by Kate Ryder
If Christo had been present this evening he would never have had the chance to dance with Cara. He would have had to simply appreciate her from afar. If Christo had been here tonight he wouldn’t, now, be battling with all these raging feelings and emotions.
For God’s sake, why did you leave her alone tonight?
A sound at the door interrupts his thoughts and, together, Cara and Oliver turn. Entwined in each other’s arms, Morwenna and Tas navigate their way from the hallway into the living room.
‘Coffee, you two?’ Cara asks, shooting her friend a meaningful look.
Morwenna extracts herself from Tas and joins Cara in the kitchen.
‘Mo, steady on,’ Cara whispers, as she spoons coffee into four mugs.
‘Don’t think I can!’ Morwenna’s face is flushed, her eyes shining.
‘You’ve only just met him.’ Cara frowns as she pours hot water from the kettle onto the granules.
‘I know.’ Morwenna hugs herself, a huge smile splitting her face.
‘Well, try,’ Cara says, picking up two mugs. ‘Bring the others, will you?’ She walks into the living room.
Taken aback by Cara’s clipped tone, Morwenna strokes the cat, now lying in its favourite spot amongst the pot plants. Opening one eye, sleepily it considers her.
‘Hey, Basil, did you know it’s so much easier being a cat?’
From the living room, Tas’s playful voice rings out loud and clear. ‘Morwenna, baby, I’m getting lonely in here!’
‘Got to go!’ she whispers conspiratorially to Basil, as she picks up the two remaining mugs.
Sitting in the armchair, Tas pats his knee as Morwenna enters the room. Giggling nervously and avoiding eye contact with Cara, she sets the mugs on the floor and sits on his lap. Immediately, he wraps his arms around her and gently nuzzles the back of her neck.
Sitting on the sofa at the furthest end from Oliver, Cara is acutely aware that their body language is in sharp contrast. She attempts to relax. After all, this is her place, but it seems so surreal having a famous actor in her home. She blows on her coffee and takes a sip.
‘I love your paintings, Cara,’ Oliver says.
Taken by surprise, she swallows a large mouthful and chokes, the hot liquid burning her throat. Gasping for air, she places her mug on the floor.
Swiftly Oliver closes the gap. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he says, gently patting her back, ‘but I do love them.’
Cara turns to look at him, half-choking. ‘Thanks,’ she gasps. ‘I think I’m OK now.’
Reluctantly Oliver removes his hand. He feels so alive. Something about this woman fires him up. He doesn’t know what it is – apart from her obvious assets. Something else is at play here.
‘Have you always painted?’ he asks.
‘Forever. My parents gave me some watercolours one Christmas, I think I was about four at the time. Apparently, I created numerous abstracts, which obviously meant something to me but I’m not sure anyone else understood!’ Cara laughs.
‘Well, no such trouble now. Each of these paintings is beautiful.’
Cara stares at him in astonishment. What a compliment!
‘Well, thank you, Oliver Foxley.’
Mesmerised by the emerald green and golden lights dancing in her dark brown eyes, Oliver holds Cara’s gaze for a long heartbeat. A darker line defines each iris. There are pools of hidden depths in those eyes and Oliver fears that if he holds her gaze a second longer he will dive straight in and never want to resurface.
‘You must have heard that before?’ he says, averting his gaze.
‘Well, yes. People have shown their appreciation over the years, but…’ Flustered, she lets the sentence peter out. For some reason it’s important he value her work, but if she voiced that how odd would it sound? She turns away.
God, how he wants to take her in his arms! Oliver shifts on the sofa, wondering when Christo will appear.
‘Where’s Barnaby?’ he asks, spying a dog basket in the corner of the room.
‘With my parents, along with the children. They’re staying the night as an Easter treat. I’m picking them up tomorrow.’ She glances at her watch. ‘Or rather today.’
Easter! Oliver makes a mental note to phone Deanna.
‘Do they live far?’
‘No. On the edge of a village with outstanding views over Mounts Bay.’
‘Ah yes, St Michael’s Mount. We visited last autumn. A fascinating place.’
‘Do you know Cornwall well?’ Cara asks.
