Plotted in Cornwall

by Janie Bolitho

  On the first day, Thursday, she found a spot out of the breeze, hoping it wouldn’t change direction. She pulled on her fingerless gloves and surveyed the scene, deciding upon the best aspect. The myriad colours of the sea would take some capturing but she was sure she could do it. After twenty minutes she began preparing the blank canvas.

  It was just what she had needed. Four uninterrupted hours of fresh air and pure concentration. Four whole hours without thinking about Jack or the Penhaligon family. She would have stayed longer but the December days were short and already the light was changing, the colours were no longer vibrant. She watched a cormorant skim the surface of the water before disappearing around the jagged cliffside. Shadows lengthened, altering the vista further. Impossible to work any longer.

  The good weather lasted and by Friday afternoon Rose began to hope that the painting would turn out to be as good as the Zennor one. Sitting beneath a blue sky in which a few curls of white cloud had appeared she watched the gulls drift in the air currents. It was hard to believe it was almost Christmas. And I still have things to do, she remembered.

  She stood and stretched, feeling the wind in her face once she was no longer protected by the rocky outcrop. Home. Home and a nice quiet evening.

  Rose was in the kitchen, a glass of wine in her hand. It was dark but the house was warm and cosy. She studied the mackerel in front of her, head on one side. Grilled, she decided, because it was easiest.

  The telephone rang. Quickly topping up her glass in case it was Laura wanting a long chat, she went to answer it.

  ‘Is your offer still on, Mrs Trevelyan?’ Joel asked.

  ‘Of course.’ Rose had wondered if he was being polite at the party. What teenage male would want to share a meal with a solitary middle-aged woman? Over the past two days she had put his eager response down to a drop too much of his father’s excellent wine. But she hoped he didn’t intend coming that night; she liked plenty of time to prepare when she was entertaining.

  ‘Mum and Dad left this morning. I think I’ll enjoy being alone in the house. Is tomorrow too soon?’

  ‘Tomorrow’s fine. What time would you like to come?’

  Instead of answering the question he asked one of his own. ‘Would you think it rude of me if I asked if I could bring someone?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Miranda, Rose thought. It has to be. ‘Your cousin?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does her mother know?’ Rose did not want a repeat of the scene with Wendy Penhaligon.

  ‘Yes. She had to know because Miranda will be staying with me overnight. We have things to discuss.’

  I’ll bet, Rose thought, longing to know what they were. But the telephone was not the best medium by which to conduct the conversation she wanted to have with him. Tomorrow would do. Yet she sensed the young couple needed someone in whom to confide and that questions might be unnecessary. ‘Good. Then come for lunch. Is there anything either of you don’t eat?’

  ‘No. Nothing at all.’

  ‘In that case I’ll expect you any time after twelve.’ It would mean no work tomorrow but a day off wouldn’t hurt. And her curiosity had been aroused anew. It was at such times she missed Jack badly. She could have invited him to make up a foursome and he could have formed his own opinion about her guests. Except, she realised, they probably wouldn’t confide in her if there was someone else present.

  Rose went back to the kitchen and prodded the vegetables. They were just beginning to tenderise. Perfect timing. The petrol colours of the mackerel gleamed. She placed it, whole, under the grill. Within minutes its rich, oily aroma made her realise how hungry she was.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, the radio playing quietly, she planned the lunch she would prepare tomorrow.

  At eight she rang her parents to confirm the Christmas arrangements. She still had no idea what to buy them. They seemed to have everything they needed. But time was running out. Monday was the twenty-third and the day of their arrival, that was the only morning left in which to shop. Something would catch her eye, it usually did at the last minute.

  She had decided to cook a traditional roast for Joel and Miranda. She never bothered to do so just for herself. By eleven o’clock on Saturday morning the meat was in the oven and the vegetables were prepared. Rose went outside to inspect the garden. Her father was sure to comment upon its winter untidiness. She weeded the border at the side and cut back the geraniums in their pots. There was already new growth shooting out from the joints.

