‘No. Apparently Juliette’s a hot contender but nothing’s decided.’
‘And how’s Caroline?’ Liz studied Esme’s face, for this, she knew, was really the most important question of all.
To Liz’s relief, her friend’s features lit up.
‘Unbelievably happy! Helen wanted her there at the birth, along with Helen’s husband, of course. Caroline said it was the most amazing experience of her life.’
‘I’m so glad.’
Liz was, indeed, delighted for Esme, but at the same time she was aware of how much the older woman would have loved to be with Caroline now, sharing in her joy.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Esme said, as if reading her friend’s mind. ‘Of course I miss her like mad, but this is Helen’s time. She needs her mum. I wouldn’t dream of getting in the way, even if I could.’
‘That’s very generous of you. I’m not sure I could be as unselfish.’
‘I have to be,’ Esme replied simply. ‘There’s no other choice.’
‘Hello, darlings!’
Liz swung around to find Tony right behind, with his Brazilian husband, Felipe, who was Rafael’s older brother. In desperation, their mother had sent Rafael to live in England with the two men when she could no longer keep the boy under control at home in Rio.
So far, the experiment seemed to have been a big success. No longer hanging out with minor criminals and druggies, Rafael had slotted well into the local community and went to school every day.
Although he wasn’t exactly a diligent student, he was popular with the other pupils, having helped to set up monthly Friday night discos in the school hall, at which he was the deejay.
Somewhat grudgingly, the teachers had had to admit that they quite liked him, too, not least because he hung out with Rosie, for whom they had a soft spot. And although his homework was atrocious, he made everyone laugh and didn’t seem to stop Rosie from working either. Indeed, her marks had recently gone up.
‘My favourite girl!’
Tony crouched down to Lowenna’s level and stretched his arms wide.
The little girl looked uncertain for a moment, before plucking up courage and running straight in. He picked her up and swung her around in a circle, making her squeal with pleasure.
He was dressed in jeans and a loud, paisley-patterned shirt, which was bursting at the seams. A few months before, he’d hit the gym and lost a lot of weight, but it appeared to have all gone back on, and more.
Felipe, who was tall and thin, didn’t seem bothered, though. He’d once told Liz that he loved his partner for his mind, not his body.
He was grateful to be married to someone who adored food as he was a very good cook and preferred an appreciative audience. Tony, a real gourmet, fitted the bill perfectly and all in all the pair, who had been together for quite some years, seemed ideally suited.
The group were distracted by some particularly loud honking and watched a large white van trying to get past the queue of cars. Eventually, enough disgruntled drivers mounted the verge for the van to squeeze through, and it drew to a halt right outside the gate.
Soon, a gang of men were unloading crates of food and booze and staggering across the field towards the main gazebo, where they were greeted by Barbara and her team of helpers.
‘Lunch!’ Tony said, patting his round stomach. ‘I hope it’s good. I’m ravenous!’
Liz smiled. ‘With Barbara in charge, it’s bound to be. I think she’s using a catering company from Looe. She’s had them before, for pub events. She said they were great.’
Before long, delicious smells began to waft through the air as a part-cooked hog roast started to warm up on a giant spit. The band was still playing while someone on a loud speaker moved amongst the crowd, urging folk to gather around the edge of the playground.
‘Our German friend is on his way,’ the man announced in a tinny voice. ‘Please wait quietly and make room for the procession.’
Liz felt her heart lurch, as if she were on a roller coaster, waiting for the off.
‘There they are!’
It was Esme who shouted in Liz’s ear and involuntarily, her head twisted to look. Coming across the field towards them was a handful of people, one of whom she recognised as the portly Reg, in a flapping brown suit.
He was flanked by the local MP, in a smart dark skirt and jolly yellow jacket, and the town mayoress. She was wearing full ceremonial dress, including a scarlet robe with a white lace jabot at the neck, a gold badge and a heavy gold chain of office. On her head was a black tricorn hat.