‘Not well. Perhaps you would suggest some places I should see while I’m here. I’d like to get to know the county better.’
Cara laughs. ‘Where to begin?’
Oh, how he loves her laugh. It’s so spirited and carefree, belying the raw pain that fills her eyes. Why are her eyes so sad? Is it just her look? If so, her children haven’t inherited it.
Oliver glances at his watch. It’s past two. Aware that Cara has a full day ahead of her, reluctantly he decides it’s time to leave. He glances at his friend. Morwenna’s head rests on Tas’s shoulder, her eyes closed. If only he could hold Cara like that.
‘Tas, we should make tracks,’ he says.
Tas nods and whispers in Morwenna’s ear.
‘So soon?’ she says, opening her eyes.
‘Hey, baby, don’t you fret. We’ll see each other again. In any case, you’ve promised me a midnight swim. I’m going to hold you to that!’
Morwenna smiles and gets to her feet.
Oliver, too, rises and collects the empty mugs. Out of practice at seeing a man clearing up in her home, Cara watches as he moves round the room. His easy, athletic movements speak to something deep within and, involuntarily, a shiver runs through her body.
‘I can give you a lift back to the car park,’ Morwenna says to Tas, ‘as long as you don’t mind slumming it.’
‘Baby, I’d slum it anywhere with you.’
Cara smiles to herself. Tas is so full on.
‘You haven’t seen the inside of Doris yet,’ warns Morwenna.
‘Doris?’
‘Yes. Doris is a Daewoo.’
‘Ah well, that explains it,’ Tas teases, his eyes glinting mischievously.
As Oliver re-enters the living room he glances at Cara. He doesn’t want to leave not knowing when, or if, he will see her again, but what can he do?
‘Mo, just chill a bit,’ whispers Cara, hugging her friend.
‘What’s a girl to do?’ Morwenna says, and winks.
Cara shrugs. She’s done all she can. Morwenna is her own woman.
As Tas steps forward, wrapping Cara in an enormous hug, he almost unbalances her. Cara laughs.
‘Thank you for the coffee, oh, fairest of maidens. I hope we see you at one of our performances in the not too distant future.’ He turns his attention to Oliver. ‘Mr Fox, Doris awaits.’
Oliver drags his eyes away from Cara. ‘Who?’
Tas grins at his friend. ‘Doris is a Daewoo!’
‘What?’ Oliver says, confused.
‘Step this way, my man, and all will be revealed,’ says Tas, following Morwenna from the room.
Oliver deliberates. Would it be OK to hug Cara? Of course it would. It’s a courteous thing to do.
But before he gets the chance, Cara says, ‘I’ll see you off at the door.’ She smiles at him.
Parked in front of the bungalow next to Cara’s vehicle is Morwenna’s car. Through the porch windows they watch as Morwenna opens the doors for Tas to inspect its interior.
‘That,’ says Cara, ‘is Doris.’
Oliver laughs. ‘Ah, now all is clear!’
As a silence falls between them Cara thinks, you’re nothing like I thought you would be.
‘Thank you for your charming company tonight, Cara,’ Oliver says softly.
She glances up at him and catches her breath. There’s that look again. She could so easily get lost in that look if she weren’t careful.
‘You
’re welcome. Yours wasn’t so bad either!’ she replies flippantly, and then cringes. She didn’t mean to say it like that. She doesn’t feel flippant at all.
Cara bites her lip, her head in a spin. Truthfully, she isn’t sure what his company has been like. At best, their conversations have been stilted; stop-start ever since she tried to make him have that lobster. But, putting aside her awareness of his public image, something about Oliver speaks to her on a deeper level. Maybe that’s why she’s being so impertinent. Some form of safety mechanism.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude,’ she says, looking away.
‘You’re not being rude, Cara.’ Placing his fingertips lightly under her chin, Oliver brings her exquisite face back to his. Looking deep into her eyes, he says, ‘I think you are enchanting.’
Oh, how he’d love to kiss those pale lips! But Oliver simply smiles and turns away.
As the car sets off down the track, he wills himself not to look back at Cara standing at the open stable door, but he is powerless to resist. His heart leaps when he sees that she, too, appears unable to let him simply drive away and the eyes that observe him, though still full of sorrow, now ask a question.
