He came to the cliff edge and gazed out across the sea. It was the same spectacular view as from the ruins of the Wheal Fortunate mine but from here he could see all the way to St Ives Bay. He used his binoculars to watch a tiny ship drop off the pale blue horizon, then swung round to take in Shag Rock off Penhale Point which, like much of the coast along here, was a breeding ground for gulls. A smattering of gulls triumphantly fought the winds out there and used the upcurrent to hover over the top of the rock while the waves rode in and smashed against it, sending up frothy white spray several feet into the air. Alex had brought a camera with him and he used half a film here, intending to walk the short distance to the mine ruins and use the rest up there.
The sea thundered onto the golden beaches and crashed against the tall granite cliffs, invading the numerous coves that pitted the cliff face. Many a village that had grown up round the tin and copper mining and fishing communities along the coastline had succumbed to the relentless sea over the decades. Smugglers had trodden these cliffs and Alex could hear the echo of their stealth and courage as they’d defied the authorities to bring in uncustomed goods to augment their meagre living. The place had a timelessness and purpose which seemed to infuse the air and seep down to the very roots of his soul. It declared its own unique and inexhaustive energy without humility, yet imparted a deep peace.
The sun shimmered in the vastness of a brilliant blue sky and Alex felt he was the only person who existed. He felt a part of Nature, part of the cliffs formed millions of years ago, part of the strong winds and awesome living sea which soothed away his mental fog. He felt a deep loneliness creep over him. Not the brutal sort of loneliness that had dominated his mind following his loss and failure, but a strange welcome warmth that made him feel he was himself, and himself alone, a man without nightmares, without a death wish, a man capable of being strong and useful and alive.
Alex liked it here, this tiny spot of the world that was his. He liked the county; he always had. He’d always meant to come down to Cornwall and spend a summer with Miles. But all those years ago life had been busy and there seemed to be plenty of time. They didn’t know then that both their worlds would be shattered. Miles’s sorrow had started before the war. When Harriet Bosanko had died, Miles had wanted to be alone, then when he began to come to terms with his loss and had invited Alex to his home again, the world had been rocked with rumours of war and both men had joined the army.
It was terrible, what had happened to Miles, losing his fiancée, coming back from the war a disabled imbecile. But at least he had loved someone, had once had a future to look forward to. Alex felt his life had stopped that day when all the men in his unit had been killed. He never looked back beyond it. As Abigail had observed to Rebecca, he had always been quiet, but he couldn’t remember that there had been a time when he had looked forward to inheriting the Fiennes’ empire on his twenty-first birthday. That he had enjoyed a social life not unlike Miles’s. He’d taken little interest in his reckless younger brother’s wife and her child. Miles had been more like a brother to him; they had shared many interests, not least in sport.
Alex had forgotten the carefree days of his youth but not the deep camaraderie a respected commanding officer enjoyed with his men and it was this which made his loss all the more unbearable. The misfortunes of war had brought his life to a halt. Nothing since then had interested him or given him any hope. Not until he had found this little place on the north cliffs of Cornwall, and the friendship of Rebecca Allen.
* * *
Joe kept his promise to Stephen to teach him to row. He borrowed Rebecca’s boat to take him and Tamsyn out on the river, showing him the rudiments of how to make powerful sweeping movements with the oars. As they neared Church Creek, he handed the oars over to Stephen. The boy quickly picked up a good rowing action but his shoulders were straining to breaking point, his face was red and his breath almost gone when he brought the boat towards the slate shore. Tamsyn, who had encouraged him all the way, was full of admiration.
A good show all round, Captain Redbeard,’ she asserted, using one of Stephen’s phrases.
Joe grinned in amusement but he was impressed by the boy’s efforts. ‘Aye, you’ll make a good rower and a good leader,’ he said as he tied up the boat.
