And naturally, the turkey was larger than anyone could ever need, the plum puddings were overrich and laced with far too much brandy for young tastebuds, but the atmosphere was so jolly and homely that Skye readily forgave Theo everything.
Not least, was the remarkable change in Betsy. From having been the downtrodden wife, she now appeared to be an equal marriage partner in every way. She had blossomed, thought Skye in amazement. There was no other word for it. Few women would have envied her in the past, but they might well do so now. It was not her business to know how Betsy had accomplished it, but she was delighted to see it.
The boys too were far more amenable than of old. Sebby was still in charge, with Justin faithfully following his lead, but they were quite happy to play games with their cousins, from hide-and-seek, to hunt the thimble, to guessing games. By the time the Norwoods left for home, Oliver was fast asleep in the car, and the girls weren’t far off.
‘It was a lovely day, Mommy,’ Celia said sleepily. ‘Daddy would have loved it all, wouldn’t he?’
It was such a rare and lovely comment from her reserved little daughter that Skye could only nod.
‘He’d have been watching us from heaven, anyway,’ Wenna said confidently.
Skye glanced round at Celia, her eyes daring her to scoff, and for once her elder daughter did as she was mutely told. She was growing up, thought Skye, her throat tight. She was no longer a baby, and it made her both proud and sad to realise it.
But they were all ready for bed quite early, thanks in part to Betsy’s brandy soaked plum puddings. And then Skye had to get ready for the evening celebrations. She could easily have asked Lily and David Kingsley to pick her up, rather than have Nick go out of his way to fetch Ethan and then herself en route to their brother’s house. She hadn’t, but she was glad Ethan was included. It made it less of a conventional social gathering of three couples. Much of the talk was of Albie’s unexpected gift to Skye, and the new venture they were all involved in, and the evening progressed from being a normal Christmas evening, to one of excitement and tentative plans for the future.
‘We’re so lucky to have David as a good friend,’ Vera observed. ‘Newspaper advertising for the new Truro shop will ensure its success. Not that there will be any chance of failure, considering Skye’s popularity now.’
‘We should all drink to Skye,’ Adam Pengelly said, in the solid, methodical tones of the very drunk.
‘And you should be in bed by the sound of you!’ said Vera.
‘Not unless you come with me, wench,’ he said wickedly, and while everyone laughed at such daring in company, Skye carefully avoided looking at Nick.
How sweet it would be if they could do like these two, and retire to bed after such an evening. Not that Adam would be much use for any physical pleasures, she thought in amusement. But any man could be forgiven for taking a drop too much when he was so clearly relishing the fact of having a loving wife and a good job, and being host to a houseful of friends at Christmas.
It was very late when Lily and David decided they had better leave. By then, the finer points of the new shop had been discussed many times, and Skye was sure that most of them would be forgotten by morning. But the planning had been fun, and while they were all exhausted and had talked themselves out, inside she felt more exhilarated and alive than she had been in a long while. And a little while later as she saw Vera stifle a yawn, she murmured that it was high time she went home too, if Nick and Ethan were ready.
‘I think Ethan had better stay where he is for tonight,’ Vera said. ‘There’ll be no rousing him, anyway.’
Skye saw then that he was sprawled out on the sofa, oblivious to the world. So that meant that she and Nick would be leaving together. And as predicted by Vera, the mist had risen over the moors in a filmy white layer. Nick drove slowly and carefully, inching his way along the lanes, and they might have been in a strange and alien world where no one else existed but themselves. They seemed to be floating on a sea of ghostly white mist. Far above them was the clear dark sky, studded with stars above the earth’s gossamer atmosphere, and the only things visible against the darkness were the soaring white tips of Killigrew Clay.
‘My mother used to call them sky-tips,’ Skye said suddenly, breaking the silence between them. ‘I first heard the name when she told me stories about her childhood in some wonderful far-off place called Cornwall.’
