A Cornish Stranger

by Liz Fenwick

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘She changed totally when she was with you.’ They stood so close, almost touching. ‘It was extraordinary.’

  ‘How so?’ He ran a finger down the side of her face.

  ‘She came alive.’

  ‘I hadn’t noticed.’ He grinned.

  ‘You seem to have this effect on women in this family.’

  ‘Do I?’

  Gabe yawned. Fin kissed her forehead and turned her in the direction of her room.

  ‘I’m so glad I’ve seen you in person.’ A man whose name Gabe couldn’t remember came up to her in the shop. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Jaunty was a great lady. When our house burnt down – the thatch caught – well, we weren’t insured and, Jaunty, she gave us the money to rebuild. That was ten years ago now, and she didn’t want anyone to know. She was so good like that.’ He put her hand on Gabe’s arm. ‘Jaunty never said much to anyone but she cared.’

  Gabe was amazed. Then she remembered Mike Gear telling her that Jaunty had given him the seed money to buy his fishing boat. ‘Thank you for letting me know,’ she said to this man whose name she still couldn’t remember. ‘I had no idea.’

  The man nodded. ‘She was like that. All quiet, but oh so good. We wouldn’t have a roof over our heads.’ The man left the shop and Gabe put the milk, bread and paper on to the counter.

  ‘Yes, Jaunty, was a wonderful lady,’ the woman at the till said.

  Gabe smiled. ‘Yes, yes she was.’ Gabe paid and walked out, thinking Jaunty had indeed been so good and yet Gabe didn’t think that Jaunty had seen that in herself. All her grandmother had seen was what she’d done to survive. It was clear Jaunty had never forgiven herself for taking Jean’s identity.

  ‘Hi, Gabe.’ Tamsin came up to Gabe as she was about to get into her car. ‘I’m so pleased I bumped into you. I’m so sorry about Jaunty. She’ll be missed.’ Tamsin reached into the back of her car. ‘I planned on stopping by Bosworgy with this.’ Tamsin pulled a rich chocolate cake out. ‘I bumped into Jenna and heard that chocolate was your favourite and I thought you might need something to make you smile.’

  ‘Tamsin, that’s so lovely.’

  ‘Not at all.’ Tamsin smiled. ‘You know we’re here if you need us for anything.’

  Gabe swallowed a lump. ‘Thanks.’ She put the cake carefully in her car, thinking about what the man had said about Jaunty. At the moment she felt she hadn’t known her grandmother at all. As soon as she got back to the cabin she was going to do some research on who she, Gabe, was. Was she Gabriella Blythe? Not really, despite what the birth certificate said. Was she Gabriella Carrow? If Jaunty had married Alex then that would be her name. But what if Jaunty was right and Dietrich was her grandfather? There was so much she needed to discover.

  Playing with the sheets of paper that constituted her to-do list, she waited for the phone to be answered.

  ‘St Mary’s Catholic Church,’ a man said.

  ‘Hi, I was wondering if I could speak to a priest.’

  ‘Speaking. How can I help?’

  Gabe went through her grandmother’s situation and the fact that she had had the last rites even though she couldn’t speak.

  ‘If she did that then I think maybe she would want a Catholic service, but I don’t know.’ Gabe sank on to the stool in the kitchen. She needed to get out of the house and away from all of this. The weight of her grandmother’s confession was pulling her down. If it weren’t for Fin then she would totally break.

  ‘I’m happy to help. Shall I call the vicar and see if we can organise something that will be appropriate?’

  Gabe sighed. ‘Would you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The post lady was coming up the path. ‘Hello, my lover, how are you holding up?’ She handed Gabe a huge pile of post.

  ‘OK, I think. Thank you.’

  ‘Any date for the funeral yet?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Gabe smiled. ‘Soon.’

  ‘It must be all the London people wanting to come down that’s holding it up. She was so famous.’

  Gabe nodded her head, thinking, if you only knew, as she watched the woman walk away.

