Summer in a Cornish Cove

by Kate Ryder

  ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Cara says, turning to him.

  Oliver nods. ‘You’ve brought me to the edge of the world.’

  Cara smiles. ‘It never fails to hit the spot. Whenever I feel desperate I come up here.’

  Dragging his eyes away from the spectacular view, Oliver considers her for a long moment. God knows, he’s felt desperate during his lifetime and understands only too well how debilitating that feeling can be. With everything that has happened to Cara he empathises with the overpowering desperation she must have felt, and his heart goes out to her. Someone like Cara should never have to experience such desolation… ever.

  ‘We often spot seals and pods of dolphin from here and, sometimes, basking sharks too.’ She turns back to the view. ‘There’s a huge variety of seabirds – gannets, guillemots, oystercatchers, cormorants, kittiwakes, fulmars, shags and, if we’re lucky, a peregrine falcon or two. And, of course, one of England’s rarest breeding birds has recently returned to these cliffs – the chough.’

  Oliver’s face softens. He loves spending time with her. During the past few weeks Cara has proudly shown him her Cornwall, sharing her knowledge and highlighting things the casual tourist would seldom discover. She is so passionate about this land of hers that he could listen to her lovely voice forever. Despite his best endeavours, he has fallen under her spell and there is absolutely nothing he can do about it.

  ‘If you look in this direction…’ Cara turns 180 degrees. The breeze snatches at her hair and she holds it out of her face.

  Oliver doesn’t turn.

  Glancing inquisitively at him, she catches her breath. It’s not the first time she’s caught him gazing at her in that way. In fact, he’s looked at her like that on every occasion they’ve been together, but he has never made a move. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she turns him to face the opposite direction.

  ‘Beyond that point is Dollar Cove,’ she says, indicating to the far headland. ‘Have you heard of it?’

  ‘Vaguely, I think.’ Although her touch was light, it has set his pulse racing.

  ‘Its official name is Jangye Ryn, but the beach has derived its name from folklore. A Portuguese treasure ship sank offshore in 1526, and in 1783 a ship carrying silver dollars was also wrecked nearby.’

  ‘I like its folklore name,’ he says. ‘Have any Pieces of Eight ever turned up?’

  She smiles. ‘Despite plenty of searches, I’ve not heard of any significant finds.’

  ‘This coastline must be littered with wrecks,’ Oliver says, gazing out over the calm bay.

  ‘Hundreds. There’s a hidden reef offshore which has caught out many ships over the centuries.’

  Sitting on the flat rock where she has sat a thousand times before, Cara stretches out her legs and leans back against the cliff face. Oliver sits beside her.

  ‘It’s not safe to swim at Dollar Cove due to the strong rip currents at low water,’ she says. ‘You need to be really careful. We’ve done it, but only when it’s calm and a very high tide.’

  Instantly, Oliver has a vision of Cara in the waters of a calm, flat sea. Oh, what he’d give to experience that with her.

  ‘There’s hardly ever anyone on the beach,’ Cara continues, diverting his thoughts. ‘There are no facilities and families tend to go to the next cove because it has a lifeguard service during the summer months.’ She closes her eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on her face. ‘You’re more likely to find geologists at Dollar Cove because of the rock formations.’

  ‘What’s the name of the next cove?’ Oliver asks, taking the opportunity to gaze unobserved at her lovely face.

  ‘Church Cove we locals call it, but it’s sometimes referred to as Gunwalloe Church Cove because there’s another Church Cove on the eastern side of the Lizard.’ She opens her eyes and laughs at his expression. ‘Well, you did ask!’

  ‘That’s true.’ He smiles.

  She grins at him. ‘Continuing your education… the fifteenth-century church of St Winwaloe nestles into the cliff on the northern side of the cove. It’s unusual because it has a small, squat bell tower, which is detached from the rest of the church.’

  ‘Interesting.’

  ‘And there are a number of caves in the cove as well. The National Trust own both Church Cove and Dollar Cove. Oh, and Mullion Golf Course, which is mainly former sand dunes, overlooks it.’

