by Sara Seale
She colored faintly.
“Well, I don’t like it when you sneer at him. He’s very kind, really.”
He rolled over in the sand where they had been sitting in the shelter of the cliffs in Merrynporth Cove and gave her long hair a tug.
“You’re very sweet,” he said. “I can understand why my Cousin Belle so surprisingly found a welcome at Tremawvan. Come on—we must be going if I’m to get you back in time for tea.”
Belle discovered the affair first by unexpectedly stopping at the Spanish Inn for a drink on her way home from bridge.
“W-ell!” she drawled, finding Tina curled up on a high-backed settle in the corner of the saloon. “Does Cousin Craig know you’ve acquired the pub habit, darling?”
“I haven’t, really,” Tina replied a little nervously. “I hardly ever come here and I only drink cider.”
“How very unenterprising, but probably wise at your age.” Belle’s dark eyes went speculatively to Adwen, and Tina said quickly:
“I don’t think you’ve met Adwen Pentreath, have you, Belle?”
Belle’s expression was a little malicious.
“The unapproved-of cousin?” she said and sat down on the settle beside Tina and asked for a martini.
“And how long has this been going on?” she asked while Adwen went to fetch the drink.
Tina moved uneasily. Belle had an unpleasant way of suggesting that the situation was shady.
“Nothing’s going on at all,” she said. “I met Adwen again at the end of August and he sometimes takes me sailing, that’s all.”
“Really? He doesn’t look to me the sort of young man who would leave it at that.”
Adwen came back with the martini and he and Belle immediately plunged into family reminiscences which afforded them both much amusement. Adwen was putting out all his charm and Belle, excluding Tina from most of the talk# responded with every evidence of enjoyment.
Tina listened abstractedly, aware when she saw them together, that Adwen was really more like Belle than Craig as she had first supposed. Although he had the same dark skin and aquiline features, his eyes were Belle’s eyes and would never disconcert her like Craig’s vivid blue challenge.
Belle had another drink, but Tina refused, wishing now that she could go home. She did not like the Spanish Inn. Outside it looked ugly and desolate and a little sinister. She had never been further than the small deserted bar, but there were rooms at the back which had a surreptitious life of their own, and Adwen seemed on oddly familiar terms with the landlord.
“Well,” Belle was saying, pulling on her gloves, “I must be going and I think you’d better let me take Tina with me. I’ll make a good alibi if Craig happens to be home early. I’m glad I’ve met you at last, Adwen—you and I are the black sheep Pentreaths, you know.”
“You?” His smile and his raised eyebrows were practised flattery, but she only laughed.
“You know all about me, just as I know all about you,” she said, getting to her feet. “I’m sure the whole district has learnt that Ruth Pentreath’s girl is here hoping for a share of the Pentreath money.”
“And succeeding very well by the look of things,” he retorted.
“Oh, well, we have the hospitality of Tremawvan if nothing else,” she said carelessly. “Good night, Adwen, I’m glad you’re helping to amuse my young stepdaughter.” In Belle’s hired car, Tina said suddenly:
“Do you like him, Belle?”
“Your young cavalier? Oh, yes, but I shouldn’t mention these meetings to Craig if I were you. He seems rather sticky about the Polrame cousins.”
“But won’t you tell him?”
“I?” Belle laughed. “My dear child, I don’t want to spoil your fun. Besides, why shouldn’t you make friends nearer your own age? I’m responsible for your good behavior, not Craig, and I see nothing wrong in a glass of cider or sailing, or Adwen Pentreath for the matter of that. Keep your own counsel, my dear, if you want any fun out of life.”
Tina was silent. Belle was right, of course. Her stepdaughter’s responsibility lay with her, and if Belle approved of her behavior there was no need to feel this inexplicable uneasiness.
Tina sometimes wondered how he had the money to maintain his little sports car and his boat and pay for all the drinks he consumed at the Spanish Inn, but he only laughed if she protested and told her that she had the prude’s sense of economy and would miss a lot of fun in life.