‘And has it lived up to your expectations?’ Nick asked softly.
She hardly realised that the slowly inching motor had stopped now, and they seemed to be suspended in time and space. She could see the sky but not the earth. It was eerie and spectacular, and they could be in danger of plunging over a precipice into a claypool for all she knew. She should be afraid, but she wasn’t, not with Nick…
‘It’s everything I thought it would be,’ she said slowly.
The next instant she felt his lips on hers, his arms crushing her to him, and the aching longing she had felt for him all this time flared between them. She felt him caress her breasts, his tongue seeking the inner softness of her mouth. His hands and his fingers sought for her body, and hers responded in the same seeking, feverish manner. She wanted all of him, here and now and for ever, as much as it was blatantly obvious that he wanted her… But to her shocked surprise, he put her gently away from him after a few passionate moments.
‘Not here, and not now,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘This is not what I want for us, Skye.’
‘It’s what you wanted once,’ she almost wept.
‘I want you more than anything in the world. I think of you every minute of the day and night. But not like this. Not in some clandestine affair. You mean more to me than that, and we both know it’s far too soon to think of anything more.’
‘Because my husband died, you mean?’ she said savagely. ‘You didn’t worry about it when he was still alive.’
‘But I worry about it now. I don’t want your name to be involved in a scandal, my darling girl.’
‘Are you sure it’s not your good name you’re thinking about? It would never do for a lawyer to be involved in a scandal, would it?’
He didn’t answer, and she was conscious of the sound of their breathing; his deep and heavy, hers ragged and painful. She couldn’t believe that it was so wrong for a woman to feel the same deep emotional and physical needs as a man, so why was it so wrong for her to express it?
‘I will always love you, Skye, and our time will come, but there are conventions that we shouldn’t ignore, my beautiful, headstrong love. One of us has to be sensible, and deep down, you know I’m right. Meanwhile, we both have work to do that will keep us together.’
‘Thank you for those crumbs,’ she choked, but knew that he was right. So infuriatingly right.
He gathered her to him once more, kissing every inch of her face. When he spoke, his voice was tight, and she knew how he was restraining himself. It didn’t help. She was her mother’s daughter, and when she loved, she loved with all her heart, and she wanted him now.
‘Darling girl, don’t ever doubt my love for you, and when our time is right I promise you we’ll be together for ever.’
‘And when will that be? A month from now? A year? How will we know? And do you think I care a fig for conventions, any more than—’
Appalled, she stopped abruptly, her heart thudding wildly. Knowing exactly what she had been about to say.
…any more than Albie and Primmy did…
And as swiftly as a bolt of lightning striking her, her feelings did a complete reversal. How could she be so insensitive as to forget the past few months, as if Philip had never lived? Nick was right and she was wrong.
‘I think you understand now,’ Nick said gently. ‘A close-knit community has long memories. I care too much for you to want to risk raking up old hurts.’
Skye moved carefully away from him, but unable to bear this unfulfilled closeness with him a moment longer than necessary.
‘Take me home, Ni
ck,’ she said in a strangled voice.
He started the engine again, and they continued the journey back to New World in silence, while her heart felt as if it was breaking all over again.
‘Will you be all right?’ he ventured at last.
‘Of course. Tremayne women are survivors. Didn’t you know?’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Do – do you still intend to help me sort out Albie’s paintings for the exhibition? Lily’s too superstitious to go inside the place until it’s all cleared out and repainted.’ And fumigated…
‘Of course I’m going to help you,’ he said roughly. ‘Do you think I’d let anyone else do it? And now that we’ve got the shop to think about, I suggest we put all other considerations out of our minds, and plan the exhibition for the middle of February. Then with luck, we can get the shop ready for spring, when the townies start arriving. You know what they say about spring, don’t you?’
‘No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’
‘It’s a time for new beginnings, and you and I will have a wedding to think about.’
