‘Well, I just wish people would stop telling me so!’ Skye said angrily. ‘For pity’s sake, Philip’s only been – been gone a week and we only buried him today. It’s still painful and unbelievable to me, so don’t start pairing me off with anyone else just yet, if ever! Especially not—’ she stopped abruptly.
‘Nick Pengelly? Oh well, we’ll see. But you can’t mourn for ever. And I know I’m an insensitive pig for saying so.’
‘And now you sound more like the abominable Sebby, oink oink,’ Skye said without thinking.
After a moment’s startled silence, they both began to laugh. Emma walked into the room, gaping in astonishment at the unlikely scene, having just ushered out the last of the family and preparing to stay at New World for a few days to give Skye some comfort and support.
‘Well, this is more like it. What’s the joke?’ she asked, her voice showing relief that she needn’t tiptoe around any longer. ‘I allus say there should be more jollity at a funeral wake. The dear departed wouldn’t object, I’m certain sure.’
At which ludicrous comments the two younger women laughed harder than ever, while Skye was just as certain sure that Philip at his most pompous would most definitely object.
‘Em, you do me more good than everyone else put together,’ she gasped, her eyes watering.
‘Do I? So why don’t we have a slice or two of that nice belly of pork I brought you over from the farm? Funeralising allus makes me hungry.’
‘Oink oink,’ said Lily, remembering Sebastian Tremayne, at which they convulsed again.
Chapter Fourteen
Skye refused all offers to take her to Bodmin, preferring to drive herself. She wasn’t an invalid, and she also defiantly refused to continue wearing the required black garb of the widow. If it raised eyebrows, no matter.
According to some, she was still the eccentric American cousin and always would be, so she might as well live up to it. Besides, wearing black only made her feel more depressed. So she chose a sombre grey hat and coat, which she considered suitable enough to remind folk that she was in mourning.
What was of more concern to her was the ordeal of seeing Nick again, and hearing him read out the contents of Philip’s will. There was an irony about his part in the whole procedure that she disliked intensely. It wasn’t wicked or obscene, but it wasn’t far off. It would have been far better if old Mr Slater had dealt with the matter instead, but he was ailing now and Nick was left in sole charge of the lawyers’ firm more and more often.
It wouldn’t be long before he took over completely, thought Skye, knowing him to be an ambitious man. Knowing him. And wondering just how long Cornwall would really hold him.
She shivered. No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t forget what had happened between them. But instead of being a prop to sustain her, it was a barrier between them that she couldn’t cross, nor even know if she wanted to. Too much had happened. Too much, too soon.
Nick greeted her formally, as much for the benefit of the young female secretary in the outer cubbyhole office, as through wariness at the tight, pinched look on Skye’s face. Her beloved face. He pushed the thought aside, knowing that she wanted none of their previous relationship to intrude at this time. And nor it should. Nick was not an insensitive man, and he could guess at the range of her tormented feelings and emotions. He was not unaware of the same feelings in himself.
‘Please sit down, Skye,’ he told her. ‘My secretary will bring us some tea – or would you prefer coffee?’
‘Like the colonial cousin that I am, you mean?’ she murmured, with a feeble attempt at a joke. She didn’t know why she said it, but she kept her eyes lowered as she sat down on the proffered chair and slowly peeled off her kid gloves.
‘No,’ said Nick evenly, trying not to notice the way she unconsciously caressed the soft black leather with those delicate fingers; remembering how she had caressed his skin, slowly and erotically, and the way he had caressed hers. ‘I just happen to know you prefer coffee to tea.’
‘Thank you, but tea will be fine,’ she said perversely, refusing to be reminded for a moment how they had shared intimate breakfasts in a Bristol hotel, and even breathing in the seductive aroma of steaming, freshly-ground coffee had seemed a hedonistic and sensual affair. Like theirs.