  ‘Ever thought of working for the local tourist board?’ Oliver teases.

  ‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ she answers. ‘If my painting of the cove doesn’t come together soon I may well have to seek alternative employment!’

  ‘Don’t worry, Cara, it will happen,’ says Oliver kindly. ‘I find that if I’m having trouble learning lines and the scene doesn’t feel right, if I concentrate on another section of the script and then revisit the difficult part, more often than not it falls into place.’

  Plucking a leaf from a clump of sea pinks growing at the side of the rock, Cara laces it through her fingers as she considers Oliver’s advice. ‘I have never understood how you actors remember all those words.’

  He laughs. ‘It comes with practice. If you start at an early enough age it becomes the norm.’

  ‘Did you always know you were destined to be an actor?’

  He ponders her question, thinking back to his first, tentative steps when he discovered – to his utter amazement and not inconsiderable relief – that while portraying another person’s emotions the greyness in his soul left him in peace.

  ‘Not sure I knew I was destined to be an actor, but from my early teens I was often selected to play the main character in school productions.’

  She wonders about Oliver the boy. Was he always easy on the eye or did he have to grow into the handsome man now sitting beside her? She still can’t believe it. Who would have thought she’d be sitting here with this world-famous actor in her special spot above her beloved cove!

  ‘Did you go straight to drama school?’ she asks.

  Oliver glances at Cara. It would be so easy to slip into the ‘tried and tested’ format and give the bland PR answers he is so accustomed to churning out, never showing the real person behind the mask. But, for Cara…

  ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I wasn’t particularly interested in anything else, apart from sport. I found words comforted me and brought me to life.’

  ‘Comforted you?’ Cara frowns. Why would he need comforting?

  Unaccustomed to exposing his vulnerability, Oliver momentarily spins into panic before realising that he longs to show Cara the real Oliver Foxley.

  ‘Yes, comfort,’ he says, looking deep into her eyes. Once again, he experiences the sensation of being drawn in, diving deeper and deeper into their hidden depths and never wanting to come up for air. ‘I had a difficult childhood and acting was my only escape.’

  Cara’s face softens with compassion. From the very first moment she met him, instinctively she knew Oliver’s public image was not that of the private man. She is humbled by his offering of a glimpse of his true self.

  ‘How was it difficult?’ she asks gently.

  It is so refreshing to talk like this and Oliver finds himself falling ever deeper into the abyss. He should be backing away.

  ‘I am the youngest of four boys. My brothers are all very outgoing and confident. It was only me who didn’t inherit those characteristics. I was introspective and thoughtful. Overlooked. My father was a successful academic and my mother didn’t have time for me, or just wasn’t interested.’ It still hurts, even after all these years. Suddenly feeling insecure and not wishing to ruin whatever it is they have between them, Oliver asks, ‘Do you really want to know about this, Cara?’

  She nods.

  He hasn’t spoken in this way to anyone for a very long time. In fact, has he ever spoken to anyone like this, apart from his therapist? Even then, he was selective about what information he imparted. This is how he yearns to speak with Deanna. Oliver closes his eyes and tilts his head up to the sky, enjoy
ing the warmth of the afternoon sun. The only sounds are the waves breaking way below on the sand and the cry of the gulls, snatched away on the breeze. This is bliss, being here with Cara…

  ‘Go on,’ she encourages.

  Oliver opens his eyes and stares out to sea, transported to his confusing teenage years; remembering how it was. ‘From late childhood I have suffered with depression, only no one really knew much about the condition back then. It was considered an impediment and a flaw, one to be brushed under the carpet and ignored.’ As he speaks, he realises this is exactly how Deanna deals with his mental imbalance. ‘I used to try and talk to my mother about it. I believed she, of all people, would understand, but she would simply change the subject or turn away from me, which just made me even more introspective. It wasn’t until I was in my early twenties and living in the States that I sought help and understood the problem is a treatable, clinical disorder.’ He hesitates before turning to Cara and looking her straight in the eye.

  Cara’s heart goes out to him. ‘Are you on medication?’ she asks softly.