The muddy creek was typical of the river, having a small area of salt marsh at its head, but it was one of the few along this stretch where access to land could be gained by foot. When Stephen had recovered they clambered carefully over the foreshore which was well colonised by bladderwrack and eggwrack. Passing through some willow trees, they made the short distance to Old Kea church and the crumbling tower they had seen rising above the oak-wooded banks. Stephen listened to the lazy cawing of the jackdaws up on the tower.
‘There’s a lot of bird life on the river,’ he remarked, recalling the wood pigeons that flew startled out of Trevallion’s woods and the herons he’d watched patiently fishing along the river bank where he’d walked with Tamsyn the day before.
‘You won’t go a day without seeing or hearing something, Master Stephen,’ Joe said. ‘The kingfisher is my favourite.’
‘I like the woodpeckers,’ Tamsyn said in a serious tone.
Her face was so solemn that Stephen ruffled her hair and teased her. ‘I’ll buy you one for your birthday.’
He was about to chase her when Joe coughed sternly. ‘Remember where you are.’ He expected rebellion but Stephen merely shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
They spent ten minutes looking over the small graveyard and the pretty little mission church then Stephen and Joe took turns rowing to Turnaware Bar which was just round the bend from the King Harry Ferry. They drank lemonade on the long stony beach, Stephen so tired he was hardly able to bring his bottle up to his mouth. Joe told the children more about the war history of Falmouth which Stephen had yet to visit. The moment he heard there was a wrecked aeroplane on board a ship in the harbour, he wanted to go home to demand that his mother take him there at once.
So, later in the day, Rebecca found herself getting off the Iseult at Falmouth with Stephen, Tamsyn and Abigail. Abigail had readily agreed to take Stephen to Falmouth because she wanted to shop for a gift for Joe at the same time, but because Stephen refused point-blank to go without his little friend, Rebecca had been told she must come too.
The sun was blazing down, bouncing off the boats and quay, and for this outing Rebecca kept her sunhat on. Abigail managed to disembark with a dignity and grace that made sailors and pleasure-boat passengers alike give her a second appreciative look. Stephen and Tamsyn jumped off unaided and fell into excited talk about the unfortunate aeroplane they were about to see and what he would get his mother to buy as props for their latest adventure as the captain and mate of a smuggling ship. Stephen’s attachment to Tamsyn and the way he enjoyed playing immature games with her annoyed Abigail; it was not what was expected of a gentleman’s son, but she could not object without him throwing a tantrum and at least his preoccupation kept him from being curious about why she was suddenly spending so much time going off alone.
Abigail gave Jossy an approximate time for their arrival back at the boat and then they set off in a straggly line to view the aeroplane. It had ditched in the sea to the west of Ireland when its fuel supply had run out. The first ship on the scene had rescued the pilot and the second had picked up the aircraft and taken it to Falmouth harbour. Abigail found the time looking at the remains of the aeroplane tiresome. She agreed with her son that, ‘Daddy piloted and died in an aircraft far grander than this’ and urged the group into the town.
Rebecca kept a respectful few inches behind Abigail and allowed her to lead the way but when they reached Arwenack Street Abigail slowed down and walked beside her.
‘Stephen wants me to buy some bits and pieces and material for play clothes for his silly games. Mrs Wright said she would make them up.’ Abigail sniffed haughtily. ‘And he needs a pair of new shoes. I want him well turned out for the w
edding and he’s scuffed every pair he owns playing in the creek. Where do you recommend we go and look for them, Rebecca?’
Rebecca resisted an impatient sigh and suggested they go to Market Street to Downing’s drapery shop and some premises called the Old Curiosity Shop where just about anything could be bought. For shoes she indicated a high-class shoeshop just across the road. Abigail gave her a stiff ‘thank you’ and after waiting for a slow-moving horsedrawn public vehicle to plod out of the way they crossed the road. As they inspected the display of shoes in the shop window, Abigail looked crossly at the children who were whispering and giggling beside her.
‘It’s a pity that I had to drag you along today,’ she said to Rebecca. ‘But I couldn’t manage both of the children on my own. I daresay you would have preferred to go with Major Fiennes on his little jaunt.’