Once the secretary had brought in the tea and left them alone, Nick opened the file containing Philip Norwood’s will. He hadn’t wanted to deal with this either. He wished himself anywhere but here, and so did she, he thought. They were suddenly oceans apart, where they had once been closer than if they shared the same heart.
He forced himself to be professional. ‘I shall read the entire contents of the will to you, Skye, and then we may discuss any points you wish to go over before I give you a copy of it. It’s a very short document.’
He paused. He enjoyed his chosen profession, but he sometimes wondered how it felt for clients to realise that their lawyer knew more about the deceased’s wishes than they did themselves. In most cases, they were just grateful to have everything cut and dried and taken care of by a third party.
In this case he had the unsavoury task of opening a Pandora’s box of raw emotions. He had no idea how she was going to take it. It may not be as bad as he suspected, of course. And he couldn’t put it off any longer.
He read out the formal phrases unemotionally. For someone as wordy as Philip Norwood had been in life, it was indeed a short will. It left everything of substance to his wife, and on her death, to his children. They were normal, everyday bequests, and Skye still kept her eyes lowered, saying nothing as he paused again, sensing that there was more to come.
‘Please go on.’
‘There are only two other bequests aside from the bulk of Philip’s estate that I have already outlined,’ Nick said.
She looked up sharply. She knew every nuance of his voice so well, and there was definitely something odd in it now. But he continued without further comment.
‘To my college, I leave the sum of £200, to erect a bench in the grounds in my name for the pleasure of future students, and perhaps to provide some other small memorial.’
Skye felt her face scorch with embarrassment. It was so very egocentric of Philip to have thought of something like this. It was the very essence of his pomposity and self-importance… She heard Nick clear his throat.
‘And to Miss Ruth Dobson,’ he went on, ‘I leave my set of leather-bound encyclopaedias, with my best affection.’
‘What?’
The mixture of Skye’s emotions at that moment was indescribable. Her hands were clenched tightly together with her fingernails biting into her palms, and her eyes burned with fury, rage, and a sick, unreasoning jealousy that she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
How dare he do this? In physical terms, the encyclopaedias were the most valuable thing Philip possessed, and she knew he had prized them above everything. She had always expected them to be passed on to their children. Instead of which, his one-time fiancée, Miss Ruth Dobson, was the beneficiary. Leaving her his beloved books, and his best affection! Not for his wife, or his children, but for the woman who had once meant so much in his life. Even if Skye had never wanted the wretched books for herself, she knew how much they had meant to Philip, and this act was a betrayal from beyond the grave, she thought hysterically.
And maybe more than that. Maybe it was a punishment for the way she and Nick Pengelly had betrayed him…
She felt Nick’s arms go around her, and she pushed them away with a sense of horror. Her voice was shrill.
‘No, don’t touch me! I’m perfectly all right, and I’m simply overreacting, I’m sure.’
‘And I’m sure that you’re not,’ he said angrily. ‘You’ve had a shock, and I should have prepared you for it.’
‘How? By betraying your client’s confidence? I think not. We betrayed him, so this is no doubt well deserved. After all our life together, I have to believe now that Ruth still meant a great deal to Philip. And if you t
hink that fact excuses our situation, I promise you it does not.’
She couldn’t explain her impenetrable anger. She was finding it hard to breathe properly, and although Nick tried to make her sit calmly for a while, they both knew it was impossible. She had to get out of these claustrophobic rooms. But even though her senses were spinning, there was one last thing she had to settle.
‘I’ve no idea where Miss Dobson is now.’
‘It’s not your problem, Skye. It’s our business to find her and acquaint her with the news. If it’s your wish, we can also arrange for the volumes to be packaged and delivered here until that time.’
‘Please do so. And when you find her, impress on her that there is to be no contact between us. I want no condolences or expressions of remorse. Any explanations can be made through you. She was not my friend, nor ever could be. Will you do this for me?’
‘I will do anything for you. You know that.’
‘Please Nick—’ she put out her hand to ward off any physical contact. ‘No more. Just advise me when it’s done.’
