Cottage on a Cornish Cliff

by Kate Ryder

  Cara looks out of the living-room window. It’s a blustery day. Surf crashes onto the beach, sending a handful of gulls at the water’s edge into the air to hover precariously on the wind as they search the sands for the next meal the tide may have brought in. Usually this energy invigorates her, but Greg’s stern words leave her feeling flat.

  ‘Cara,’ he says more softly.

  ‘Yes,’ she says quietly.

  ‘Don’t be sullen.’

  ‘I’m not,’ she says.

  ‘I’m only sharing wisdom I’ve picked up over the years. With time it will become easy, I assure you. You’ve made great strides already.’

  Great strides! Did she have great strides to make? She supposes she must have; she hardly recognises herself now when she’s with him.

  ‘Cara, please don’t sulk.’

  ‘I’m not!’ Cara says again. How many times does she have to tell him?

  ‘I really enjoyed our days together,’ Greg says. ‘I hope you enjoyed them too.’

  Cara’s eyes follow a couple walking along the sand. Holding hands, they seem oblivious to the wind. She remembers how she and Oliver used to do that. So in love, nothing burst their bubble; neither the fact that Oliver was ultimately unavailable, nor Sylvie’s tragic death. If anything, that appalling incident cemented their love for each other. But it all seems so very long ago… another lifetime.

  ‘It was good,’ she says, knowing that if she doesn’t comment he will tell her she has to make her conversation more interesting.

  ‘Well, I hope good will turn into something a little more exciting,’ he says, the amusement creeping into his voice again. ‘Life here, Cara, will transport you to a different level. Do you recall me saying I would take you to places you hadn’t even dreamed of?’

  ‘Yes.’ Cara shifts uncomfortably, clearly remembering the occasion. She hadn’t known him long. They were standing in her hallway discussing the Threadneedle Prize, and she instantly felt claustrophobic as she wondered what he was really intimating.

  ‘You have no idea where I can take you,’ Greg continues, ‘but to fully understand and experience what I mean, you will need to take a chance on me. Are you prepared to do that?’

  Cara shifts again. As always with Greg, things are moving too fast. In that smooth, silky way of his, he certainly knows how to pile on the pressure.

  ‘I will seriously consider your offer,’ she responds.

  ‘Good girl, Cara. I’ve thought about it long and hard, and I am prepared to make changes in my life to accommodate you and your family.’

  Cara frowns. What about the changes she and her family will have to make? He doesn’t seem to have taken those into consideration.

  ‘Don’t take your time though,’ Greg says with a slight edge to his voice. ‘I want us to be together but I won’t wait forever.’

  Cara’s frown deepens. ‘It’s not something I can decide overnight, Greg! I have the well-being of three other people to consider.’

  ‘I know, Cara,’ says Greg, suddenly tender again, ‘but you can’t blame me for being eager. Hand on heart, I promise I will never let you down.’

  ‘Well, thank you,’ she says, unsure what else to say.

  Two surfers enter the water, their black wetsuits standing out starkly against the white surf. Cara casts her mind back to the summer before Christo died. She spent days on the beach with their young family watching him surf the waves with his friends, blissfully unaware of the growing brain tumour that would ultimately take him from her. They believed life was good; although not financially well off, they wanted for nothing. Life was complete. And then – one fateful day – everything was smashed and destroyed, and nothing has been the same since. Cara turns away from the window.

  ‘How’s the painting for the Kaplans coming along?’ Greg asks.

  ‘I’ve made inroads. The canvas is huge. It’s causing quite a stir.’

  ‘There could be a marketing angle here,’ Greg says thoughtfully. ‘Are you being bold?’

  Cara laughs. ‘Hard not to be on that scale!’

  ‘So, you have no concerns?’

  ‘Not so far.’

  ‘Cara, you never fail to astound me!’ Greg says. ‘Your talent knows no self-doubt. Now all you have to do is apply that confidence to your life choices.’

  Unable to hold back the sigh, Cara immediately bites her lip.

