A Cornish Stranger

by Liz Fenwick

  Max looked as if he was about to drop his cup. ‘What?’

  Fin put a hand on his arm. ‘Max, she’s in shock about Jaunty at the moment and I’m sure she’s wondering about her care and so forth. Maybe now isn’t the time to talk music.’

  Gabe relaxed and cast a glance at Fin. A hint of a smile played on her face. ‘Do you two know each other?’

  ‘Yes, we went to prep school together.’ Fin smiled. ‘Took a few minutes to realise why I knew the face – or I should say the hair?’

  Gabe looked at the deep auburn colour of Max’s hair. She had wished for years that hers had been that dark instead of a brighter, not-to-be-missed red. She had dyed it but that had proved to be too much work and now it was back to its beacon shade and she just scraped it back and hoped no one really noticed the colour. ‘So you two go back a long time?’

  ‘Aged five, but we’d lost touch about thirteen when we went to different senior schools,’ Max said. ‘I was surprised to see Fin here, but he’s brought me up to date.’ They looked at each other and Gabe wondered if Fin could move in with him instead of occupying the studio.

  ‘Funny that after all these years we end up in the same place. I’m here using my aunt’s cottage while I’m on sabbatical and she’s off sailing in Greece.’

  As if reading her thoughts, Fin spoke. ‘Shame he hasn’t a room free for me. Max tells me that every bedroom in the house is filled with china that his aunt collects.’

  ‘Yes, the other bedrooms are filled floor to ceiling with pink lustre. It’s one of the reasons I was asking for your help. I had originally planned to have a soprano I know come down, but I can’t put her up.’ His eyes opened wide with a pleading glance and Gabe laughed. He didn’t do the puppy-dog look very well.

  ‘Maybe in a bit? Once things have settled with your grandmother?’ He tried the eyes again and she smiled but shook her head.

  ‘Enough, Max, you haven’t changed.’ Fin stood and walked to the window. Rain was now lashing down and beating against the glass. The sky and river were the same grey and it was hard to distinguish between the two. ‘Did you drive here or walk?’

  ‘Is that a subtle way of telling me to be on my way?’ Max asked.

  Fin raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I take that as a yes and will head out and walk home in the rain.’

  ‘I can give you a lift.’ Gabe jumped up, suddenly wanting to be away from Fin. At least with Max she knew what his motives were.

  Jaunty opened her eyes. The sound of the rain had been playing a tune in her head. She knew she had to tell the truth, not just to Gabriella but to the world. Fin’s appearance had made that clear and it was as if the thumping of the rain on the roof was the sound of time running out. But how could she achieve it all? The racket of voices provided the answer. Fin could help her. He had his own agenda but she was sure they could work together. She couldn’t wait any longer. Her hand rested over her heart. There was still so much to say and to do and there were the hidden paintings too.

  ‘You’re awake.’ Fin stood in the doorway.

  Jaunty nodded.

  ‘You gave us a scare.’

  Jaunty laughed. ‘I’m ninety-two and I won’t last for ever, nor do I want to.’ Just a little bit longer. That’s all she needed. She mustn’t waste time.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’ He came closer.

  ‘Where’s Gabriella?’

  ‘Just taking Max back to the village.’

  Jaunty sat up in bed. ‘Max?’

  ‘Max Opie, a musician. He’s Pam Harper’s nephew.’

  Jaunty tilted her head, then smiled. She knew Pam, slightly mad but a great lover of art and pottery. ‘Can you hand me the notebook in the desk drawer? The key for the drawer is under the ink pot.’ She could not squander a single second.

  Fin moved swiftly and unlocked the drawer. He handed the notebook and the fountain pen to her. ‘May I ask?’

  Jaunty looked at him. If she closed her eyes halfway, as she did when she was trying to assess her subject, she could make him Alex; but what good would that do? Fin was a thirty-five-year-old Alex and she was ninety-two. ‘You may, but I’m not telling today. Maybe tomorrow.’

  His eyes sparkled as he smiled. ‘I can hope.’

  She nodded. ‘Definitely. And now I’d love some weak tea with lemon.’

