The Girl From Over the Sea

by Valerie K. Nelson

  She dragged him back to the twins and put him securely on the lead. Then almost shrinkingly she looked along the beach to where the horseman had reined in the runaway. Thank goodness he hadn’t been thrown!

  ‘You two go right back to the edge of the cliffs and take that silly dog with you,’ she ordered crisply. ‘I’ll have to go and apologise.’

  Rather subdued, the twins stared at her and Rick said quietly, ‘I’ll go. Dingo belongs to Rita and me. You said all the time better not to take him when that woman offered him to us.’

  Lesley made a gesture. ‘Don’t let’s bother about that now. I’ll catch you up.’

  With hands that were clenched tightly and thrust deeply into her pockets she hurried along the beach towards the man, who had now dismounted and was walking his animal back. As she drew nearer she realised he was talking to it gently, almost like a lover. It was a beautiful animal, a black mare, obviously highly bred and temperamental.

  Even now, she told herself, there was a chance that she was mistaken. After all she had seen him only briefly in the light of her torch and then in the half light of yesterday evening. His build was similar, but...

  Lesley stood stock still, an unreasoning panic taking her by the throat. No good trying any longer to think she had been mistaken. He was all too familiar, this tall broad-shouldered figure. He had printed himself indelibly on her memory and last night he had haunted her dreams.

  He came towards her, level black brows drawn together, that same formidable expression she remembered so well. It chilled her now far more than the bitter north-easter which was blowing her skirt around her slender body and whipping strands of her burnished hair across a face which had drained of colour.

  Her first appalled surmise had been only too right. It was the driver of the car with whom Rick had almost collided last night. And if he had decided to be lenient about that, this second encounter would prejudice him into action. What hope now that he wouldn’t report them to the police? What would happen if it was discovered that Rick had been driving?

  The man stared at her without speaking, his dark face impassive, his eyes quite cold. They were grey in colour, dark as thunder over a pewter sea. Because he had said nothing, Lesley rushed into speech, hoping that he hadn’t recognised her. After all, last night he hadn’t seen Rita or the dog. ‘I’m sorry about the puppy,’ she said simply. ‘We were all running on the sand to get warm and you came so suddenly from behind the rocks. Is your horse all right?’

  ‘As it happens we’re both all right. Actually you and your companions are the lucky ones. Are you members of a suicide club?’

  Lesley’s hope that he hadn’t recognised her died a quick death. ‘You mean last night and now,’ she said stiffly. ‘We’re strangers here, you see, and we didn’t expect riders on the beach.’

  ‘We’ve no objection to strangers visiting our beaches and countryside,’ he said, giving her a hard, expressionless stare, ‘just as long as the dogs they bring know how to behave. Here’s a warning, young woman. If that dog chases .after horses it will also go after sheep and cattle. This is the lambing season and a farmer may shoot a dog not under proper control.’

  It was the ‘young woman’ that touched Lesley on the raw.

  Her cheeks flamed. ‘You might at least have had the decency to accept my apology,’ she stormed, her green eyes blazing with, indignation. ‘After all, I wasn’t forced to come after you and say I was sorry.’

  ‘It’s too late to be sorry when you’ve done darn fool tricks,’ he said in angry contempt. ‘Twice you’ve been a real menace to me. I hope I haven’t to put up with a third encounter. It makes life too risky.’

  ‘You needn’t worry,’ Lesley choked. ‘If it’s left to me there’ll certainly be no third encounter. I shall lose no sleep if I never see you again!’ With colour flaming in her cheeks and her eyes glittering, she turned and ran quickly across the sands to where the twins were waiting.

  ‘What did he say?’ asked Rita curiously.

  Lesley’s lips set in a straight line. ‘He was beastly sarcastic,’ she said between her teeth. ‘A Limey at his most sardonic, superior worst. You recognised him, I suppose?’

  Rick nodded. ‘I got a good look at him as he avoided Rita. It was the fellow we nearly knocked for six last night, wasn’t it? Did he recognise you?’

  Lesley nodded and he went on,’ A pity you went after him.’ She said grimly, ‘He called me a menace and several other uncomplimentary things. But, Rick, we’ll have to keep Dingo on a lead or we’ll be in real trouble.’

