by Kate Ryder
‘Perfect,’ Oliver murmurs.
Cara smiles. It is.
‘You know, Cara,’ Oliver whispers, ‘I’ve been homesick for so long, for a place I was not sure even existed. A place where my heart would be full and my soul understood.’ Gently he kisses her beneath her ear. ‘Thank you for being that place.’ Trailing a hand over the contours of her body, Oliver breathes in her scent and knows he is home. ‘I love you, Cara Justine Penhaligon,’ he says with certainty.
Fighting back tears, Cara wonders if this declaration of love has been brought on due to the shared tragedy they have lived through today. But as she turns and looks deep into his eyes she knows it is true.
‘And I love you, Oliver Tobias Foxley,’ she says softly. ‘But you know what else?’
He shakes his head.
And then Cara utters the three little words he’s been yearning to hear all his life.
‘I… get… you.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
Indicating left, Deanna turns into the driveway of the lovely, old house that used to be her home. She remembers a happy and secure childhood growing up here with her sister but, having lived longer with Oliver than she did in Norfolk, the memories belong to a different person. Someone she now hardly recognises.
Switching off the engine, she turns to her son. ‘Are you feeling OK, Jamie?’
The boy nods, his face ashen and his eyes like saucers.
‘You just have to do what the doctor said and your wrist will soon be on the mend.’
Jamie looks down at his arm. It feels odd immobilised in the plaster cast, but he can still move his fingers.
‘As long as you remember to do the exercises, your fracture will heal properly,’ Deanna says encouragingly. ‘Thank goodness it’s your left wrist. At least you will still be able to write and do things with your right hand.’
‘I wish Dad was here.’
Deanna smiles at her son. ‘Not long now, Jamie. Only another couple of weeks and he’ll be home.’
She’s about to get out of the car when she remembers the post in the glove compartment. Leaning across, Deanna pulls out the various envelopes. A letter from her sister, bills – she reminds herself to check them later – and a couple of clothing magazines. But what’s this? A large, hard-backed, brown envelope addressed to Mrs Foxley. She turns it over. No sender’s label.
‘You go in, Jamie. I won’t be long.’
As Deanna watches her son walk carefully along the stone path towards his grandparents’ house, she inserts her finger beneath the flap of the envelope and works it open. Extracting the contents, she sees a dozen photographs printed on A4 photographic paper. Sylvie’s bold, angry writing jumps off the yellow Post-it note stuck to the top one.
Just what is Oliver Foxley getting up to in Cornwall?
A well-wisher.
As Deanna removes the note, the blood drains from her face. The photograph is of Oliver and a woman embracing in the sea. At first, she wonders if it’s something to do with the play but when she looks at the next photograph bile rises in her throat and her blood runs cold. It’s a close-up of Oliver gazing in wonder at the woman in his arms. She has never seen that emotion on her husband’s face, not in any theatre production or any of his many films; and he has never gazed at her like that. She forces herself to look at the rest of the photographs, hoping they will prove to be stills but knowing they are not. Who is this blonde beauty? She’s stunning! And is it trick photography? In every image she appears shrouded in a golden light.
As innumerable emotions threaten to strangle her, Deanna stares at the young woman and then her eyes alight upon her husband’s face. She remembers how devastated she felt when she first suspected there was something more than just a professional relationship between him and that appalling actress, Heather McMullen. But these photographs speak of something much more.
The final photograph is of Oliver and Cara walking hand in hand along the beach, naked. They look so at ease in each other’s company in the natural surroundings, it’s as if they belong together. Vehemently, Deanna rejects the idea. How could he do this to her? She’s worked so hard to create this life of theirs and, yet, here he is leading one all of his own. Perhaps he’s always had a life of his own. Deanna pushes away this thought too, but it won’t let her off the hook that easily. Just how many affairs has her husband had over the years? Apart from the hurt, how dare he make such a fool of her?
She looks at the Post-it note again. Some well-wisher…
Deanna stares out of the window. Oliver has sounded so odd these past few weeks and now she knows why. She studies the photographs again, lingering too long over the close-up of Oliver and Cara in the sea, obviously in the throes of making love. She has never seen that rapturous look on his face before. Her life, as she knows it, is unravelling. What’s she going to do?
