Manley gave a Laura a searching look and said, ‘What odd names.’
Keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the road, Laura replied, ‘Don’t be so condescending, Hugh. For your information, Lostwithiel in Cornish means “tail of wooded area” and likewise, Liskeard simply means “court”. Happy now?’
‘Thank you, darling,’ Manley answered, gently squeezing her thigh, ‘you really are a hive of information.’
‘Seeing as how I lived in Cornwall for twenty years,’ she replied, ‘I ought to be, and please keep your hand where it is, it feels rather lovely.’
‘How far away is Helston?’ Manley enquired.
‘Not far,’ Laura answered, giving him a sideways smile, ‘just sit back and enjoy the scenery.’
Half an hour after passing through Lostwithiel, they drove through St Austell. They then drove through Truro and continued down a dusty secondary road to Redruth. ‘Not long now,’ said Laura, turning off the road into a narrow driveway. ‘You can see our house on the left.’
‘That’s quite a house,’ retorted Manley, staring at a large grey-stoned, two-storey building, surrounded by a high, uneven, drystone rock wall, used throughout Devon and Cornwall. ‘It looks more like a mansion.’
‘Actually, it’s called Trevethick House,’ said Laura, stopping the car outside a tall, wrought iron gate. ‘It’s been in the family for generations. Now be an angel and open the gate, then I suggest we tidy ourselves up before we meet Father.’
The time was a little after seven o’clock as Laura drove up a wide gravelled drive, dissected by well-kept lawns and beds of bougainvillea in full bloom, and parked near the foot of two flights of stone steps. A thin trail of smoke eddied from two tall chimneys set on top of a slightly slopping red, tiled roof. Green leafed creepers swarmed around each corner of the ashlar façade. In the front, white lace curtains adorned the four tall, six-panelled windows on the top floor. Two smaller windows with floral curtains lay either side of highly polished oak door, flanked on either side by tall, white fluted pillars. Above this a fanlight, a triangular glass pediment, added to the building’s symmetrical appearance, typical of the Georgian period.
‘I must say, Laura,’ Manley remarked, glancing up at the front of the building, ‘It looks like one of houses described in a Jane Austen novel.’
‘That’s nothing, darling,’ Laura replied, laughing heartily, ‘wait till you see the ghost.’
No sooner had she spoke than the door was opened by a tall middle-aged man, whose upright bearing, well-trimmed brown moustache strongly suggested a military background. He had a firm jawline and the slight bend in his otherwise straight nose, a legacy from an old rugby injury, added a touch of toughness to his healthy, ruddy complexion. His thick, wiry, dark hair was streaked with grey, and he wore an open necked, checked shirt and the rounded tips of two highly polished, brown shoes peeked out under the end of a pair of baggy, black, corduroy trousers.
‘How lovely to see you,’ he cried, raising both arms, ‘do come in. I’ve asked Aida to prepare a nice piece of roast lamb for supper.’ He spoke with a distinctive Cornish accent, and in doing so, the corners of his pale blue eyes creased into a welcoming smile. ‘And you must be Hugh,’ he added, proffering his hand. ‘Laura told me she was bringing you down.’
‘A pleasure to meet you, sir,’ Manley nervously replied, feeling the firmness of her father handshake.
‘You also, my boy,’ Laura’s father answered jovially, displaying a row of slightly tobacco-stained even teeth. ‘And you can forget the “sir” and call me Jonathan.’
A small, stout, elderly, grey-haired woman appeared behind them. Her fleshy, pale face was round and rimless glasses, were perched on the bridge of a snub nose. Over a plain, long-sleeved, dark dress, a red and white striped apron was tied around her ample waist. Her strong, muscular legs were bare and she wore a pair of well-worn brown leather slippers.
‘Och now, stop your blethering,’ she said, hands on her hips while smiling benignly. ‘If you stand there any longer, all my lovely cooking will go cold.’
‘Ah, this is Aida, my house keeper,’ said Johnathan, ‘we’d better do as she says. As you can tell, she’s from Scotland and is the real boss of the house.’
‘And dina forget I’m chief cook, maid and bottle washer,’ Aida said. With a broad, toothy grin, she looked at Manley and added, ‘Welcome to Trevethick House, sir.’
‘I expect you’ll want to unpack,’ said Johnathan, ‘and when Aida has shown you to your rooms, I’ll meet you in the study for a drink. Dinner in half an hour.’
