by Kate Ryder
Focusing on the view, Cara watches the gentle landscape speed by. Although the Wiltshire countryside is peaceful and pastoral she can’t wait to get back to the rugged beauty of the Lizard, where she feels protected and safe from the world. Her mind soon drags her back to Greg and she now considers his offer of a trip to the States. He suggested it this morning, over breakfast. She could only manage dried toast, and watching Greg finish off a full English almost turned her stomach again. She instantly said there was no way she could, but he persisted and pointed out her journey to Cornwall would take almost as long as his flight to New York. She couldn’t argue with that. When he continued to press for a commitment she said she would seriously consider it. He said he wanted her to visit for a week and would line up several meetings with influential people on the New York art scene, but she told him she couldn’t leave her children for that length of time. In the end he reluctantly compromised on a long weekend.
It’s not that she doesn’t want to visit; it’s just, as always with Greg, things are moving too fast. But, maybe he’s right, she should broaden her horizons. Cara considers this now. Bethany’s and Sky’s natures are a combination of hers and Christo’s, infused with the heat of the sun, the sound of the sea, the strength of the wind and the power of the surf. But Toby? His DNA has elements of a world-famous, award-winning actor. Maybe, living in a tucked-away cove in Cornwall will not be enough for him. Perhaps she owes it to her children to take Greg up on his offer; after all, he is paying for it. Cara sighs. It’s all too complicated. All she wants is to be back at The Lookout with her little family. The sound of a ringtone sends her delving into her handbag and fishing out her mobile.
‘Hi, Mum,’ says Sky. ‘Are you nearly here?’
‘Another three hours, give or take. What have you been up to?’
‘Grandma and Grandpa took us to St Michael’s Mount,’ he says excitedly. ‘We walked across the causeway but had to come back by boat because the tide came in when we were exploring the castle. Did you know, a giant called Cormoran used to wade across to the mainland and steal cows and sheep from the farmers and take them back to the island?’
‘Did he?’ Cara smiles.
‘Yes. And a young boy called Jack dug a deep pit halfway up one side of the Mount and blew his horn to wake the giant and the giant came running down the side of the Mount but couldn’t see Jack as the sun was in his eyes and he didn’t notice the hole and fell in,’ Sky says in one sentence. Taking a deep breath, he adds, ‘Then Jack filled the hole in and became a local hero and everyone called him Jack the Giant Killer.’
Cara’s smile widens. This is home. ‘Did you find the giant’s heart?’
‘We did! We climbed the path to the castle – it was ever so steep – and we passed the Giant’s Well and found it in the path.’
‘Rumour has it,’ says Cara, ’if you stand on the stone you can still hear the giant’s heartbeat.’
‘I didn’t hear it. We’ll have to listen really hard next time. Grandma wants to speak to you. Bye, Mum.’
‘Bye, Sky. See you very soon.’
‘Hello, Cara. How was London?’ Carol asks.
‘Interesting, tiring, but I’ve got it,’ Cara says.
‘Well done, darling. We knew there was never any doubt.’
‘Aw, thanks, Mum. How were the kids?’
‘Lovely, as always. Your father told them a story about St Michael’s Mount, so we embarked on an expedition to find the giant’s heart.’
‘So I hear!’
‘Yesterday was a perfect day. It was surprisingly warm with a slight breeze and not a cloud in the sky,’ Carol continues.
‘You were lucky. It wasn’t so warm in London,’ Cara says, remembering how Greg left her shivering on the balcony.
‘Beth and Sky had a wonderful time chasing each other along the castle ramparts, while your father, Toby and I enjoyed the view from the Lizard to Mousehole. The sea was flat calm and a beautiful deep cobalt. We caught the boat back and treated ourselves to Cornish ice creams in Marazion. It was a good day. Everyone was happy and your little sweethearts all slept well last night.’
‘Thanks for doing that, Mum. I’ve been meaning to take them but you know what it’s like when you live here.’
‘It was a pleasure. Anyway, your father will pick you up from Truro station at three.’ Carol blows a kiss to her daughter, before adding, ‘We’re all looking forward to having you home with us once again, darling.’