  Placing the post on the table she opened her laptop and typed in Maria Lucia. This woman was her great-grandmother – if Jaunty was telling the truth. But why would she lie? Because she had lived a lie . . . Gabe dropped her head into her hands, trying to stop the circular thoughts. How could she be arran­ging a funeral or memorial service for someone who wasn’t who they said they were? But if she didn’t do something soon then people would become suspicious.

  She typed in Dietrich von Hochsbrink and up popped information on his mother, who had been a renowned concert pianist. Gabe flexed her long fingers. She had not played or sung since Jaunty died. Would it have made it easier if she had known before where her talent had come from? No, that struggle would have remained the same, but knowing it now made her feel that she had let them down. Dietrich, she learned, had died during the war. But she had plenty of Von Hochsbrink relatives who survived and continued in the music world.

  ‘Hello?’ Gabe stood when she heard Max’s voice.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Thought you might need a hug.’

  Gabe nodded and Max embraced her. ‘So sorry about Jaunty.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

  Gabe shook her head slowly. ‘Unfortunately not.’

  ‘Well, I doubt you’ve had music on your mind, but I took on board what you said and I think it works so much better. I thought it might take your mind off grief – well, off Jaunty anyway, and I bet you haven’t sung.’

  Gabe’s mouth turned up at one side. ‘Right.’

  ‘You need to,’ he said seriously. ‘You’ll feel better.’

  Gabe pursed her lips. ‘I’m not so sure, but show me what you have done.’

  ‘With the greatest of pleasure. Shall we head to your piano?’

  Gabe nodded and followed him out. Maybe he was right and she did need to do something different.

  Max took her through a warm-up and then he turned to his score. She could see the excitement on his face, and it was contagious. She let it fill her and sang for all she was worth. When she looked up from the music at Max he was fighting to keep control of his emotions.

  ‘That was beautiful – and you were so right about the sea shanty. Thank you.’

  ‘Thank you for letting me be a part of it.’ Gabe touched his shoulder. ‘Max, what prompted you to write about the Lovers of Porthgwarra?’

  He rubbed the side of his head. ‘Let’s just say I lost the love of my life, who left me to make her fortune on foreign shores. But unlike these two we didn’t promise to meet again after three years, no matter what.’

  ‘Oh dear. Sorry.’

  ‘At least I haven’t let the tide take me, hoping that she’d be in the sea to embrace me.’

  Gabe put her hand over his. ‘Still raw?’

  ‘I shouldn’t be. She left ages ago, but the lovers’ plight hit a nerve.’ He gave her a lopsided grin. ‘We weren’t separated by parents who didn’t think I was good enough, but by ­ambition.’ He shook his head. ‘Not mine but hers. I don’t think I ever had enough ambition as far as she was concerned.’

  Gabe pictured the lovers from the story, their absolute belief in each other, their despair at being separated and both dying so that they could be together. Nancy had let the tide wash her into his arms and he died the same night in a shipwreck. She shivered.

  ‘It’s all history now, but I guess I needed to release it. Nothing like thwarted love to get the creative juices flowing.’ He laughed, then gathered his music. ‘Would you like me to play the organ at the funeral?’

  Gabe looked up. ‘Would you?�
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  ‘Absolutely. Anything for my star.’ She laughed.

  After Max had gone Gabe played the piano for a while, but she couldn’t get Jaunty’s revelations out of her thoughts. It changed everything and, no matter how she tried, Gabe couldn’t get her head around it. Looking at Jaunty’s paintings around the room it was as if the artist had changed the viewpoint halfway through the painting and it was all upside down now. Closing the fall over the keyboard, she left the studio then stuck her head in the cabin, but there was no sign of Fin. There was a note on the counter. It read Gone for a walk. x

  Gabe touched the x then looked out at the sun and wondered if she could catch up with him. She hurried to the gate to the main footpath and called out to Fin.

  ‘Up here.’

  She went through the gate. ‘Where?’

  ‘At the well.’

  ‘The well?’

  ‘Turn left.’

  Gabe did. She knew he couldn’t be far because his voice was so clear. She came round the bend and he called again.

  ‘Up here.’

  Gabe jumped.

