Summer in a Cornish Cove

by Kate Ryder

  But the recurring dream brings it all back, and Oliver wonders if he will ever fully recover from the previous summer. How many times has he been on the point of phoning Cara to offer up some sort of explanation, but what could he say that she isn’t already aware of? Unable to resist, he checked to see who won the Threadneedle Prize, and it was no surprise to learn that her incredible talent had been recognised. He was so proud of his beautiful, golden girl and immediately wrote to tell her so, only for the letter to be torn up in frustration and never posted. Why would she want to hear from him? He abandoned her. Neither had he kept his promise to Christo – he hadn’t followed through.

  Oliver ups his pace, creating waves that slap angrily against the sides of the tiled pool. Cutting through the water in a powerful overarm crawl, he completes another ten lengths before entering the meditative zone and dares to revisit his dream.

  Alone in the Cornish landscape, Oliver walks the cliff path and the closer he gets to the cove, the more laboured his breathing becomes. He knows this path so well. Every twist and turn, rock and secret crevice, and every grassy hillock where they lay on their backs, holding hands and watching the sun go down, not daring to think about the future, simply content in each other’s company.

  Just over the horizon he knows The Lookout’s roof will appear. His stomach is in knots. Will she be there? What will he say? Will they even acknowledge each other? How can they not? He stops and looks out over the ocean. Breathing in the salty sea air, he attempts to quieten his clamouring heart. Standing sentinel on the cliff edge amongst the sea pinks, a seagull eyes him suspiciously. Suddenly, with a raucous cry, it takes to the air, the sound piercing the quiet of the hot, still afternoon. His palms are moist with perspiration and he wipes them on his trousers. He feels paralysed and cannot take another step. This is where Sylvie jumped – or slipped – and a wave of nausea sweeps over him as he relives the shock of that afternoon, the sickening thud and her last, gasping breath. He still feels guilty, although he knows he was powerless to save her. If it hadn’t been the fall that claimed her it would have been something else. He shudders and closes his mind to that terrible time, not daring to consider what else she would have conjured up to inflict upon his wife and children, let alone that other most precious of families.

  Oliver resumes his journey and reaches the bend with heart in mouth. Shockingly, a couple of hundred yards ahead, Deanna strides purposefully along the path. What’s she doing here? He thought he was alone. Holding back, he nervously glances down at The Lookout. There’s the shed where Bethany’s rabbit lives, and the upended boat that Christo turned into a seat where they would sit and gaze up at the Milky Way. Now, when he looks up at the same galaxy from his Surrey home it comforts him to think that she, too, might be looking up at the night sky and be thinking of him.

  The bungalow is neat and well-kept, startlingly white from a recent coat of paint, and a low fence bounds a carefully tended lawn edged with diamond and sapphire encrusted flowers. He smiles. He always knew this was a magical land. But the smile freezes on his face as he remembers her telling him that if ever she found herself settled in a loving relationship she would tame the cliff around the bungalow and create a colourful garden enclosed by a white picket fence. The stab of jealousy is deep. Suddenly a door opens and he watches as Cara emerges, her long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. The sound of breaking waves on the sand and the cry of the gulls on the wind seem accentuated to his heightened senses. He holds his breath, unable to contain the emotions surging through him.

  Shielding her eyes from the sun, she looks up. ‘Oliver, how nice to see you again,’ she says, as if he’s an old family friend and no passion has ever passed between them. ‘You must be parched walking the coast path in this heat. Why don’t you come down and join us for a drink?’

  ‘Thank you. I’d love to, but how do I get down?’ he answers politely.

  ‘Don’t you remember?’ she asks in surprise.

  He shakes his head.

  ‘Well, if you find the way I’ll be waiting for you.’ She smiles up at him.

  Oliver’s heart misses a beat. After all he hasn’t done for her she is waiting for him. He can see his wife far ahead on the coast path but he won’t be following her. He will find a way to reach his beautiful, golden girl.

  With mounting excitement he sets off down the path and, twenty yards on, discovers the roughly hewn steps leading down beside Janine’s house. Emerging onto the track, he stops and glances back at Rick’s Beach Hut but, to his surprise, the beach is bare; as if the café never existed. In panic, he turns towards The Lookout. Will this also have vanished? But Cara is there, standing in front of her bungalow, wearing a T-shirt and white jeans rolled up to her knees, the iridescent hummingbird tattoo shimmering on her left ankle. Her skin is sun-kissed and her hair glistens in the afternoon sun. She is as lovely as he remembers and, deep in his belly, he feels the unmistakable stirrings of desire. Without hesitation, he starts to close the gap.

  ‘Ollie!’ Deanna’s voice rings out harshly above the sound of the waves. He turns. His wife stands a short distance beyond Janine’s house, her figure threateningly black against the brilliant blue sky. ‘Where are you going?’ she asks curiously.

  How did she get there? When he last saw her, she was way in the distance on the upper path. Disappointment grabs at his throat and he turns urgently to Cara. She is shrouded in her unique golden glow and her eyes promise him the world.

