She thought of London, and a yearning for her life there swept through her again. Instead of being at home, cherished and loved, she was here, with a stranger who kept secrets and would not talk to her. And she could not get away. The knowledge hit her hard, and she felt suddenly exhausted.
“I’m going to bed. I need some time alone.”
She saw the look of panic on his face, but she did not know what to do to alleviate it. If she had known how, when they were first married, the knowledge was not with her now. Adrien didn’t move, but his eyes watched her as she moved to go back inside.
“I’m sorry, Juliana. For everything.” His voice followed her, and she turned around.
“Don’t punish yourself any longer, Adrien,” she said with a sigh. “I’m back now. For better or for worse, isn’t that what we said to each other? We are bound together. We need to start over.”
Chapter 5
“You don’t mind coming up here?”
Juliana was walking on the cliffs the next morning with Jamie. She had not seen Adrien; he had left early, before even breakfast, and after last night’s debacle she was not displeased. Damaris had cried off and was curled up in the morning room next to the fire, reading The Green Hat. The two had wandered through the gardens, and Juliana had asked about the cliff. Jamie had instantly agreed to walk up and show her the view.
She asked the question of him, remembering the curious way Adrien had shied away from the Roscarrock the other day. There had been a pinched look about her husband’s face when he had looked up at it that had made her wonder, especially after his explanation of finding her things the morning after.
Jamie looked over at her and shook his head.
“No. Why should I?” he replied.
She clutched at a thick tussock as her feet slid on the coarse grass underfoot, and only just kept upright. Jamie grabbed her elbow, steadying her as she went.
“Adrien seemed not keen at all on bringing me here,” she said. “It was as if the thought of simply coming up here made him uneasy.”
Jamie pulled her up the last few feet, then swung her hand as they crested the hill and made their way through a stunted copse of twisted boughs. He looked serious for once, and Juliana realised how he was rarely without a smile on his face. Now his eyes were sombre and his mouth twitched.
“Adrien found your foot marks at the edge of the cliff, and was the first to realise what had happened,” he said finally. “He picked your nails out of the mud, and even with his bad leg, he climbed down himself to search underneath. He loathes the place now. He avoids it like the plague. It really was the most awful time, Julie. It was all anyone talked about for months.”
He paused.
“Be gentle with him. He’s so glad to have you back, and I’d hate to see him hurt again.”
With that he recovered his spirits, and, seriousness over, he placed his palms over her eyes as they cleared the trees. He steered her through the last few shrubs, only whipping his hands away when they stood full in the sunshine. Juliana gasped and walked forward in a daze.
“Good, isn’t it?” he said, beaming as if he had produced it all himself.
“It’s wonderful,” she replied. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
The drop to the beach was so sheer that Juliana felt like she was about to fly into the air. She felt like she was in the middle of the ocean, surrounded on all sides by blue sky and the changing hues of the sea, today a dark blue with lacy white caps. The only splash of brighter colour was the faint spot of red on the horizon, the sail on a fishing boat heading out.
Jamie sat on the wooden bench and watched her, pleased with her reaction. He lit a cigarette and smoked it slowly as she wandered around. Finally he joined her as she gazed outwards, and pointed east, to where a large outcrop of splintered grey rock formed a good-sized island. It was separated from the mainland by a wide channel, spanned by a metal walkway. The sea rushed around the base, the channel like a rapids in the fast-advancing tide.
“That’s where the Clevedons live. The Island,” he said.
“Have they always lived there?”
“Adrien’s father, Uncle Peter, gave it to Sylvia during the War. She was his god-daughter. Geoffrey was invalided back home in ’16, and Uncle Peter realised that they couldn’t go on living in London as they had been. So he gave them the Island.”
They made their way back through the copse, with some regret on Juliana’s part; she could have gazed at the horizon all morning. Jamie led her back through the trees and then they turned away from the house, to follow the path along the side of the cliff. The path was narrow but firm and well-trodden and felt safe; even at its closest it was eight feet from the sheer drop to the rocks below.
“Where is your home? At least… well, you know what I mean,” Juliana said.
“Hendra? It’s out on the other side of the town, the Blackwater road. I haven’t been back there in years. Mother has it rented out.”
“How did you end up at Trevennen?”
Juliana was curious. It was a question that had been in her mind since she had arrived back from London.
“It’s your fault, really,” he said with a smile. “We were staying here, with you and Adrien, when it all happened. It was supposed to be temporary. The drains had gone bad at home, and you insisted that we all come over while the men were working on them. Then you vanished, and Adrien was in such a terrible state that Mother stayed on to look after the house for him. When Hendra was ready to be lived in again, someone found out it was empty and wanted to rent it. Neither Didi nor I was living at home, so Mother agreed, and stayed on here. They are still there, Mr Berkley and his sisters. Nice old things, really.”
He stretched as they walked, breathing deeply, as if he was taking in as much of the clean sea air as he could during his weekend.