Suddenly overcome with emotion, Cara finishes the call. Where has her usual sunny nature gone? Unbidden, an image of Oliver comes to her. What a summer of love they enjoyed, although neither knew that was all they would have. How foolish they were to dare dream it could be anything other. But the legacy of that long, hot summer is the greatest of gifts, and she will always be thankful to him for giving her Toby. A tear forms in her eye and quickly she rubs it away. She cannot indulge in thoughts of Oliver. She has to be strong for the children. A small, sad smile lingers on Cara’s lips as she locks away the memories and throws away the key.
Eighteen
Oliver opens Zennor’s email and downloads the attachments. She’s marked four properties as possibles and he’s eager to see what she’s found. He hears the front door open and Sebastian and Jamie squabbling as they enter the house. Back from school.
‘Sebastian, put your football kit in the utility room.’ Deanna’s voice carries along the hallway.
As he rushes past the open study door carrying a large bag, Sebastian calls out, ‘Hi, Dad.’
‘Hello, Seb,’ Oliver says, glancing up from the computer screen.
Deanna appears in the doorway. ‘How was the glamorous Sabrina yesterday? I hope she hasn’t persuaded you to take on that film role.’
‘As glamorous as ever and, no, she hasn’t persuaded me.’
‘I’m just putting a wash on for Sebastian. He’s got a match at the weekend.’ She turns to go, but then looks back. ‘Oh, by the way, Ollie, I’m not around so you’ll have to ferry him.’
‘That’s not on the timetable,’ Oliver says. Believing he had a weekend free of family duties, he was contemplating going to Cornwall to view properties.
‘No,’ Deanna says, averting her eyes. ‘Something’s come up and I have to be in London.’
‘All weekend?’ he asks, aware of a sudden shift in atmosphere.
‘Yes.’ Deanna glances at her husband.
What’s she up to?
‘Care to enlighten me?’ he asks.
‘I have some business to attend to but I’ll be back late Sunday afternoon,’ she says evasively. ‘You finish filming next week, don’t you?’
‘Wednesday.’
‘Good.’ Deanna turns to go.
‘And the following weekend I’m away,’ Oliver says, returning to the computer screen.
Deanna turns back to her husband. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Just away, Deanna. I, too, have some business to take care of.’
Deanna’s eyes narrow. This could jeopardise her plans for the week. ‘What days exactly?’
‘Friday through to Tuesday I expect,’ says Oliver in a matter of fact voice.
‘That’s not exactly convenient.’
Oliver glances at his wife. ‘Don’t say I haven’t given you fair notice, Deanna. You can’t suddenly announce your arrangements and expect me to always fall in with your plans.’
He watches as she checks the hallway before entering the room. Closing the door firmly behind her, she walks to his desk.
‘All right, Oliver, you’ve made your point,’ she says coldly. Oliver arches an eyebrow. ‘Don’t you want me to have a happy, fulfilled life?’
‘Of course. You know I do.’
‘Then why are you making it so difficult for me to have an independent life from you all.’
‘Is that what you want, an independent life from us all?’
‘Oh, I don’t mean that,’ she says in exasperation, ‘you know I don’t. But I do
want a life that’s my own, not just as the film star’s wife and mother to his children.’
‘Is that so awful?’
‘Stop being tricky, Oliver. You know what I mean.’ Deanna steadies herself.
‘All right, Deanna. You go off and have your weekend in London but remember I won’t be around the following weekend. Going forward from here, please mark every occasion you’re unavailable on the timetable. We cannot let the children suffer while we try to work things out.’
Deanna stares at her husband. She’s normally the cool one, but something about Oliver’s demeanour is uncharacteristically detached and remote.
‘Just pass me the bloody timetable.’ She thrusts her hand out across the desk.
Oliver opens the drawer, removes the diary and hands it to her. He watches as she crosses out dates and flags up new commitments before throwing it across the desk at him. He studies her amendments carefully and notices that it’s not long before she is unavailable for duties during the week.
