The Island Legacy

by Ruth Saberton

  Inside, the hotel was a treasure trove of quirky designs and funky furnishings. As she checked in Ness admired a pair of zebra-print sofas, the big splashy paintings on the white walls, and the glass lobby showcasing the shifting seascape beyond. Every time she saw the island rising from the bright blue, Ness’s stomach churned. How was it possible that this belonged to her? And that Addy had grown up in such a magical place yet barely mentioned it, just as he’d hardly ever mentioned her mother? All the information she had about Beth had been gleaned from chance remarks but Ness felt sure her father’s reluctance to talk about either her mother or his home were linked. Was coming to St Pirran and accepting this inheritance the key to unlocking the mysteries of Adric Penwellyn? The tingling feeling that swept over her each time she looked across to the castle certainly seemed to suggest as much.

  The receptionist, a woman in her fifties with a round face and warm smile, checked Ness in. Her eyes widened when she saw the Penwellyn surname.

  “Welcome to St Pirran, Miss Penwellyn. I didn’t realise you would be American!”

  Ness laughed. “I guess I sound it but I promise you I’m British. I’ve just lived abroad for a very long time, that’s all. I can show you my passport if it helps?”

  The receptionist looked flustered. “Oh no, no! That won’t be necessary. It’s so wonderful to meet you. Let me upgrade you to the Castle Suite.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard. “It’s our nicest room and it has a wonderful view.”

  Thinking of her bank balance, Ness was alarmed. “That’s really kind of you but—”

  “The upgrade’s on the house,” the receptionist interrupted. “My goodness, it’s the least we can do to welcome you to St Pirran, Miss Penwellyn. Anyway, if I didn’t my sister Annie would skin me alive.” She held out her hand and beamed at Ness. “I’m Val Brown, Annie Luckett’s sister.”

  Ness was jet-lagged, but even if she hadn’t been it wouldn’t have made much difference. She had no idea who Annie Luckett might be or why she’d want a total stranger to have an upgraded room.

  “Don’t look so surprised; we’re all related here,” Val added, handing Ness a big set of heavy brass keys held together with nautical-looking rope. “I’m your solicitor’s aunty too, and the vicar’s cousin.”

  “Right,” said Ness. Her head was starting to thud. The long drive and lack of sleep were beginning to take their toll, never mind the thousand and one questions she needed answering. Val Brown’s information overload was more than she could handle right now.

  “Listen to me prattling on! You’ll be wanting to get to your room and freshen up, won’t you?” Val said, turning sideways and easing her ample frame out from behind the desk. “It’s just that everyone’s so excited to have you here.”

  As Val led her through a maze of corridors, all white and covered in colourful artwork, she chatted away nineteen to the dozen. Ness did her best to listen carefully, but the words crashed against her like the waves on the island’s rocky shore and made little sense.

  “It was such a shame your uncle stopped composing,” Val was saying as Ness followed her large backside up a flight of stairs. “I think he’d have been one of the greatest composers of the past century if he’d carried on, don’t you?”

  “Mmm,” said Ness, wondering when would be a good time to let Val know that until recently she hadn’t even been aware that she had an uncle, let alone a reclusive one who lived in a castle and was a gifted composer. The first she’d heard about Armand Penwellyn had been when she and Mel had done a quick Wikipedia search. Although she’d never even met her uncle and didn’t have a musical bone in her body, Ness was saddened to think of him ending his days with his talents going to waste.

  “We’ve all been really worried that Armand would have left everything to Jamie, and then who knows what would have happened? Anything, probably!” Val continued once she’d gained enough puff to talk again after climbing the stairs. “There’d be a theme park or a strip club on the island before we knew it if that one had his way. That was why Annie was so determined to trace you. Well, her and Lucy, of course – although that’s supposed to be a secret! Oops! Me and my big mouth! Could you forget I mentioned that? I’ll be in huge trouble and Jamie would probably murder Lucy!”

  Ness thought she would have no problem keeping anything Val had said a secret, since she was hardly registering a word. Her temples were starting to beat more aggressively now, and battalions of black dots were mustering in the corners of her vision. She needed to lie down before she fell down.

  “Here it is, our very best suite,” Val announced. “I’ll leave you to freshen up and I’ll have one of the lads carry your bag up. If you want dinner, best book now. I recommend the monkfish. It’s fresh off the boats this morning.”

  “It sounds wonderful,” Ness said, even though the thought of food made her feel queasy. All she needed was some rest.

  “Just call down to reception if you do want a reservation,” Val said. “It’s holiday season, see, and we’ll be very busy tonight. If you don’t book, you could miss out.”

  And with this warning, she lumbered away down the corridor, leaving Ness nonplussed. The torrent of names and facts had been overwhelming and she was glad to step into the sanctuary of her room at last.