  ‘I don’t believe in keeping dogs on leads,’ the boy said forcefully. ‘At home...’

  ‘... Rick, this isn’t “home”—not in your sense of the word. At Lactatoo there were hundreds of miles of open country and dogs brought up in daily contact with sheep. Dingo isn’t a sheepdog and until we’ve more control over him we must keep him close to us. That man warned me about him.’

  ‘Too right, this isn’t “home” and never will be for me,’ put in Rita impetuously. ‘Oh, Les, why did we ever come? It’s so cold here.’

  ‘Let’s hurry into town and get a coffee,’ Lesley urged, giving the girl a sharp, worried look, and shivering herself in the cold February wind which now had a hint of sleet or snow in it.

  ‘We’ve hit a bad patch of weather just as we’ve twice hit on the worst inhabitant. Last night I hoped he was only a traveller, but it begins to-look as if he’s staying round here. He isn’t Cornish, I’m sure. Cornish people are much more pleasant.’

  ‘Let’s hope those at Trevendone Manor are,’ Rick put in gloomily. ‘Otherwise I’m off home, quick sharp.’

  ‘Darlings, home now is Trevendone. You’ve got to accept that. If your father...’

  Rita gave a theatrical shiver. ‘Oh, don’t let’s start on that again, Les. What about that coffee?’

  ‘Come along, then.’ Lesley led the way holding Dingo firmly on the lead, though he pulled and tugged and occasionally sat down. If she left it to them, Rita and Richard would be soft-hearted and set him free, and Lesley didn’t want any more incidents.

  Her thoughts turned again to the tall, cold-eyed, black-haired stranger and her cheeks burned. That was what so many Aussies had against the Limeys, she thought indignantly. They often looked and acted so darned superior. Though in that riding gear, he hadn’t looked her idea of a Limey. In fact there was even something of the Outback about him, though he did come from this effete, demoralised, permissive England—which was how Steve Wentworth had described it when they had quarrelled about her coming here with the twins.

  That man! If she were fair, she knew he was justified in his anger both last night and this morning and if he had given vent to some strong language, Australian style, she wouldn’t have felt so humiliated. But that cold English voice, those icily indifferent grey eyes I Men didn’t usually look at her with that sort of expression. Not that she wanted anything different from him. But she probably wouldn’t see him again.

  Forget him, she advised herself.

  They wound their way out of the rocky spurs which gaped like giant teeth towards the sea, eager to tear to pieces any unlucky vessel that might venture too close. It was a coastline of incomparable beauty with that silken turquoise sea and that white embroidery of surf across the silk, but underneath you sensed the fierceness and cruelty. With a little shiver, Lesley recalled those bleak eyes of the horseman. How stupid could she get, letting him intrude on her every thought!

  ‘About that coffee,’ she said quickly. ‘Shall we go back to the hotel or have it in a cafe?’

  ‘If the coffee at the hotel is anything like it was last night,’ grunted Rick, ‘I would willingly give it a miss.’

  Lesley lingered for another moment to look back at the sea. The sun had disappeared and the snow or hail or sleet was coming in from the north. The turquoise or greeny-blue colour of the water had gone now, and the silken appearance. Beneath the white embroidery there was a pitiless dark grey swell,
the colour of ... a man’s eyes.

  She swallowed. ‘Let’s make for the hotel, twins,’ she said quickly. ‘It will be warm there.’

  By lunch time Rick and Rita were obviously so bored that Lesley suggested they ignore the weather, take the Mini and explore Trevendone from the land side. However, when another snow shower came the twins turned shivering from the window.

  ‘I’m not going out in this,’ Rita said truculently. ‘We could get stuck in one of those lanes and have to walk back. I left my snowboots back home.’

  Rita had never possessed a pair of snowboots in her life, so Lesley ignored this pleasantry. Again she gave the younger girl a quick glance, concealing her anxiety behind her long dark lashes. Rita didn’t look well and she kept saying that she had never been really warm since they had left London.

