by Liz Fenwick
Fin frowned. ‘Blue. Why do you ask?’
‘Because I can’t tell.’ She rolled the glass between her hands.
‘How long?’
‘Almost a year.’ A year without the one thing that had held her together all this time. If she could still paint she would want to carry on.
‘Is that why you stopped painting?’ He took his sunglasses off and studied her.
‘Yes.’ Jaunty sipped her whisky. ‘Do you resemble someone in your family?’
‘They say I take after my great-uncle. His eyes in particular.’
Jaunty’s gut clenched. She knew, then, just the shade of blue, the cerulean blue of the Cornish sky on a clear summer day with a hint of Hooker’s green running through the iris.
‘I’m named after him and my mother’s father.’
‘She’s Irish?’
Fin smiled. ‘Her father was.’
‘What do you know of your great-uncle?’ She looked out on to the creek. It was almost at the point were it would fill quickly and all the exposed mud vanish in what seemed like seconds.
‘Alexander died in the war. He was in the SOE.’
Jaunty nodded.
‘I’ve done some research since my grandmother left me his things.’
‘Yes?’ She studied him again.
‘He died returning to England. He drowned when the fishing boat he was in was hit by another vessel in thick fog and his body was never recovered.’
‘How terrible.’ Her heart twisted.
‘Yes.’
Jaunty could see the questions in his eyes. She looked down into her glass when she heard Gabriella’s car. Now was not the time to talk.
Jaunty could hear Gabriella and Fin in the kitchen. Gabriella still treated him with caution, but when she thought no one was looking, Jaunty had seen the gleam in her granddaughter’s eyes when she watched Fin. Those eyes said more than Gabriella knew.
I lived the life of a widow and a reclusive painter. Each day passed much as another. I only went as far as I could walk, although I had a car. The car was only used to collect Philip and to get supplies. I spoke to as few people as I could and made my business my own. The only real contact with the world was the gallery, and that was by post and phone. Thankfully, I painted what I chose and people bought it. I painted the river, the water, because my heart was buried in the sea with Alex. Each turn of the tide brought him closer to me and took my love back to him.
I was a mess. I’d kept up my double charade. I was a spy; I was a lover and another man’s fiancé. I was good at lying but that was about all. Although I was stopped and questioned a few times, Dietrich protected me. The community were suspicious but had no proof. We were very discreet – only the trees could tell tales.
Becoming his lover had been easy and I loved him. Yes, Gabriella, I loved him. It was simple to forget the war and the lie I was living and remember Lake Garda and the endless summers. I shudder now, thinking about the men I’d slept with to reach this point. It had always been about their pleasure, never mine. That was never the case with Dietrich. He was always a kind and generous lover.
But I betrayed him daily. Sometimes I wonder if he knew. His life was always in jeopardy because of me, and when Alex would come to town I would fly into his arms. Two lovers, one heart, one child.
Would Gabriella understand? Did she herself understand? Had Gabriella known such love? Maybe that wasn’t the point. She was doing this so Gabriella would know who she was.
My lovemaking with Alex was different. The hunger in him and me could have set the world on fire. Sometimes now, as an old woman, I wonder how a simple act could be so different. For some it is no more than the scratching of an itch, a biological urge. Yet the same act to another is a declaration of love and, in those days, the seeking of peace in a world that was wrong. Dietrich should never have been a solider. His soul was too delicate, too gifted. Those tiger eyes could hide nothing from me and I saw his need.
But Alex . . . Alex was almost born to espionage. I didn’t know all he did for he kept it from me, but I saw the respect others showed him. Our lovemaking was so fierce, so hungry, I could almost forget the fumbling beginnings on a sun-drenched hillside. But I forget myself, Gabriella, you do not want to know about the sex life of your grandmother.
