“It was all that was left – and I only got this because somebody pulled some strings for me.”
“Some strings. What have they got against you? Honestly, this place can’t have seen new furniture since Black Jack Jago was at school. The Polwenna Bay Hotel would have been way more comfortable.”
He shrugged. “I kinda like it. Besides, what I want is right here.” He put down his wine glass and, drawing Issie to him, kissed her. Issie’s heart was pounding. Luke Dawson’s mouth against hers was everything she’d hoped it would be. As his kisses grew deeper, she kissed him back, sliding her hand beneath the fabric of his hoody to feel the warm smoothness of his sun-browned back. Just the slightest touch of his fingertips against her own skin made Issie melt like ice cream.
They fell back onto the soft piles of blankets and cushions. Luke’s lips were trailing kisses across her throat and his hands were on her waist as he pulled her closer. All rational thoughts fled when she felt the touch of those strong hands brush her breast, and suddenly all Issie wanted was to feel his body pressed against her, onto her and into her. She never wanted this to stop.
Oblivious to everything now except the man whose lips were tracing fiery kisses along her collarbone, Issie closed her eyes and drowned in the deliciousness of every sensation. The unyielding flagstones beneath her back, his hipbones hard against hers, the cold breeze blowing against her heated flesh, the whisper of the sea…
Hold on! What cold breeze? They were lying by the Aga, which was toasty warm, and there was no way she could hear the sea when they were at the back of the cottage.
“Oh my God!” gasped Issie, sitting bolt upright. “It’s here all along!”
“What’s wrong? Are you OK, honey?”
Luke’s face was flushed and his eyes were bright with passion as he reached out to take her hand. With his tousled curls and bare muscly chest he was drop-dead gorgeous – but nothing, not even over six feet of male gorgeousness, could now divert Issie. Her breathing might be ragged, but Issie’s thoughts were crystal clear.
“I can feel air blowing through the floor!”
Luke’s brow furrowed. “Is that a quaint British expression for saying the earth moved?”
“No – although it did, obviously,” Issie said quickly. “Luke, listen to me. I can feel a cold breeze blowing through the cracks in the kitchen floor and I’m sure I can hear the sea.”
They stared at each other and, all thoughts of anything else instantly forgotten, Luke crawled over and laid his ear to the floor.
“Jeez! You’re right!”
“I think the smugglers’ passage might be right underneath us,” Issie said slowly. “The big storm must have cleared a part of it.”
“No way! That’s one coincidence too far.”
“You did ask St Wenn to help you find the treasure,” Issie reminded him. Then she frowned. “Anyway, what are the other coincidences?”
But Luke wasn’t listening. Pulling on his hoody and straightening his board shorts, he headed to the kitchen sink and began to run the taps. Puzzled, Issie watched as he squirted a dollop of washing-up liquid into the sink and began to sluice it around.
Weren’t Americans weird? This wasn’t the time to do the dishes.
“Trust me; I haven’t lost the plot,” Luke promised, seeing her confused expression. Filling a chipped mug with some soapy water, he knelt back down beside her and poured a small amount onto the floor. For a moment the liquid pooled on the cold surface before trickling towards the cement between the flagstones.
“Wait,” Luke said. His eyes were trained on the stone with the same intensity that had been focused on her only moments ago. “There! Do you see?”
Issie did see. For a few seconds a bubble formed; then it popped. Then another. And another. All in a regular rhythm, as though a giant was breathing in and out or waves were pounding on the shore…
“There’s a gap underneath this cottage,” she murmured.
He nodded. “The floor looks pretty solid though. I didn’t notice anything that looked like it might have once opened.”
“Let’s check the whole ground floor,” Issie suggested.
The rest of the cottage was bitterly cold, but Luke and Issie were so busy searching for any trace of what might have been an opening or a sealed-up door that they hardly noticed the temperature. It was only when Issie realised that the tips of her fingers were turning blue that they returned to the kitchen to wrap themselves back up in the duvets and defrost.