‘Is there something you’ve forgotten to tell me?’ he asks, pointing with his index finger to the weeks of her absence.
‘That’s when I start my job.’
Oliver stares at his wife. He should be overjoyed for her but the way she’s handled it has taken away any gracious thoughts. ‘Will you have completed on the apartment by then?’
‘Not quite.’ Deanna colours slightly. ‘I’m staying with friends until I do.’
‘Friends, Deanna?’
‘Oh, if you must know, Pins says he will put me up for a few weeks until I can move in.’
‘I see.’
‘What do you see?’ Deanna asks.
‘I see that you want a single life during the week in London with your new-found friends, but you also want to come home to your family at weekends.’
‘How bloody hypocritical!’ Deanna shouts.
Marching around the desk, she stands at Oliver’s side shaking with rage. How dare he suggest she is irresponsible after all the times he’s been absent over the years? Pins said he might do this. How right he was! That beautiful, dazzling, brilliant man has such insight. On the computer screen is an image of a desirable house with lawns running down to a river. What’s this? What the hell is her husband doing now? Grabbing the screen, she turns it towards her, and her eyes open wide.
‘Why are you looking at property in Cornwall?’
Oliver sighs. ‘It’s not only you who is investing in property.’
Deanna’s jaw drops. Unable to prevent herself, she looks up at Cara’s paintings and the colour drains from her face. He’s not mentioned her once since that awful summer. They had a huge falling out at the time and it took many months for life to return to normal, but she thought they’d moved on. Taking a deep breath, Deanna turns back to her husband.
‘But why Cornwall, Ollie?’ she asks, her tone conciliatory.
‘Why not? It’s a beautiful county.’
‘So are Hampshire, Dorset, Devon, and many other counties. Why Cornwall?’ she says, irritated by his evasion.
‘Just because…’
‘No, Oliver. That’s not good enough. WHY CORNWALL?’ Deanna asks, raising her voice. She wants to hear him say it.
‘Because it will be a great place for the children to have holidays – they can spend days on the beach, surfing and sailing, exploring the cliffs, or walking the moors. Because it’s an escape from the Home Counties and it will give us time out. Because the county has plenty to offer and there are lots of things to do. Because there are myths and legends that give Cornwall an air of mystery, and its history is interesting and inspiring. Need I go on?’
Deanna is lost for words. Somewhere in her subconscious she suspects Oliver wants to be close to Cara, but she’s unlikely to get him to admit it.
‘If you buy a house in Cornwall, Oliver, neither I nor the children will ever visit.’
Oliver gives a hollow laugh. ‘What a ridiculous thing to say. Our children will not be children much longer. They will make up their own minds. You may find, Deanna, your control over our family is not as all-powerful as you imagine it to be.’
Deanna purses her lips. She has given Oliver the best years of her life! How right Pins is; she owes it to herself to pursue her career. Glaring at her husband, Deanna marches to the door.
‘You can sleep in the spare room,’ she says, before slamming the door behind her.
Oliver sighs. Opening the drawer again, he takes out a bottle, unscrews the cap and tips a couple of lithium tablets into his mouth. He throws back his head and swallows. He knows he shouldn’t be taking this high dosage but Deanna has pushed him close to the edge. She’s getting worryingly good at that. Rising from his chair, he walks over to Cara’s painting of the cove. As always, something about her brushstrokes soothes his soul. He studies the half-dozen gulls hanging in the air, greedily eyeing the sands below as the tide gently ebbs. Diverting his gaze to the painting of the theatre under the stars, he studies the cormorants and wills them to flap their wings. But the birds are still. No sign of life.
Returning to his desk, Oliver picks up the phone and makes the call. ‘Hello, Zennor. You’re right, there are contenders here. Please book viewings for the weekend after next.’
Nineteen
As Cara turns the key in the lock and opens the door to The Art Shack, she sends a number of envelopes sliding across the mat. Bending to pick them up, she scans them briefly.
‘Here we are, Toby,’ says Carol, pushing the pram across the courtyard. ‘A day at the gallery.’