  Goodness. Val hadn’t exaggerated about the view. The suite was in the highest part of the hotel and the bay stretched out before Ness like a living picture. The beach was covered with colourful towels and windbreaks; from here it reminded Ness of a sponge cake sprinkled with hundreds and thousands. Beyond it, boats zipped across the deep water, towards the castle that basked in the sunshine. Her castle.

  Shaking her head, and wincing as her brain seemed to swivel inside her skull, Ness pulled the curtains closed. Much as shutting out the view and the sunshine seemed criminal, the instant pools of darkness were a relief. She was too tired to think about it all for a second longer, too tired even to explore the suite and check out the luxurious bathroom. Instead, Ness kicked off her sandals and fell back onto the bed.

  The softness of the mattress and the cool caress of the cotton pillows were like a balm to her aching head. Ness’s heavy eyes closed and even the endless calling of seagulls and the crashing of the surf faded away. Within moments she was fast asleep.

  Ness woke with a jolt, her heart hammering as she tried to work out where she was. It was dark and chilly now; the curtains at the window drifted in the breeze and the air was sharp with the tang of salt and seaweed. The familiar clicking sound of the ceiling fan, the thrum of the air-conditioning units and the chirping of the cicadas had been replaced by the sighing of waves and the gentle tinkle of cutlery from the terrace below where the evening’s diners were enjoying the monkfish Val had proudly recommended.

  Cornwall! Of course. She was in the hotel overlooking the bay. Here she was, poised on the brink of something exciting and scary and wonderful all at once. Ness sat up and rubbed her eyes. Goodness, she must have slept for over five hours, judging from the fact that the daylight had seeped away.

  Her headache was gone, replaced by a raging thirst. Ness swung her legs over the edge of the bed and padded into the bathroom, where she gulped down two glassfuls of water. Then she went to the sitting area and curled up on the big sofa positioned in the bay window. Tucking her legs under her, she looked out over dark water to the few lights that came from the castle. Whoever was living there, they were certainly being prudent with their electric, Ness thought – in contrast to the town, which was lit up like Oxford Street at Christmas. Recalling the solicitor’s warning about money pits, she frowned. David Brown was right: it was one thing to feel excited and romanticise this unexpected inheritance, but in reality being the custodian of a castle might be a very different proposition.

  “All I can do is wait until tomorrow,” she said out loud. Maybe the full reading of the will would reveal some useful extras that David Brown had overlooked? Like a nice trust fund that could pay for the place, maybe? Or a stray Picas
so nobody had identified? Wasn’t that what usually happened in movies? Then she could sell the Picasso and everything would be fine.

  She laughed. She’d obviously been watching too many Richard Curtis films; she might as well be expecting Hugh Grant to turn up and play the romantic hero too. Hugh, with his upper-class charm and cut-glass accent, would certainly fit the part of castle owner much more neatly that a tangle-haired, suntanned diver with an accent that was a mishmash of all the places in which her father had raised her over the years. What on earth had her uncle been thinking? She didn’t belong here.

  Time to explore and stop navel gazing, Ness told herself firmly. Closer investigation of the suite revealed that her bag had been delivered, so she dived into the shower and got dressed, her brow crinkling when she saw just how few clothes she had. White jeans, a green vest top and glittery sandals were all very well for balmy Caribbean nights, but in the cool May air of a Cornish seaside town she was going to freeze. Clothes shopping had to go to the top of the list, Ness decided as she made her way down to the hotel bar in search of a snack. At the very least she needed a pair of boots, some socks and a hoody – because she doubted very much that the castle came with central heating.

  Following the noise of chatter and clinking cutlery, Ness found herself passing through a set of French doors and back out onto the terrace, which was now heaving with drinkers and diners. Val had certainly been right about the restaurant’s popularity. Now that it was night-time, the place was lit by hurricane lanterns on every table and hundreds of white fairy lights that trembled in the breeze. The sky was speckled with stars and a small slice of moon smiled down from above the castle. The whole scene was magical. There was only one problem: unlike the Caribbean, where everyone headed for the shade or a fan, the fight was on here to find a seat near one of the patio heaters pumping warmth into the chilly Cornish night. The place was so busy that she couldn’t see a vacant table anywhere. With goosebumps on her arms, Ness was just about to head inside again when a man stepped into her path.

  “Would you like a seat? There’s a spare one here if you don’t mind sharing?”

  Ness looked up and found herself gazing into a pair of dark grey eyes starred with fine lines. They were astonishing eyes, their pewter-grey irises ringed with black as though traced around with a fine liner, and as they held hers Ness was lost for words. She might be on a dimly lit terrace, but even in the shadows and with his dark hair falling over his swarthy face she could see that he was handsome, albeit not in a way she’d ever encountered before today. Although he was smiling there was an air of ruthless masculinity about him. He was tall, long-limbed and muscular, the shoulders beneath his white shirt broad and powerful. As she stared into those piercing grey eyes, Ness realised he was the man she’d seen sketching earlier on. He was pretty hard to miss.

