The Cornish Affair

by Lockington, Laura

  Richard had taken Olga home to his mother’s cottage and they were, by all accounts, blissfully happy with Olga who strode about the garden and small plot of land they had, hoeing and planting, but still wearing make-up.

  The last day of the holiday, we all went to the woods to see what destruction we could help mend there. It was a sorry state, and looked dangerous to me, with the fallen trees liable to totter to the ground with very little warning. It was no good, a forester would have to be called in. we all tramped around the outside, not daring to venture into the heart of the woods.

  We decided to walk down to the village instead, and have a farewell lunch at The Ram.

  Harry, Oliver and Martha were all catching the train first thing in the morning, but Bea was going to stay on for a while. Nothing more had been said between us, and to my utter surprise, it felt that nothing more needed to be said. We had fallen into an easy companionship, and discovered that we shared more things in common than we thought. I could tell that this pleased Nancy enormously and she would be found smiling fondly at both of us, prompting us to nudge and tease her about her sentimentality.

  Harry disagreed, “No-one who has just written the book that Nancy has can ever be accused of that particular emotion,” he declared. “Now, if you had said gruesome attention to detail, or an unhealthy attraction for the macabre, I would agree with you!”

  We all laughed, and made our way back to Penmorah to join the lane that led down to Port Charles.

  “Martha, do you want to change, before we go?” Bea said, nervously looking at Martha’s choice of country walking gear.

  She was togged out in an Edwardian lady’s riding habit, complete with top hat, veil, and a bustle.

  I sniggered. It had to be said, that Martha looked completely barking mad.

  “No,” Martha said, swishing at some nettles with a riding crop, “I’m fine as I am, let’s go!”

  In fact, Bea and I were the only people dressed conventionally, and Bea only just crept in under the wire, with her cowboy fringed jacket and western boots. The rest of them looked like extras from a film that had just taken a quick break, a film that might have been a horror flick. Harry was in head to toe black, and played the pall bearer, Oliver was unquestionably the mad axe man, from Scotland, with a denim kilt, and Nancy could be the avenging angel dressed in fluttering white. Me? I was probably the grave digger in my customary jeans. Perhaps I should go and change? After all, a bit of an effort was required to match up to this lot. I slipped into the house, and told them all that I’d meet them there.

  Oliver came in with me, waving the others off. I, of course, was delighted.

  “How long, reasonably, do you think we’ve got?” Oliver said, ripping his shirt off and throwing it across the floor of my bedroom.

  “Twenty minutes, tops,” I said, scrambling out of my jeans, “Do you think you’re up to it?”

  He was.

  As we walked down to The Ram, Oliver talked more about the idea he’d had to raise some money for Port Charles.

  Soup.

  Not just any old soup, of course, but a Port Charles spicy fish soup that Oliver would market through his supermarket deal. Not some ponced about poor imitation of the Marseilles classic, bouillabaisse, but an honest soup made from Cornish ingredients.

  Being surrounded by the fruits of the sea it was heartbreaking to know that the best catch went to France. What was wrong with us all? When had we stopped eating the best produce in the world, and relying on burgers? OK, OK, I promise I’ll stop, I won’t turn this into a rant against bad food and crap eating habits. Promise.

  I had agreed to work on this idea next week, and would try and hone it down so that Oliver had a working recipe. It had to be done quickly as the last advert that he was due to film was only ten days away, and he was going all out to sell it.

  “Every penny after costs goes to the Port Charles Flood Fund,” Oliver said proudly, grabbing my hand and fast walking me down the lane, pulling me past the fragrant hedgerows in full bloom. The dog roses were out, and creamy blossoms of the charmingly named ladies bedstraw mingled with the purple spikes of the foxgloves, now in full bloom.

  “Slow down,” I said, aware that my posh shoes that I’d changed into to match the linen suit I was wearing weren’t up to the job. I knew I should have stuck to jeans and a tee shirt.

  “And don’t forget, no garlic or-”

  “I know, I know, no garlic, no wine – only Cornish produce. Good god man, do you think I’m stupid or something! We’ve spoken about it enough times!” I said, poking my tongue out at him.

