This barb stung. As much as Issie adored Jimmy, and she did adore him because he was probably the most entertaining and relaxed parent on the planet, she was well aware of his shortcomings. There had been too many broken promises, missed school sports days and forgotten birthdays to count. Issie loved Jimmy Tremaine but did she want to be like him?
The answer to this question was a resounding no.
“I’m really sorry,” she said again.
But sorry wasn’t enough and Jake wasn’t in the mood to accept any apologies.
“Save the sorrys for somebody who wants to hear them,” he said, crossing his arms and glowering down at her. “And if you don’t have any regard for yourself, at least try and think about Gran. She’s beside herself with worry over you, and not just about today either. You can’t carry on stressing her out like this. She’s not getting any younger and she doesn’t need it.”
Issie stared at him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Your out-of-control drinking. The endless partying. Messing around with guys like Teddy St Milton. Dropping out of uni. Risking your life by walking on the beach in a gale. Stripping off for charity calendars.” Jake was reeling off what was sounding like a very alarming list. “Shall I go on?”
Issie would rather he didn’t. None of this sounded good.
“You’re having a go at me about the Polwenna Bay calendar? That’s rich coming from a man who lives with a glamour model!”
“Don’t you dare bring Summer into this!” Jake yelled. “I’m talking about you, Issie Tremaine, not my girlfriend. Your partying and your drinking and your stupid, thoughtless behaviour!”
“Like you’ve never ever got drunk or shagged Ella St Milton,” Issie shot back.
“I’ve done lots of things I’m not proud of,” Jake said coldly. “Of course I have, but the difference is that I grew up and stopped behaving like a total moron. The question is, when do you intend to do that?”
And with this he turned away from her, his body taut against the wind while the driving rain turned his hair to darkest gold. Issie gulped back tears. In her entire life Jake had never spoken to her like that and he’d certainly never walked away from her. Her life was spinning out of control and she didn’t have the first clue how to stop it. She looked imploringly at Nick but her twin only shrugged awkwardly.
“Jake’s right,” he said quietly. “You can’t go on like this.”
Issie stared at him. This was a classic case of the pot calling the kettle black, since Nick’s lifestyle wasn’t exactly saintly.
“Are you having a go at me as well?”
“It’s not a go, Issie. I’m worried about you. We all are. You were so out of it last night and anything could have happened. Now this? I don’t know what’s wrong but I do know something: you’ve got to get over whatever it is, otherwise I don’t know what’s going to happen to you.”
And then Nick walked away too, without so much as a backward glance, leaving Issie in no doubt as to just how angry her brothers were.
She shivered, wet and chilled through and utterly miserable. Slumped against the cottage door she watched the rain blow by and tried to gather the strength to walk home. The narrow street was awash, the drains gushing and bubbling just as her mind was now overflowing with regret. Had she been reckless? With hindsight, yes. Did she drink too much? The blanks from the previous night certainly suggested as much. Was she out of control? A memory of kissing Teddy St Milton flittered through her mind and Issie groaned. That was a definite yes.
Today was a wake-up call and one she needed, Issie decided. It was time to turn her life around, put Mark Tollen out of her life for good and do her best to make amends to her family. She’d find a way to make them proud of her – and she suddenly knew exactly how she could do this!
Issie laughed out loud because it was all so obvious. There was a reason why she’d ventured into the storm. Fate had sent her hurtling into the rain and wind. Of course it had. There was no other explanation. This was meant to be.
The galleon slumbering beneath the sand was the key to putting everything right. All Issie had to do was find Black Jack Jago’s hidden hoard, and the Tremaine family’s fortune would be made. What better way could there be to make them proud and make amends too? She could hardly wait to start looking.
Chapter 7
The storm finally blew itself out in the small hours, and by the time dawn’s pink glow stole across the sky the rain had stopped. Although the weather was calm now, the village itself had become a hive of activity; everyone was busy, from the gulls picking through the piles of seaweed to the villagers unhappily assessing the damage.