She was smiling broadly and waving a regal, white-gloved hand at the onlookers as she made her way slowly towards the playground. Meanwhile, the brass band blasted out the opening of the main theme of Jerome Moross’s The Big Country, which certainly grabbed everyone’s attention.
Straining her neck, Liz could make out a few extra heads behind the mayoress – more councillors and local dignitaries, probably. Then all of a sudden she clocked Max, who, though surrounded by bodies, appeared strangely alone.
It was as if he had a spotlight on him, drawing her gaze ever closer, sucking her in. Her mouth went dry and it was just as well that all eyes were on the procession rather than her, because she was sure that she must have gone pale.
To her, he looked the same but different, and at first she wasn’t sure why. He had the same broad, athletic shoulders and wide neck that she remembered, and that had once made her think he might be a rugby player. His beard was as closely cropped as before, and his short dark hair was still flecked with silvery streaks.
His skin was slightly tanned, just as it had been when they’d first met. She knew now that he had a weekend home on a lake near Munich, where he kept a boat, and also took his daughter, Mila, on frequent foreign holidays. Back then, though, she’d just assumed that he was naturally dark-skinned.
He was walking quite purposefully, his arms swinging loosely at his side. He was wearing a navy suit – she hadn’t seen him in one before – a white shirt and no tie, and his smile made him look friendly and approachable.
However, Liz noticed that all the time she gazed at him, the smile didn’t change or move at all. It remained fixed in the exact same position while he stared straight ahead, not engaging with anyone or even seeming to notice the faces in the crowds.
She had the strange sensation, though, that all the while his eyes were focused on his destination – the playground – he was actually staring at her. Not literally, of course, but it was as if every cell in his body was acutely aware of her presence, seeking her out and searching for clues.
Perhaps she was imagining it and, in reality, she was the only one looking for signals, but she didn’t think so. Call it animal instinct, but she was convinced that he knew exactly where she was.
This made her uncomfortable, so much so, in fact, that she probably would have bolted, had she not committed herself to conducting the children’s choir.
She started. ‘Oh my God!’
Esme glanced around. ‘What’s happened?’
Checking her watch, Liz saw that it was eleven fifty. She had agreed to meet up with Jean, Ruby the pianist, and all the children at a quarter to eleven by the oak tree.
The idea was that they would stand together during the ribbon cutting and make their way as a group when it was time to sing. But Liz had completely forgotten about the arrangement; she really was at sixes and sevens today.
Grabbing Lowenna by the hand, she started to extract herself from her friends.
‘I have to find the choir. I’ll see you a bit later,’ she told Esme, who nodded briefly before returning her gaze to the processing dignitaries.
There were ten children in all standing beneath the tree, ranging in age from six to eleven. Lowenna had been considered just that little bit too young to sing.
Jean, in a flowery shirt and beige trousers, was holding on to two of the littler ones and looked immensely relieved when she spotted Liz.
�
�Thank goodness!’ she said, nudging Ruby, who turned and pressed her palms together in mock prayer. ‘We thought you’d abandoned us!’
Liz apologised for being late and asked if they’d seen Alex, who was to accompany them on the accordion. Alex was Robert’s head chef, who had a penchant for fifties music and sported an Elvis-style quiff.
Rather surprisingly, perhaps, he also played the accordion for the local morris men.
‘He’s over there by the fence with Loveday and Jesse,’ Jean replied, pointing, and Liz noticed Loveday’s pink hair first, followed by Alex’s black quiff and Jesse’s blond curls. She was pleased to see that they were with the Mexican visitor, Chabela, who might otherwise have been on her own.
Rick was hovering close by with Audrey, but she had her back turned to Chabela. After the mean things that Audrey had said about her in the pub, Liz doubted that Audrey would be quick to involve the foreigner in any conversation. Audrey could be awfully spiteful.