  “I saw you earlier. You’re an artist, aren’t you?” she blurted. She could have torn her tongue out. Now he really would think she’d been checking him out.

  The man laughed. He had a nice laugh, deep and gravelly. It made the fine hairs on Ness’s arms stir.

  “I’d hardly call myself an artist but I do like to sketch from time to time – badly, I might add! Look, it’s only going to get busier here, so honestly, if you want a seat you really should grab one now. They’ll be fighting for them in fifteen minutes.”

  “Fighting?”

  He nodded his dark head and the grey eyes glittered. “You’d better believe it. Fighting for seats in restaurants and pubs is something the locals here take very seriously in the season. It could get ugly; don’t say you weren’t warned. It’s also a very long way to the nearest hospital. If I were you I’d grab a chair and fast.”

  Ness felt her mouth curve into a smile. “I’m not sure I’m ready to engage in chair wars. Not without some serious training anyway.”

  “Very wise of you,” the stranger agreed. He pulled out a seat and, still smiling, Ness slipped into it. Instantly the warmth of the patio heater curled around her bare shoulders like a wrap and she sighed with pleasure. St Pirran was certainly pretty but it was about fifteen degrees cooler than the climate she was used to.

  “I’m about to order some supper. You’re very welcome to join me, if you like?” the man added. “The food’s not bad here.”

  “I hear the monkfish is good,” Ness recalled.

  “Ah, Val’s been trying to sell you the catch of the day has she? Never misses a trick, that one. Her son owns a trawler and it’s amazing how much fish this hotel needs.”

  “This is a complicated place. Everyone seems to be related to everyone else,” Ness observed.

  The man grinned. “That’s St Pirran for you. Luckily, I’m an incomer so you can’t offend me. I’m Max, by the way.”

  He held out his hand. It was strong and large, the fingers tapering and sensitive. Artist’s hands, thought Ness – and, unbidden, an image of her father sketching came to mind. The sudden lump in her throat took her by surprise. Addy had been gone for over three years now and the stabbing grief of the early days had gently receded. Being here, in the place where he’d grown up, must be making everything sharper again. He’d have seen these views every day of his childhood and would have known all the people in the town. This had been his home.

  Pushing these thoughts aside, she took Max’s outstretched hand. The jolt she felt as his skin brushed hers made her eyes widen – and the glitter in his said he’d felt it too.

  “I’m Ness.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ness,” said Max. He shook her hand, holding it in his for just a fraction longer than was necessary. “May I buy you a drink? To welcome you to St Pirran?”

  The look in those dark eyes suggested that he’d like to do far more to welcome Ness than buy a drink, and her pulse skittered. She could take his hand, lead him back through the restaurant, up the stairs and to her suite if she wanted, she found herself thinking.

  What? Ness never thought like this. No-strings flings were her father’s style, not hers – but for a split second she was tempted, before common sense took over. This was a small town; the last thing she needed was gossip.

  “Sure. I’d love a glass of wine,” she answered. “But I should warn you I’ll probably pass out. I’ve had a long-haul flight and a busy drive today, so my body clock’s shot to pieces.”

  Max’s gaze flickered across her bare shoulders and he raised a dark eyebrow. “That tan certainly isn’t from Cornwall. California? Or maybe Florida?”

  “The Caribbean, St Antonia?” Ness said. It was a small island and not many people had heard of it, but her new acquaintance was nodding.

  “It’s a diving Mecca, isn’t it? I went there years ago. Gorgeous place.”

  “I work in dive hotel there and, yes, it’s lovely but in very a different way to this.” Ness looked out towards the island, a dark mass now in the inky water, and for the hundredth time found herself marvelling that this was hers. It was crazy. She was a nobody. A waitress. A drifter’s daughter. How could this possibly be true? Surely David Brown had made a mistake?

  “Cornwall’s special,” Max was agreeing, “and the water’s as good as anywhere in the Caribbean, if a bit colder. There’s a spot off the back of the island where there’s an old wreck that’s become a natural reef. You should dive it sometime while you’re here.”

  “I think I’m way too soft to dive in the UK,” Ness admitted. It was hard to imagine plunging into icy cold water after the bath-warm Caribbean Sea.

  Max laughed. “Nonsense! All you’ll need’s a good wetsuit. If you’re about for a few days, check out the dive sites around here. Honestly, you won’t regret it. It’s a special place.”

  “You sound like you know it well. Is this home for you?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I have got a holiday place and I spend as much time here as I can. My builders are finishing some work, so I’m staying out as long as I can tonight to preserve my eardrums! I love it here though. I came here on holiday and when I was
a kid I was obsessed with Armand Penwellyn’s music. I tried to play his Island Suite on the violin and drove my poor parents mad.”

  “They didn’t like the music?” Ness had only recently downloaded Armand’s works and was gradually working her way through them. The notes were strident and at times discordant, not always easy on the ear, yet now she saw the landscape that had inspired his work she totally understood why. This was an unyielding place.