They walked through a small lobby onto a floor tiled in black and white. In doing so, Manley noticed Jonathan walked with a slight, left-sided limp. Portraits of austere looking gentlemen and equally stern ladies hung on shiny oak walls, and lying close to the foot of a winding staircase, stood a suit of gleaming silver armour.
‘One of your ancestors?’ Manley jokingly asked Laura.
‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘and protection against my honour.’
‘You’ll be in your usual room, Miss Laura,’ Aida said leading them upstairs, ‘and yours,’ she added, looking sternly at Manley, ‘is the guest room at the end of the hall. The door hinges need oiling so give it a wee push.’
‘Thank you, Aida,’ said Laura, then, giving Manley a doleful look, she opened her door and went inside.
For a few seconds Laura stood and was amazed to see that her room hadn’t changed since she was here six months ago. The round coloured lampshade hanging from the cream-coloured ceiling and small window and floral curtains was exactly as she remembered it. The yellow and pink walls with her favourite country scenes, the single bed, shiny emerald coverlet and bedside light, even the small dressing table and toilet accessories and wardrobe, were the same. A glance through an open door showed the bathroom, with its gleaming white tiles looking as pristine as ever. With a nostalgic sigh she placed her small suitcase on the side of her bed, feeling her shoes sink into the pile of the familiar dark green carpet and began to unpack, while at the same time, thinking about Manley.
At that moment, Manley was also sitting on a bed much larger than Laura’s, admiring the wallpaper embossed in rich Burgundy. Floral curtains were drawn across a wide panelled window and oil paintings of Helston and other towns hung on the walls. His gaze switched to a small, but delicate glass chandelier hanging from a high, white stuccoed ceiling and the floor was covered in a dark brown, thickly piled, Axminster carpet, a tall, highly polished oak wardrobe resting in one corner, near a dressing table and chair, and a half open door leading into a bathroom tiled in light green.
After unpacking, he had a quick shower, and wearing a light grey, singled breasted suit, white shirt and naval tie, left the room and walking along the floor, detected the strong smell of tobacco. Having ignored them when he arrived, Manley paused momentarily and looked at the portraits of men and women wearing clothes dating back to the reign of Charles II on the walls. Suddenly, Jonathan’s distinctive Cornish burr, coming from below, interrupted him. He turned and saw him standing at the bottom of the stairs. He held a meerschaum pipe in one hand with the other resting on the top of the bannister knob.
‘Christian Trevethic, one of my ancestors,’ Johnathan said, smiling, ‘fought for the Royalists in the Civil War and was knighted. He was granted land and built this house. His ghost is supposed to haunt the premises.’
‘Have you ever seen it?’ Manley asked.
‘No, my boy, but Laura says she has,’ Jonathan laughingly replied.
As he spoke, a door opened and Laura arrived. She wore a short-sleeved, button down, yellow dress. Her auburn hair, usually worn in a chignon, hung loosely down her back and a string of pearls adorned her swanlike neck. Her make-up, carefully applied, added to the beauty of her high cheekbones, which, along with the dark red lipstick, accentuated the delicate glow of her porcelain skin. ‘I see you’re still using that horrible tobacco, Father, it smells disgusting,’ she said, slightly shaki
ng her head.
‘You sound just like your mother,’ Johnathan replied. ‘Besides,’ he added, holding the pipe up, ‘it’s one of the few of life’s pleasures I have left.
‘Poppycock,’ she laughed. Then, looking at Manley, she raised her eyebrows, and smiling, said, ‘My goodness, Hugh, why are you staring at me like that?’
‘Sorry, Laura,’ he muttered incongruously, ‘it’s just that this is the first time I’ve seen you out of uniform. You look absolutely gorgeous.’
‘Thank you, kind sir,’ she replied, giving him a mock curtsey. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere. Now let’s go down to dinner before Aida gets on to us.’
Dinner, consisting of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding was taken in a small, but intimate dining room, lined with shiny oak panels and eaten on a long mahogany table, covered with an Irish linen tablecloth, and decorated in the centre by a vase of red and yellow roses. Three courses eaten off elegantly designed crockery with silver cutlery, added a touch grandeur to what was a memorable occasion.
