Summer in a Cornish Cove

by Kate Ryder

  ‘Coming for a drink, Mr Fox?’ Tas approaches Oliver.

  ‘Can’t. I have a supper date with a small boy.’

  Tas cocks his head, a questioning look on his face.

  ‘Sky Penhaligon.’ Oliver enlightens his friend.

  ‘Ah, that cheeky little chap!’ Tas chuckles. ‘Sure it’s not with his mother?’ He raises an eyebrow as a fleeting emotion passes across Oliver’s face. ‘I see…’

  ‘You see nothing, Tas. There’s nothing to see,’ Oliver says more harshly than intended.

  ‘Hey!’ Tas stares at his friend. ‘It’s none of my business.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But, Ollie, Cornwall gets under the skin – I warned you about that before you joined the company – and you’re a long way from home. Just don’t get carried away with it all.’ Slapping his leading man on the back, Tas moves away to talk to another cast member.

  Oliver walks to the side of the stage and picks up his jacket before making his way to the exit. It’s bright and sunny when he emerges out into the car park of Helston’s Old Cattle Market. He presses the key fob in his hand and the Mercedes’ doors unlock.

  ‘Oliver!’

  The blood in his veins turns to ice as he turns in the direction of her voice.

  Leaning against the bonnet of her car, Sylvie drinks in his beauty. ‘You are very naughty! You haven’t phoned.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Oliver asks in a shocked whisper. He can see the madness dancing just beneath the surface of her wild eyes as she walks towards him.

  ‘You promised to call but you haven’t, so I thought I’d come to you.’

  ‘Sylvie, you can’t just turn up like this!’

  ‘Why not? I’m a big girl now,’ she says, swaying from side to side like a child; her eyes wide and innocent.

  Oliver looks around. A few cast members, making their way to their cars, glance in his direction and call out goodbye. He waits for them to pass before grabbing Sylvie roughly by the wrist and dragging her towards her car. Her wrist is thin; it would so easily snap. Oliver eases his hold.

  ‘Sylvie, this has got to stop.’

  ‘Why? If I want to see the play you can’t stop me.’

  That’s true.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ he asks.

  Thinking about her room at the B&B, Sylvie wonders if he will come back with her. ‘Just outside Mullion.’

  A bit too close for comfort.

  ‘I told you I was busy for several months.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ She smiles up at him. ‘That’s why I came to you!’

  How the hell is he going to get rid of her? Oliver rakes a hand through his hair.

  ‘But you’re not busy now,’ she says coquettishly.

  ‘Actually, I am.’

  She pouts. ‘Why won’t you see me? You said you’d phone but you haven’t kept your word, Oliver.’

  If he leaves for Cara’s now, Sylvie is bound to follow. The last thing he wants is to put that little family in jeopardy.

  ‘Everything OK here?’ Tas asks, approaching.

  Sylvie glances warily at the driver of the big black Jeep.

  ‘Tas, this is Sylvie, a big fan of the play,’ Oliver says. ‘In fact, she’s come all the way from London to see it, but sadly she has to go back.’

  Sylvie stares at Oliver. What’s he saying? He’s sending her away? No! He can’t be so cruel.

  Something in Oliver’s tone warns Tas this is no ardent fan. Looking behind Sylvie, he recognises the dark blue car. This must be Oliver’s stalker.

  ‘Well, that’s a shame,’ Tas says lightly. ‘Seeing as you’ve come such a long way I think you deserve some special merchandise to take back with you.’ Before Sylvie has a chance to react, Tas marches her towards the hall.

  ‘Hey, get off me!’ she protests, as he forcefully steers her through the door.

  Oliver climbs into the Mercedes and quickly heads towards the Lizard. He can’t stop Sylvie seeing the play and, no doubt, she will follow him for the rest of the tour. Twenty minutes later he pulls up outside The Lookout and parks alongside Cara’s car. It’s a glorious late afternoon and several families are on the beach. A number of sailing dinghies tack across the bay and a couple of kayakers paddle in the shallows.

  ‘Oliver!’ Sky appears at the open car window.

  ‘Hello, young man,’ says Oliver. ‘What have you been up to?’