She couldn’t get away from there quickly enough, her nerves ragged, her feelings bruised and humiliated. It was even worse that he had known of Philip’s wishes, and must have known for some time. That really seared her heart. She felt completely disorientated and lost.
Then, like the women in her family before her who needed solace, she drove towards the open moorland and halted the car with her hands still shaking. She sat there for a long while in the quiet solitude, trying to understand and to compose herself. She had once loved Philip so much, and in those early, wonderful days she knew how desperately he had been in love with her… but in a single moment he had thrown all that love back in her face.
Unless this was his way of assuaging his own guilt for the way he had reneged on his promise to Ruth. For such an articulate and intellectual man, he was also very proud, and he would have found it difficult to put those inner feelings into words. But maybe, by giving Ruth all that he could of himself, even at this late stage, maybe he still hoped for some salvation in heaven…
‘Bull,’ Skye said aloud, her voice echoing in the keen air. ‘He never believed in all that hereafter stuff, and he was just appeasing his conscience over Ruth, that’s all.’
The scathing sound of her own voice was startling in the silence of the moors. And the incongruity of what she was saying startled her even more. Not that there was anyone to hear. There was only the whispering of the bracken and the soft breeze soughing through the clumps of wild yarrow.
Was she going mad? If so, at any minute now, she could expect to see old Helza hobbling towards her over the rough terrain, with her own brand of head-nodding knowledge, and her wizened cackles that she’d been certain sure all along that Philip Norwood had never been the true love of her life.
‘Stop it,’ Skye snapped to herself. ‘You’re going to end up as loopy as the old girl herself if you don’t watch out.’
Anyway, there was no sign of Helza nor anyone else up here. This wasn’t their moors. Killigrew Clay and White Rivers were some distance away, with life going on as usual. Yesterday was over.
And now that she had had some time to recover, she was coming to terms with the things Nick had told her. It was no use fighting it and she would never be so base as to ignore the terms of anyone’s will. In any case, the children were too young to even be aware of the precious encyclopaedias. They were always kept locked in Philip’s study, and once they were out of the house no one need ever know of their existence.
The sheer logic of her thoughts was worthy of Philip himself, she thought, with a grimace. But it was helping her to calm down. Looking at it sensibly, it really didn’t matter a jot to her who had the books. Just as long as she didn’t have to hand them over herself.
And providing Ruth Dobson didn’t come calling, or write, or want to further their acquaintance… if this was being selfish, then so be it.
In any case, Ruth was engaged now, she remembered, and she couldn’t imagine that the bequest would drive a wedge between her and her new man, so there was no reason why it should affect Skye either. She made herself believe it, and in the end, she did believe it.
By the time she drove more slowly towards the moors above St Austell her nerves were slowly calming down. The sight of the distant clay tips, glinting in the thin October sunlight, soothed her as always. She had received a shock, but it could have been far worse. She couldn’t think exactly how, she just knew it could. And at least Philip wasn’t an important enough person – despite what he might think himself – for his will to be made public. She was saved that humiliation.
And who was full of saving face now!
She carefully avoided the area where the Larnie Stone stood, knowing that she couldn’t bear to see the place where Philip had died. But when she found herself alongside the row of cottages at the top of the moors, she half wished she could stare beyond the outer stone walls, to feel enveloped by the warmth of all those Tremaynes who had started the dynasty, trying to imagine those times when Morwen Tremayne was a young girl, as wild and unpredictable as the moors themselves.
A woman came out of one of the cottages, and stood for a few moments, staring at her as she leaned on the steering-wheel of the motionless car as if transfixed. After a second’s hesitation, the woman walked across to the car, her voice deferential and uncertain, and as thick as Cornish cream.
‘Excuse me, ma’am, but be ’ee quite well? If you’m ill, perhaps you’d care to step inside the cottage for a spell and take a brew, if you’ll forgive the liberty of asking.’