The procession had reached the gate to the playground now and someone handed a portable microphone to the smiling mayoress, who turned towards the crowd. Reg and the local MP remained resolutely at her side, but Max hung back a bit, the smile still pinned to his face, his gaze firmly on the horizon.
‘Welcome, everyone,’ the mayoress said. She wasn’t reading from any notes. ‘It’s wonderful to see so many of you here and to witness the grand opening of our brand new playground.’
At this, the crowd gave a little cheer.
‘We are, of course, honoured to have Mr Max Maier with us.’
She swivelled in his direction and he gave a modest nod.
‘As many of you know,’ she went on, ‘it is thanks to Mr Maier that we have been able to save the land from development and preserve it as a play park for the children of Tremarnock to enjoy. Hopefully their children and their children’s children will benefit, too, for many, many years to come.’
After this, she gave a brief summary of the moving story of how Max’s grandfather had come to Tremarnock as a prisoner of war in the nineteen forties and how he had taken the village and its people to his heart.
She mentioned the message in a bottle that he had thrown into the sea when he finally left England to go back to Germany, and how it had been discovered only recently by local schoolgirl, Rosie Broome. Thanks to some clever detective work, she had managed to track Max down and he had decided to buy the playground and have it refurbished in his grandfather’s memory.
All the while the mayoress spoke, a snapper from the local paper took photographs while beside him, a woman reporter with auburn hair and freckles scribbled notes in a pad.
Max, meanwhile, had his head bowed and appeared to be listening attentively to all that was being said, his hands clasped in front of him, his legs apart and feet planted firmly on the ground.
Liz got the impression that this was a bit of an ordeal for him, and that he wasn’t enjoying himself but was doing his best to play the part until such a time as he could hurry away.
This made her feel sad and a little guilty, because she knew how much he’d loved his grandfather and how thrilled he’d been initially to forge the link with Tremarnock.
It was her fault, at least in part, that the situation had turned sour. If only she had rejected his kiss; if only she’d never allowed herself to be attracted to him in the first place.
She was still looking at him, safe in the knowledge that his eyes were firmly on the ground, when all of a sudden he glanced up and stared straight at her, just as if he’d been planning this moment all along.
He caught her completely off guard and instantly her cheeks burst into flame, yet she couldn’t seem to look away. Instead, he held her gaze for what seemed like an eternity, though in actual fact it could only have been a few moments.
They must have been about fifty metres apart, the length of an Olympic swimming pool, yet the distance between them seemed to shrink to nothing. It was as if they were the only two people in the field, and they were being drawn together as though by some magnetic force.
Instinctively, she took a few steps towards him before stopping herself. He, too, seemed to bend in her direction, while their eyes remained locked.
At last, with some effort of will, she managed to pull her gaze away and stooping low, she put her arms around Lowenna and picked her up. The little girl was still light, so it wasn’t hard. Liz found it comforting to bury her nose in her daughter’s soft dark hair and inhale the sweet scent of new skin, soap and shampoo.
But her mind was still racing with questions: what did he want? Did he still have romantic feelings towards her, or had they turned to anger? Was he after love, friendship, reconciliation – or some sort of revenge?
She told herself not to be paranoid, but from this distance at least, it was impossible to interpret his motives or guess what he was thinking.
The band stopped playing and the woman MP gave a short speech, before asking Max to unveil a large, rustic wooden sign, which was attached to a post just outside the playground entrance.
In one swift move, he pulled off the hessian sack that was covering it, to reveal a rectangular plaque. From where she was, Liz couldn’t see the words that were written on it, but the mayoress read them out:
‘Franz Maier Memorial Playground,’ she said, adding, ‘and then there are two quotes. Max chose them especially, because he thought his grandfather would have liked them:
‘“Whoever wants to understand much must play much”, Gottfried Benn, and “Play is the highest form of research”, Albert Einstein.’
There was a general murmur of interest and quite a few folk nodded, as if they agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiments. Then, at last, it was almost time for Max to cut the red ribbon, which was tied with a rosette around the metal gate that led into the playground.