  A car turned into the drive and came to a stop behind hers. Miranda pulled hard on the hand-brake because of the steepness of the drive. They had arrived fifteen minutes early.

  ‘It’s nice to see you both again,’ Rose said with a smile as they got out. ‘Come on in and we’ll have a drink. Just let me wash my hands.’ She dumped the plastic bag of garden rubbish in the bin and scraped the soil from her hands beneath the kitchen tap. ‘Now what would you like? I’ve got beer, wine, sherry or something stronger.’

  ‘Wine for me, please,’ Miranda said as she unwound her scarf and shook out her hair.

  ‘I’ll have a beer,’ Joel replied, wondering how on earth they could tell this woman what they suspected. But someone ought to know. It was not fair to Miranda to have to keep such knowledge to herself for ever. He realised he hadn’t been totally shocked when she told him her fears. The same thought had crossed his mind in the beginning.

  ‘Lunch won’t be ready until one. Let’s go into the sitting-room. I’ve lit the fire.’

  Sunshine spilled in through the window where Miranda and Joel stood admiring the view.

  ‘If only you knew how much I’ve missed all this,’ Miranda said with a sweeping gesture of her hand. ‘I don’t know how I stuck it in London for so long. Well, I’m back now.’ She smiled at Rose. ‘And back in contact with Joel, thanks to you.’

  All three sat, Joel and Miranda on the two-seater settee, Rose in an armchair near the fire. Lighting it had not been necessary, it was merely a welcoming gesture. The sitting-room door stood open so it wasn’t too hot. ‘You told me you didn’t feel you could meet Roger and Petra,’ Rose began, wanting to break the ice. She could sense their slight discomfort. ‘Was there any reason other than your embarrassment after such a long time?’

  Miranda sighed. ‘Yes. I didn’t want them asking me questions about Dad. Mrs Trevelyan, I really don’t know what to do. I might’ve wasted a year of my life over something which has been driving me mad even though I don’t have any proof. Joel knows, and I think he agrees with me. Would you mind if I told you what it is?’

  ‘No. And I can assure you I’ll do or say nothing to anyone unless you wish me to.’

  ‘I don’t see what anyone can do.’ She sipped her wine and placed the glass on the small table beside her. ‘I think my father is dead. Everyone assumes he went off with another woman, but I don’t think he’d have left Mum. When I look back on it I think he loved us. But when time passed and neither he nor my mother made any effort to find me I became more and more convinced that something was dreadfully wrong. I just couldn’t face going home or even making contact in case I was right. Anyway, from things I’ve learned I realise now that my mother had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Oh, God, it sounds so melodramatic and ridiculous. I knew Mum wanted a new start and, at first, I thought she – well, I thought she might have got so fed up with his womanising and money troubles that she killed him. I now know that isn’t so. Anyway, since I’ve been back Aunt Wendy’s been acting pretty strangely, as if she doesn’t want me around, yet we used to get on well. I mean, is it possible Wendy killed him? You know both sides of the family a bit, do you think it’s likely? Joel told me that Uncle Roger contacted the police several times but they aren’t able to do anything.’

  Rose had been certain there was more to Miranda’s disappearance than a change of heart about university, just as certain as her uncle had been. She had run to protect
her mother. She wondered if Miranda was asking for help and, if so, what she could do about it. ‘Why would Wendy wish him any harm?’

  ‘She never liked him, she was always saying he wasn’t good enough for Mum, that he sponged off her, which wasn’t true, and they should never have got married.’

  ‘But what could she possibly achieve by his death?’

  ‘Well, she’s in a very comfortable position living with Mum. Maybe she and Dad had an argument. Mum told me that she was at the bank and the solicitor’s office for most of the morning he disappeared. There’s only Wendy’s word that he took off at the last minute.’

  ‘Miranda, I happen to know that your father hasn’t yet responded to the advertisement. Of course, that doesn’t mean anything, it was only in the local paper. The firm of solicitors are now advertising nationally. His aunt died, apparently. Did you know her?’