After toasting the king and queen, they adjourned to the lounge, situated at the rear of the house. This was a spacious, well-lit room with a black leather Chesterfield and two matching armchairs, facing an unlit fire with a marble surround. A small coffee table stood next to a Chippendale wine cabinet and a handsome, mahogany sideboard, lined with family photographs. Above this was an ornately framed portrait of a vivacious, auburn haired woman, whose beguiling violet eyes and daring, low cut scarlet costume, complimented her milk white shoulders and creamy complexion.
‘I miss her every day,’ sighed Johnathan, staring nostalgically up at the painting.
‘I’m sure you do,’ said Manley, who was standing next to him and Laura, looking up at the painting.
‘She died far too young,’ sighed Johnathan. Then turning to Laura, he added solemnly, ‘But at least I have you, my dear, to remind me how beautiful she was.’
Laura didn’t speak. Instead, she quickly turned away and sat down on the settee. Manley joined her and gave one of her hands an understanding squeeze.
Half an hour later, after enjoying coffee and brandy, Johnathan pushed himself up from his chair and stood up. ‘Do excuse me,’ he said, holding his unlit pipe, ‘I have some papers to sign in my study.’ Then, bending down, he kissed Laura tenderly on the cheek and added softly, ‘It’s so good to have you home, dear, even it’s only for a few days. Goodnight, I’ll see you both at breakfast.’ Limping slightly, he left the room.
‘Papers my eye,’ said Laura, after kissing Manley warmly on the lips. ‘He’s going into his study for a quiet smoke. Anyway,’ she went on, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece, ‘it’s nine thirty, so I suggest we, err… retire.’
They walked hand in hand up the stairs and stopped outside her door. ‘Goodnight, darling,’ she said, opening the door, and with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, kissed him on the lips and went on. ‘Sleep tight, and sweet dreams.’
‘If I do dream, they’ll be of you, darling,’ he whispered, after returning her kiss. Then, with a frustrated sigh, he watched her close the door.
Twenty minutes later he lay in bed on two large pillows. His hands were behind his neck and he was staring up into the darkness, thinking of Laura, imagining her all warm and cosy, lying naked in bed. Suddenly, he heard an eerie creaking noise as the door slowly opened. He sat up and saw, silhouetted against the hall light, a white-faced figure wearing a long black cloak. A plume of feathers fluttered gently from the top of a wide brimmed hat and a gloved hand held a long silver sword pointing onto the floor. The other hand was hidden in the folds of the cloak.
For a few seconds he was too startled to speak. However, it was only when he heard the figure give a quiet, girlish giggle, he realised what was happening. ‘I have a gun and I’ll shoot if you don’t clear off,’ he cried, feigning fear.
‘Ha! I had you going for a moment,’ Laura cried, closing the door and switching on the light. ‘Didn’t I, darling. The sword belongs to Father,’ she added, carefully laying it across the arms of a chair, ‘but the cloak and hat are mine, relics of my student days.’ From under folds of the cloak she brought out a hand holding two glasses and a small bottle of brandy. ‘What do you say we have a nightcap before we… er, sleep,’ she added with a sly smile. She placed the glasses and bottle on a bedside table. Seconds later, after removing her cloak, she stood in a flimsy white ankle length nightgown, which, aided by the bedside light, showed her nakedness. She sat on the bed and poured out the brandy and handed a glass to Manley.
‘Here’s to locksmiths,’ said Manley, raising his glass and draining the glass.
‘And long may they laugh,’ Laura replied. After finishing her drink, she stood up, and with a flourish of arms, quickly removed he nightgown and climbed into bed.
At first their lovemaking was fast with a depth of animal passion that left them weak and speechless. Afterwards, bathed in warm perspiration they lay, arms around each other, gasping for breath.
‘My God, darling,’ Manley murmured, while listening to his heartbeat gradually subsiding. ‘I’ve never felt like this before. That was incredible.’
‘Yes,’ Laura answered, burrowing her head in his chest, ‘I know exactly what you mean.’ Ten minutes later, feeling his penis stiffen against her stomach, she slid her hand down and gently cupped his testicles and whispered, ‘For goodness sake, darling, do it again before I go crazy.’
Throughout the night when they made love, each mutual caress, kiss and bodily movement, ensured they gave one another total sexual satisfaction; and as dawn crept through the window, they lay, bedclothes askew, entangled in each other’s arms.