Chapter Nineteen
Oliver tosses and turns, a vision of Cara filling his head, and there’s an itch he cannot scratch. He switches on the bedside lamp. It’s dark outside. The hour before dawn. If he were a smoker he would have a cigarette. Briefly, he wonders if Tania has left any lying about. Throwing back the bed covers, he makes his way to the en-suite and stares at himself in the mirror. In the glare of the bathroom light he appears flushed and there’s a dazzled look on his face. Grabbing the sides of the basin, he closes his eyes.
Yes, that would be right. She has dazzled me.
Glancing up at his reflection again, Oliver looks himself squarely in the face. Is this his mid-life crisis? Did he subconsciously choose Tas’s Cornish summer tour over that sure-fire blockbuster to specifically put himself in this responsibility-free zone? God knows he’s experienced an inexplicable excitement every time he’s thought about this forthcoming stint in Cornwall. Is this what happens to middle-aged men in long-term relationships when they suddenly find themselves in the presence of a beautiful free spirit? Oliver groans. But why does she have such sad eyes? They are so full of hurt. Like a bolt from the blue, he realises he just wants to kiss away her pain and make her happy.
And I could make you so very happy, Cara.
Running the cold tap, Oliver splashes water on his face. Perhaps the shock will knock some sense into him.
Why the hell wasn’t her husband with her?
He’s still angry about that. Perhaps Christo wasn’t fishing at all. Maybe he’s gone off with someone else. That would explain Cara being on her own and also the hurt. But the young face on the surfboard was not that of a shallow man; it was the face of someone who would recognise her worth.
Why are you so sad, Cara?
Oliver stares at his reflection again. The dazzled look is still there.
‘Shit!’
He walks to the door and switches off the bathroom light. Though exhausted, he knows sleep will evade him. Dressing quickly, he grabs his fleece from the back of the door and makes his way down the hall. As he passes Tas’s room, deep snores resonate from within. No doubt his friend is enjoying some very pleasant dreams. Oliver opens the front door.
The early morning air is cool and damp, and hits him like a smack in the face. Zipping up his jacket and thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, Oliver makes his way up the drive. He stops at the granite entrance pillars and glances back at the farmhouse. No signs of life at this early hour. As he heads down the track, the pre-dawn light is a murky grey.
Just like the ‘grey mist’.
Oliver stops in amazement, realising his constant companion is conspicuous by its absence. He considers this new phenomenon carefully.
The lane is deeply rutted and bordered by stone hedges with the occasional wizened tree. Presently, coming to the end, Oliver sees two five-barred gates leading into separate fields. Tyre tracks in the mud make him smile. Rick is right. Secluded and well out of the way, it makes a perfect spot for lovers’ trysts.
Away to the east, a pale, milky haze lightens the sky and Oliver watches as dawn approaches. Breathing in deeply, filling his lungs, he can smell the sea; somewhere, not too far away, he can hear the muffled sound of waves crashing against rock. Opening the right-hand gate and keeping to the edge of the field, he comes to a set of granite steps built into the Cornish hedge. He climbs over. Following a narrow path through gorse and with the sound of the waves growing louder, he emerges out onto the cliff path. Oliver follows it for a hundred yards then takes a track leading onto a rocky promontory. There’s no one about. His only companions are the gulls swooping above the cliffs. A cool breeze whips up and Oliver gazes out over an ocean as vast as the sky. There’s a big swell today and he looks down at the waves pounding against the rocks far below, sending spumes of spray skywards towards the lone figure standing on the cliff above.
It would be so easy to lose yourself in the elements if you weren’t careful.
Oliver steps away from the edge. Selecting a flattish rock, he sits cross-legged and prepares to meditate. At first it’s hard to clear his mind – Cara insists on filling it – but as dawn arrives on the Lizard he, at last, finds the meditative state that brings him some form of inner peace.
*
Looking out of the window, Carol watches Cara climb out of her car. There’s something about her daughter that makes Carol observe her closely. As Cara opens her arms wide, Sky hurtles headlong into her embrace. The next minute they enter the cottage together, with Sky enthusiastically relaying what he’s been doing during the previous twenty-four hours.