  Oliver nods. ‘Have been for years. For some reason, though, since being in Cornwall I haven’t needed such a high dose. Must be the magic of the place.’ He smiles.

  ‘Your public image gives none of this away.’

  ‘I’m not an actor for nothing,’ he says grimly. ‘For a while I was in therapy and I’ve thoroughly researched the illness. I also meditate when I can and manage to keep it under control, more or less.’ Oliver sighs. ‘Anyway, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about all this doom and gloom on such a beautiful day.’

  Cara observes him thoughtfully. ‘You are describing a soul’s journey, Oliver. How can that possibly be doom and gloom? You have learnt and are continuing to learn as you move through your life.’

  Oliver stares at Cara in amazement. She understands! An old head on young shoulders.

  ‘Is that how you view your life?’ he asks carefully.

  Sadness clouds her beautiful eyes and he curses himself for bringing it back.

  ‘Yes, at least I try to. When Christo died I hated the world,’ she says, her voice distorting. ‘It was all so sudden. One minute he was there and then he wasn’t. All I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and join him. But I had two little people to care for and dying simply wasn’t an option. I decided that God had given Christo to me from a very young age for a reason: so that we could fully experience each other in the time we had together.’

  Her words move Oliver beyond any dramatic script he has ever read.

  ‘Christo and I were just three when we met. We were together from then on and hardly ever apart.’ The look in her eyes softens as she remembers her husband as a toddler with his mop of blond hair and cheeky face, so like Sky. She takes a deep breath before continuing. ‘We went through school together and when all our friends swapped partners and experimented, neither of us was interested in anyone else. We were happy with each other and married young. So, you see, I was lucky to have Christo in my life for twenty-seven years. Longer than many marriages.’ She smiles sadly at Oliver. ‘Anyway, eventually I came to realise that nothing could bring me peace but myself.’

  Oliver is humbled, his condition seemingly nothing by comparison. He wants to hug her and tell her that he will never let life hurt her ever again.

  ‘You have great wisdom, Cara.’

  She shakes her head. ‘No, but I am learning from life that the darkest times can bring us to the brightest places and that the most painful struggles can grant us the most necessary growth.’ Shyly, she glances at Oliver. ‘And, sometimes, the most heartbreaking losses can make room for the most wonderful people.’ Oliver’s heart leaps. ‘I’m also learning that what seems like a curse can actually be a blessing and what seems like the end of the road is actually just the discovery that we are meant to travel down a different path. No matter how difficult things seem there is always hope, and no matter how powerless we feel or how horrible things are, we can’t give up. We have to keep going. Even when it’s scary and when all of our strength seems gone, we have to keep picking ourselves up and move forward, because whatever we’re battling in the moment will pass and we will make it through. We’ve made it this far. We can make it through whatever comes next.’

  For a man with so many words to his vocabulary, Oliver is momentarily speechless. Cara is not only stunning on the outside but also incredibly beautiful on the inside; blessed with a wise and deep spiritual understanding. Something buried within his psyche shifts as he realises his life has been one huge jigsaw puzzle with the pieces never quite falling into place, constantly yo-yoing between episodes of lightness and innocence, darkness and despair. But now, by coincidence, fate or sheer blind luck, he has met Cara, and it’s patently clear that the two of them, on some level, belong together. As lovers – a thrill of excitement courses through him – or as friends, or as something entirely different. They just work and he has never felt so alive, even though they are heading into uncharted waters.

  Cara watches the waves break on the beach below, cleansing the sands as they retreat to the ocean. Like life, each day she can wipe the slate clean and start over again. She thinks back to the first moment she met Oliver and felt the intense energy radiating from him as he stood behind her in the queue. Even though he recoiled when she turned to face him, some inner sense told her this was someone with whom she would just click. Yes, she was in awe of him because of his public image, and she felt awkward because of the emotions he stirred but, instinctively, she knew there was something more to this man other than just his incredible good looks. He is so honest with her, which can’t be easy in his position, and it’s such a relief not having to pretend to be anyone or anything with him. There’s no denying how comfortable she now feels with him. It’s as if she’s known him all her life. Cara gazes at Oliver with a softness that has eluded her for a very long time.