  ‘There’s no point in sighing, Cara. You’ve teased me with a taste of what life together would be like. You can’t blame me for being hungry for more.’

  ‘Greg, please don’t put pressure on me. It’s important I get this right.’

  ‘Of course,’ he says. ‘Just concentrate on producing the paintings for the exhibition for now. I’m sure you will come to the right decision. But, dearest Cara, remember, there’s not just three other people to consider; you must include me in the mix as well.’

  The knot in Cara’s stomach tightens. ‘As I said, I will give it serious thought. That’s all I can promise at this stage. Please don’t think I’m cutting this call short, but I have the school run this afternoon.’

  ‘Then I will let you go,’ says Greg. ‘Keep me updated with progress on the canvases. Until we speak again.’

  ‘Bye, Greg.’

  ‘Make the right decision, Cara. Please.’

  Replacing the phone, Cara gazes out of the window again. She doesn’t have to collect Beth and Sky from school; her father is doing that. If she moves to Sag Harbor she will still have a water view, but it will be a very different scene from the one before her now. And she will have to give herself to Greg. There will be no avoiding that…

  The current is strong. Having battled through the waves, the two surfers paddle out past Anvil Rock and turn their boards to catch the first wave. With heads down, they pull water hard and paddle their boards as fast as they can. Starting to accelerate down the face of the wave, they effortlessly get to their feet and, maintaining speed, manage to outrun it. Cara watches as they surf into the shallows and catch their breath, laughing at the force of the sea. They have mastered it and are invincible. She knows how that feels, but she will never surf again.

  Turning away from the window, she gazes around the empty room. Toby will wake soon and then the children will be home. Life after Christo. She never thought that at age thirty-four she would be raising three children on her own and facing the biggest decision of her life.

  Cara shivers.

  Thirty-one

  Oliver strides across the verandah towards the back door. Invigorated by his workout in the gym, he followed it with fifty lengths of the pool and, for the moment, his demons are stilled. He enters the kitchen and opens the fridge door, selecting a carton of orange juice from the shelf.

  In the utility room, Deanna removes dry laundry from the tumble dryer and observes Oliver through the open door. At forty-five, her husband is in fine shape. Folding the clothes neatly on top of the machine, she scoops them into her arms and enters the kitchen.

  ‘I’m taking Seb and Jamie to school tomorrow and then I’ll be back to finish packing,’ Deanna informs him. ‘I thought we could have lunch together before I head off to London.’

  Oliver pours juice into a glass and takes a sip, his eyes fixed on her over the rim.

  ‘You can move back into the main bedroom, if you want,’ Deanna adds.

  ‘That’s good of you,’ he says quietly.

  ‘There’s no need to be sarcastic,’ Deanna says.

  ‘I’m not being sarcastic, Deanna. Tell me, do you expect me to vacate our bedroom when you come home at weekends?’

  ‘No. I thought we might feel more civil towards each other by then and you won’t need to.’

  ‘You’ve got a funny way of doing things, Dee,’ Oliver says. ‘I don’t know how you think this is going to work.’

  ‘Oh, let’s not go over all that again, Ollie. It’s all sorted. It will work out. Why can’t you just be happy for me?’

  Oliver contemplates his attr
active wife. ‘Deanna, if this is truly what you want then I wish you only happiness, but I still can’t see how you will successfully juggle motherhood with this career you crave. When we first decided to have children you knew what the commitment would be. I can’t help but think you’ve rushed your agenda without a thought for how it will affect the kids.’

  As if for protection, Deanna holds the bundle of clothes tightly to her chest. ‘Oliver, you have been absent so many times during their upbringing, having their mother absent now won’t make any difference.’

  What she says is true. Due to filming commitments, he has been absent many times.

  ‘Jamie’s only eleven,’ says Oliver. ‘He has difficult years ahead of him.’

  ‘He will be fine. Pins says—’

  ‘Who cares what Pins says?’ Oliver’s growl cuts his wife short. ‘He’s not the oracle. He doesn’t know our son.’