Rebecca frowned. She had come in for several cutting remarks from Abigail recently and could only think it was because she had been overheard quarrelling with Loveday; perhaps Abigail had been angered at the way she had walked out and left Loveday to serve the meal on her own. Loveday had told Rebecca that she’d apologised to the Fiennes on her behalf, explaining her absence by claiming she’d had a sudden headache. It would seem that Abigail hadn’t believed the lie.
‘It’s nothing to do with me where the Major goes, Mrs Fiennes,’ Rebecca replied in a firm and distant voice.
Abigail looked at Rebecca with hostility. She wanted to buy a present secretly for Joe and hadn’t wanted anyone else with her apart from Stephen who, given a large sum of money to treat himself with, would have taken no interest in anything she might buy.
‘Well, come on, all of you,’ she said. ‘Let’s get our shopping done and I’ll treat us to tea and fancy cakes.’
Stephen was uncharacteristically cooperative and new shoes were obtained for him within ten minutes. He even carried the parcel as they moved on to the Old Curiosity Shop. Abigail and Stephen were amazed at the variety of items on sale and he picked out several for his games with Tamsyn, including a pair of old-fashioned high boots ideal for ‘bootlegging’, a black cloth eyepatch for Tamsyn to wear, and wooden swords. While Rebecca and Tamsyn studied a collection of foreign-dressed dolls, Abigail looked around quietly by herself Then she told Rebecca to take the children to the draper’s and allow Stephen to choose anything he wanted for the play clothes, saying she wanted a longer browse in the shop.
With the others gone, Abigail went straight to a particular cigarette lighter that had caught her eye. It was small and square and a dull silver, quite an ordinary thing, something no one would be surprised at Joe Carlyon owning. Abigail knew Joe wouldn’t accept a flashy gift. He would probably be embarrassed at her giving it to him but he usually gave her a few flowers when they met and she wanted to show him she cared about him too.
She joined Rebecca and the children in the draper’s and paid for the material Stephen had chosen, leaving behind an assistant amused by the boy’s pedantry over what he’d wanted. Outside the shop, with each person carrying a parcel, Abigail said they would head for the nearest tea shop.
‘According to Joe there’s a six-ton stock anchor that can be seen near Gyllyngvase,’ Stephen said. ‘It came from the St Vincent and costs threepence to view and the money goes to naval charities. Can we go and see it, Mother? Then Tamsyn and I can play on the beach. Joe said there’s a splendid tea room on the beach.’
Abigail smiled at her son indulgently. ‘Well, if Joe says it’s splendid it must be worth a visit. What do you say, Rebecca?’ She looked at Rebecca critically. ‘Is it far?’
‘It’s rather a long way to walk, Mrs Fiennes,’ Rebecca answered, not missing the slight reproach in Abigail’s voice.
‘Then we’ll take a horse cab there.’
The tea room was spotlessly clean containing long tables laid with floral tablecloths, lace-covered trays, tall white jugs, plates set at precisely spaced intervals, big shiny metal and cloam teapots, deep glass sugar bowls, and vases of flowers. Pictures adorned the walls, patterned jugs hung in rows on big hooks and snowy white nets were at the windows. Two slim women in long white aprons were in attendance and after taking their parcels from them they showed the party of four to one of the tables. Abigail sat elegantly on a stout chair and ordered tea and scones for herself and Rebecca, and told the waitress to ask the children what they wanted. Tamsyn stood and stared at the shelves stacked with huge jars and big square biscuit tins as she tried to make up her mind what she wanted. Stephen told her to order whatever she had for him too, then went to talk to an old salt with a walrus moustache. He wanted to pick his brains about the wrecked aeroplane and the massive anchor he had seen today.
Rebecca smiled at the elderly sailor, who doffed his cap to her, then she looked out of the window at the changing huts and boats. This was preferable to looking at Mrs Fiennes and warding off more of her unkind remarks.
‘What an absolutely charming little place,’ Abigail said, drawing Rebecca’s attention away from the view. ‘Have you been here before?’