Jaunty put the pen down. Gabriella was singing the haunting lines I am thine, thou art mine, beyond control . . . The emotion carried on the wind and came through the window. Alex. Jaunty stood. Despite Gabriella saying she didn’t want to sing, she was. Her genes were pushing her to her destiny. Jaunty walked around her room. It took such effort but if she didn’t move then her legs went dead. She laughed. It would not be long before all of her did the same.
When I discovered I was pregnant I knew I couldn’t continue with this charade. I didn’t know what I could do, but staying in France wasn’t an option. Once my pregnancy was discovered then assumptions would be made, so I had to get back to England. I was engaged to Alex but I had no idea whose child I was carrying.
He knew the nature of my relationship with Dietrich. It was a secret I couldn’t keep, just like my pregnancy. He knew that Dietrich protected me more than he himself could, so he chose to ignore the relationship. When I told him of the pregnancy, Alex, of course, said that the child must be his. He blocked out the other possibility and made plans to get me home.
‘Alex, are you sure?’ I clench my hands. Not wanting to but knowing I must say what is in my heart. ‘What if the child is Dietrich’s?’
His body stiffens but he turns and pulls me into his arms. ‘It’s mine. You are mine.’ He kisses me, parting my lips with his. Hunger ignites us and I grind against him, forgetting the future and thinking only of my need for Alex.
What I would do in England I didn’t know. My parents believed me dead and how could I return to them pregnant? But I would have no choice. They might disown me but it was a risk I would have to take. I knew what my grandmother would say, that I was a disgrace to the family.
In the dark of night, a week after I had broken the news to Alex, he took me to the young village curate and we were married.
The clouds slide across the moon as we race to the kitchen door of the rectory.
‘Quick, before you are seen.’ The young curate looks at us and I flush under his scrutiny. We stand together under the single light bulb in the kitchen and the room smells of onions and cabbage.
‘Follow me.’ He leads us through a dark hallway, then stops us from following. ‘Wait.’
In the darkness Alex reaches for my hand. ‘I love you,’ he says and we kiss.
‘Come quickly.’ We follow the priest through a door into the church. Only the sacristy candle is alight, which casts shadows across the tabernacle and altar. Fear settles in my stomach. Outside the wind rises and the windows rattle.
‘Are you sure?’ the curate asks me.
‘Yes.’ I nod.
‘Good. You are making a promise before God.’ Alex and I reach for each other.
It was never recorded because it couldn’t be. Alex promised me we would do it again once we were back in England so that no matter what, the child was his.
Gabe stood by the door. ‘Jaunty, do you feel up to dinner?’
‘Yes.’
‘Shall I bring it to you or would you like to eat at the table?’
‘Table.’ Jaunty thrust the notebook under her pillow.
‘I’ll just lay it, then I’ll give you a hand.’
‘Fine.’
As soon as Gabriella was gone Jaunty wedged the book under the mattress and went slowly out to the sitting room. She didn’t need help. Fin was opening a bottle of wine and Gabe was putting a casserole down. It should really just be the two of them having dinner, Jaunty thought, and turned round, but Fin was at her elbow. ‘Have you forgotten something?’
&
nbsp; She looked at him. He knew. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Good.’ He led her to the table and pulled out her chair. When had a man, or anyone for that matter, last done that for her? Jaunty swallowed. She had given up so much. Could she have done it differently? She shook her head. It didn’t matter now. It was done.
Eleven
Gabe was in the car park at the top of Helford. She had come to use the WiFi in the café to send off her latest composition but she needed to get Bosworgy connected, and soon, if she was to make living here work. Using a public network was so slow and unsecure – not that anyone would want to steal her latest masterpiece, she thought ruefully.
The old chapel above the village housed the thriving café for part of the year and even now, in mid October, there were enough tourists around to form a queue for coffee. Gabe stood looking at the tempting cakes on offer.
‘Hello, Gabe.’ Hannah, the young singer, was putting scones on a plate.
‘Gosh, they look good.’ Gabe smiled. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m good.’