  ‘Coming right up.’

  Slowly unscrewing the top of the pen, feeling her joints complain with each twist, Jaunty wondered where to begin now, because she had to shorten this to make sure that she would get the important parts down. She could come back and fill in the gaps if she was able.

  Dietrich. Jaunty looked at the page. The writing was almost undecipherable. What had she written last? She didn’t know. She must forge ahead no matter how much the memories hurt.

  As far as the locals were concerned I was from Paris, an art student at a loose end, so my cover was sound and I was safe until Dietrich von Hochsbrinck walked in. I’d last seen him when I was fifteen but recognition happened in a second for both of us. His eyes met mine and he knew, and I knew. The captain with him ordered wine and I turned away, my heart racing, my face flushed. Would he say anything? I had to keep my head.

  My hand shakes as I place two glasses on to the tray with the bottle of wine. I feel sweat breaking out on my forehead. The glasses clink against each other as I move across to their table. Dear God, don’t let Dietrich speak to me or even look at me again. If he speaks to me I am dead. If he says my name I am dead. I place the tray down and ask them if there is anything else they want. Dietrich looks me in the eyes again as the other man waves me away.

  My legs barely function; I hope they are not watching me. I fall against the wall in the back room, gasping for air. Dietrich didn’t betray me. What should I do now? Sitting out there in a German lieutenant’s uniform is the boy I’d spent my summers with on Lake Garda, the boy with whom I’d practised kissing. His mother is one of my mother’s best friends and now he is the enemy.

  In this whole crazy mess, I hadn’t thought of Dietrich or his family. I certainly hadn’t thought, that of all the people I knew in Europe, it would be Dietrich who would appear in Brittany. I had no idea what to do. Where could I go? People were relying on me. Alex was counting on me.

  I inhale. Think! I need to keep my thoughts clear. I need Dietrich on my side. I rub my temples. I will do whatever I need to do.

  Dietrich had been keen on me for years. I needed to spin him a tale of sorts. Tell him some of the truth and enough of a lie to keep him quiet. I would simply do what I needed to do. That was all.

  ‘Shall I put the tea on the table?’ Fin stood beside the bed. She hadn’t heard him come in. ‘Gabriella has just arrived back.’

  Jaunty nodded and closed the book. She wasn’t ready for Gabriella to know. The shame still ran too deep.

  Ten

  Gabe hesitated, watching the steam fill the shower. She knew she was being foolish. It was all a long time ago. She had changed the course of her life and she would never have to see or face Victor Justin again. A ball formed in her throat and wouldn’t move. She had left his world and he walked free. The mist swirled about her feet while she battled with her thoughts. Max’s request had been an innocent one but it had opened wide the hole inside her. ‘Sing for me,’ Victor Justin had said. How many times had she heard those words before? And all it took had been saying yes for all her hope, all her ambition to end. He had done it to others. She had been warned but she hadn’t listened, hadn’t believed. It was her fault. She had chosen to go to his room.

  Throwing her robe on to the bed, she walked under the spray. She was in charge of her life now. He hadn’t stopped her singing. Her own guilt had done that. It had strangled her vocal chords. She had stood by the piano two days later at a tutorial and not a sound emerged when she should have been basking in the glory of winning first pla
ce. But all she felt was that if she opened her mouth he would do it all again. And everyone had looked at her with knowing eyes. That was the worst part. They had all guessed what had happened. They had seen them walk out of the party together.

  Gabe hadn’t been the last, she was sure. And that hurt almost as much. She hadn’t done anything to stop him from doing it to someone else. The water ran over her body. She hated herself and she hated her voice. She rolled her shoulders back to relax the muscles. This wasn’t good. She had moved on. She could sing. She sang every day, just without an audience. She had sung in front of Hannah. Now, without thinking, she began to warm up her voice. The words of the love song she had sung yesterday bounced off the walls and the glass panels. Throwing her head back she let her voice rise.

