. Turn it over.’
On the other side was a depiction of a woman. Helen couldn’t make any of the writing out but the woman definitely had a strong Roman nose.
‘Who is she?’ she asked.
‘We think it’s Helen of Troy.’
Helen’s eyes were like saucers, ‘Really?’
‘Yep. One of the archaeologists found this and I thought of you.’
‘Oh, Piran. It’s wonderful. Is this for me?’
‘Yes and no. It’s now owned by the Crown, but I’ve spoken to a silversmith in Trevay and she’s made you a replica to wear on a necklace. We can pick it up tomorrow.’
‘Piran Ambrose, I think that is the single most romantic thing any man has ever done for me.’
‘Well,’ he smiled, his eyes twinkling. ‘Just keep it to yourself.’
*
The great and the good of Trevay and Pendruggan had turned out in force to see the blessing of the new bell tower. Penny and Helen, who hadn’t seen each other since their return on Sunday evening, shuffled along one of the rows near the front. Simon had already taken his place next to Louise, the outgoing vicar. The bishop, fresh from his retreat, would be officiating at today’s ceremony.
As she sat down, Penny caught the eye of Audrey Tipton in the next row, who gave her a stiff nod of the head.
‘She‘s still miffed about the Great Pendruggan Bake-Off. Queenie reckons that we’re the odds-on favourites to win!’ she whispered, gleefully.
‘Never mind that, how are things at home? Simon?’
‘Shush, the bishop’s about to speak.’
The bishop welcomed them all and then, after a short prayer, addressed the congregation.
‘It’s a pleasure to be here today to bless this wonderful new bell tower. The builders have done an excellent job and I’m sure I speak for us all when I say that Simon here has moved heaven and earth to make sure that everything ran on time and on budget, all while trying to run his own ministry as well as keeping everything afloat here. I think we owe him a big thank you.’
The gathered parishioners gave Simon a round of warm applause and the bishop encouraged him to step up to the dais and say a few words. After thanking the verger and the army of helpers who had turned out to lend a hand, he addressed his wife.
‘I just want to say how much I owe to my wife, Penny. She’s the one who gives me all the love and support I need to carry out my duties. She’s the one who really should get a round of applause.’ The parishioners clapped her heartily and Penny blushed as Simon said, ‘Thank you, Penny. I’m so glad to have you home.’ His eyes shone with love for her.
The bishop said another short prayer of blessing, and across Trevay – from the church all the way to the Pavilions Theatre near the harbour – the bells rang out crisp and clear throughout the town.
A shaft of light filtered through the stained-glass windows and shone down on the happy group of friends, Helen of Troy glimmering in its dappled sunshine.
By the same author:
Fern: My Story
New Beginnings
Hidden Treasures
The Holiday Home
A Seaside Affair
A Good Catch
The Postcard
Short stories
The Stolen Weekend
A Cornish Carol
The Beach Cabin
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