  Deanna shifts uncomfortably. Her youngest son is her only cause for concern. The other children will cope well with this new regime. ‘Let’s not argue, Ollie,’ she says in a soothing tone. ‘We will take things as they come. If there’s a problem then we’ll regroup, but I don’t see there being one.’ She crosses her fingers beneath the bundle of clothes.

  Oliver turns away and gazes out over the lawns down to the woods. ‘If there’s a problem I’ll cope with it,’ he says in an even tone.

  Deanna stares at her husband’s back. She follows the contours of his body, appreciating the muscular frame hidden beneath the tracksuit. Briefly she falters and wonders if she has made the right decision. Over the years, she’s grown increasingly resentful of Oliver’s glittering career and her lack of one, believing his success has overshadowed her. Oh, yes, she’s comforted herself with the thought that being mother to his children is her compensatory career, but now the family are growing up and, one by one, flying the nest, she fears her importance and control are slipping away. Putting her plan for a new life in the theatre into action is the right thing to do. People’s recognition of her worth is everything to Deanna. In fact, when Oliver first asked her to marry him, apart from loving the attention he bestowed on her, to be known as Oliver Foxley’s wife played a very large part in the decision making process. Everyone wanted him, but it was only she he was offering himself to. What an aphrodisiac that was! But times have changed, and she has made the right decision. Anyway, it’s far too late to backtrack. Now is her time. Her career beckons; one that never had the chance to take off due to her younger self’s choices where Oliver was concerned. She’s waited a lifetime for her turn in the limelight and she’s not going to abandon it now, not when it’s within reach.

  ‘I’ve got to get on. There’s still so much to do.’ Deanna turns and walks from the room.

  Oliver watches as shafts of sunlight burst through the cloud cover and work their way across the forest canopy. The view from the old coastguard cottages is unwooded and he wonders if trees are important to his need for seclusion. Maybe he will plant some. What a profession to have chosen if privacy is so paramount to his psyche! But, then, he didn’t really have a choice. Acting chose him, offering him the only escape from the debilitating depression that has plagued him since childhood. He frowns. He really must be careful about the level of medication he’s taking. It’s been on the increase for a while now, in fact ever since he returned to Surrey. Incredibly, when he and Cara were together he needed very little. Cara… If only they’d met years ago, how different their lives might have been. Not this current messy, dysfunctional existence. What was she doing in the States? Janine’s comment about Greg being really keen on her certainly hit home. From the start he knew Greg had designs on Cara’s artistic talents, and he’d always been suspicious of the man’s bigger agenda. Maybe – since Marietta’s death – Greg has put another plan into action. Oliver’s frown deepens. The quicker he gets to Cornwall, the better.

  Turning away from the window, Oliver enters his study just as the phone rings.

  ‘Mr Fox!’ says a man’s voice.

  ‘Tas!’ Oliver’s frown eases. He first met Simon Buckley, better known as Tas – because he comes from Tasmania – at drama school, and they have remained good friends ever since. ‘Great to hear from you. I understand you’ve been sailing the high seas.’

  ‘I gave myself three months off to cruise the Med with Rick and Tan. They didn’t seem to mind me gatecrashing their honeymoon!’

  ‘I heard they got hitched,’ says Oliver. ‘Good for them.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it was only a matter of time. We all knew that. They just had to see it for themselves. How are things with you?’

  Oliver sits heavily in his captain’s chair. ‘I’m taking time out myself.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Deanna and I have exchanged roles. She’s off to London in pursuit of a career.’

  ‘Really? Doing what?’ Tas asks.

  ‘Stage-managing in the West End.’

  ‘That’s a full-on commitment. How’s that going to work?’

  ‘You may well ask!’ says Oliver wryly. ‘But she’s adamant it will.’

  Tas whistles. ‘I wish you both luck.’

  ‘Time will tell. But, enough of us, what’s cooking with you?’ Oliver asks.

  ‘Well,’ Tas says sheepishly, ‘having spent so much time with the newly-weds, it got me thinking. I’ve reconnected with Morwenna and I’m going to Cornwall. Just wondered if you’d like to join me, but I guess not with your new arrangements.’