‘Goodness, Sky. You’ve packed in as much as if you’d been staying with Grandma and Grandpa for at least a week!’ Cara says. Sky grins from ear to ear. ‘Hope he hasn’t worn you out, Mum.’
‘Never! Our grandchildren keep us young, darling.’ Carol gives her daughter a hug. ‘How was your evening?’
‘Good. It was quite a party and the weather was kind, though it turned chilly later.’
Yes, there’s a definite shift, thinks Carol. Could it have anything to do with that ‘friend’ patiently wooing her?
‘What did you eat?’ Carol asks, wondering how she can bring the conversation around to this line of questioning without appearing too obvious.
‘Oh, lobster, crab, steak, spare ribs. Rick had three barbeques on the go and he and Tania put on a good spread. Yes, it was a great evening.’
Carol has the distinct impression her daughter is confirming the fact to herself. Interesting…
‘Hi, Mum,’ Bethany says, appearing on the stairs.
‘Hello, my sweet.’ In an instant Cara closes the divide. Lifting Bethany from the step and sweeping her into a hug, she buries her nose in her daughter’s clean, blonde hair. Deeply she inhales her scent.
‘Mum!’ cries Bethany.
‘Sorry, Beth, but I’ve missed you,’ she says, placing the young girl on the ground.
‘Where’s my lovely daughter?’ Ken emerges from the kitchen, an apron tied around his waist.
‘So, let me guess.’ Cara sniffs the air. ‘Roast pork?’
‘With a twist. Found this great Jamie Oliver recipe on the Internet.’ Ken kisses her on the cheek.
With the giving of Easter Eggs, the morning passes in a flurry and lunch is almost over before the conversation turns once more to the party.
‘So, how’s Tristan these days?’ asks Ken.
‘Happy. He has a new girlfriend,’ Cara says enthusiastically.
‘Another young surf chick?’
‘No, Dad, not this time. Jane is a school teacher at Truro High.’
Ken’s eyebrows shoot skywards. ‘That’s a first!’
Cara nods. ‘She’s great company. I like her a lot and Tristan seems a man reborn. I hope they go the distance.’
/>
‘It will do him the world of good,’ comments Carol.
‘And what about that lively sister of his?’ asks Ken.
Cara laughs. ‘I think Mo’s about to cause Tristan a few headaches!’
‘Oh, why’s that?’ asks Carol.
‘Well, she met someone last night. Trist asked me to keep an eye on her, but she seems pretty unstoppable.’ He told her to look out for herself as well…
Carol sees Cara smile to herself. Definitely interesting!
‘Whoever it is needs to be a strong character,’ comments Ken.
‘I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.’ Cara laughs again. ‘Tas is larger than life!’
‘That’s an unusual name. Is it a nickname?’ Ken asks, spooning a second helping of apple tart and ice cream into Sky’s empty bowl. He raises a questioning eyebrow at his granddaughter. Bethany nods and passes her bowl.
‘I don’t know,’ says Cara.
‘Tasmanian Devil,’ says Sky, listening to the adults’ banter. Carol stares at her grandson.
‘That’s right, Sky,’ Cara says. ‘There is an animal called a Tasmanian Devil but I don’t think that’s his name.’
‘What does he look like?’ asks Carol.
‘Let’s see. Approximately six feet, dark mop of hair, big face, twinkling eyes. A bear of a man.’
It can only be him, thinks Carol. That grandson of hers is as bright as a button.
‘And, Mum, you’ll never guess what – Sheila will be beside herself – I danced with no other than—’ pausing for effect, Cara is unable to contain her smile ‘—Oliver Foxley!’
Surprised at the lack of response, she glances across the table and is struck by the thoughtful look on her mother’s face.
‘Oliver Foxley, no less,’ Carol says, trying to quell the fear in her heart.
‘Yes, and you were right, he is better-looking in the flesh.’ She blushes as a vision of what Oliver might look like in the flesh unwittingly comes to her. ‘He’s not a bit how I thought he would be,’ she continues swiftly.