  It was bad luck that they had come down to Cornwall during this cold spell. It was no good telling the twins that the rest of the country was having even worse weather. It would make them only more discontented and more determined to go back ‘home ‘as quickly as they could. She’d got to convince them that ‘home’ was here, just three or four miles away. She could only hope that the Trevendones in possession would agree.

  She left them in the lounge, watching T.V., deciding to go for another walk on the downs. The puppy Dingo wasn’t particularly eager to accompany her, but she put him on the lead and dragged him out. This time she took a steep, stony path leading off the High Street, passing one or two small hotels and some rather lovely private houses with balconies. Hotels and houses had a closed, frowning appearance as if they were shut up for the winter and any inspection would be unwelcome.

  However, there was a car outside the one with the blue door and shutters, a long low sports car which had been standing near her Mini in the hotel yard when she had gone out to get a bag from the boot at lunch time.

  As she passed the gate leading to the drive, the blue door opened and a man and a girl came out, the girl holding a large white Borzoi dog by the collar. Dingo caught sight of the big dog and immediately gave voice. Evidently the Borzoi was not to his liking ... perhaps in his limited experience it looked too much like a wild animal, for he sprang forward barking furiously and almost jerked the lead out of Lesley’s hand. She pulled hard, dragging him away, and flung a glance of apology at the couple in the porch.

  The girl was black-haired and black-browed and Lesley gained the lightning impression that she had suggested releasing her big dog to take up Dingo’s challenge and that the young man was laughingly restraining her.

  Lesley hurried on, and out of sight of the enemy, Dingo’s barking faded away and he stopped dragging at the lead.

  ‘You’ve probably had a narrow escape,’ she told him sternly.

  ‘You may not be so lucky next time. It’s never very sensible to take on an adversary who’s much too strong for you.’

  It had been an unpleasant sensation. She might have mistaken the girl’s expression and the man’s laughing remonstrance, but she couldn’t dismiss the incident as easily as she would have liked.

  She climbed over the stile at the end of the stony road and ran up the little incline to the downs. There was a magnificent sweep of coastline on her right and ahead the downs with some sheep and lambs clustered in a hollow to her left. Beyond lay a wonderful panorama of the countryside—the coloured counties, that there before me lie, she thought, recalling a poem she had read in her schooldays. Her eyes ranged over the many greens of downland and fields and of trees sheltering the scattered farms and houses. But her gaze was drawn back to the coast, the mysterious coastline of the legendary country of Lyonesse, of the mist-shrouded island of Avilion, of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, of Lancelot with his red-cross shield and their lovely town of Camelot.

  Trust someone from down under to go all sentimental about the old country, she jeered at herself, especially one who wasn’t going to stay here. It was Rita and Richard who should feel this enchantment.

  Her eyes were drawn continually to the magnificent coastline. The tide hadn’t turned yet and there were stretches of dark golden sands with the cruel teeth jutting from the cliff towards the breakers. Even now on a relatively calm day those breakers were an awe-inspiring sight, stretching to the horizon over the pewter-coloured water. The blue and green colours would not come back until the heavy clouds rolled away.

  It would be a magnificent place for surfing, she reflected, keeping her hand firmly on the lead, for Dingo, though not trying to get away or even just now barking his head off, was eyeing the clustered sheep and lambs with an interested eye. When did surfing start here, she wondered—May, June, July? She needn’t think about that. She would be back in Melbourne by then, perhaps even thinking of getting married.

  She was wearing thick sheepskin gloves, but her thumb wandered to her third finger. There was no ring. She had given it back to Steve when she had decided to come to England with the twins. How angry he had been. He hadn’t been able to understand that her deep sense of gratitude to Margaret Trevendone couldn’t just stop at putting them on a liner bound for England and leave it there. She had had to come herself, fight for them if necessary and see them settled in their own home.

  She shrugged. No point in thinking about that just now. Her own problems must wait until she had done exactly that.

  She walked on, keeping fairly close to the edge of the cliffs and peering down occasionally into some inlet where there were little patches of sand and rock pools. Was it worth while clambering down to explore this part of the beach? Perhaps not as it was so cold. All at once Lesley felt tired and a’ bit depressed. Even Dingo had lost some of his bounce and was keeping close to her as if to shield himself from the biting wind.