  ‘Cara,’ Oliver whispers, desire flooding his body. He leans towards her.

  But suddenly she’s on her feet, looking at her watch. ‘Oh no! Look at the time. Greg’s coming at three.’ She scans the cove and spots the Marsdens’ red hatchback making its way up the track. ‘I’d forgotten, Oliver, I’m sorry. I’ve got an appointment with Greg. I have to go.’

  On the cusp of something profound, Greg – whoever he is – has shattered the moment. Oliver curses under his breath. Rising to his feet, he follows Cara’s swiftly disappearing figure.

  As she reaches the path high above The Lookout’s rooftop, Cara stops and looks down. Oliver follows her gaze. A stylish man climbs out of the car, immaculately turned out in corduroys and moleskin shirt.

  ‘Hi, Greg,’ calls Cara.

  The man turns, shields his eyes and squints up at her. He smiles but as his gaze takes in Oliver standing beside her, a fleeting emotion registers upon his face.

  Turning away, Cara hurries along the path and Oliver lengthens his stride to keep up with her. Twenty yards further on, they descend a set of roughly hewn steps between two properties.

  ‘Greg’s come about the Threadneedle Prize,’ Cara breathlessly explains, as they emerge onto the main track.

  Oliver smiles at the excitement in her voice. He’s not sure if it’s the sun dazzling him but an energetic golden aura surrounds Cara, making her appear even lovelier, if that were possible. As they walk towards The Lookout, Oliver searches his memory for any snippets concerning the Threadneedle Prize. He thinks his wife may have visited the exhibition one year with a friend. Did she go to the Mall Galleries?

  Deanna! What the hell am I doing?

  Cara looks across the track and smiles at Oliver, her eyes shining with excitement.

  Greg watches their approach. ‘Good afternoon, Cara,’ he says in his smooth American accent. Thrown by Oliver’s presence, he doesn’t kiss her on the lips but, instead, on both cheeks.

  ‘Hi, Greg. This is Oliver.’

  Oliver accepts Greg’s perfectly manicured handshake.

  ‘Olive
r,’ says Greg imperiously. ‘I assume you are who I think you are?’

  ‘He is,’ says Cara, frowning at his tone.

  ‘And what brings you to the cove?’

  Oliver wants to say Cara. Instead, he says, ‘An easterly wind.’

  As Greg falters, Oliver considers him with interest. It’s usually emotional women who react to him in this way.

  ‘Let’s go inside,’ suggests Cara, pushing open the stable door. Immediately, Barnaby bounds out to greet them.

  Neatly stepping aside, avoiding any contact with the dog, Greg enters the hallway behind her. Oliver affectionately rubs the Labrador’s head.

  ‘Anyone for coffee or tea?’ asks Cara.

  ‘Earl Grey, if you have any,’ says Greg, ‘with lemon.’

  Walking into the kitchen, Cara spies a lone lemon sitting in the fruit bowl. What a stroke of luck! ‘And you, Oliver?’ she calls over her shoulder.

  ‘Coffee, please, Cara. As it comes.’

  She smiles and busies herself in the kitchen while Oliver and Greg make small talk. When she enters the living room she’s immediately struck by the difference in the men’s body language: Oliver sits at ease on the sofa, while Greg perches stylishly in the opposite armchair. She hands each man a mug. Did she imagine it or did Greg just tut? Cara joins Oliver on the sofa and listens to their discussion.

  Haughtily, Greg quizzes Oliver over his most recent film and his character’s motivation. There’s nothing defensive in Oliver’s answer; it’s just the perfect PR spiel. He has handled trickier men before, but Greg intrigues him.

  ‘What brings you to the cove, Greg?’ Oliver asks, thinking it’s time for a change of subject.

  ‘My wife.’ Sadness creeps into Greg’s eyes. ‘She’s unwell.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ says Oliver genuinely.

  ‘It was suggested a change of air would assist her recovery.’

  ‘How is Marietta?’ enquires Cara softly.