  ‘Barnaby and me, we’ve been on the beach doing the cordnashun game,’ Sky informs him. Oliver’s brow furrows. ‘You know… the game with the Frisbee.’

  ‘Aha!’ says Oliver, climbing out of the car. ‘He was excellent, I recall.’

  Bethany watches shyly from the stable door.

  ‘Hello, Beth,’ Oliver says and smiles. She smiles in return. As soon as he reaches the porch, Bethany finds his hand and leads him into the living room. Oliver’s heart squeezes.

  In the kitchen, Cara puts the finishing touches to a fish pie and almost drops it at the sight of Bethany leading Oliver by the hand. Sky chatters excitedly. Her children are so natural with him. The perfect family. She grows hot at the thought.

  ‘Hello, Oliver,’ she says, carefully placing the pie in the oven. ‘We’re so pleased you could come to supper.’

  ‘Thank you for the invite,’ he says, and Sky beams.

  ‘How was the matinee?’ she asks.

  Oliver angrily pushes away a vision of Sylvie in the car park. Nothing is going to spoil his evening with this lovely family.

  ‘Good. Packed.’

  ‘Were my mother and Sheila there again?’ Cara laughs. She knows they have been to a number of performances.

  ‘They gave this one a miss,’ Oliver says with a smile. Bethany still holds his hand.

  ‘Beth, why don’t you let go of Oliver?’ Cara suggests gently. ‘He’s not going anywhere for a while!’

  Reluctantly, Bethany drops his hand and glances up at him shyly. Oliver winks.

  ‘Now, what can I get you? Tea, coffee or something stronger?’

  *

  Four hours later, once Bethany and Sky have gone to bed after demanding Oliver read them a story, he and Cara sit quietly on the boat seat overlooking the cove. The sun dips towards the horizon but there are still several people on the beach, making the most of the long summer’s day. Following the shock of seeing Sylvie, it has been a wonderfully uncomplicated evening and Oliver feels mellow as he drinks his beer.

  ‘Thank you, Cara,’ he says, thanking her for so much more than just supper. Cara smiles and sips her wine. ‘This is so special.’ His gaze casts over the cove.

  ‘I never tire of the view. It’s ever changing,’ Cara says, remembering how she and Christo spent ages trying out various locations to find the best spot for the seat.

  Looking in the direction of the café, Oliver can make out Tania on the boardwalk lighting up a cigarette. ‘It’s a good vantage point.’

  ‘You can see everything that happens from here.’

  ‘Is that why it’s called The Lookout?’

  Cara shakes her head. ‘No. Christo gave it that name because when things get tough I like to look out across the Atlantic towards Puerto Rico and wonder what all those people four thousand miles away are doing.’ There’s a faraway look in her eyes as she speaks. ‘When his grandfather lived here it was simply called The Bungalow.’ She pulls herself back to the present. ‘I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else, though. I’m happy here.’

  Oliver gazes at her. Despite all that has happened to her she does look happy. The sadness has lifted from her eyes. ‘I’m glad you’re happy, Cara.’

  She looks at him in surprise, then smiles. ‘It’s this place, Oliver. There’s magic in the air.’

  ‘I thought that the very first time I was here,’ he says, looking directly at her. A wave of excitement courses through him as he remembers the powerful impact she had on him when he first set eyes on her.

  ‘I’m glad you feel it too,’ she says. ‘Most people ju
st see a ramshackle bungalow clinging to an unkempt patch of cliff in an out-of-the-way cove. I suppose, if I ever find myself settled in a loving relationship I will attempt to tame the land and create a colourful garden. Perhaps I’ll enclose it in a white picket fence! But, for the present, I have more pressing considerations.’

  He’s looking at her in that special way of his, and Cara wishes he would kiss her again. If only he were free…

  They watch the sun sink slowly below the horizon, putting on a final display before plunging the cove into darkness. Suddenly the discordant sounds of a ringtone shatter the peace and tranquillity. Oliver stands and extracts the mobile from his pocket.

  ‘Hello,’ he says and then frowns. Immediately he strides across the rough garden towards the cliff edge.