“Didi and I were brought up at Hendra. Not such a wonderful position on the cliffs, but a lovely place. We had a tree house in the orchard that my father had built for us before he died. A stream running through with a dinghy for us to mess about in. We spent a lot of time outside there. I always thought Hendra would be there to go back to. I do miss the tree house!”
He gave a grin at the last, but his eyes were shrewd, despite his levity. Juliana suspected that he was being loyal to his mother. She had little doubt, even after such a short time, that Fancy was making hay while the sun shone. She had enjoyed three years of living rent-free at Trevennen, whilst pocketing rent for her own house. From what had been said, they were freely welcomed by Adrien, and spent a great deal of their free time there. Their bedrooms were not guest rooms; they were their own. Trevennen was effectively their home now.
The path split several times, but she and Jamie continued next to the sea as it wound downhill, and finally a narrow estuary appeared, spilling out onto a shingle beach in odd rust-coloured streams. On their side of the water was a boathouse, whitewashed like the house, but with a reddish tinge to many of the stones.
“The Trevennen boathouse,” Jamie said with a grand sweep of his arm. “One of the things I always begrudged Adrien! We couldn’t have a boat at Hendra, not a real one.”
“Why is the water that odd colour?” Juliana asked.
She bent over and dipped her hands in. It ran clear through her fingers, but she was fascinated by the underlying russet colour.
“Tin residue. Washes down from the mines up on the moor. It does look odd, when you first see it.”
He waved out over the estuary.
“This is as far as we go—the river marks the boundary of the estate. I haven’t been down here for an age. Want to go in?”
They reached the entrance, a heavy plank door with peeling paint, and Jamie reached up. There was a deep ledge over the doorway, and from the back of it he produced a key, a huge affair in heavy iron. It looked like it weighed a ton. Jamie jammed it into the keyhole with some effort and puffed over turning it.
“Don’t think anyone’s been in he
re for a while,” he gasped, wincing as the key finally turned over and he pushed the door open. “Not just me. Mind the spiders!”
But Juliana was not paying attention to the spiders and their copious webs. She brushed them away without notice as she gazed at the motor launch in front of her.
“The White Lotus,” she read.
It was a beautiful boat, or it would be if it was cleaned up. The planking was painted white, now dirty and greying, the original dark gold varnish of the interior streaked and darkened with age. She was a sleek little cruiser with a small saloon, and a covered-over wheelhouse. In one corner was a pile of cushions, so covered with mildew that their original colour could not be ascertained.
“She’s looking a bit the worse for wear,” said Jamie, stepping onto the deck. “She was yours, Juliana. Adrien had her done up for you, a wedding present. Not great for sailing around here, tides and wind are too uncertain, so he got this instead. No one has taken her out in three years.”
“Such a pity. She’s beautiful!”
He nodded, taking her hand to help her down. The boat rocked gently under her feet; in the boathouse the water was shallow and calm, and the movement only caused mild splashing. The deck was teak, and although the wood had greyed and was slick with dust and grime, it felt strong under her feet. She walked to the wheel and rested her hands on it, looking through the streaked glass in front of her to where the outside doors would open to the estuary, the sun shining onto the still, dark water through the crack between the two doors. They were chained together and padlocked to the wall.
Jamie stood next to her, stroking the wood idly.
“We had some good times out in her. Do you remember… sorry, of course you don’t,” Jamie said, then gave her a quick hug. “The last time we took her out was for Adrien’s birthday. You made a cake, all by yourself, iced it beautifully, then dropped the box getting out onto the beach. The look on your face was priceless!”
He laughed, his eyes lighting up at the memory, and Juliana found herself smiling back at him. His teeth were slightly uneven, the left incisor slightly longer than the right, and with his mischievous eyes he looked like a little boy.
“It was a delicious cake too, even though we had to eat it out of the box with spoons.” He grinned. “The thing was like trifle after you lobbed it onto the sand!”
“So that was his… what, his twenty-seventh birthday?” asked Juliana, realising that she didn’t even know what date Adrien’s birthday was.
Jamie thought back, then nodded.
“It was a Sunday. We took the boat out after church, and drove her all the way past St Agnes Head. Fished for prawns and crabs, then made a fire and cooked them. It was late September, but the weather was lovely. Indian summer. We even bathed, though the water was on the chilly side. Then we ate your ridiculous cake for tea. It was such a perfect day. After that…”
His voice trailed off and Juliana looked at him sharply. She thought she sensed embarrassment.
“What?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“The weather changed,” he said, “and we didn’t get a chance to go back out.”
Juliana knew that he had meant to say something else, but he wasn’t looking at her now. He was poking around in the cupboards under the seats.
“She’s been in here ever since. Poor old girl. We didn’t even clean her out properly. Look, here’s the champagne bottle, and the cake box!”
He held up a dusty green bottle, tied around the neck with a tattered blue ribbon, Adrien’s name written in faded ink on a small crumpled card. Next to it was the remains of a pasteboard box, much nibbled by mice, but still recognisable. Jamie looked up.
“We should get her ready to go out again,” he said. “We could do it as a surprise for Adrien. He’ll love to be able to take you back out when the weather warms up.”