‘Oh, that’s very kind of you,’ Skye said, feeling the weak tears spring to her eyes. ‘Would you mind very much if I did? I’d dearly love to see inside the cottage.’
Dear Lord, how patronising that sounded! Skye groaned inwardly as soon as the words had left her lips, but the woman seemed to take no offence. Instead, she looked quite pleased to have a lady wanting to see her humble dwelling.
‘It will be my pleasure, ma’am. Come you in and sit you down by the fire and get warm. You look fair perished with the cold.’
Skye stepped inside the cottage, and was immediately struck by how small it was, yet so cosy and compact. It was truly darling, she thought, just the way Americans imagined the quaint old English homesteads to be, but she was careful not to say as much. It was obvious by the way the woman was glancing at her fine clothes that she knew Skye was a lady, and she had been unwittingly patronising enough. Even so…
‘My relatives once lived in one of these cottages,’ she couldn’t resist saying, as she was offered a drink of cordial.
‘Is that so?’ the woman said, clearly disbelieving that such a vision could come from the likes of such humble stock as clayworkers. But by now she had begun to have her suspicions about who the lady could be.
‘My name’s Flo Dewy, ma’am,’ she said abruptly. ‘My man’s a clayer for Killigrew Clay. You’ve mebbe heard on ’em?’
Skye gasped. ‘Then your husband must be Roland Dewy—’
‘The same. Troublemakers allus get known afore the rest, I dare say.’ She nodded at Skye now. ‘And you must be the poor lady who’s just buried her man, God rest his soul.’
‘That’s right. I’m Skye Norwood.’
‘Then I’m right sorry I asked ’ee in, ma’am. You’ll not want to be gossiping with the likes o’ we folk at such a time,’ she said, poker-faced.
‘Please don’t worry,’ Skye said quickly. ‘I’m grateful for your kindness, and my people are still walking around on tiptoe for fear of upsetting me.’
Neither woman said anything for an embarrassing few moments, and then Skye had to speak up. ‘Actually, I had intended calling on you and your husband, Mrs Dewy, on account of some bother with your daughter. Alice, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, you needn’t fret none about her now, ma’am. She’s been sent off to her auntie down Zennor way. There won’t be no more trouble until these here foreigners are sen
t back where they belong,’ she said, averting eyes that suddenly flashed.
‘There won’t be any trouble, will there, Mrs Dewy?’ Skye said deliberately. ‘The young men have a perfect right to work here and to return home unscathed.’
‘You may be right,’ Flo Dewy said, but more defensively now. ‘And ’tis true my Alice came to no harm. You’ll get my meaning, you being a woman of the world. But that don’t mean she ain’t been interfered with and spoiled, and my Roland ain’t the only clayer to take a very black view o’ that. A very black view indeed, ma’am.’
As the atmosphere inside the cottage subtly changed, Skye was glad to leave. From the woman’s warning words she had an uneasy feeling that the matter was far from settled, and she knew she must speak to Theo about it at the first opportunity.
But at least the nubile Alice was out of harm’s way, and her own uncertain condition had righted itself that very morning. There would be no issue to remind her of the weekend she had spent with Nick Pengelly, she thought, using the legal jargon as if to distance herself from the intimacy of it all.
It had been an unsettling few moments all the same, and she didn’t feel like returning home yet. The children would be taken care of by their nanny, and the fresh air was healing her wounded pride far better than a houseful of well-meaning folk. She drove around aimlessly, edging along the coastline and wondering what her father was doing now, all those ocean miles away. Still missing her mother and her brother, and grieving on his daughter’s account, she had no doubt.
She realised she had driven right into St Austell and was near to Killigrew House. She stopped the car and walked to the front door, anticipating the shocked look on Betsy’s plump face when she saw her visitor.
‘Yes, it’s me and not an apparition, Betsy,’ she said abruptly. ‘Is Theo at home? I need to discuss a business matter with him quite urgently.’
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