  Rising to her feet, Cara switches on the outside light. She returns to the seat and hears a heated discussion taking place. Who has called at this hour? Is it his wife? It must be important. She’s about to give him some privacy and go inside when Oliver looks over at her with an apologetic smile. He turns away again, says something further and then slips the mobile back into his pocket. He doesn’t immediately return but stands a while longer looking out across the, now, inky black ocean. Cara recognises his deflated stance. She’s been there herself, and in that very spot too. Eventually he turns and there’s a deeply troubled look on his face. When he joins her once more on the boat seat he doesn’t say anything, but just takes her hand.

  ‘What is it, Oliver?’ she asks softly.

  Lacing his fingers through hers, Oliver notices how well her hand fits his. He feels as if he could share all his concerns with her, but is that fair? And would his troubles turn her away? Perhaps that’s what should happen, seeing as his feelings for her have nowhere to go. He wonders if he’s brave enough to risk losing whatever it is they have between them. Making his mind up, Oliver takes a deep breath and starts to speak. He tells her about his visit to Holy Isle, holding nothing back, and, as he talks, the weight of the world lifts from his shoulders.

  ‘… and then, this afternoon, Sylvie was waiting for me outside the Old Cattle Market. She’s demanding I see her again before she goes back to London, otherwise she will tell Deanna everything.’

  Cara considers what Oliver has just shared with her. How awful it must be to have people treat you as public property, but how could he let things get so out of hand? He must have been in a very dark place to allow this woman to enter his room and take advantage of him. Fleetingly, Cara wonders if there’s more to this story but she swiftly dismisses the thought. Oliver has never flinched from showing himself to her in all his colours. How exhausting it must be for him to always consider how he comes across in case the things he says, or does, are twisted. The stress must be enormous! No wonder he seems so at ease in her humble abode and happy to participate in simple, family pleasures.

  ‘Oliver, why don’t you tell your wife?’ she asks softly. ‘Then this Sylvie won’t have a hold over you.’

  Oliver shakes his head. ‘Deanna wouldn’t understand. I can’t talk to her like this…’ His voice trails away, and Cara’s heart goes out to the man who has just laid himself bare.

  ‘Well, then, why don’t you just deny it? Say Sylvie has an overactive imagination, which is true. After all, it’s only her word against yours. Surely your wife would believe you?’

  Oliver looks at Cara and smiles sadly. It is so easy to talk to her. She has not held him in judgement.

  ‘She wouldn’t, not after all the extra security I’ve put in place.’ His eyes are full of tenderness. ‘Thank you for listening.’

  ‘Always.’

  Unseeing, he turns and stares out to sea, her hand still in his. A frown furrows his brow. If only he could talk to Deanna like this. When did they lose their connection?

  Cara studies his profile. Who would have thought Oliver Foxley had such troubles? How trusting to be so honest with her.

  ‘You need to go to the police, Oliver. She can’t be allowed to blackmail you and get away with it.’ Oliver shakes his head. ‘But why not?’

  ‘Going to the police is only one step away from the press getting hold of the story. Even the faintest whiff of a scandal will stick like glue… for years. The repercussions for my family are enormous. No, I can’t go to the police.’

  Falling silent, they listen to the soothing sounds of the ocean, and Oliver places his arm around Cara’s shoulder, drawing her to him. He smiles as she rests her head on his shoulder. Everything happens so naturally with Cara. He could sit here forever. Suddenly he has a vision of them in their dotage, sitting on the boat seat and looking out over the sea, still happy in each other’s company. How can that ever be?

  And what the hell is he going to do about Sylvie?

  ‘Oliver.’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Are you busy next Friday evening?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘The children’s paternal grandparents are picking them up from school. They’re having Beth and Sky for the weekend.’ Cara stills her racing heart. ‘I wondered if you’d like to come for dinner,’ she says uncertainly. ‘Just you and me.’

  Just the two of us, alone!

  As a thrill courses through Oliver’s body, Cara feels a muscle spasm involuntarily in his arm.

  ‘I can think of nothing I’d rather do,’ Oliver says, gently twisting a strand of her long blonde hair between his fingers.

  Lifting her head, Cara glances up at him. There’s no mistaking the longing in his eyes.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Tania looks up as Oliver enters the kitchen. ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Morning,’ he growls in response.

  ‘Want some coffee? I’ve just made some.’ She points at the cafetière.