  I am thine,

  Thou art mine,

  Beyond control;

  In the wave,

  Be the grave

  Of heart and soul

  She leant against the shower wall. She couldn’t tell if she was crying but she thought she was. She could taste salt on her lips and all this emotion was why she didn’t sing in front of people any more. It made her vulnerable.

  Reeling out of the shower, she shut the water off. He wouldn’t win. She might never sing publicly again, but her voice was not dead. She roughly dried her hair and twisted it in a tight chignon at the nape of her neck. With one of Jaunty’s old Guernsey sweaters on over a pair of leggings she felt ready to face whatever the day brought. She just hoped that it wouldn’t be any more heart attacks or new works of music, although she couldn’t get Max’s opera out of her head. Its beautiful melody kept weaving in and out of her thoughts, and the lyrics had wound their way around her heart.

  The morning sun caught the fields and foreshore of Calamansac. After the rain of the night, the morning sparkled and the pine needles continued to send water drops down with the gentle wind. Pulling the notebook out Jaunty began to write.

  As I watched them leave the bar together I knew it wouldn’t be long until Dietrich sought me out. It was in his eyes as he left. I was compromised – but I had key information to relay that night. It had to be done. Alex and his team were relying on me. I cleared the glasses and washed them up, willing my brain to think of a solution. I walked out of the kitchen into the cool November air. It had all been so simple up to this point but now everything was wrong.

  Why was Dietrich in the army? He is a pianist like his mother. He didn’t belong here, but nor did I. I had never expected to be a spy, but I am one.

  I take a drag of the one real cigarette I’d saved. It calms me. I need to think. How do I handle this?

  ‘Little one, you were the last person I’d thought I’d see here.’ He speaks to me in German.

  I jump. Think fast. I hand the cigarette to him and he takes a drag. He hands it back to me and I know what I must do. But what are the right lies to tell? I look about to make sure no one is watching us. To be seen talking to him would ruin my cover.

  ‘Why? Or should I ask how?’ Dietrich touched my sleeve. Icy fingers cover my skin. I shiver. Fear. I scan the area. I am a spy. I will be shot if I am discovered.

  The moment is still so clear in my mind. Maybe that is what that sort of acute fear does to you or to your memory.

  ‘It’s a long story.’ I hand the cigarette back to him and smile.

  He nods.

  ‘You know I was in Paris.’

  He stares at my mouth. I watch his breath in the cold air. It fills the space between us. ‘My mother mentioned it.’ He speaks in French. I sigh. He understands.

  ‘Well, I didn’t think the war was really coming and I got caught in Paris. It wasn’t the place to be so I escaped to the country and found work here.’

  He steps closer. I see so much in his eyes. Loneliness, fear, desire. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  I look into his tiger eyes. They are so beautiful. And when he strokes my cheek I feel the old emotions creeping back. This is not going to work. He is a friend. He is the enemy. He leans forward and kisses me.

  My eyes close. It is different from those first tentative kisses in the boathouse on Lake Garda. Sometime in the intervening years he has learned a bit more about kissing and so have I.

  Gabe tapped on the door and came in carrying a tray. ‘Morning.’

  Jaunty closed the book and slid it under the pillow. ‘Did I hear you singing?’

  ‘I hope not.’

  ‘It was music I am unfamiliar with. What was it?’

  Gabe swallowed. ‘It’s a new composition by Max, the man who helped when you had your turn yesterday.’

  ‘Max?’ Jaunty rubbed her temples. Dietrich’s brother’s name was Max. She looked out of the window.

  ‘He’s a musician who lives in the village in his aunt’s house on Vicarage Lane. He’s there while she’s sailing.’

  Max. He was much younger and not musical at all. He caught us kissing in the boathouse and had run to tell everyone. Jaunty smiled.

  Gabe plumped the pillow behind her. ‘Jaunty, where are you?’

  ‘Max who?’

  ‘Max Opie. Fin told me they went to prep school together.’ Gabe poured tea and handed the delicate cup to her grandmother, then sat on the side of the bed.

  ‘What do you know about him?’ Jaunty blew on the surface, vaguely remembering Fin talking about him.