  “I know you and garlic,” Oliver said gloomily, “I think you must have been terrified of vampires as a child, it’s the only explanation I can think of.”

  We turned into the road, and I saw that Mrs Trevellyon had got her new roof fixed at last. I gave her a wave, and she waved back to us from her window side chair.

  We tapped on the window of the bakers, and mimed lifting a glass to our lips to Doris, she was busy with customers, but mouthed that she’d be over in about half an hour.

  “If that’s Cornish time, make it two hours,” Oliver joked.

  He was quite right. The timing here was definitely on its own scale. A ‘rush’ job was something that could possibly be contemplated in a few days time, unless it was really, really urgent and then it would be after lunch. Possibly.

  Oliver pushed open the door to The Ram, and we were soon assimilated into the cheerful group of our friends. Baxter trotted over to greet me, but then slunk back behind the bar after a glance at Oliver. Oh dear.

  Perhaps Oliver would get used to the animals, eventually? I made a mental note to ask Martha where I could take Oliver for some sneaky acupuncture, but really, I wasn’t worried. I was full of supreme confidence that things would somehow just sort of work themselves out. Which just goes to show what I fool I was.

  Sam was dispensing drinks and chaffing Oliver about his appearance on TV the night before.

  “Showin’ them old TV shows of yours, they are. When’s the new ones comin’ out? I knows ‘ow to make that scallop and bacon thing,” Sam said scornfully.

  “Soon, I promise. I’m doing a rabbit dish you’ll enjoy,” Oliver said, raising a glass to him.

  “Hmm, that won’t be popular,” Sam advised, knowingly. “Poor little bunnies,” he said in sing song voice. “More like right little bastards, if you’m ask me!”

  Sam’s culinary knowledge always astounded me. When did he do all this cooking? He was always behind the bar. Perhaps he read cookery books secretly in bed.

  I looked round the pub, expecting to see Jace, but he wasn’t there. He’d been keeping a low profile since the party, not for any other consideration other than he’d probably found himself a new girl somewhere, or maybe he just didn’t want to be around me. Even at the party, we’d had one dance together and he’d been perfectly friendly, but no more than that.

  Bea had joined Will for a game of darts, whilst the rest of The Ram viewed Martha as one might a unicorn.

  They were used to Nancy and proud of Oliver, who was after all on telly, they knew and liked Harry, but Martha! Well, what was her excuse to be got up like a dog’s dinner? I could almost hear the collective consciousness asking.

  Martha was oblivious to any such feelings, and sipped her cherrywood devil with insouciance. She, of course, knew all about brewing (admittedly from the fourteenth century, but I gathered it hadn’t changed that much) and was deep in conversation with Sam about micro breweries.

  Doris eventually joined us, and to my delight asked Martha in what she obviously thought of as a sophisticated way if that’s what all the London girls were wearing riding?

  “No,” Martha explained, “It’s just me, I’m afraid… I find modern clothes so restrictively dull, don’t you?”

  “I know what you mean,” Doris said, pulling at her nylon overall that she was still wearing from the shop.

  I laughed, and said to her, “Don’t
worry everyone thinks that Martha is in fancy dress wherever she goes, don’t they?”

  Martha agreed, “Oh yes, I only dress this way so that people notice me you know, otherwise I’m such a dull little mouse!”

  Looking at Martha’s high bony nose, pale skin and enormous pale blue eyes, the one thing she would never be describes as is mousy, not matter what she might be wearing.

  Sam slapped on the table the ubiquitous Ploughman’s Lunch, and we all tucked in. It was redeemed however by the bread being from Doris and Isaac, the cheese from the local farm and Pritti’s spicy chutney.

  “It’s such a good job I’m going home tomorrow,” Harry said, wiping a crumb from his chin, “Or my famous snake like thin hips will soon be of childbearing size! That pudding last night Fin! How many pints of cream did we have with it?”

  Nancy laughed and told him he was a fine figure of a man. I squirmed a bit at the mention of weight, I have to tell you. Being with Bea who was practically a health guru had made me uncomfortably aware of how much butter, cream, olive oil and other good things I used in the kitchen. She also did regular exercises and ran. Every morning.