Big Roger Pollard had been spot on when he’d predicted structural problems. The vicarage roof had taken such a battering that Jules was wearing wellies in her kitchen. Meanwhile, three of the fishermen’s stores on top of the quay had blown away completely, and so many slates had slipped that the cottage rooftops looked as though they had bald patches. Swollen with the night’s heavy rainfall, the River Wenn raced through the village, foaming white as though whipped up in a blender, and laden with debris washed down from the hills. The water tore under the bridges and burst into the harbour, making the boats dance and the gulls bob about.
As soon as the sun rose, the Tremaine family gathered at the marina, where they checked the boats and the pontoons and began the slow process of mopping up the waterlogged office and workshops. Seaspray had been spared too much damage, save a large tree down in the grounds and a few slipped slates. But just as Summer had feared, the poorly maintained drains and gullies down in the village had been unable to cope with the sudden and vast volume of water, and there had been a great deal of flooding. The houses by the quay all had water in their basements, the main street was awash, Harbour View Café had been cut off by a mini waterfall gushing down its steps, and Chris the Cod was attempting to sweep the deluge out of his chippy. Funnily enough, neither Big nor Little Roger Pollard was anywhere to be seen.
Issie was mopping the marina office and fighting the urge to abandon the task and tear across the beach, to see if the wreck she’d seen during the storm was really there or just a figment of her imagination. In the cold light of a new day, it was hard to be sure. The pictures she’d taken on her phone had been disappointing, to say the least. Then again, the camera lens had been covered in rain and Issie had been struggling to keep her balance on the top of the slippery rocks, so perhaps it should have come as no surprise that the images were so indistinct. The dark blur in the distance could have been anything.
High tide had come at five o’clock this morning, and Issie was counting down the hours until the beach was clear again and she could venture back for a proper look. Every time she thought about the wreck her stomach did a pancake-flip of excitement. This was the Isabella, she just knew it!
“How’s it looking in here?”
Jake was standing in the doorway and Issie paused, leaning on her mop. They were just about on speaking terms again after she’d gone home and eaten such a big slice of humble pie she’d not be hungry again until the next New Year rolled around, but she knew he was still exasperated by the events of the previous afternoon. She didn’t blame him for being angry. Now that yesterday’s high emotion had subsided, Issie was feeling utterly ashamed that her impulsive behaviour had caused so much worry and put her brothers’ lives at risk. She was hoping with all her heart that her plan to make up for this would work, and that the wreck she thought she’d seen did actually exist.
She glanced around the office. “It isn’t too bad in here. I think it could have been a lot worse. There are a few superficial things we’ll have to chuck out, but the electric sockets are high up, so nothing’s really damaged – and at least the floor’s made of concrete. We can replace the carpet; it was old anyway.”
Jake rubbed his eyes wearily. “I guess we should count ourselves bloody lucky. I’ve just heard that the row of coastguard cottages on Polwenna Hill has lost all i
ts roofing. That would have crucified us if it had happened up at Seaspray.”
Issie nodded. Her brother looked tired and drawn. There were purple smudges beneath his eyes, which today had lost their usual twinkle, and his chin was darkened with stubble. She knew he hadn’t slept: he’d been up all night trying to staunch the water with sandbags and making sure his customers’ boats were safe, before heading to the Penhalligans’ cottage and helping out there. No wonder he looked exhausted. And things were already tough enough at Tremaine Marine, without adding flood damage to the list of spiralling costs. How much did a roof cost, anyway?
If she could find Black Jago’s treasure, that would solve all their money worries, Issie thought with growing excitement.
As plans went, this one was quite a long shot, but Issie Tremaine wasn’t the kind of person to be put off easily. As far as she was concerned, Granny Alice’s coin was evidence, and the historical records she’d studied backed up all the stories. Once she went back to check that she really had seen what was left of the Isabella’s hull, it would be a “fact”, as her nephew Morgan might say. All she had to do was put the pieces of the puzzle together and find the loot. How hard could that be?