  Gabe sat back. ‘Well, he’s made quite a name for himself in the choral world. He’s originally from St Austell and he went to Truro School on a scholarship.’

  ‘Not him.’ Jaunty puckered her mouth. ‘What do you know about Fin?’’

  Gabe shook her head. ‘Not much.’

  ‘Have you asked him?’

  Gabe looked out the far window. ‘No.’

  ‘He’s very good-looking.’ Jaunty studied her granddaughter, noting the slight flush on her cheeks.

  ‘Yes, you could say so.’ Gabe stood and pushed the curtain fully back from the nearest window.

  ‘You don’t like him.’

  Gabe turned and looked at Jaunty. ‘No, I wouldn’t say that.’

  Jaunty laughed. ‘I like him.’

  ‘I know.’ Gabe frowned again. ‘Why him?’

  Jaunty sipped her tea. Why him? Could she say that he was like her lost youth? That he reminded her of happy days? No, she couldn’t. ‘It suits me.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Gabe stood and kissed her cheek. ‘I have to go in to Helston this morning. Fin will be around and Dr Winslade will come by at some point.’

  Jaunty watched the straight back of her granddaughter as she walked to the door, then she pulled out the notebook and began again.

  ‘Why doesn’t she sing any more?’ Fin scooped Jaunty up and placed her gently down on the chair on the terrace.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Jaunty pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders. Although the sun was shining, the breeze from the north was cold. Fin went back inside and grabbed another blanket for her legs, along with her notebook and her pen. She wondered if he had looked inside. He didn’t hide his curiosity and she knew he had figured out part of her secret, but there was no way for him to discover the rest unless she told him.

  ‘She should be on stage.’ He pulled up another chair.

  ‘I know, but she hasn’t been on a stage in years and she has never said why.’ Jaunty sighed. ‘I only hear her sing or play when she doesn’t think I’m listening.’

  ‘She has real talent.’ Fin put on sunglasses.

  ‘I know.’ Jaunty thought about Gabriella’s musical lineage.

  ‘Max has been raving about her voice.’

  ‘I wish I’d heard it too. But I think she may have been singing it in the shower this morning.’

  Fin stared at the creek. ‘Max was always brilliant, always focused on what he wanted to achieve. It was clear from early on he wa
s a kid who was clever and good at rugby.’

  ‘What about you?’ Jaunty studied him.

  Fin’s mouth twitched into a lopsided grin. ‘Boring.’

  ‘Doubt it.’

  ‘You know I’m divorced and I’m an art historian and art dealer. Not very interesting.’

  ‘On the contrary.’ Jaunty stroked the cover of her notebook. ‘Most interesting on many accounts.’

  He turned to her. ‘You are far more interesting.’

  ‘No.’ Jaunty frowned.

  ‘Yes. Famous, reclusive, prolific. No interviews.’

  Jaunty smiled. ‘It’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘Very, but why?’ He leaned forward, resting his arms on his legs. ‘The paintings of pre-war Paris are renown. You should have been at the centre of the art world and not living the life of a hermit.’

  Had Alex survived, life would have been so different and she might well have lived a life of launches and society parties. But that didn’t happen and it was far too late to think of the ‘what ifs’. Jaunty looked at her watch. It was noon. ‘Would you pour me a whisky?’

  He stood. ‘Are you sure the doctor would approve?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Dr Winslade was a sensible man. He had been looking after her since he had left medical school and both of them knew that her days were few – she had lived well beyond the threescore years and ten supposedly allocated to her.

  ‘What about Gabe?’ he called from the kitchen.

  Jaunty snorted. ‘No, she certainly wouldn’t approve, but she worries too much.’

  She opened the notebook. She was halfway through, she believed.

  ‘Do you want ice? Or water?’

  ‘Neat.’

  Fin coughed. ‘Mind if I join you?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Jaunty held out her hand and took the glass from him. While he was pouring himself one, Jaunty swirled the whisky around, remembering the colour. Now it was seemingly bland and clear without much variation but she knew it wasn’t. She sniffed it and was grateful that she still had that sense in full. She looked up at Fin. ‘What colour are your eyes?’