  ‘I’m sorry, Deanna,’ he says, turning back to his wife. ‘I’m going home.’

  ‘Home? What are you talking about? You said there was a café up ahead, but I can’t see one.’

  ‘Nothing’s the same any more. Everything has changed.’

  ‘Nothing has changed,’ Deanna says, her right foot tapping impatiently. ‘It’s as it always has been and always will be.’

  As the ‘grey mist’ descends, obliterating the warmth of the sun on this brilliant day, he turns once again to Cara.

  ‘We are waiting, Oliver,’ she says, smiling encouragingly and opening her arms wide. ‘We all are.’

  It’s the way she says ‘all’. What does she mean? But this is it – his chance to put things right.

  ‘I’m coming,’ he says, walking unhesitatingly towards her. ‘Wild horses wouldn’t keep me away.’

  ‘That’s not home, Ollie,’ Deanna’s no-nonsense voice rings out loud and clear, ‘and you know it.’

  But she’s too late. Cara is in his arms. Immediately, his mouth finds hers and she’s every bit as soft and warm as he remembers. As their tender kiss turns to passion, Cara’s healing, golden light fills his body and the splinters of ice that have worked their way into his heart melt away. His old adversary stands back, admitting defeat.

  And one hundred… Oliver stops swimming. Breathing heavily and holding onto the edge of the pool with one hand, brusquely he clears the water from his eyes.

  I am not crying!

  He has completed his marathon in the deep end. Effortlessly, he pulls himself out of the water and stands for a moment looking out through the plate-glass windows, across the immaculate lawn leading down to the lake by the trees. It’s the start of a beautiful summer’s day, not unlike the one in his dream. Quickly, he showers and gets dressed. He’s about to switch off the lights when his eldest son appears with two of his school friends.

  ‘Morning, Dad,’ says Charlie. ‘Gary and Nathan have come over to use the pool.’

  He chats briefly with Charlie and his friends and then walks out into the sunshine. He’s halfway to the house when his son calls after him.

  ‘Hey, Dad, I forgot to say, there’s a package for you in your study.’

  ‘OK. Remember to switch everything off when you’ve finished.’

  Charlie nods and turns back inside. Oliver carries on towards the house, wondering if the package is the script his agent has promised to send him.

  ‘I’m dropping Sammy at Rosie’s and then I’m taking Sebastian and J
amie to football,’ Deanna informs him as he enters the kitchen. ‘I’ve got rehearsals until four so you won’t forget to collect the boys, will you?’

  ‘Err… no!’

  Deanna’s face twitches; the smallest of smiles. Her eyes do not meet his. And then she’s gone. As stage manager for the local amateur dramatics group, she has finally found an outlet for her theatrical frustrations.

  Oliver pours himself a mug of coffee and wanders through to his study. Propped against his desk is a large package wrapped in brown paper and ‘Fragile’ tape. Instantly he recognises her distinctively creative handwriting. With pounding heart, he puts the mug down on the desk and, as if in slow motion, opens the top drawer. Taking out a pair of scissors, he very carefully cuts the tape. Even though his heart races, he feels detached and cushioned from his emotions, as if his higher self offers up some protection. As he peels back the paper, an envelope falls out and he places this on the desk.

  Slowly the canvas reveals itself. It’s the work in progress that was propped on her easel. Even then it held the promise of being achingly beautiful, but now, finished, it is exceptional. It’s the hidden view from the cliffs beyond The Lookout; encompassing the south coast of Cornwall from the cove, past Loe Bar to Praa Sands and Prussia Cove, across a shimmering Mounts Bay with the tip of iconic St Michael’s Mount rising out of the water, sweeping on past Penzance and Newlyn to the cliffs at Porthcurno and, in the far distance, Gwennap Head.

  No longer can he hold back. Remembering how, when he first viewed the painting, it made him want to cry, Oliver gives vent to his emotions. For the second time that morning he wipes away tears.

  In the bottom left-hand corner Cara has painted the roof of The Lookout and, at the far end of the curve of sand, Rick’s Beach Hut. The cove is where he goes when he’s lonely. It is etched upon his heart; as is she. He will never forget her. How can he? She is a part of him! Even now he can sense her lightness of spirit and her beautiful, golden glow that so effectively banishes the ‘grey mist’ from the very darkest recesses of his being. He hears her carefree laugh, which offers up so much hope and promise, and Oliver swallows hard, his chest tightening. And isn’t that a bark and a young boy’s shout? He yearns to see Sky chasing after his dog along the beach and playing in the surf at the water’s edge. A vision of Bethany with her shy but all-knowing look comes to him and he recalls how she told him, in that quiet and serious way of hers, that the cormorants in her mother’s painting of the Minack flapped their wings when no one was looking. If he looks hard enough will they all come to life? With a lump in his throat Oliver scans the cove for the little family that so completely captured his heart, hoping that Cara will somehow manifest. His craving for her never fades. But the beach is empty. There is no golden girl. The only sign of life is half a dozen gulls hanging in the air, greedily eyeing the sands below as the tide gently ebbs and flows.