“I’ll never doubt St Wenn again,” said Luke, chinking his wine glass against hers.
“I did tell you.”
“So what did you wish for?” he asked.
There was no way Issie was going to tell Luke that she’d asked St Wenn to send her a fit man. He’d think she was a total saddo.
Instead, she said, “So, do you really think there’s a possibility that parts of the tunnel still exist?”
“Neatly avoided, Miss Tremaine.” He held his glass up to the candlelight, swirling the liquid thoughtfully. “In answer to your question; yeah, I reckon that’s a distinct possibility. This cottage is real old, so it’d make sense if the smugglers used it back then. My theory is that whatever loot Black Jack managed to carry with him is buried in a blocked part of the tunnel.”
She stared at him. “You really think the treasure exists?”
“I wouldn’t have come here otherwise.”
Issie frowned. “I thought you came here to do research? For your paper?”
Was it her imagination or did a shadow flit across his face? “Yeah, I did. It’s on the wreck and the treasure. That’s why I had the manifest with me.”
This made perfect sense, but Issie couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t telling her everything. For a moment she toyed with pressing him for more details, before she remembered that she wasn’t telling him everything either. Luke Dawson had no idea that she’d dropped out of university because she’d broken up her tutor’s marriage. She could make as many excuses as she liked about being young and manipulated by somebody in a position of trust, but she’d been over eighteen. She was totally culpable, and what she’d done to Emma Tollen was not Issie’s proudest achievement. She’d never breathed a word to anyone about any of this. It was better that her family thought she was a flake than that they knew the truth.
She pulled her thoughts back to the present, and to Luke.
Smiling at her, he reached out and curled his fingers around Issie’s gold-coin necklace. As he did so, his hand brushed the swell of her breast and her breath snagged in her throat. Tugging the chain gently, he pulled her towards him until she was just a kiss away.
“This is all the evidence I need,” Luke said softly. “But d’ya know what? I’m through with all this for one day. Especially when there’s something far more exciting to explore than cold cottages.”
And as Luke’s mouth claimed hers and he lowered her gently down onto the soft pile of pillows, nothing could have been further from Issie Tremaine’s mind than treasure or secret tunnels, or even Black Jack Jago himself.
Chapter 17
“You’ve got to stop walking up here, you silly old fool! You’ve got a heart condition!”
Alice Tremaine was nearing the end of her tether with Jonny St Milton. Seaspray was a difficult enough house to reach when you were in your prime – Alice should know, having lived there for most of her life – so for a gentleman in his eighties with angina it was the Cornish equivalent of hiking up K2. Now here he was again, for the third morning in a row, standing on her doorstep puffing and with a face the colour of putty.
“I certainly have,” Jonny gasped, holding onto the porch for support, “I’ve lost it to you.”
“Have you been reading Mills and Boon again, Jonny?”
“No, a certain locally written book is more my thing,” he replied with a wicked glint in his grey eyes. “I’ve always preferred facts to fiction.”
Alice chose to ignore this. If Jonny wa
nted to believe that he was the inspiration for her alpha male, then let him. The fact that his assumption was completely right was a secret she was determined to take to her grave.
“You’re going to kill yourself making this climb every day,” she scolded. “Have a sit-down on the terrace to get your breath back, you silly man, and I’ll get you some water to take your pills.”
“A couple of lunches in the pub don’t amount to a proper dinner with you, you know. I said I’d come up every day to ask you for dinner and I will,” Jonny called after her. “I won’t give up. Even if it kills me!”
He wouldn’t either, Alice reflected as she filled a tumbler at the kitchen sink. Jonny St Milton was stubborn, that was for certain. She suspected it was a trait that both his grandchildren had inherited. It was just a shame he hadn’t been quite this determined to win her back when it had really mattered…
For goodness sake! That was a lifetime ago and how old had he been then? Only a teenager. Alice shook her head. That was just a boy, really, wasn’t it? Look at her grandsons Nick and Zak for instance. They were in their twenties, years older than Jonny had been, and both of them were still acting like fourteen-year-olds. As she carried the water out to the terrace, Alice understood, with the wisdom of almost eight decades, why Jonny had crumbled: the pressure from his parents must have been immense. Yes, of course she could understand – and hadn’t everything worked out wonderfully for her in the end, with darling Henry and the family they’d built together? Alice knew all this, and she could never regret her marriage or the path her life had taken. And yet there was still a little corner of her heart that had been broken by Jonny and never fully mended.