  “I like curves, myself,” Oliver said squeezing me around the waist.

  I smiled gratefully at him.

  “Must you go tomorrow?” Bea said to all of the group.

  I looked hopefully at Oliver, but he shook his head regretfully. Martha sighed, and Harry launched into his very, very important schedule.

  We all left the pub after a serious round of handshaking had been done by Oliver and Harry to everyone, and then we had to call in on Pritti and Mrs T to say goodbye. With every farewell, Oliver’s departure seemed more and more real. Pritti gave him her recipe for spiced aubergines, and kissed him on the cheek. Mrs Trevellyon insisted we all have a cup of tea, and was much taken with Martha’s outfit.

  “I used to see the grand folks ridin’ by in that,” she marvelled, stroking Martha’s skirt.

  We walked away from Port Charles laden with gifts. Bread, saffron buns, pickled vegetables and even scented candles that Miranda had pressed on us, running out from her house with no shoes on (to show what a free, careless child of nature she was).

  That evening, after supper, Oliver asked me to go for a walk with him. We sauntered up to the dolphin viewing spot, even though we’d missed their strict timing. It was a lovely summers evening, the lights of Port Charles were glimmering in the dusk, and the air was soft and scented with summer blossoms, tinged with the salt air. All the gulls were having a final night time swoop over the sea, and the sun streaked the sky scarlet and pink.

  “God, I’m going to miss this!” Oliver said.

  I squeezed his hand.

  “And you,” he laughed, kissing me.

  It felt good to be in Oliver’s arms on an evening as beautiful as this. We hadn’t talked much about the future, I think that we both felt that this was something that was meant to last, arrangements would happen in their own time. Even Nancy or Harry hadn’t commented on our relationship. I hoped that it was because they felt, as we did, that it was a natural conclusion. Martha couldn’t resist the ‘I told you so’ arch glance, now and again, but I could tell that she approved. I asked Oliver what he thought.

  “Harry’s probably calculating his percentages,” he laughed, “And Nancy’s bloody grateful that someone taken you off her hands!”

  I poked him in the ribs.

  We stayed on the cliff for a long time.

  “Fin,” Oliver said, as we finally made our way back down, “I want to ask you something. Could you, not that you will ever have to, I hope, but could you leave Penmorah?”

  We walked in silence for a bit, and I turned the question over in my mind. I knew every stone, every floorboard in Penmorah. The fabric of the house was soaked through to its very bones with my life. The woods had been my playground all my years, how could I possibly leave it?

  Could I leave? Would I leave? If the question was rhetorical why was I so nervous?

  I felt like an agoraphobic who suddenly finds herself in the middle of a field.

  Where would I live my life if not here?

  “Why do you want to know?” I asked abruptly.

  Oliver hugged me, and said, “Oh, you know me, constantly asking things…forget it. I know just how much this place means to you. Come on, let’s go and have some thunder and lightening ice cream that I know you’ve got in the freezer. Then I’m going to thrash Nancy at cards.”

  The night passed in comfortable chatter and laughter, but it was with a heavy heart that I wished everyone goodnight. I knew it was just the feeling that always happens on the last night of a holiday, but I felt sad. I reminded myself that I had much to look forward to, the Port Charles fish soup challenge for one, and I hoped that I could persuade Bea to stay on for longer, and Nelson and Baxter could come home – but… but it felt like the end of something.

  Chapter Thirty

  Oliver had wisely suggested that Bea drive them to the station.

  “I’ve seen you at waving people off, remember? Stay here and have a cup of tea with Nancy, and get cracking on the soup, I’ll call you tonight. OK?” he said.

  I looked at him, he was standing in the middle of my bedroom, searching for an elusive pair of socks, he’d packed everything else. His hair was still wet from his bath, and it looked darkened and sleek rather that his normal rough and curly style. He was a large man, but it wasn’t just his physical presence that filled the room.

  “Yeah, OK,” I said, grudgingly – hating myself for sounding like a sulky teenager being left behind. After all, what option was there? He had to go to work, and so did I. Even if my work consisted of a very unprofessional pottering in a kitchen and his work was going to be glamorous filming with exotic sounding women like Boo.