  Oliver swallows his disappointment. During that summer he knows Cara gave to him without strings; she did not keep track of what he owed her. She gave because she was genuine and chose to do so without any ulterior motive, and because she knew what it was like to be without. She showed him what it was to be emotionally smart and the love they shared was so deep, strong and complex that he doubts he ever truly loved before. She understood and connected with him in every way and on every level, and he knows he has had something in his life that few people ever experience – the perfect love with his soul mate. This is the reason he was guided to reject the sure-fire box office hit and, instead, accept Tas’s low-key summer tour. During that summer he discovered someone who bestowed a great sense of peace, calm and happiness that no therapy ever achieved, and she reminded him to be all that much more aware of the beauty in life. Their perfect love is the most significant and satisfying thing he will experience in his lifetime, and he will always be thankful for having received such a gift.

  Lovingly, Oliver commits to memory the sensations of the cove: the smell of the sea; the sound of the ocean; the cry of the gulls. Wherever his travels take him in the world, this sound will always transport him back to that glorious Cornish summer when Cara shined her healing, golden light and effectively banished the greyness from his soul.

  Picking up the canvas, Oliver props it on the armchair. He will hang it later alongside her painting of the Minack. Turning back to his desk, he picks up the envelope and hesitates, deep intuition advising him to be strong. With trembling fingers, he extracts her letter.

  Dear Oliver,

  I have been meaning to write to you for a long time but the words I wanted to convey have been hard to find. However, write I must, regardless how inadequate my words may prove to be.

  This painting I created for you. From the very first brushstroke it was always yours. Do you remember when I showed you this view for the first time you said I had taken you to the edge of the world? Well, it was you who took me to the very edge of the world. I will never forget our summer together and I want to thank you with all my heart for enabling me to feel once again. I also want you to know that I completely understand why it is impossible for us to be together. I accept your decision and respect you for it.

  Oliver blinks rapidly as Cara’s words swim out of focus.

  This painting, entitled On the Cusp, (I know you will understand why) is my gift to you for the glorious summer, which will stay with me forever. When I am old and grey I will look back at our time together and be thankful for having been loved by you.

  When we first met I knew our meeting was no chance encounter, but I was never really sure of the destiny of our relationship. I believed your soul had come into my life for reasons I did not fully understand but I was prepared to simply let it be who and what it was meant to be. Now all is clear, and I want to thank you for bestowing the greatest gift of all.

  On May 22nd at 6.23 a.m., our son was born, weighing 7lbs 10oz. He is a beautiful, healthy and joyful baby and we all love him dearly. I have named him Tobias Oliver. I don’t expect anything from you. I know that you have a family of your own and I will never come to you for financial support. And please, rest assured, the press will never learn that you are the father of this most precious of gifts.

  Awash with emotion, Oliver wants to howl at the universe.

  Included with the letter is a photograph of a baby wrapped in a fleece. Is this what his dream means when she says they are all waiting for him? Oliver’s index finger lingers over the image of the baby in the already treasured photograph. She is right. He is beautiful, and the most precious of gifts – a son born of the deepest love and the highest faith. He turns the photograph over. Written on the back is a single word… Toby.

  Feeling as if he’s been punched in the stomach and his heart has stopped beating, Oliver turns his attention back to Cara’s letter.

  As some very wise person once said, ‘In the end just three things matter: How well we have lived; how well we have loved; how well we have learned to let go…’

  We hope you enjoyed this book!

  Kate Ryder’s next book is coming in summer 2018.

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  Acknowledgments

  Firstly, a big thank you to Caroline Ridding for believing in this book. I will never forget having to re-read your email three times before realising it didn’t contain a refusal! Also, to Lucy Gilmour and the rest of the wonderful team at Aria for guiding me through the publishing process and bringing this novel to life.

  Special thanks must also go to the talented Rachael Mia Allen, who shared deep insights and expressed so eloquently what it is to be an artist.

  To The Romantic Novelists’ Association and their invaluable New Writers’ Scheme, whose guidance and criti
quing encouraged me not to give up.

  Also, in memory of the indomitable spirit that was Rowena Cade. We are so fortunate she had the foresight to create the ‘theatre under the star’s’ perched on the cliffs above Porthcurno for future generations to enjoy, and for providing me with the perfect stage on which to weave the penultimate chapter.

  And, last but not least, to my husband for graciously understanding the many hours I spent living a different life with my characters and who, unfailingly, kept me supplied with coffee!

  About Kate Ryder

  KATE RYDER has worked in a number of industries including publishing, mainly as a proofreader/copy editor and writer for a national newspaper, magazines and publishing houses. A member of the New Writers Scheme with the Romantic Novelists Association, in 2013 she published her debut novel, 'The Forgotten Promise, a timeslip romance and mysterious ghost story, which was shortlisted for Choc Lit's 2016 "Search for a Star" and also honoured with a Chill with a Book "Book of the Month" Award. Kate lives in a renovated 200-year-old sawmill in the beautiful Tamar Valley with her husband

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