She’s got to act fast.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Minack Theatre: the theatre under the stars. A spectacularly perched, terraced amphitheatre on the cliffs above Porthcurno, hewn out of granite rocks above a sheer drop into the Atlantic and the brainchild of one woman whose back-breaking, lifetime’s work was its creation. From 1931, Rowena Cade worked tirelessly in all weathers each winter into her mid-eighties to create her vision for the enjoyment of future generations, always working on a shoestring and using the skills of just two men – her gardener, Billy Rawlings, and his mate, Charles Thomas Angove. Granite was cut by hand from a pile of tumbled boulders, stones were inched into place and terraces in-filled with earth, small stones and pebbles were shovelled down from the higher ledges, and sand was fetched in bags on Rowena’s back from Porthcurno beach way below. When she died in 1983, just short of her ninetieth birthday, Rowena Cade was still thinking of the future and left elaborate sketches suggesting how the theatre might be covered on days when it rains; plans which have yet to be implemented.
Oliver waits patiently in the wings for the backstage crew to change the set. It’s the final scene. All summer long, Sorrows in the Sand has been a sell-out success and he can’t believe they’ve already arrived at the last night. Glancing out over the theatre’s dramatic backdrop, he watches the moon shine its light across the bay, casting a magical silvery path across the ocean. Leading where? Oliver smiles.
Puerto Rico. Four thousand miles away…
It is a truly spectacular setting and the weather has been kind for each of the Tasmanian Devil Theatre Company’s performances. The theatre is packed, the audience not only touched by the magic that is the Minack Theatre but also by the leading man’s delivery. It’s not every day an award-winning, world-famous actor is so accessible and they have not been short-changed; Oliver has given his all.
He turns and looks across the stage. She’s sitting in the second row with her family and friends. As with the very first time he saw her, his stomach tightens. Will the excitement she stirs in him ever diminish? He doubts it. He knows he has difficult decisions ahead but he has made up his mind.
‘Almost there,’ Jodie, his red-headed love interest, whispers.
Oliver nods. Patiently, they wait to make their entrance.
What about Deanna? He frowns. Yes, it’s going to be tough and he’s steeling himself for the battle ahead, but Deanna is strong and independent and her life revolves around her children. She’s made it patently clear he hardly exists for her. She will cope. No doubt she will screw him over financially, but he doesn’t really care if it means he and Cara will be together. And, anyway, he can always make money. His agent has already presented him with a good script and, this time, he has accepted the movie without hesitation. He glances at Cara again. The love of his life…
‘Here we go,’ says Jodie, putting her arm round his waist. Together, they walk out of the shadows and onto the stage.
*
Cara glances along the row. Her parents are here with their friends, and Tristan, Jane, Morwenna and the rest of the gang have also come along for Oliver’s final perf
ormance. Ben, too, with his new girlfriend: a sweet-faced girl from St Just. Sky and Beth are staying with their friends, the twins. Cara feels safe and secure, surrounded by family and friends, and a delicious warmth spreads deep within her. She knows it’s love – and after she’d given up hope of ever feeling anything again – but it still catches her by surprise. Who would have thought? It truly is a beautiful world.
As Oliver and Jodie step into the spotlight, Cara turns her attention to the stage and senses Christo smiling down at her.
Presently, drawing back from his final embrace with Jodie, Oliver turns to the audience and delivers his last line. ‘There comes a point in life when you have to just write your sorrows in the sand and let the tide gently wash them away…’
As the lights dim, the audience holds a collective breath before erupting into enthusiastic applause.
‘That was a great performance you put in tonight, Jodie,’ Oliver says to the actress, as they join hands. She smiles. Forming a line with the rest of the troupe, they bow to the appreciative audience before departing the stage.
‘Well, that was just wonderful! What are we going to do now, Carol?’ says Sheila, neatly folding her blanket and handing it to her husband.
‘Face reality, I suppose.’