She was not always at ease with him, never quite sure if he was laughing at her or not, but she could not deny his ability to charm her. He was, after all, the first man to pay her attention, the first man to teach her an estimation of her own attractions.
“Why have you so little conceit of yourself?” he asked her once. “Am I the only man to appreciate your grace of body and your charming innocence? You have the eyes and the mouth to give the lie to that, you know.”
She stared at him, and her lips parted a little as she remembered the fortune-teller on the pier saying: Those eyes and that mouth will take you far...
“But not,” he added softly, “until someone has made love to you.” And quite suddenly he pulled her towards him and kissed her slowly and methodically.
She had struggled then, taken completely by surprise, but it was the beginning of a more intimate relationship. He liked to watch the betraying color on her cheeks and the shy expectancy in her eyes. At first he was not sure whether his desire to make love to her was an outcome of boredom because the local girls had ceased to interest him, or whether he was not mainly actuated by a wish to score off his cousin Craig. There was distinct satisfaction in looting from the Tremawvan Pentreaths, but as he observed Tina’s growing awareness of her own femininity, he knew too that she was desirable and that she possessed a quality which had eluded him in the sort of women he had found easy conquests before.
“I might even marry her,” he thought with surprise and grinned maliciously when he remembered that Craig, for all his high-handedness in Pentreath affairs, would be powerless to stop him.
II
The month of September still held the warmth of summer and the nights were mild with the damp softness of this western corner of England where the rain added an almost tropical humidity to the atmosphere. Tina would lean out of her bedroom window, listening to the owls in the little spinney behind the temple, thinking of the morrow or the day that had just passed. The stirrings of an emotion which she did not yet recognize brought unexpected tears and a sense of regret that the dark stranger had come into her life, perhaps, in another guise. They were all violent, these Pentreaths, each in a different fashion, and she wondered if Adwen, in ten years’ time would have learnt Craig’s control, or whether Craig at Adwen’s or any other age had known a fondness for women.
She did not think she loved Adwen, kneeling on a low stool at her window, letting the night air cool her hot skin, but when she was with him and his ungentle mouth touched hers she was confused and unsure. It was not possible to talk to Belle of such things, but she sometimes saw her stepmother looking at her with a quizzical lift of the eyebrow, and once she said:
“Your young man is making progress, I think. I wonder if Craig notices.”
If Craig did notice any change in her he said nothing, but occasionally in the quiet of the lamp-lit evenings she would find him watching her with a thoughtful expression, and once when he deliberately detained her after the others had gone up to bed, he asked her, rather surprisingly, if she was happy.
But of course,” she replied, looking astonished. “Do you think I don’t look happy?”
Sometimes you look radiant,” he answered unexpectedly. “But sometimes—” he smiled suddenly—“well, I suppose growing up is a tricky business.”
She lowered her lashes remembering his gift for sometimes seeing too much. She had an impulse then to acquaint him with her friendship with his cousin but Belle’s counsel proved too strong. The thing had gone too far for casual explanation and she did not want,
as Zachary had once suggested, to be the cause of trouble in Pentreath affairs.
“Did Brownie,” he asked suddenly, “say anything to upset you that day at the temple?”
She looked puzzled, unable to place for the moment the conversation to which he referred.
“Don’t you remember? It was about a month ago and you ran away without a word as soon as I appeared. Brownie said afterwards she had been gossiping too much.”
“Oh, then. I think I thought the Pentreath men were—well, very hard to understand,” she said a little lamely.
His eyebrows lifted and there was a hint of arrogance in the strong, aquiline features.
“The Pentreath men can’t all be classed as a whole, you know,” he said. “It’s a mistake to generalize on the strength of old gossip.”
“Yes, I know,” she said, thinking of Adwen and the father who had chosen a mate out of spite, “but there are certain traits most families have in common, aren’t there?”