‘Oh, so you really think I’m going to marry you,’ she said, her voice brittle. God, who was being insensitive now!
‘I wasn’t asking you,’ he retorted, just as brutally. ‘I’m talking about my ex-partner’s wedding. It’s arranged for June now, and you promised to come, remember?’
So she did, in what seemed like a lifetime ago. She nodded, and got out of the car before the wanton part of her suggested anything rash, like inviting him in for a last drink, and enticing him to her bedroom…
‘Goodnight, Nick,’ she said determinedly. ‘And thank you for everything.’
Even to her own ears it was a goodnight that sounded ominously like a goodbye. But, in a newly puritan mood now, she was just as determined to curb her own feelings as he was. She might be a headstrong Tremayne, but she still had her pride, that damnable quirk of human nature that spelled doom to so many relationships. She could only pray that theirs wasn’t going to be one of them.
* * *
‘Well, you do look peaky, my lamb,’ Emma exclaimed to Skye on New Year’s Eve, when Will had taken the children off to see the new chicks at the farm. ‘Lily phoned me the other night, and from the way she was bubbling over about this new idea of yours at Albie’s studio, I thought you’d be bubbling too.’
‘I’m all right, really, Em. It’s just Christmas. You know. Keeping up the jollity for the children’s sake,’ she lied, knowing it was the only way. She had discovered that it effectively shut off any further probing, even from Em, who wasn’t known for her tact over personal matters.
‘A good meal of pork and taters will perk you up,’ she declared, with her own brand of therapy. ‘So when will you start converting the studio to a shop?’
‘Oh, not yet. We want to set up Albie’s exhibition first. Nick Pengelly’s going to help me with all that, and David Kingsley’s going to organise the advertising.’
‘You’re moving in high circles, Skye, like I always expected,’ Em said admiringly. ‘But then, nobody could doubt that you’d have men falling at your feet from one look from those lovely eyes. You make the most of it, my love,’ she finished with a chuckle, failing to see the shine of tears in those particular eyes as Skye turned away.
She didn’t want to manipulate men into doing what she wanted. She was obliged to accept help to get the exhibition ready, and to get the studio cleared out. Then there would be a team of professional builders and painters called in to turn the studio into a shop.
And since Nick was her lawyer, he would insist on seeing that everything was done properly, and that she wasn’t being exploited because she was a woman doing business in a man’s world. Even Theo had shown an interest in the new venture, since the sale of the White Rivers Pottery pieces would be to the advantage of Killigrew Clay as well.
She couldn’t avoid the men’s influence, but instead of pleasing her, it alarmed Skye to know how much she was starting to resent it. She surely wasn’t turning frigid? – that almost forbidden word that only cropped up in learned medical books as an unfortunate condition among women. Or in brown paper packaged beneath-the-sheets manuals advising on sexual matters… Skye smiled ruefully, knowing that no one as uninhibited and sensually aroused as she had been with Nick Pengelly in a certain hotel in Bristol, could ever be called frigid…
* * *
After five days of relaxation at the farm, during which the children had a wonderful time and Will Roseveare realised his potential as a pseudo-father figure, Skye knew she wasn’t relaxed at all. She felt as if she was living on a knife-edge. Finally, as they drank cocoa together in the farmhouse kitchen on the last morning, Em asked her outright what the devil was wrong with her.
‘And don’t tell me ’tis all to do with losing Philip, my love, tragic though it was. ’Tis summat more than that. And I’ve a ready pair of ears and a buttoned-up mouth if you want to unburden yourself.’
Skye couldn’t even raise a smile at her quaint words. ‘You’re right, Em. And I lost Philip a long time before he died, or rather, we lost each other, and now I’m so full of guilt and regrets it’s eating me up.’
‘You’m a fool to let it,’ Em said crisply. ‘What’s past is past, and no good ever came of wasting time on regrets.’
‘You sound just like Granny Morwen.’