Cara blocks the doorway, and Carol notices a small frown playing on her daughter’s face. ‘Is everything OK?’
Cara glances at her mother. ‘What? Oh, yes.’ She steps aside to allow Carol and the pushchair to enter.
‘I’ll just get Toby settled in his playpen and then put the kettle on,’ Carol says.
‘Good idea,’ says Cara distractedly. Closing the door, she walks to the sales counter.
Promising spring days and blue skies have brought a sudden swell of people to the little fishing port of Porthleven, as shops and galleries dust off their cobwebs and eagerly open their doors to early visitors of the season. Since returning from London, in preparation, Cara has been busily hanging canvases and restocking shelves with interesting pieces. Her studio at The Lookout was too small to accommodate the large canvas for the London exhibition and so a space has been cleared at the rear of the newly painted gallery to accommodate it. She hopes, as her father has prophesied, it will bring an added interest to customers seeing the artist painting in situ.
Placing the remainder of the post on the counter, Cara considers the envelope in her hand; the red Virgin Atlantic logo plain for all to see. Sliding her finger under the flap of the envelope, she hesitantly extracts its contents. ‘Oh! So soon?’
‘What is it?’ Carol asks, as she eases Toby’s arm out of the sleeve of his jacket.
‘A ticket to New York.’ Cara frowns. He must have organised it while they were in London.
‘Return, I hope,’ mutters her mother under her breath.
‘Why didn’t he ask before booking it?’ Cara sighs.
‘Here you go, young man.’ Carol hands Toby his yellow teddy bear with the smart tartan bow tie. ‘Do you want coffee or tea, Cara?’ she asks, as she heads towards the kitchen at the back of the gallery.
‘Coffee, please. I need copious amounts of caffeine.’ Cara stares at the ticket again – Upper Class. She picks up Greg’s card; his handwriting stylishly spiky and jagged. For some reason, she has a strong vision of a young Greg practising the characters until satisfied with the impression they make. Her frown deepens.
No time like the present, Cara. As you will only grant me so few days of your company I have postponed the meetings until another occasion. As discussed, I will pay for everything. We shall stay at my apartment in Manhattan, and also my home in the Hamptons. I shall enjoy showing you around. All I ask is that you come with an open mind. G x
‘When does he want you out there?’ Carol asks from the kitchen doorway.
‘Next Thursday. He says he’ll pay for everything.’
‘That’s nice.’ Carol studies her daughter for a moment before turning away.
‘I guess so,’ says Cara quietly. She places Greg’s card on top of the tickets on the counter. ‘I don’t mean to sound ungrateful but I can’t just drop everything,’ she says to her mother, as she emerges from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee. ‘It’s the start of the season and it’s unfair to ask you to look after the children again so soon after London.’
Carol places the mugs on the counter and glances at Greg’s note. All I ask is that you come with an open mind. What does he mean by that? She gazes at her daughter, now pacing the gallery. What’s the man after? As if she can’t guess!
‘Darling, your father and I are more than happy to have the children for a long weekend. Don’t let that concern you. As for the gallery, Sheila loves to help out here. Between the three of us we can run the show.’
Cara stops pacing. ‘Are you sure?’
Carol nods. ‘It will be good for you to experience New York.’
Cara gazes at Toby playing with his toys. ‘I hated leaving the children when I went to London and that was only for two nights. This will be five days!’
Carol smiles. ‘I know, darling, but they will be well looked after. Your father can be on school duties for Bethany and Sky, and it will do him good to walk Barnaby. And as for young master Toby, Sheila will love spoiling him while running the gallery with me. Just imagine – all her bustling will have a reason! See, it’s all sorted. You go and have fun. You deserve it.’
‘If you’re sure, Mum.’
‘I am sure,’ Carol says, but her heart aches at the sight of her daughter standing in the middle of the gallery looking anything but convinced.
*
Later that evening, Carol dries a dinner plate while her husband washes up.
‘What’s troubling you, my love?’ Ken asks, glancing sideways at his wife.
Carol stares out of the window, deep in thought.