‘Sorry I didn’t make it to the concert. The tickets were sold out. Did it go well?’ Gabe’s glance fell on the cakes again. Could she resist? No.
‘Brilliant. I wish you’d been there.’ Hannah dashed out to deliver the scones and clotted cream.
‘Hello, my lovely. What can I get you?’ Gabe didn’t know the woman at the till.
‘What’s that divine-looking cake?’ Gabe pointed.
‘This one?’ The woman lifted a plate.
‘Yes.’
‘It’s rhubarb and ginger.’
‘Yes please, and a black coffee.’ Gabe handed over the money.
‘Shall I have Hannah bring it out to you?’
Gabe nodded and walked slowly away from the till, admiring the old chapel’s vaulted ceiling. She remembered, from her childhood, hearing that its bell had come from a shipwreck. At the time a shipwreck had sounded romantic but now Gabe shivered at the thought.
Gabe walked into a woman as she went through the door.
‘Hello, Gabe. God, it’s been a long time.’
Gabe stood back and exclaimed, ‘Jenna Williams!’
‘Yes and no. Jenna Tregonig now.’ They both stepped outside to let a group into the café.
‘Congratulations.’
‘Well past that. I’ve been married for eight years.’ Jenna laughed. ‘You can see my brood sitting with Mum at the far table.’
Gabe saw Mrs Williams talking with four children. She looked at Jenna. ‘You’ve been busy.’
Jenna smiled. ‘I have. Have you ordered?’
Gabe nodded.
‘Well, you remember Mum. Grab a seat with her and let’s catch up.’
Gabe thought for a second about just disappearing. There would be questions.
‘Where are you going to sit?’ Hannah came out with her coffee and cake.
Gabe smiled and accepted defeat. ‘Just over there with Mrs Williams. Hannah, do you know the WiFi code?’ She mustn’t forget why she was here.
‘I’ll bring it to you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Well, if it isn’t Gabriella Blythe.’ Helen Williams patted the seat beside her. ‘I’d heard you were back, looking after Jaunty.’
Gabe smiled as Helen picked up a toy car from the ground and handed it to the second youngest child. No sooner did he have it in his hands than he threw it down.
Bending to collect it again, Helen asked, ‘So how is Jaunty?’
Gabe frowned. ‘As well as can be expected.’
‘She’s a good age.’ Helen waved to a woman at another table then turned and focused again on Gabe. ‘And how are you, my dear? Haven’t seen you in what feels like for ever.’
Although Gabe had been back frequently, it had always been for short visits just to see Jaunty. ‘It’s been a while, and I’m good. How’s Mr Williams?’
‘Oh, JC is just fine. He’s still fishing and still talking about retiring.’
Jenna joined them at the table with a tray filled with drinks and cakes. Her kids all had their hands on them before she could sit down. ‘I should be cross but I know they’re starved. We’ve just been on a long walk.’ Jenna poured her mother some tea. ‘So don’t tell me you’ve told Mum all your news.’
‘Most disappointing – she hasn’t told me a thing.’ Helen chuckled.
‘Well, you can see my life.’ Jenna waved her hand towards the children. ‘But what have you been up to in the last ten years. Last I knew you were at the Royal Northern College of Music.’
Gabe nodded, wondering how to make this simple. ‘Yes, I finished there. I got my masters and now I’m a composer.’
‘Not singing? Thought that was your real love.’
Gabe shook her head.
Helen looked up from cleaning the youngest one’s face of chocolate cake. ‘More important than that is her love life; last I remember she was mooning around me at Pengarrock, all love struck with Tristan.’
Gabe blushed. She’d forgotten that.
‘Don’t think he’s up for grabs any more,’ Jenna said, smiling.
‘I’m sure Gabriella’s got some lovely man tucked away that we don’t know about.’ Helen sipped her tea and winked.
The image of Fin walking in front of Mrs Bates in a towel flashed in Gabe’s mind. Word did spread fast here. Never mind that he wasn’t her man at all.