‘Why shouldn’t I? She was my mother, and I learned every wise thing I know from her. So since you and Philip lost your way a long time ago, what else do you have to feel guilty about? Or perhaps I should say who else?’
Oh God, tact was certainly not Em’s strong point, thought Skye, feeling her face flood with heat. If she wanted to know a thing, she came right out and asked it… and there would be such sweet relief in the telling…
‘Nick. Nick Pengelly,’ she said in a small, raw voice, feeling like the child she had once been, and far removed from the mature woman that she was, and the mother of three children. Feeling young and gauche and lost…
‘And you love him. Does he love you in return?’ Em asked.
She was unshockable, thought Skye. How odd. She was such a typical countrywoman, so isolated from worldly affairs, and yet she understood and didn’t stand in judgement. There was nothing she wouldn’t understand.
Within minutes Skye found herself pouring out her heart to her aunt, sparing nothing of her feelings for Nick, or his for her. Revealing the shame and the ecstasy of the night they had spent in one another’s arms in Bristol, and of their vow to keep that love forever sacred in their hearts, because at that time Skye still had a husband…
‘Poppycock,’ Emma said, startling her. ‘I’m sorry, love, but living on a farm makes you see life for what it is. You’re a sweet, lovely girl, and I admire you for your loyalty, but you could be dead tomorrow. You know that after what happened to Philip. He’s gone, and you’re still young, so don’t keep your man waiting too long.’
‘I can hardly think of courting so soon after Philip’s death, can I? I do have some sense of morality.’
‘Well, just don’t be too set on making a martyr of yourself, that’s all. Now go and wash your face and hands and make yourself presentable before your children come back.’
But her soft eyes belied the harshness of her words, and Skye went to do exactly as she said. It was direction she wanted. Someone to tell her what she must do and how she must behave. But she and Nick had already worked that out for themselves, and she wasn’t so spineless that she couldn’t wait a few months until it was accepted in society that a widow-woman could start courting again.
Besides, she had her children to consider. How would they feel if she was open about a new relationship when they were still acutely aware of losing their father? She should consider them above herself.
And she was being so damn self-righteous now, it was sickening, she thought, with a spark of humour. But the common sense that had threatened to desert her, began to return. It was right to have this breathing space, because it mea
nt she didn’t have to make any decisions at all.
By the time they all finished their goodbye hugs, she felt as though she was starting to get onto an even keel once more, and she whispered her thanks to Em, just for listening.
‘Don’t thank me,’ Em said simply. ‘If you’ve sorted out your feelings by now, then thank yourself.’
* * *
Whenever they met now, Skye couldn’t deny the tension between herself and Nick. There was a barrier between them that they were both unwilling to cross. They kept to business matters with excruciating correctness, as if determined not to allow personal feelings to spill over.
But when they arranged to go to the studio on a Sunday morning to choose the paintings for the exhibition, it could never be anything but emotional for Skye.
‘So much of my mother’s past is here,’ she murmured. ‘So much of her. Almost more than Albie. Isn’t that strange?’
‘Not really. She was a very beautiful woman, and he was so intent on painting her in all her moods, that her presence almost eclipsed his.’
‘That’s very perceptive of you, Nick,’ she said, touched by his words. ‘It’s almost poetic!’
‘Do you think a lawyer only has at his disposal the dry and dusty words on legal documents?’
‘No. I don’t think that.’
How could she, when she so often imagined his voice in the night, whispering against her flesh the words that had once come so fluently from the lips of a lover?
She blotted out the memory with a huge effort. ‘I thought I would offer everyone in the family one of Albie’s paintings after the exhibition,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ll keep some for myself, of course, and send the best ones of Mom to my father. But some of the exhibition paintings must have a “No Sale” label on them.’
‘You intend to sell them, then?’ he said in surprise.
‘There are just so many, it seems the only thing to do. But I’d like your opinion on that, Nick.’
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