  Oliver laughed at my miserable face.

  “You know I’d rather be here,” he said coaxingly.

  “Do I?” I said truculently.

  “Yes you bloody well do, and if you don’t you should!” Oliver said, pouncing on the missing socks that had dropped under the bed. He looked at his watch, “Damn, we’ve got to go.” He looked at me, and said seriously, “And don’t forget what we talked about last night either, will you?”

  I shook my head and reluctantly walked out the door with him and found the rest of the group standing in the hallway, surrounded by luggage.

  Martha had the most of course – an eclectic mix of vintage Louis Vuitton and very tatty plastic bags that were sprouting odd bits of vegetation that she’d picked from the ruined garden and nearby fields.

  “Martha, please don’t poison anyone with that lot,” I begged her, pointing to the leaves sticking out of a bag.

  “Have I ever?” she smiled.

  Harry and Oliver exchanged glances, and I changed the subject.

  “Oh, I do so wish you weren’t going!” I said, giving them all a hug.

  “So do we, but we must darling. Come on everyone, we don’t want to miss the train,” Harry said, picking up one of Martha’s cases and finding it much heavier than he expected it to be, left it for Oliver to carry out to the waiting car.

  Nancy appeared at the top of the stairs in her kimono, “Goodbye, darlings! Safe journey. Harry, as soon as I’ve finished the last chapter I’ll e-mail you. Angelique! Bye, it’s been so lovely to have you all down here, do come back soon, won’t you?” She blew kisses to all and sundry and I heard Bea give a little toot on the horn.

  “Come on,” Harry cried, ever worried about punctuality.

  Oliver gave me a lingering kiss till Harry complained about the time again and then they eventually all scrambled into the car and finally they were off. I waved till I couldn’t see the car any more. I followed it with my eye down the lane and I just saw the top of it over the hedge as it turned into the road.

  They’d gone.

  I sat on the doorstep at the front of the house and stared around me. It was still a mess, but, the sun was out, and as Nancy had prom
ised, nature was beginning to do her work again, covering the raw, bare earth with green.

  Bea had promised to pick up Nelson and Baxter on her way back from the station, and I was looking forward to having them back. They’d been shoved and shunted around a lot at the moment – perhaps they’d develop behaviour difficulties and become anorexic or take up smoking?

  It was good to sit in the sun, doing nothing, but I knew that the nagging feeling of guilt would soon get to me, but not yet. I leaned against the open heavy oak door of Penmorah and half closed my eyes, breathing in the early morning air.

  A small bird, a finch, I think, landed not far from my feet. I kept very still and watched it for a moment. It’s bright eyes and small jerky movements were a joy to watch, it came quite close to me, but I must have moved for it took wing quickly, fluttering away from me.

  Oliver and I had spent most of the night talking, inconclusively really, about everything under the sun. I had explained my complicated feelings I had about my parents, and Nancy and even Bea now, and he had understood.

  “Look at it this way, you’ve now got a great half sister instead of a cousin you never really knew,” Oliver had said, adding, “I can understand why Dorothea and Nancy did what they did in Paris you know, I would find it very hard indeed bringing up another man’s child as my own – even if you were totally besotted with love with your wife.”

  I mused on it, maybe he was right, it would be a hard thing to do. My feelings for my mother had changed imperceptibly with the revelation. I thought I knew everything about her, but now, I wasn’t so sure. Maybe there were more skeletons waiting to jump out at us.

  I heard Nancy calling me, and I let her know where I was. She came out to me, still in her kimono carrying two mugs of tea.

  She settled herself next to me and we sat in a comfortable silence in the early morning sun.

  “Fin, are you alright?”

  “Yes, I’m fine Nancy. I mean, I know that it’s been a bit of whirl round here recently, but on the whole you know, I’m glad about Bea… I really like her, and Oliver, well, you can guess how I feel about him. I just think everything’s going to be alright. Well, it won’t be unless I shift myself and start making some soup, but you know I think Oliver’s idea is great, we could make some serious money for Port Charles with this, if I get it right. Do you know how many cartons of soup the supermarket is willing to go into production with?”