During the next two days they visited the ruins of King Arthur’s castle at Tintagel. Staring over the battlements, they followed the local custom and made a silent wish then kissed. They visited the White Hart in Helston where Manley sampled “scrumpy” a local drink made from apples, then walked up Wendron Street and read the blue plaque over the door of the cottage where world heavyweight boxing champion, Bob Fitzsimmons was born.
On Sunday morning they left Helston and after passing through Penzance, drove to Land’s End. With a stiff westerly wind attacking their faces and ruffling their hair, they stood, arms around one another, on a gorse covered verge and gazed at the jagged, rocky outcrops and the vastness of the silvery seas stretching in all directions.
‘It looks so… so peaceful, darling,’ Laura said, hugging Manley. ‘It’s hard to believe there’s war on.’
Manley was about to reply when, suddenly the serenity of the scene was disturbed by the faint rattle of machine gun fire. Shielding their eyes from the sun’s glare, they looked up and saw circular patterns of thin, white vapour trails and black dots, barely visible against the blueness of the cloudless sky.
‘It’s looks as if the RAF are doing their stuff,’ Manley said, tightening his hand around Laura’s waist.
‘My God,’ she gasped as they saw a one of the dots vanish in a ball of yellow flames. ‘One of them has been hit.’ This was quickly followed by a stream of black smoke coming from another dot, as it hurtled downwards and splashed into the sea. ‘I only hope it’s not one of ours,’ Manley said solemnly.
A few minutes later the aerial battle was over. The dots disappeared over the horizon, leaving the vapour trails fading in the sky like wisps of dead men’s shrouds.
The atmosphere during dinner was strained. Manley and Laura ate very little and avoided looking at one another, toying with their food, knowing that that tomorrow they would leave for Portsmouth and dreading the farewells. Johnathan sensed this and did his best to be cheerful by recounting anecdotes from his army days. After dinner, Johnathan and Manley adjourned to the study while Laura, sensing her father wanted to talk privately to Manley, helped Aida to prepare coffee in the kitchen.
Laura was right. Having lit his pipe, Jonathan, sitting in his armchair opposite Manley, took a good puff, then, wafting away a cloud of blue smoke, said
, ‘You know, Hugh, I’ve never seen Laura so happy since Clive…’
‘Yes, I know,’ Manley said, leaning forward in his chair, ‘Laura told me.’
‘And it’s all down to you, my boy,’ Johnathan replied, ‘the light in her eyes when she looks at you, reminds me of the way my dear wife used to look at me. Laura is clearly in love with you.’
‘And let me assure you, sir,’ Manley answered, looking directly intro Johnathan’s eyes, ‘I am with her.’
At that moment, Laura came in, carrying a tray of coffee. ‘My ears were burning,’ she said, placing the tray on a table. ‘I hope Father hasn’t been telling you tales about when I was little,’ she added, handing a cup and saucer to Manley.
‘Of course,’ Manley replied, grinning, ‘but only the nice ones.’
That night they made love with such tenderness, that when it when it was over, they clung together desperately, wishing the night would never end. But, sadly it did. Shortly before six o’clock, Laura woke up, and after kissing Manley, sneaked back to her room. An hour later, looking pale and tired, and wearing their uniforms, they sat down and did their best to do justice to Aida’s bacon and eggs.
‘Now, I’ve put a small hamper of beef sandwiches and a flask of coffee in the boot of your car along with your luggage, Miss Laura,’ said Aida, pouring out tea, ‘so be sure and eat it, as you’ve both hardly touched your breakfast.’
‘And, Laura, I’ve put your car top up, just in case it rains,’ said Johnathan, giving her a warm hug.
By nine o’clock, Laura said a tearful goodbye to her father and Aida. Johnathan then gave Manley a warm handshake and feeling a lump in his throat, said, ‘Godspeed to you and your crew, and come back safely for Laura and myself.’
Five minutes later they drove down the pathway and turned into the Redruth road then headed east. A stiff northerly wind beat against the windscreen while the sun’s rays did their best to peak through the umbrella of grey, cirrostratus clouds. After pass-ing through Lyme Regis, they stopped at a lay-by and enjoyed Aida’s beef sandwiches and coffee. Manley took the wheel, and on the way to Dorchester, the heavens opened and it poured down. The time was now two o’clock and with each passing mile, they became acutely aware that time was running out; in just over four hours they would say goodbye.
Battle Ensign Page 11