Jonny was sitting on the bench with his white head resting against Seaspray’s rippled white wall and his eyes closed. The terrace was a suntrap and even in January the area where he sat was basked in golden sunshine. For a moment Alice watched him, seeing not the snoozing old man but the boy she’d once known. The thought that the Jonny who’d once strode across the cliffs and swept her into his arms to carry her over stiles and puddles could now barely walk up to Seaspray made her heart twist painfully, and there was a knot in her throat. Whatever had happened to the people they used to be? How had the years gone so fast?
“Here, drink this and take your medicine,” she said, sitting down beside him and passing Jonny the tumbler.
He did as he was told without protest, popping two tiny tablets under his tongue and then sipping the water. Neither of them spoke; in the quiet, they enjoyed the warmth of the sunshine and the view of the glittering bay. Seagulls circled above and the tide was right out, the wet sand a dark horseshoe against the lapping waves. Out of the corner of her eye, Alice could see the colour returning to Jonny’s cheeks, and she breathed a sigh of relief. He might well be a stubborn old fool but she didn’t think she could bear it if anything happened to him. Oh dear. Did this mean she still cared?
“You’ve got to stop pushing yourself like this,” she said eventually.
Jonny shrugged his Barbour-coated shoulders, and Alice noticed that they were no longer quite as broad as she recalled.
“I’m happy to die for love.”
“For heaven’s sake!”
He turned and took her hand. “I mean it, Ally. I’m not giving up. Not this time.”
Alice glanced down at their fingers. Their hands were gnarled and spotted with age; a lifetime had gone by since they’d last rested peacefully like this. The annoying lump tightened in her throat.
“Fine. You win,” she said gruffly. “I’ll have dinner with you if that’s what it takes to not have a corpse up here.”
He squeezed her fingers. “It’s not the most flattering acceptance a man could have, but you’ve made me the happiest man alive.”
“Don’t get carried away. It’s just one dinner,” Alice told him, but she left her hand in his anyway and together they sat in comfortable silence, watching the world below. It was only when her son, Jimmy, sauntered onto the terrace that she slipped her fingers away like the guilty teenager she’d once been.
“Morning, Ma; morning Mr SM,” Jimmy carolled, perching on the arm of the bench and pushing his wrap-around mirrored shades up onto his head. “Isn’t it a glorious day?”
In his sunglasses, white sailing jacket, skinny indigo jeans and flip-flops, Jimmy looked as though he was about to stroll through the streets of Miami rather than Polwenna Bay in January. It took every ounce of Alice’s willpower not to suggest he put some socks on.
“Any calls for me?” he asked with a faux casualness that instantly made his mother suspicious.
“Are you expecting any?” she parried.
Jimmy shot her his cheeky smile. “I always live in hope, Ma.”
Alice thought that living in hope could be her son’s motto – and, thanks to him, dying in despair would be hers.
“Actually, we’ve had three calls this morning but when I answered nobody was there.” She frowned. This had been happening quite a lot recently. Were debt collectors after her son? It wouldn’t be the first time. “Is that something to do with you?”
“Nope, not guilty. Anyway, I have a mobile if people can’t get hold of me on the landline.”
“Hmm,” said Alice, unconvinced. She’d been sure she could hear breathing and suspected there was probably some lovelorn female on the other end. She’d tried dialling 1471 to obtain the caller’s number, but it had been withheld. She was about to question Jimmy a little further about all this when there was a loud boom from the village.
Jonny St Milton jumped, his backside literally leaving the seat. “Dear Lord! My poor heart!”