Jaunty couldn’t find her notebook. She didn’t remember where she had hidden it but near to hand was the sketchpad she had used to draw Fin and Alex. That would have to do.
The storm that brought Fin reminded me of the night before we crossed the Channel, coming home. I was the only one to survive and to this day I’m not sure how, except I knew I was carrying another life and I owed it to the child inside me to hold on. I deserved to die, but the child had done no wrong. Only Alex knew I was pregnant and I had only told him after he found me suffering from a bout of morning sickness, and at that point I didn’t know if it was his child or Dietrich’s. Indeed, I wouldn’t know for almost forty years. Funny how genes will out in the end. Philip, physically, could have belonged to either man, and based on his skill with numbers I had assumed he was Alex’s son, something I could hold close to remind me I was once worthy. But then you, Gabriella, showed me the folly of my belief. You, dear child, had Dietrich’s tiger eyes. Only then did I know how much I had betrayed the man I loved, but by then the betrayal of everyone connected with me had gone so deep that it didn’t matter. It was just another nail in my coffin and my life that been spent accumulating those hand-hewn nails. With each brushstroke and each signature I made another one.
Was I wrong? What could I have done? It was a different time. There was no one I could turn to and it wasn’t Philip’s fault. He was the reason I survived. I couldn’t kill another soul.
Jaunty coughed. Her chest tightened. She must focus.
All was well. We could see the Cornish coast in the moonlight. The war wasn’t over but it was for me. I would be home. Alex and I would marry quickly and quietly, and while I knew he would have to head back to France I was confident that life would be good. The war would end and he would return to me. We could live our dream.
‘Is that Orion’s belt?’ I point to the star-filled sky above us, listening to the waves splash against the bow.
‘Yes,’ he whispers close to my neck. I shiver and his arms close around me. ‘There’s a shooting star. Make a wish.’
‘I wish to be in your embrace for ever.’
‘Silly Jeanette – now it won’t come true.’
‘But I’m living it now.’
‘True.’ He kisses my neck as the boat rocks. His thigh slips between my legs and I wish we were alone. ‘Tomorrow or the day after I will marry you again.’
‘Are you planning on makin
g a habit of it?’
‘Nothing would give me more pleasure.’
My hand slides up his thigh. ‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Oh, most definitely, Mrs Carrow. Most definitely.’
As we lay on the deck, peering at the stars and holding hands, we made plans for the future. I longed to hold him properly but it would have to wait until we reached Cornwall. He knew the church he wanted us to be married in for the second time. He told me of sailing up to it, St Anthony, in Gillan Creek. There, in the candlelit church, he wanted to make me his wife officially.
The boat was under sail and the winds were perfect. The only sound was the splash of the waves on the bow – and then a sudden bolster fog rolled around us. I turned to Alex, frightened, but he assured me that it would be fine. The captain made this trip nightly. It would be OK. And so, lulled to relax by the motion of the boat, I dozed – and woke to the sound of crushing wood. I was thrown out of the boat into the icy water and I called out to Alex again and again, but he never answered. Swimming to a piece of wood I looked around, but could see nothing in the fog except nearby debris and heard nothing but the throb of an engine fading in the distance.
Through the window she could see the clouds crack near the horizon, and colour, or what she knew would be colour, bled through, tinting the sky. Within seconds the sun had dropped below the horizon and the surface of the river reflected the pale sky. Her heart ached as she wrote. Even after all the years she could feel the cold and the despair. Was she remembering it all? She was sure there were key things she was leaving out.
Cold. My limbs twitch and convulse. I kick my legs hard, raising my body up, but I can’t see. The fog conceals everything. I grab a piece of wood. ‘Alex!’ My voice doesn’t travel. The fog holds it close. ‘Alex.’ I release the plank and stop kicking. It is pointless. I slip under. Salt stings my eyes. My stomach turns and I think of the life inside of me. I kick to the surface.