  Oliver says nothing, shocked at the level of jealousy consuming him. That summer, when he first met Cara, he watched Tas and Morwenna’s relationship develop easily, beyond frustration that he couldn’t be as open and carefree with Cara.

  ‘Are you still there?’ Tas asks.

  Regaining a modicum of control over his emotions, Oliver replies, ‘Still here. That’s a turn up for the books.’

  ‘I’ll be forty-six next birthday. I know I’ve always said I’m happy not to be tied down, but that Morwenna has cast her Cornish magic over me! We’ve spoken a few times and she tells me there’s no one special in her life. I thought I’d visit her and see if she’s prepared to give this old man another chance.’

  Oliver clenches his jaw. How he’d love to have the opportunity of another chance with Cara. ‘When are you going?’

  ‘This weekend. Sure I can’t tempt you?’

  ‘Oh, you can tempt me all right, but it’s impossible. Deanna moves to London tomorrow and she won’t be back until the following weekend.’

  ‘Mrs Fox moving to London!’

  ‘There have been huge changes here since I last saw you,’ Oliver says gruffly. ‘Deanna’s purchasing a London apartment and I’m in the process of buying a house on The Lizard.’

  ‘The Lizard!’ exclaims Tas.

  ‘Yes. A holiday home… if it all comes together.’ Oliver feels unspoken questions in the silence that follows.

  ‘Does Cara know?’ Tas asks eventually.

  ‘If she does it’s not from me,’ Oliver says. ‘She won’t have anything to do with me, and I understand that.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ says Oliver sadly. ‘I can’t offer her anything.’

  ‘I suppose not. Blimey, talk about curve balls!’

  ‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to anyone,’ Oliver says.

  ‘My lips are sealed, Mr Fox. Tell you what, let’s catch up when I get back,’ says Tas.

  ‘Yes, let’s do that. Good luck with Morwenna.’

  Thirty-two

  Standing well back from the large canvas dominating most of the rear wall of the gallery, Cara critically assesses it. Her bold brushstrokes and vibrant colours have created a tumultuous sea under a startling sunset. She smiles to herself, feeling the magic of a painting coming together.

  ‘Why, Harry, would you take a look at this?’ The gravelly American accent rings out loud and clear.

  Cara turns, surprised to discover the owner of the deep v
oice is a dumpy, unremarkable-looking woman dressed head-to-toe in purple. A portly man with thinning hair, sporting yellow check trousers and a pillar-box-red jumper, enters the gallery behind her.

  ‘Good morning,’ Cara says. ‘You’ve brought out the sun.’

  ‘It sure has been a bit of a mixed bag since we arrived in England,’ the man responds, his accent, too, giving him away as American.

  ‘Oh, honey, what d’yer think?’ asks the woman, her voice rising in excitement.

  ‘I think it’s just swell, Esther,’ the man replies, joining the woman in front of the emerging masterpiece.

  Cara smiles. If they stepped into the painting they would merge with its colours.

  The woman turns to Cara. ‘We’re on a golf tour and some friends of ours told us to look up your little gallery while we were over here.’

  ‘We’ve just secured a New York condominium,’ adds the man, ‘and we’re looking for something to put on the walls.’

  ‘Take your time and have a good look around,’ says Cara, placing her paintbrush on the palette. ‘Would you like a coffee? I was just about to put the kettle on.’

  ‘Why, that’s mighty kind,’ says the man.

  Cara disappears into the kitchen. Surreptitiously, she watches the couple as they walk around her gallery. If there were ever two people who belonged together it’s this pair. Both of short stature and a comfortable build, not only do they have the same dress sense, but their movements mirror each other. Peas in a pod.

  ‘Oh!’ The woman claps her hands together. ‘This is just adorable!’

  Cara looks to see what has caught the woman’s attention. It’s a painting of Bethany. With the sea in the background and a bucket at her side, her daughter is engrossed in digging the sand with a bright red spade.

  ‘Reminds me of our granddaughter,’ says the man.

  ‘Exactly, Harry,’ says the woman. ‘This painting is definitely one of them.’