  ‘I met her a couple of times when I was small. She lived in the Midlands, we didn’t visit often. I think she went into a home when her husband died. She must have been quite an age.’

  Rose glanced at Joel who had remained silent. ‘What do you think about all this?’

  ‘I don’t know. It does seem odd. Uncle Frank seemed keen to move, but it could’ve been a front. He might have planned his disappearance months in advance.’

  ‘But?’

  He looked up and shook his head. ‘But why would he want to disappear? As Miranda said, he had everything he wanted as far as we know.’

  Rose took a sip of her own drink. Maybe they’d all got it wrong. When people disappeared for no apparent reason those left behind felt lost and required answers. They also believed they had known the person, that they could swear they hadn’t left of their own accord. But no one could see into someone else’s head. It happened. Happily married men and women with children, a home and money had reasons no one could guess at for wanting to make a fresh start. Frank Jordan had possibly been one of them, especially once he believed his daughter was going to university.

  ‘There’s one thing I don’t understand. He loved the sea, his boat meant everything to him. Why would he want to live in the middle of Bodmin Moor?’

  ‘His boat? What happened to it?’ Cornwall might be a large county lengthwise but Bodmin was no more than ten or fifteen miles from the coast in either direction. He’d still have been able to use it. ‘Did he sell it?’

  It was Joel who answered. ‘We don’t know. Dad even went down to the boathouse. It was locked but you can see through a gap in the planks and it wasn’t there.’

  ‘What sort of boat?’

  ‘A cabin cruiser.’

  Perhaps it was his means of escape. ‘Could it have reached the Continent?’

  ‘Yes. France, easily. But what would he do there? He doesn’t have any connections overseas as far as I know,’ Miranda said.

  ‘Let me think about this for a few minutes. I’ll just put the vegetables on. Help yourselves to another drink if you want one.’ Rose left the room, unable to determine what she believed. It seemed that Miranda and Joel were unaware of Wendy’s infatuation with Frank. If she had harmed him her feelings were far more of a motive than anything else Rose had learned so far. Maybe she had been unable to bear the thought of him moving away and trying to make a go of it with Louisa. When they had all lived in Penzance she had seen him every day. If Louisa had been out of the way for the morning she might have begged him not to go. If Frank Jordan had rebuffed her again, laughed at her, how would a woman like Wendy react? Rose had seen for herself the violence of which she was capable. Oh, Jack, if only you were here, she thought as she basted the potatoes and parsnips with juices from the meat.

  When she returned to the sitting-room she refilled her own glass and sat down again. ‘This boathouse. Where is it?’

  ‘It’s not really one, it’s a lock-up place Dad bought years ago. More of a garage really.’

  ‘Was it sold with the house?’

  Miranda shrugged. ‘Not as far as I know. It wasn’t attached to the house, it wasn’t anywhere near it, in fact.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a key?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  Good question, Rose thought. But maybe it would hold some clue to the man. Maybe he had used it for other reasons as well as storage space for the boat. If it had been sold there was nothing they could do. ‘It might be worth taking a look at it.’

  ‘We can’t just break in. Even if it still belongs to Uncle Frank it would be illegal.’ Joel was horrified.

  ‘Miranda’s his daughter,’ Rose pointed out. ‘If he still owns it it would be all right. Look, if he took the boat and he’s still in the country wouldn’t he have to register it somewhere?’

  ‘I’m not sure how it works, but I suppose there’d have to be some record of it.’

  Rose nodded. Could she ask Jack to check? Would he even bother? It was worth a try. Their faces flushed from the drinks and the heat of the fire, they sat in silence, each with their own thoughts. Rose began to understand Miranda’s behaviour. If she had believed her own mother to have been involved in a murder, one solution was to disappear in order to evade any questions if the police were alerted. An immature solution but the girl had been only eighteen at the time. From what both Miranda and Joel had said, Rose knew that the mother and daughter had been very close. And there was Wendy’s changed attitude. Was there a sinister reason for this or did she simply resent Miranda reappearing and disturbing their comfortable life-style? ‘I think it’s time to eat,’ Rose said, picking up her glass as she stood. Miranda had not topped up her drink, she’d be able to have a second glass of wine with the meal.