“Oh, yes,” he said gravely. “The Pentreaths have this in common—hey go out for what they want and they keep what they hold.”
Her fingers twisted nervously together. Of what was he warning her? Had he, she wondered, already heard about her meetings with Adwen?
“Brownie would say that was your pirate ancestors coming out,” she replied, trying to speak lightly.
He smiled.
“We smuggled and went to sea, but I don’t know about pirates,” he said, “though I expect there were a few tucked away in the dim ages. Do you think I look like a pirate?”
“You all do,” she replied unthinkingly and his eyebrows rose again.
“All? But you never knew us.”
“Well, there’s your cousin, Adwen,” she said hurriedly. “Besides, I’ve seen the albums.”
“Adwen?” he said, frowning. “Well, it’s a very good thing you don’t see any more of him.”
She was silent, wretched at the deceit he had forced her into, unable now to confess to an evasion he would not understand.
“I think I’ll go to bed,” she said rather miserably, and he raised the lamp suddenly so the light fell full on her face.
“Yes, you’re looking tired,” he observed critically, then added in a dispassionate voice: “I’m sorry I kept you up, Tina. Good night.”
Tina was so quiet for the next few days that even Belle noticed enough to ask rather irritably what she was moping about.
“Is your love affair going wrong?” she said with her little laugh.
“It’s not a love affair,” Tina replied indignantly. Belle usually managed to destroy the most slender illusion.
“Not? But I thought—well, you certainly come home sometimes with the look of a girl who’s been kissed.”
“A kiss doesn’t make a love affair. Even I know that, Belle,” said Tina simply.
“I see. So that’s what’s upsetting you, is it? Well, you mustn’t expect a proposal of marriage from every man who kisses you, my dear. Shall I ask the young man his intentions? I’m meeting him tonight at the Spanish Inn. He’s not averse to holding hands even with his not so young cousin, I’ll have you know.”
For the first time Tina hated her stepmother. She knew that Belle was bored and only trying to bait her, but there was an insolent vulgarity about her that made shame of one’s most innocent thoughts.
“You’re welcome to hold hands with Adwen if it amuses you both,” she said with cool distaste. “But please don’t discuss me. I shan’t see much more of him, anyway.”
Belle looked angry. She was not used to disdain from her stepdaughter.
“Oh, don’t be such a fool!” she exclaimed. “I was only teasing you. It’s perfectly true that my younger cousin has much more understanding of a woman’s needs than my stiff-necked Cousin Craig, but that shouldn’t make you decide to put an end to your innocent fun—or isn’t it so innocent?”
“You’re horrible!” cried Tina, suddenly bursting into tears. “I hate all Pentreaths and their distorted sense of humor, and their right to ride roughshod over everything they don’t agree with.”
She ran blindly out of the house and into the garden and never saw Craig coming in unexpectedly early for tea. He turned to look after her, then went to find Belle.
“What’s upset the child?” he asked, frowning down at his cousin’s discontented face.
“Tina? Oh, you know what young girls are, touchy, emotional, badly balanced,” she replied vaguely.
“Tina’s never struck me as being touchy or badly balanced. On the contrary—at sixteen she had an unusually sane and matured mind.”
“Good gracious, Craig! I never thought you noticed her in those days.”
“Didn’t you? But you’re not very observant, are you? Have you and she been having words?”
Belle looked wary. If he had stopped Tina at that particular moment there was no knowing what the girl might not have blurted out.
“Didn’t you speak to her?” she asked carefully.
“No. She didn’t even see me. What was the trouble?”
Belle stretched, relaxing again.
“Oh, nothing of the smallest importance,” she said, “I don’t even remember how the thing started. I reproved her about something, I think, and she flared up and was rather rude. She can be quite difficult at times, you know.”