Juliana was amused at Jamie’s enthusiasm for keeping the project a secret, but she admitted that she liked the idea herself. They relocked the door, replacing the key carefully on its ledge, and headed back towards the house. A short way along, at one of the forks in the path that they had passed earlier, Jamie stopped.
“I think I’ll pop up to the hut,” he said. “Do you want to come? You can meet Simon.”
“Simon?”
Juliana looked at him, wondering who would choose to live up there; as far as she knew, there was nothing up the path but moor and heather and ancient pit workings.
“His uncle and aunt live in the town. Simon and I have been friends since we were kids. Come on, you’ll like him, I promise.”
Juliana had no wish to meet anyone else at the moment that she didn’t strictly have to. She was going to the Island that afternoon, and tomorrow would mean church and then lunch, and lots more meeting of people whom she did not recognise.
“I think I’ll just go back to the house, if you don’t mind?” she asked.
His face fell a little, and she felt rotten about disappointing him.
“It’s not that I don’t want to meet your friend,” she explained. “It’s just that I am finding it hard, meeting all these people who know me, but I don’t remember them.”
He looked at her with a flash of sympathy and stepped forward to give her a hug.
“Poor you. I hadn’t thought of that,” he replied.
Juliana looked up at him and decided to say what she felt.
“And I see the doubt in their eyes. I know what they are thinking. Am I telling the truth, or did I just run away and pretend to have lost my memory?”
Jamie looked straight at her.
“I believe you,” he said.
“Really?”
“I know you, Julie. You are strong, that’s not what you would do.”
She was relieved; he sounded sincere, and his gaze was clear of doubt.
“Damaris thinks so too,” he added.
“You’ve talked about it?”
He looked at her with a grin.
“Of course. We talk about everything. She’s a good judge of character. Even if I had doubts, she would have laid them to rest.”
He squeezed her hand.
“Don’t worry too much. You’ll settle back in.”
He did not say that everyone would start believing in her, and she was grateful that he was being truthful with her. She knew that doubts would linger for a long time.
“Thank you, Jamie. For understanding. And I will come to meet your friend, just not today.”
He nodded.
“I understand. And when you meet Simon, you’ll realise that he would understand more than anyone else. Can you find your own way back? I feel a bit of a heel, dragging you out here and then leaving you.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m not likely to get lost,” she replied.
He pointed back along the way they had originally walked.
“You’ll see the garden wall in half a mile or so. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
Juliana waved him off. A little solitude would be pleasant. She had much to think of.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “See you at lunch?”
He shrugged. “Perhaps not. I might stay up on the moor a bit. Enjoy your visit with Geoffrey. You’ll like him. I’ll be back for dinner, promise.”
He walked away, whistling under his breath, a spring in his step. Juliana watched him go, then turned to walk back up hill towards Trevennen. She wondered what he had been about to say back there, in the boat. He had caught himself, but he had been about to say something else, unrelated to the weather. Something had happened at the end of that September, she was sure of it. Why was it so difficult to get a straight answer from everyone round here?
***
The Island and its dwelling was as easy to find as Sylvia had told her. The front door was opened by a trio of marmalade cats and a sonsy woman with rosy cheeks and an abundance of salt-and-pepper hair that spilled from under her cap. She greeted Juliana with a cheerful ease and, preceded by the cats, took
her straight through the long hallway that ran through the house from south to north. At the far end was a small, sunny room that looked out over a paved terrace with clipped box squares and overflowing with the blooms of spring bulbs.
Geoffrey Clevedon was waiting for her, tucked up in the bay of a window. He rose slowly to greet her, holding her hands for a long moment as he looked down her. His remaining eye, a keen blue, searched her own with pleasure. Its partner was a painted facsimile, part of a tin mask that covered most of the left side of his face.
“My dear, this is such a joyous day,” he said, motioning her to the chair next to his and easing himself back into his own. The cats waited until he was settled, then curled up around his feet and went to sleep. “We have all been so excited since we heard that Andrew Fenton had found you. I am sorry I could not be at the house last night to toast your happy return.”
“Margaret said you were displeased at not being there,” Juliana replied with a smile. “I gathered that Sylvia had laid down the law.”
“And when she does, you can be sure that what she dictates is what will happen. She is a determined woman in most respects.”
Juliana watched Geoffrey as they began to talk, general conversation that had an ease to it that appealed to Juliana. He had been a tall, well-built man originally, and even now he retained a great deal of calm competence. His chest problems had left him unable to move around with great ease, and his frame had shrunk, but he was obviously happy and content with his life. Even the tin mask he wore had a cheerful cast to it. It was beautifully painted; someone had taken intricate pains over the making of it. The colours were tinted exactly to match his faded, but originally ruddy complexion and thick fair hair. Even the eyebrow was coloured to match the other, with a sprinkling of the grey that flecked his brows and temples. He noticed her appreciation.
“Helena painted this for me,” he said, indicating the mask. “Wonderfully clever girl with her brush, my eldest.”
Juliana had been admiring the work involved in the mask.
The Dead Woman Who Lived Page 9