  ‘This is delicious,’ Joel said as he cut the last of his roast potatoes.

  He had eaten more quickly than either of the women. It pleased Rose to see her cooking appreciated. ‘There’s plenty more if you’ve room.’

  ‘He’s always got room,’ Miranda told her with a smile. ‘I don’t know where he puts it all.’

  He’s probably still growing, Rose thought but did not say because it would have embarrassed him to be thought of as a boy still.

  She had made a fruit salad to follow, thinking they would be too full for anything heavier, and she had bought some clotted cream. Joel dolloped several spoonfuls on his dish.

  When they had finished Miranda offered to wash up but Rose said she would see to the dishes later. Unused to eating her main meal in the middle of the day she felt in need of a walk and therefore suggested one. ‘We could take a look at the boathouse,’ she said diffidently, as if the idea had just occurred to her. ‘In the same way as your father did,’ she added for Joel’s benefit. ‘Take a peep through the gap.’

  Miranda thought it was a good idea. ‘I could do with some exercise, too. How about it, Joel?’

  He nodded, realising he had been outvoted by the women. He’d rather leave things alone. But I did promise to help Miranda, he thought, and his parents were away, they’d never find out.

  Together they walked down the hill and along the front towards Penzance where they cut up behind the tennis courts and the bowling green to rows of terraced granite properties. Here was a labyrinth of alleyways and quaint buildings. At the end of one such street stood a garage. There was just room to manoeuvre a car and boat from the main road running at right angles to it.

  As the three of them stood looking at the lock-up they attracted the attention of a man living in the house opposite. He came out and stood in the tiny patch of front garden. ‘Can I help you?’ he asked, wondering if this unlikely threesome was about to break in.

  ‘Ah, yes, maybe you can,’ Rose said, turning on the charm as she smiled at him. ‘We’d heard this was up for sale but there doesn’t seem to be a board.’

  ‘It’s the first I’ve heard of it. A bloke called Jordan owns it but he hasn’t been around for ages. He was always down here at one time making a meal of getting that boat in and out. The boat’s gone, too.’

  ‘Maybe that’s why I heard t
he garage was for sale. Did he take it somewhere else?’ Rose asked innocently.

  ‘Never saw him if he did.’ He turned away realising he had let them know the only way he could be aware of this fact was by looking through the gap.

  ‘Thanks, anyway,’ Rose called to his retreating back.

  ‘What now?’ Miranda asked. ‘I could break the lock, but the old boy’ll be watching us and ring the police.’

  Rose eyed the small padlock. ‘We’ll come back later. If we leave now and get an appropriate tool, if he does see us he’ll think we’ve obtained a key from somewhere. What do you think?’

  ‘No,’ Joel said.

  ‘I don’t see why not. I mean, it seems Dad does still own it, there’s no reason for me not to have a look inside.’

  They walked back and waited until the light began to fade. Rose found a set of screwdrivers with which they could hopefully remove the whole padlock unit and then replace it. None of them had noticed if the screws were rusty.

  It was colder when they left the house. Miranda offered to drive. She parked the car in the next street away from the prying eyes of the man they had seen earlier. The pensioner’s curtains were drawn now. If he was watching television he probably wouldn’t hear them.

  ‘You do it,’ Miranda said, handing Joel the screwdrivers.

  It took longer than they had anticipated as one of the screws had gone in crooked but at last the whole unit came away in Joel’s hands. He pushed open the creaking wooden door and they stepped inside.

  ‘Close it behind you,’ Rose told Miranda. When she had done so Rose switched on her flashlight.

  ‘Oh, my God.’ Miranda ran to the back of the building and stood looking down at something.

  ‘What is it?’ Rose hurried to her side.

  ‘It’s Dad’s holdall.’

  ‘What? Are you certain?’

  ‘Yes, I saw him pack it. We’d all decided to keep out the clothes we needed for the first couple of days. Look, there’s his initials.’