“I think I’m just about done here.” Issie wrung the mop out into a bucket and surveyed the results of her past two hours of labour. She’d rolled up the ancient carpet and dragged it outside to dry, and although the concrete floor was still very damp, at least it no longer resembled a lake. The dehumidifier was chugging away nicely and the small heater was on too, so the place would hopefully dry out quickly.
“You’ve done a good job,” Jake said, perching on the desk and looking around approvingly. Then his blue eyes met hers and he cleared his throat. “Look, Issie, about yesterday? I’m sorry about what I said to you—”
She held up her hands. “Don’t apologise, Jakey. You were right, I was only thinking about myself and I was bloody selfish. I’m going to change all that though, you just watch me.”
“I was pissed off and frightened when I said all that. You’re not selfish.” Her brother gave her one of the dimpled smiles that had never failed to melt the hearts of Polwenna Bay’s female population. “Well, not all the time, anyway!”
In reply Issie dipped her hands into the bucket of dirty water and flicked some at him.
“Watch it, squirt! Or I’ll make you start again!” Jake threatened with a grin. “Or maybe you’d like to check the toilets and see if they’ve unblocked yet?”
“Gross! No thanks. Can’t Nick do that? He’s the other one usually in the shit around here,” shuddered Issie.
“I think you’ve surpassed even him,” Jake said.
Issie’s eyes darted to the clock. It was half past nine. By her calculation the tide would be just far enough out by now for her to make it back to the wreck, but not yet far enough for anyone else to have ventured onto the second part of the bay. She needed to get there soon.
“Much as I hate to miss out on unblocking the loos, I’m just going to have a wander outside and see what’s going on, if that’s OK?” she said.
Jake yawned and, waving her away, sank onto the driest part of the office sofa. “Go on then. Scoot. Get out of here before I decide to make you do something else.” He leaned his head back. “I think maybe I’ll just shut my eyes for a few seconds while you’re gone.”
He’d be out cold in moments, Issie thought fondly. Poor Jake. He worked so hard and worried so much. Thank goodness he had Summer; she always made him smile and did her best to drag him away from the spreadsheets and sums that made his brow crinkle and his mouth droop. If Issie’s hunch was right, then maybe Jake’s money worries would be over for good. That would be the best way to repay him for all the sacrifices he’d made over the years to look after them all.
Outside the marina office, the world was newly scrubbed and bright sunlight was glaring on the waterways that had replaced Polwenna’s narrow streets. High above Issie’s head, seagulls were circling and shrieking. All in all, it was a glorious sparkling morning – or would have been, if not for the flooding.
Half the villagers were out in their wellingtons, and as Issie made her way to the beach steps she was stopped countless times and told tales of woe. Silver Starr was almost up to her knees in the water that had poured into her mystic shop. Despite being the local tarot-card reader and clairvoyant, apparently she hadn’t seen this disaster coming. Further along the street, Patsy Penhalligan’s usual customers were outraged to find the pasty shop closed. Flooding was no excuse, in the eyes of the villagers.
“On a day like this we need our pasties,” Big Eddie was grumbling, as Issie sloshed past. “The bloody chippy’s flooded and my kitchen’s out of action. We’re going to starve, maid! I’d even eat some of that posh stuff your brother charges a fortune for, but the bugger’s shut.”
Big Eddie made Santa look skinny. It would take him a while to fade away, Issie thought with a smile.
“Mickey Davey’s opened the Locker. He’s doing pasties and cups of tea,” called Betty Jago, from the doorstep of the village shop where she was currently marooned. Several seagulls swam past her, looking rather pleased to have another river in the village.
“And charging London prices too, I’d be bound,” Big Eddie called back. “There’ll be a profit in it for him somewhere!” Big Eddie certainly had the measure of this particular newcomer, but he turned around and made a beeline for the beach café anyway. Issie followed him, amazed by the devastation that one heavy storm could cause. The local TV station had sent a crew down and Radio Cornwall were already interviewing Adam and Rose Harper, who were describing the flood in their cellar.