‘You poor girls,’ says Barry good-naturedly. ‘How are you going to cope stuck with little old Ken and me?’
‘Oh, I expect we’ll find a way!’ says Carol with a laugh. Sheila pulls a face.
‘Are you waiting for Oliver?’ Tristan calls along the row to Cara.
‘Yes.’
‘OK. We’ll catch you tomorrow. Twelve thirty?’
Cara nods. They’ve planned a get-together at Rick’s Beach Hut with all the friends to celebrate the end of the season. It’s a bittersweet occasion, as Oliver returns to Surrey the following day. She knows it will be excruciatingly hard for him but he’s going to tell Deanna of his decision. Cara frowns. Deep down in the pit of her stomach there’s that feeling again. Why does she feel as if she’s clenching onto a handful of sand which, bit by bit, is slipping through her straining fingers?
‘See you tomorrow,’ Jane mouths and, standing behind her, Morwenna waves. They turn and follow Tristan, joining the crocodile of people wending its way up the granite steps to the car park.
Carol hugs her daughter. She was always such a naturally beautiful girl but there’s an additional glow to her these days. It’s lovely seeing her so obviously happy, though Carol can’t help but feel a twinge of panic.
‘Enjoy the rest of the weekend and I’ll see you on Monday,’ she says. ‘Don’t hurry in.’
‘Thanks, Mum. Bye, Dad.’ Cara kisses Ken on the cheek.
From the aisle Sheila calls out, ‘Look after that gorgeous hunk of yours and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!’
‘Don’t you be leading my daughter astray,’ admonishes Carol.
Sheila laughs. ‘Too late for that, I fear!’
Standing behind his wife, Barry rolls his eyes and smiles kindly at Cara. She watches as they join the queue, before making her way to the front of the stage. A few cast members are trickling back on. Cara stands for several minutes looking out over the sea. The Milky Way stretches across a pollution-free sky and she follows the trajectory of a shooting star, remembering the last time she saw a meteor shower. It was the first time Oliver admitted his love for her, though he’s told her several times since. Oh, how she loves this county! She never wants to leave. And then she sees him.
Chatting to one of his fellow actors, Oliver emerges onto the stage and sees her waiting for him… achingly beautiful.
Deanna stands in the darkness, observing. Her husband looks different. In all the years she’s known him he’s grappled with his inner demons and, yet, here he is happy and relaxed, as if he hasn’t a care in the world. With a sudden rush of emotion she realises her husband looks whole.
She watches as Oliver and his companion move aside, allowing other actors onto the stage. At last they say goodbye and as the other man walks away, Oliver looks across the stage with a loving expression on his face. Deanna follows his gaze and her heart lurches to a stop. The young woman is even more stunning than in the photographs. How can she possibly compete? Momentarily, she falters as deep instinct tells her these two souls belong together. For the first time in her life she is unsure, without direction, but she refuses to allow the feeling to gain momentum. Digging deep and as her inbuilt strength kicks in, Deanna steps forward.
‘Hello, Ollie,’ she says lightly.
Unsuccessfully, Oliver attempts to mask his shock. He can’t find his voice. This is not how it’s meant to play out. Cara is waiting for him. He tries to look beyond Deanna, but she blocks him.
‘The play went well,’ she says, ignoring the look on his face. ‘You must be very happy with that performance.’
Speech still evades him and he knows he has turned pale. He has got to sort this out. Deanna watches as her husband fights to master his emotions.
‘Deanna!’ His voice is a strangled cry. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I thought I’d surprise you.’
On a scale of one to ten the surprise is off the scale!
‘I’ve booked a hotel for us tonight,’ she says.
Oliver blinks. This can’t be happening. He’s going home with Cara. Home…
‘Deanna, there’s something I have to tell you.’
The urgency in his voice makes Deanna’s heart pound with fear. Pulling Jamie out of the shadows, she positions their youngest child to face his dad. Oliver reels at the extra shock and then his heart softens, swiftly followed by concern as he notices the plaster cast on his son’s arm. He holds out his arms and the boy runs to him. Tenderly, Oliver hugs his son. Looking over Jamie’s head, he catches the look in Deanna’s eyes. She knew she held the trump card all along.