“Are you sure, Belle,” he asked gently, “that it wasn’t you who were rather rude, and possibly rather unkind? The girl had a stricken look I didn’t like.”
She glanced at him quickly. She had thought for some time that he took more interest than she cared about in his young protégée. “The trouble with Tina is,” she said with confiding softness, “she needs a father—a man she can turn to instead of someone of her own sex. I ought to marry again—to give Tina a guardian.”
She looked at him under her lashes, trying to assess his reaction, but his face was suddenly a little amused.
“A husband would do as well—for Tina, I mean,” he said and at the baffling expression in his vivid blue scrutiny, she knew an angry sense of outrage.
“How absurd!” she replied. “Tina’s only a child, and a very ignorant one at that.”
“Do you think so?” he said politely. She got to her feet, smoothing the creased dress that was getting a little too tight for her spreading curves.
“Tea must be nearly ready,” she said. “May I borrow Zachary and the car later on? I want to go out.”
“Certainly, if you don’t keep him out too late. He has a long day, you know.”
“I’m only going up to the Spanish Inn. I’ll be back for dinner.”
He frowned and the muscles of his jaw tightened a little.
“The Spanish Inn? I don’t care for anyone of the household going there,” he said. “It hasn’t a good reputation.”
“Like the Polrame cousins?” Her smile was crooked. “You mustn’t be stuffy, Craig. I’m not a child. I won’t disgrace your good name in the district, I assure you, but I have to go.”
“As important as that?”
“Yes,” she said with a rush of certainty. “As important as that.”
Tina did not come in to tea and later when Belle went upstairs to get ready for her appointment at the inn, Craig strolled down to the temple where he thought he would find the girl.
She was sitting on the steps reading, and she looked up, as she became aware of him, to say with surprise:
“Hullo! You’re back earlier this evening.”
There were no traces of tears on her face now and her manner was composed and politely attentive.
“I’ve been back some time,” he replied non-committally. “What are you reading?”
She held up the book, smiling.
“The anthology you gave me when I first went back to school. You know, Craig, it always surprised me that you chose poetry.”
“Did it? I wonder why?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I thought that you wouldn’t be interested in verse.”
/> “You mean you thought the Pentreaths were hard-headed materialists with small appreciation for beauty,” he said and sat down beside, her on the steps.
“Oh!” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean—well, I didn’t know you very well, then.”
“I don’t think you know me very well, now,” he retorted with a faint smile. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen much of you this summer, Tina. We’ll have to remedy that now that the press of work is slackening off at the cannery.”
She glanced a little uncertainly at his dark profile. There was something different about him this evening, a suggestion in his manner that his interest in her welfare held a little more than casual kindness.
“I wish,” she said with sudden shyness, “you would find me some job in the cannery. I feel so useless accepting your hospitality and giving nothing in exchange.”
“Do you? Well, later on there may be something you can do.”
“A job?”
His eyes were on hers with disconcerting intensity. “Not in the way you mean. Tina, you and Belle—do you often quarrel?”
She edged away from him a little, her face guarded. “No,” she replied, wondering how much he knew, “not often. One doesn’t quarrel with Belle.”
“Do you remember I once told you to come to me if you were ever in difficulties and not to her?”
“Yes, but—”
“But you feel you don’t know me well enough for confidences?”
“I—I haven’t anything to confide,” she said a little awkwardly.
“No, probably not,” he said with his usual abruptness and got to his feet. “Don’t sit there too long, will you? We’re into October now and the evenings get cool.”
He was gone before she could think of a reply, and she shut the anthology and sat staring with puzzled eyes at the magnolia.
III
A couple of days later she went by bus to Merrynporth on an errand for Belle. She did not know afterwards whether she had been sent deliberately or not, but certainly Adwen was waiting for her outside the shop Belle had specified.
“Now, isn’t this lucky?” he said with his impudent grin. “I’ve got a surprise to show you so hurry up with your shopping and come down to the harbor.”