‘I can remember coming here as a little girl with my mother,’ Rebecca replied, her voice moody.
Abigail had been looking for another way to put Rebecca down but the unusual mention of the girl’s mother and the way it had been said made her feel guilty at her churlishness. ‘You must have few good memories of your mother,’ she said softly.
Rebecca picked up her teacup and looked blankly over its rim. ‘I have nothing but good memories of my mother. It’s my father who hates her.’
‘You understand why she left you?’
‘I understand why she left the creek.’
Rebecca’s frosty answer and the challenge in her eyes forbade further questions. Abigail realised her behaviour was unwise. She worried what Alex would say if he found out she’d been unkind to his favourite person in Kennick Creek.
Chapter 21
The bells of All Hallows Church, Kea, peeled out the joyful news of Margaret Grubb having just become Mrs Archie Magor. The wedding party gathered outside the church for the photographs, and because the new heir to Trevallion was there a photographer from a local newspaper had also made an appearance. While Abigail, in a new suit and matching hat she’d had sent down from London, made sure she was in a good position to be photographed beside Alex, he was more interested in spying out Rebecca, who was keeping a low profile at the back of the group.
When just the immediate family were required for the next photograph, he grabbed Rebecca by the arm and pulled her round to the side of the church, not caring if anyone thought this odd.
‘I want to know why you’re so damned miserable,’ Alex said under his breath.
‘We can’t talk about it now,’ Rebecca whispered back from under the wide brim of her hat. ‘We’re at a wedding.’
‘I don’t care where we are. You’ve been miserable for days and I won’t let it go on any longer without an explanation. Well?’
She shrugged her shoulders. What could she tell him when she didn’t really know herself? She’d been hurt by Joe’s lack of interest in her but had come to accept that there could never have been a future there, that her feelings for him had just been infatuation. Her feelings now were muddled. Did she really want to stay for ever where she was? She had never thought of herself as being attractive to men, but she was soon to go out with the handsome Neville Faull, a man his class would call a cad. Rebecca wasn’t naive enough to believe he was looking for anything lasting or innocent; it had been unwise to accept his invitation but part of her, a part looking for relief and a little excitement, wanted to go.
Added to her mixed-up feelings was the fact that she baulked at the other Kennickers’ pressure over Alex and the fate of Trevallion. Whatever he finally decided to do about the estate would be his own affair and had nothing to do with her. It wasn’t fair; why couldn’t they just be glad to have an employer again and wait patiently, like she was? Loveday’s self-righteousness had particularly got under her sk
in, and Mrs Fiennes’ recent behaviour towards her was inexplicable. One minute she was barking her head off, the next she was kind and understanding. What was the matter with the woman?
Seeing he wasn’t going to get a quick answer, Alex tried a different approach. ‘You look lovely, Becca, if that’s what you’re worried about. You look as good as any other woman here, much better than Abigail and even the bride.’
Rebecca gave him a wry smile. It was a sweet thing to say. ‘Thank you, Alex.’
‘No, really, you do. I mean it.’
He did mean it. Without realising it, Rebecca had a flair for clothes and with the money he had given her she had bought a dusky pink georgette suit to go with the hat Abigail had bought for her. She had tied her hair at the nape of her neck with a red silk bow.
Running out of patience, Alex pulled at his stiff collar. ‘Please tell me, Becca. What’s the matter with you? I know something’s bothering you.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Rebecca sighed. It was a struggle to find the right words. ‘I’ve just been feeling down these past few days, that’s all.’
‘Is it?’ he asked suspiciously. The hurt was in his voice again. ‘Why haven’t you come to me? We’re friends. You could have told me how you were feeling.’
Rebecca felt guilty at his concern. Although she couldn’t think of him as a friend in the same way he seemed to think about her, he had been good to her, never flaunting his superiority over her as Abigail sometimes did. He deserved better. She smiled into his searching eyes. ‘It’s nothing really, Alex. We women get a bit peculiar at times, that’s all.’
He put a hand on her arm. ‘You would tell me if there was anything worrying you?’
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