  Fin stood on what looked like an old footpath. He took her hand. ‘Sorry to scare you.’

  Gabe put her hand to her heart.

  ‘I thought you might not find me.’

  She smiled as he led her under a few low tree branches to an opening where pieces of cloth were tied in the holly trees. ‘What is this?’ she asked. The air was cool and damp, and she could hear water trickling.

  Fin pointed to a metal lid and Gabe could see water running below it.

  ‘It’s a well, or rather it was one. Judging by the trees it’s considered a holy well.’

  ‘Really?’ Gabe had never seen this before and yet it was so close to the house.

  ‘I don’t know for sure but . . .’ He reached up and touched a piece of cloth. ‘I’d say that it’s been visited fairly recently.’

  Gabe nodded and went to look at the bits of fabric. ‘Strange. I mean I’ve heard of what they call a clootie well at Madron, near Penzance – people hang bits of cloth from the trees, having dipped them in the well, and any illness they’re suffering from is supposed to get better as the fabric rots. And I knew Jaunty had a well once because Dad used to mention getting the water from it when he was a kid. But he never said anything about it being a holy well.’

  Gabe’s jumper caught on the holly when she turned.

  ‘Careful.’ Fin put a hand out. ‘Here, let me help.’ He came close and disengaged the leaves from her sleeve.

  ‘Thanks.’ Gabe shivered. ‘There’s something about this place.’

  ‘Yes.’

  A rook cried out and Gabe jumped, slipping in the mud and falling into a ditch. ‘Shit!’

  ‘Anything broken?’ Fin reached down to help her up.

  ‘My dignity.’

  He laughed. ‘Well, that can be fixed with a shower. You are absolutely covered in mud and twigs.’

  Gabe stood and looked down at herself. She was a total mess and her hair was full of damp leaves.

  ‘Home now, I think.’ He took her hand and they walked slowly back to the cabin. Once there he kissed her nose, which seemed to be the only part of her not covered in mud.

  ‘Go and clean yourself.’ He plucked a stick from her hair.

  ‘Indeed I will.’ Gabe stripped off and climbed in to the shower, noting she’d skinned a knee. She watched as the filthy water swirled around the plughole, together with leaves. It would be wonderful if everything could be sorted as easily as washing away the mud. She turned the tap off and got out of the shower.

  No sooner had Gabe wrapped herself in a towel than the phone rang in the kitchen. By the fourth ring it was clear that Fin wasn’t there to answer it, so Gabe ran to get it. She lifted the receiver as the caller gave up and Fin walked in carrying the log basket. He took one look at her and burst out laughing.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  Fin reached out and pulled three holly leaves from her hair. ‘A wood nymph.’

  ‘Well, I’ve been called worse.’

  He stroked her cheek and she held her breath. ‘You’ll catch a chill.’ He shut the door behind him then grabbed a towel from the cupboard and dried her hair. Blood came to the surface of her skin and it tingled as if it had been dead and was coming back to life. He looked into her eyes, then he kissed her.

  Gabe lay wrapped in Fin’s arms. Soft morning light fell through the window. She’d spent the whole night in his arms and had made love and been made to love to slowly, gently, passionately. Without a word he understood her needs and with tender caresses taught her that she need not fear him or her desire for him. She flushed, remembering her own hunger. Once she felt safe, she had allowed herself to be loved.

  ‘You OK?’ He opened his eyes, still sleepy and filled with desire. She nodded, not sure she could speak. He ran a finger from her ear down to her collarbone then traced the hollow.

  ‘Are you going to speak to me?’

  She nodded, trying to believe it was real. She had made love and it had been wonderful. She didn’t break. In fact, she felt exactly the opposite – she was whole again. ‘Thank you.’ She kissed him quickly, pulling the sheet up to her chin. He wiggled closer, closing his eyes and putting his head against her cheek.

  There was a knock on the door and Gabe lunged to go and answer it, wondering who would be calling at this hour. She tried to pull the sheet with her but Fin had rolled on to his back and trapped it beneath him so she made a dash for her robe and then went out to the door.