  ‘We’ll go back, old fellow,’ she told him. ‘I’d like to give you a run off the lead, but I daren’t risk it with those sheep and lambs so near. We’ll turn for home.’ Dingo wagged his tail and looked pleased. She ran back along the downs, negotiated the stile and warned him not even to whimper as they passed the house with the blue door.

  ‘If she hears us,’ Lesley told him in a solemn whisper, ‘she may open the door and send that big brute after us.’

  But this time the blue door did not open and the rakish-looking sports car was no longer in the drive. In the hotel lounge, the twins looked more relaxed and happier. They had been viewing all afternoon and were able to tell her that there, was thick snow over most of the country and chaotic conditions on roads and railways.

  ‘A good thing we got here last night,’ Rick said. ‘If we’d waited till today we might not have got through.’

  ‘You make it sound like Siberia!’ laughed Lesley.

  ‘Any adventures this afternoon?’ Rita enquired sleepily. ‘You didn’t meet the Enemy again, I suppose.’

  ‘The Enemy?’ Lesley raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, you mean that man? Thank goodness, no. I hope we’re not going to run into him every time we put a foot out of doors. Actually though, we shall have to do something about that puppy. For one thing, we haven’t a dog licence, and I’m sure that Mrs. Wilkes hadn’t one either or she’d have tied it round his neck when she wished him on to us.’

  ‘She didn’t really do that,’ Rita remarked with a grin at her twin. ‘Rick asked her if she wanted to sell him and he offered her a fifty. She said he was worth a lot more but she’d take that as she liked us.’

  ‘Rick, you didn’t buy him! I thought...’ Lesley stared at them in outrage.

  The boy grinned back at her. ‘Dingo fancied a country life, I’m sure. What sort of existence was it for him, cooped up in that grotty London street? Mrs. Wilkes didn’t really want him. She’d have turned him out as soon as look at him. And he was—well, a yellow dog and he reminded me a bit of home.’

  ‘Now there’s something else for you to remember,’ Lesley said, her green eyes glinting with indignation. ‘You bought him and he’s your responsibility. You’ve got to get him trained.’

  ‘He is trained,’ co
untered Rick, laughing. ‘You’re the best trained dog in England, aren’t you, my faithful hound?’ And he dragged Dingo on to his knees so that the dog could lick his face in an ecstasy of devotion.

  ‘You should have seen and heard your faithful hound when I went on the downs!’ Lesley told him grimly. ‘Just as we were passing one of the houses a man and a girl came out. She was holding a big white Borzoi by the collar. It stood as high as a pony. Your well trained dog just went mad, tried to drag himself off the lead, leapt into the drive and began barking his head off.’

  ‘Why didn’t you let him have a go at the old Russian?’ enquired Rick delightedly. ‘I bet he’d have chased the old fellow right through the house.’

  ‘The girl holding the Borzoi seemed to have a similar idea, with her dog doing the chasing,’ Lesley said thoughtfully. ‘I’m sure she intended letting the Borzoi make a meal of Bingo, but her companion dissuaded her. His car was in the drive—it was that one we were talking about at lunch.’

  ‘Oh, that guy. He came in with a girl just as we went out of the dining room,’ said Rita. ‘Didn’t you notice him, Les? ‘He was quite fab.’

  Lesley shook her head, but Rick took up, ‘I saw them. He looked ordinary to me, but the girl was gorgeous. She had long black hair, black eyes and a figure...’ He made gestures with his hands.

  ‘It sounds like the girl with the Borzoi,’ Lesley admitted with a nod and a grimace. ‘Quite wild and free, I’d guess from her expression when Dingo started his capers. You’ll have quite a problem, Rick, if you meet the girl again. I doubt if she’d take kindly to the request “love me, love my dog.” ’

  ‘Don’t be so beastly sarcastic, Lesley,’ Ricky stormed.

  ‘Sorry,’ she returned. ‘It’s just that I didn’t take to the girl. And I do wish you hadn’t bought the dog. It may not be convenient for you to keep him at Trevendone Manor.’