‘I’ve missed you, Dad,’ says Jamie, hugging his father extra hard.
‘What happened, Jamie?’
‘I fractured my wrist falling out of a tree at Granny and Grumps’. The doctor says I have to wear the cast for up to six weeks.’ The boy pulls a face. ‘I’ll have to go back to school with it on. It’s ever so itchy.’
Why the hell didn’t Deanna tell him their son broke his wrist? Anger surges through Oliver and then turns inwards. Where has he been for Jamie when his son needed him? He feels age-old depression laughing at him: ‘Holiday time over!’ Still holding Jamie, he looks at his wife again. As the ‘grey mist’ descends, Oliver knows she has won.
From her position at the front of the stage, Cara sees shock register on Oliver’s face as a slim, attractive, dark-haired woman steps between them, effectively blocking her view. She watches as a young boy is brought out from the shadows and Oliver dips down to hug him. With sinking heart and a growing lump in her throat – and before Oliver fully understands the unfolding drama and the decision he must make – Cara already knows the outcome. Although prepared to leave his wife, Oliver will not abandon his son.
As Deanna glances in Cara’s direction, her look is complex: subservient, yet laced with an apology. But there’s also a strength that tells Cara in no uncertain terms that she, the mother of Oliver’s children, will not allow her life to be stripped away from her.
As the seconds pass, Deanna steels herself. She will not be the first to break eye contact. Deep down she acknowledges how inadequate she is compared to Cara, but she will not give her rival the satisfaction of understanding this. Ultimately, Deanna’s look turns to one of triumph.
Blinking back tears, and with a breaking heart, Cara wraps Oliver in a virtual, loving hug and wishes him well in life. Quickly she turns away and lets the darkness swallow her.
Feeling a surge of love coming in his direction, Oliver straightens up. His wife wears a triumphant look and, immediately, he turns in Cara’s direction. She’s not there. Frantically he searches the rows of fast-emptying seats, but she is nowhere to be seen. Cara has simply vanished into the night.
/> Epilogue
Eleven months later
Forty… Forty-one… Forty-two… Oliver powers through the water, clocking up the lengths, his body still fizzing from last night’s dream. It’s the same dream he’s had for the past five nights, only it doesn’t seem like a dream at all. Wickedly, his mind plays tricks, coaxing him into believing it is real, only for him to wake overwhelmed with disappointment when facing his reality. Pale by comparison.
Smooth as silk, the water seductively caresses his body. The music and lights are low and in the womb-like environment he has created, despite the demons inside his head, Oliver feels cocooned. It’s early; the family has yet to stir. He couldn’t just lie there next to Deanna waiting for the day to begin; he had to do something. Silently he made his way through the sleeping household to the handsome, oak-framed building situated behind the house.
Although hugely expensive, the leisure complex was money well spent, incorporating a swimming pool, gym and sauna. All the family use it and the children are competent swimmers, even Jamie. Initially, the boy was wary of the strange atmosphere and the reflections the water made on the ceiling and walls but, refusing to be any less than his siblings, he rose to the challenge and eventually overcame his fears. As Oliver surges on towards his goal he thinks about his quiet, sensitive, youngest son. Jamie is the reason he is still here. He refuses to let the sacrifice he has made diminish his love for the boy.
Following the final performance at the Minack, they stayed for one night only at that old haunt of Sir Alfred Munnings in Lamorna Cove, but Oliver hardly noticed his surroundings. He barely conversed, so complex were his emotions where Deanna was concerned. The only suggestion of normality was his interaction with his son. After returning to Surrey he was equally remote, indulging in long runs over the North Downs or punishing himself with gruelling workouts in the gym. Of course, Deanna confronted him with the photographs and he could not deny the accusations hurled at him. They were true. He was in love with Cara. For the sake of the children they continued to operate as a couple, although they moved into separate rooms. However, as the weeks lengthened into months, they regained some semblance of their former life and he recently moved back into the marital bed.