  ‘Hello!’ She sounded as if she’d run a marathon and not a few feet. Mrs Bates thrust a pile of newspapers at her and Gabe blinked.

  ‘Gabe. I’m so sorry. I thought you’d want the papers and might not have time to collect them with everything you have to do at the moment. Your grandmother was a wonderful woman. So good to so many, you know. She didn’t want people to know that she was a famous artist, so we never spoke of it, but we all knew.’ Mrs Bates looked around the kitchen. ‘She lived so simply and you were never spoiled.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Bates.’ Gabe tied the belt tightly around her waist and put the papers on the counter. She hadn’t even had a cup of coffee and her world had spun round and then some.

  ‘Have you organised the funeral yet?’

  Gabe pushed her hair back. ‘Working on it. I’ll post a notice in the shop so that everyone will know.’

  ‘Thank you, dear. Take care of yourself.’ Mrs Bates turned as she reached the steps. ‘Call me if you need anything. And, one more thing: my nephew’s just started working as a reporter at the local paper and he wondered if you’d let him cover the funeral? I said I’d ask you.’

  Gabe blinked. She heard Fin moving in the bedroom. ‘Of course, that would be fine.’

  ‘That’s lovely. He’s just starting there and, well, she was ours.’

  Gabe closed the door as Fin walked out of the bedroom without a stitch on, and Gabe wanted to giggle. If Mrs Bates had seen him like that the village would be alight with gossip.

  ‘All OK?’ Fin walked up to her and took her face in his hands. He kissed her slowly.

  ‘Fine.’ Gabe smiled and glanced down. ‘I’m going to get dressed in case any more unexpected visitors appear.’ She held his hand to her face and then dashed into her room. The memory of last night made her feel light-headed.

  In the kitchen she heard the kettle click. ‘I’ll make some breakfast,’ Fin called.

  ‘Be there in a minute.’ Gabe scooped up her mud-covered clothes and dropped them in the washing machine before she joined him at the table. He must have gone to the studio as he was fully dressed, so there was no chance of scandalising Mrs Bates or anyone else. Well, possibly just herself.

  Breakfast was on the table, waiting along with the papers. Fin looked up over the rim of his coffee
cup and smiled. Gabe’s stomach dropped. She didn’t want breakfast; she wanted to take Fin by the hand straight back to her room. Instead she took a deep breath and sat down.

  Gabe buttered a piece of toast and began looking through the papers, trying to focus on the news and not the man opposite her. There was nothing that held her attention and she had just finished her toast when she dropped the paper. Her hand shook when she saw an obituary for Jaunty. ‘I can’t believe they have the obit in the paper already.’ Gabe put The Times down.

  Fin looked up from the Independent. ‘Jaunty was famous, so it doesn’t surprise me.’

  ‘But who notified them of her death?’ Gabe picked at her breakfast.

  ‘Good question, but the word spread quickly in the village so maybe the grapevine did the job.’

  ‘I suppose it’s one less thing to do.’ Gabe shivered. She left the table and sank on to the sofa with the Guardian. She flipped through it until she came to the right section.

  A large photo of Jaunty taken twenty years ago filled a quarter of the page. It had been taken at the request of the gallery and in it her hair was a short crop and she was turned away from the camera, staring out at the river, wearing her old sailing smock. It gave a sense of her but didn’t show what she actually looked like, and now Gabe knew why. She scanned the words.

  Jean Blythe, known as Jaunty, died at her home in Cornwall on 9th October. Little is known about this reclusive artist, born just after the First World War. Blythe was the only child of Oliver and Mary Blythe and her work burst on the art scene when the London Gallery in Belgravia showed her work.

  Gabe looked up. These, of course, were all lies. Except for the facts at the end.

  Blythe had one child, Philip, who was killed in an oilrig explosion in North Sea in 1996. She is survived by her granddaughter, Gabriella Blythe.

  This was all wrong. Jaunty wasn’t Jaunty Blythe, but Jeannette Penrose, also an artist, but of evocative, moody seascapes, not the famous paintings of Paris. Jaunty had lived the lie until the very end and then left Gabe with it.