Seagulls rose into the air, screaming their displeasure. Shouts echoed around the valley and a car alarm began to wail.
“What on earth was that?” gasped Alice. She’d never, ever heard anything like this. Not since Plymouth was bombed, anyway. Just the memory of those dark nights lying awake and hearing the planes drone overhead was enough to make her blood run cold.
“An explosion,” said Jimmy, his eyes wide.
“Yes, of course, but what was exploding?” Alice stood up. “It isn’t anything from the marina, is it?”
“We haven’t got any gas there,” her son reassured her.
“That sounded to me as though it came from right in the centre of the village, maybe near the green?” suggested Jonny.
“Maybe Ivy Lawrence has exploded? Perhaps the sight of a child playing football on the green or someone having a bit of innocent fun pushed her too far?” Jimmy chuckled.
His mother tutted. “Ivy’s much less irritable these days, Jimmy.” To Jonny, she added, “I don’t know about you, but I’m heading down there to see what’s going on.”
“Too right. This is the most excitement I’ve had for ages,” he said. “I get a date and the village blows up. What a morning!”
Ignoring her son’s raised eyebrows about the date remark, Alice fetched her coat. Together, the three of them made their way along the narrow path and into the village where, sure enough, a crowd had gathered on the green. Already a policeman was turning people away, and one of the pretty cottages that backed onto the River Wenn had been cordoned off. Mickey Davey was right at the front of the crowd, craning his neck to see what was going on. Local busybodies Sheila Keverne and Keyhole Kate Polmartin were only inches behind him. Even Chris the Cod and Symon Tremaine had abandoned their restaurants, and a gaggle of holidaymakers had poured out of the tea rooms and gift shops, keen for a slice of the excitement.
Spotting Issie and the good-looking American boy she’d been spending so much time with lately, Alice and Jonny joined them. Jimmy, newly engrossed in a call on his mobile, wandered away into a side street.
“What’s happened?” Alice looked around in confusion. She couldn’t see anything untoward but there was an acrid smell that made her nose twitch and her eyes water.
“Some visitors tried to blow up the floor of their holiday let,” Issie told her. Her granddaughter
’s eyes were wide circles of incredulity and Alice was pretty certain her own expression was identical. The cottages on the green were at least two hundred years old and picture-postcard pretty, as well as being listed buildings.
“They did what? Why?”
The American boy sighed. “I guess they figure Black Jack Jago’s treasure is buried underneath.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Alice couldn’t hide her exasperation. She was sick to the back teeth of all this nonsense. If things carried on this way there wouldn’t be any village left. “It’s just a stupid story!”
“That was daft of them. The tunnel’s nowhere near the green anyway,” added Jonny St Milton.
Issie’s friend didn’t miss a beat. “So where do you think it is then?”
But Jonny just tapped his nose and smiled. “That’s my secret, sonny.”
“You really think you went in that tunnel?” Issie asked him.
“I don’t think I went into the tunnel, dearest girl. I did go into the tunnel.”
“So tell me where it is!” Issie begged.
“Maybe I’ll give you a clue once your grandmother has dinner with me?” he teased. “That way you’ll make sure she doesn’t change her mind.”
“Hell, we’ll drive her to the restaurant for you, sir!” promised the American boy. He held out his hand. “I’m Luke Dawson.”
“Nice to meet you, Luke Dawson,” said Jonny, shaking it and beaming. “That won’t be necessary, though, because we’ll be dining at my hotel. I’ll send my driver to collect Ally.”
“I won’t be going anywhere if you keep filling their heads with all your nonsense,” Alice warned, crossing her arms and shooting her beau a stern look.
“Ah, well, what you say is nonsense and what I say is true isn’t always the same now, is it, Ally?” Jonny replied, his words loaded. “These young people will just have to make up their own minds.”
“I know the coin on the necklace is genuine,” Luke said.
Alice was startled. How would he know whether or not it was genuine? Even Alice only had her mother’s word for it.
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