  ‘Thanks. I need to be alert this morning,’ he says grimly. He pours himself a black coffee.

  Biting into her buttered toast, Tania considers her guest. He looks pale and drawn.

  Oliver pulls out a chair, its legs scraping noisily over the flagstone floor. The sound is alarmingly jarring in the quiet of the kitchen and he winces. Sitting, he runs a hand through his hair. He’s had a terrible night. It was so hard leaving Cara, but he fought his desire and returned to the farmhouse only to spend the rest of the night tossing and turning, finding no peace. He tried to meditate, but his body was hot-wired and his mind kept wandering to Sylvie and how to handle her this morning. Lifting his gaze, Oliver sees Tania studying him.

  ‘Haven’t seen you for a while,’ she says. ‘Everything OK, Ollie?’

  He grimaces but says nothing. She joins him at the table.

  ‘What are you doing up so early?’ Oliver asks.

  ‘I’ve got some deliveries at the café to take care of,’ she says. ‘By the way, I had a strange encounter at The Corrington gig. I served a very odd woman. She was scarily weird!’

  The hairs on the back of Oliver’s neck stand erect. ‘What did she look like?’ he demands.

  ‘Approximately mid to late thirties. Small, skinny, mousy-haired, wild-eyed! Definitely a bit unhinged.’

  Sylvie was at the café!

  ‘She threatened me and told me I would never have you, as if I ever needed reminding of that!’ Tania says wistfully. ‘But more than that, she said you belonged to her and that you were forbidden territory. What did she mean by that? Who is she?’

  Oliver groans.

  This is getting totally out of hand!

  ‘My most ardent fan who just so happens to dwell in cloud cuckoo land.’

  Tania stares at Oliver. His face is deathly white and there are dark circles beneath his sunken eyes.

  ‘Do you want some painkillers?’ she asks. Oliver shakes his head. Tania hesitates before continuing, ‘Ollie, I think she’s been to the farmhouse.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Oliver asks sharply.

  ‘Well, she commented on something she could only know about if she’d been here.’ Tania doesn’t elaborate. ‘Do you think she’s dange
rous?’

  If Sylvie knows where I’m staying and she’s been to the café, what else does she know? Does she know where Cara lives? Oliver breaks out into a cold sweat.

  ‘Do you, Ollie?’ Tania asks.

  ‘Do I what?’

  ‘Think she’s dangerous?’

  Oliver feels the onset of panic. How can he protect both his family and Cara’s at the same time? There’s little comfort knowing that if Sylvie is in one place she can’t be in the other. Perhaps he should do what Cara suggests and go to the police. Maybe the press interest could be contained.

  Fuck! If only I could discuss it with Deanna. Together we could work it out.

  For what seems like the millionth time during his marriage, Oliver grapples with the familiar disconnectedness.

  ‘You really don’t look well,’ says Tania with concern.

  ‘I’m fine.’ Abruptly, Oliver rises to his feet. He has got to sort this out. ‘I don’t think she’s dangerous, Tan, but it wouldn’t hurt to be vigilant,’ he says in a serious voice.

  *

  Sitting on the outside decking overlooking Gyllyngvase Beach, Sylvie wraps her cardigan tightly around her body against the cool onshore breeze. It’s early, but already several families have claimed their patch of beach for the glorious summer day predicted by the weather forecasters. She looks repeatedly towards the entrance. He promised to meet her for breakfast and she congratulates herself on the way she manipulated this latest contact. It wasn’t the invitation she hoped for – he didn’t volunteer it – but at least he agreed to meet her. She glances at her watch again. Where is he? The café is popular and she’s had to fend off a number of people wanting to sit at her table. He’s not going to stand her up, is he? Suddenly a figure appears at the top of the slope. Even though he’s tried to disguise himself by wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, she would know him anywhere.

  Oliver kicks himself for agreeing to meet Sylvie but, sick of her threats, he is determined to sort this out once and for all. The café is full, thank goodness! The more people about, the better, though he hopes there aren’t too many cameras. Oliver peers through the glass entrance door, but she’s not inside. He walks onto the decked verandah and sees her sitting at the first table overlooking the beach. She waves enthusiastically. Reluctantly, he approaches.