“Water just rose up from nowhere!” Rose was saying in disbelief.
“Not from nowhere, my lover; it came up through the drains,” Adam corrected her gently. “There’s probably some underground stream down there that’s swollen from all the rainfall.”
Issie’s ears pricked up. Underground streams and long-forgotten culverts fascinated her. Surely it would have been natural passages just like these that Black Jack Jago and his smuggling cronies would have exploited. Maybe his loot was below the pub? Didn’t everyone always say that a pub in a village of hard-drinking fishermen was a goldmine?
The beach was covered in flotsam and thick with kelp that had been ripped from the seabed and thrown high above the tideline. Several people were already beachcombing; usually Issie would have been the first to join them, but today she had more exciting things on her mind than bits of driftwood or nuggets of sea-smoothed glass. Waving at her brother Danny, who was strolling arm in arm with Jules along the water’s edge, Issie increased her speed and was soon climbing up the rocks.
The second beach was glistening in the sunshine. Issie squinted into the brightness, shielding her eyes with one hand and holding onto the rocks with the other as she slithered down the far side. The sand had shifted considerably and was far closer to the foot of the cliffs than she recalled. Seaweed was piled high at the shoreline and the remains of a trawl lay tangled over some smaller rocks, but Issie hardly noticed any of these details. As she jogged across the hard sand, all she cared about was the skeleton of what was, without any doubt now, all that remained of a centuries-old ship.
Issie crouched down beside the wreck, her breath coming in gasps – from excitement as much as from exertion. The wood was soft and crumbly beneath her fingertips and oddly warm, as though the ship were alive.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, hardly able to believe that she was actually touching the hull of the very ship she was named after. “It’s true. It’s all really true!”
The exploding seas had shifted sands that for well over two centuries had covered the lost galleon like a blanket. Issie and her brothers had dived the waters around the bay all their lives and explored wrecks – the treacherous Cornish coast was littered with them – but she’d never seen anything quite like this. It was as though she was looking at all that remained of the ribcage of a once-mighty
creature. She knew from her studies that the original ship must have been almost two hundred feet long, so this must only be a small section – but even so, what an amazing discovery! Thank goodness she’d set off into the storm yesterday, or she could have missed it. The sand might shift again soon, and it would be as though the ship had never appeared; as the Isabella’s hull sank back into the sand, she would sink back into legend.
Issie rested her hand against the soft wood.
“That’s not going to happen, I promise,” she whispered to the ship. Although it was fanciful, she couldn’t help feeling that the old beams understood; the whisper and suck of the waves certainly sounded like a heartfelt sigh.
Issie moved back a little, brushed the sand granules from her fingers and surveyed the delicate wood more carefully. Isabella needed the specialist attention of marine archaeologists who’d know exactly how to look after her. Issie bit her lip as her heart twisted with that familiar sense of loss. She’d hoped to pursue a master’s degree in marine archaeology after her bachelor’s degree, but that dream was now as much a wreck as the once-stately galleon. Of course she’d given up and walked away. What else could she do? Mark ran the department and he’d have supervised her. How could she have coped with spending all that time with him once she knew the truth? And how could she have been near him and not longed to feel his skin against hers?
It would have been torture. Giving up her degree and disappointing her family was nothing in comparison.
She stood up, angry with herself for allowing him to creep into her thoughts. Dr Mark Tollen had no place in her life anymore. He’d lied to her, and all the excuses and heartfelt texts in the world could never make up for that. He’d betrayed Issie, but worse than that he’d turned her into the type of woman she’d always despised – a woman who had a relationship with a married man. A home wrecker.
Her hands clenched into fists.
“Screw you, Mark Tollen!” she shouted into the emptiness. “Screw you!”
Treasure of the Heart Page 7