First, he said just a few short words, alluding to his grandfather’s love of Tremarnock and the gratitude that he’d expressed down the years to the villagers for treating him so kindly. After that, he used a big pair of scissors on the ribbon, which fell to the ground, and declared the park officially open.
At that point, the crowd gave an enormous whoop and a host of small children, shrieking excitedly, started to surge towards the now open gate.
‘Er, wait a moment please.’
The woman MP looked dismayed, then relieved, when most of the children stopped in their tracks and retreated back to their parents’ sides.
‘We’re going to have a demonstration now from the local gymnastics group, then there’ll be a special surprise for our honoured guest.’
The MP grinned at Max, who smiled broadly back, but Liz didn’t think that he was being sincere. She believed she knew him well enough by now to recognise when he was genuinely happy, and this was just put on.
Before long, a gang of mostly girls in bright leotards, plus a few boys, had entered the playground. They entertained onlookers with a fantastic display of vaults, handsprings, somersaults, cartwheels, twists and balances.
The crowed oohed and aahed appreciatively and Lowenna, still in Liz’s arms, was transfixed.
After about ten minutes, Jean whispered in Liz’s ear, ‘We’d better get going. We’re on next.’
Together with Ruby, the women ushered the choir over towards the playground, and waited just outside until the gymnasts took a bow.
‘And now,’ said the mayoress, taking the microphone again, ‘it’s time for our special event. Please welcome the Kernow Kids, Tremarnock’s newly formed sea shanty choir. All the children attend the local village primary school and they’ve been practising hard in the past few weeks. So, ladies and gentlemen, a big round of applause now for THE KERNOW KIDS!’
The crowd duly obliged, clapping enthusiastically while the children, along with Liz, Jean and Ruby, assembled in front of the ship. They were soon joined by Alex, with his accordion, and the mayoress handed the microphone to Liz.
She had been prepared for this and knew that she was to say a f
ew words but even so, her legs felt like jelly when she started to speak. She deliberately avoided looking at Max, for fear that she’d lose her nerve entirely.
‘We know that Mr Maier’s grandfather loved the sea, and he also loved Cornwall,’ she said, ‘so we thought – what better than to get the children to sing a few famous sea shanties? We hope you enjoy them, and please, those of you who know them – and lots of you will – please feel free to join in.’
Turning her back to the crowd, she nodded to Alex to play the first note and led the children with a ‘one, two, three’ into the first line of the song, ‘The Robbers Retreat’:
Come fill up your glasses and let us be merry!
For to rob and to plunder it is our intent.
The children, all in their white sailors’ hats, put their hearts – and lungs – into the performance and sang with great gusto.
There was much chuckling, cheering and clapping at the end, before they launched into ‘Drunken Sailor’, ‘Mingulay’ and ‘Spanish Ladies’, complete with rousing hand gestures and lots of ‘heave-ho’s’.
For the grand finale, they performed ‘The Song of the Western Men’ about the brave Cornish patriot, Squire Trelawny.
It was the unofficial Cornish anthem and when they reached the refrain, the hairs on the back of Liz’s neck prickled.
Here’s twenty thousand Cornish men
Will know the reason why!
She had sung the song to Max, in the car going back from the airport on the very first day that they’d met.
By the time they reached the final chorus, he had the words off pat and was joining in lustily. She could still recall how very much at ease she’d felt with him, this virtual stranger. He’d teased her and they’d laughed a lot; it was almost as if she’d known him her entire life.
Did he remember those few moments, too? Back then, she hadn’t given them any significance, but after what had happened subsequently, she’d viewed them rather differently.
After all, it wasn’t every day that you met someone with whom you felt a strong affinity and it wasn’t as if she’d been looking for it, either. She was a married woman, for goodness’ sake, with two daughters, a home and a tortoiseshell cat.
The Girl Who Came Home to Cornwall Page 16
