Treasure of the Heart

by Ruth Saberton

  “Luke’s a historian, Granny,” Issie explained, seeing Alice’s surprise. “He’s here to do research for a paper he’s writing on the history of smuggling in Cornwall.”

  “Is he, indeed?” Alice found this about as hard to believe as Jonny’s imaginary trip through Black Jack’s tunnel. “Nothing to do with hunting for the treasure yourself then, Luke?”

  He gave her a lopsided smile, which, if she were sixty years younger, Alice might have found cute. He certainly had very white teeth, and those green eyes were compelling. Alice’s granddaughter was usually more than a match for most men, but this Luke Dawson was something else entirely. Alice couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was more to him than he was letting on. I hope Issie doesn’t get hurt, she thought.

  “I can’t deny I’d like to find that treasure, ma’am! Who wouldn’t?” Luke said.

  “Me,” Alice told him. “If it does exist, which I very much doubt, it never brought anyone else any luck – so why should things be different now? Just look at what it’s already doing to the village without even being found!”

  Her voice was shaking with emotion. Alice could hardly bear to see what was happening to her beloved Polwenna Bay. Holidaymakers blowing up cottages, people digging holes in random places, locals cashing in on the excitement with tacky themed food and tours… The list went on and on. Even as she was thinking this the Pollards sauntered by carrying pneumatic drills – and from what her grandson Nick was saying, the majority of the local fishing fleet was out trawling for treasure rather than fish. Where on earth was it going to end?

  “That treasure never brought anyone a moment’s good luck,” Jonny St Milton agreed quietly. “The curse of disturbing it can last a lifetime.”

  Luke Dawson’s emerald gaze was troubled, but not because of talk about curses. “Do you really think the treasure-hunting will affect the village?” he asked. “Surely it’s bringing trade – which is a good thing, right?”

  “Ask the villagers who live around Loch Ness and see what they think,” Alice said bitterly.

  “There’s supposed to be a monster in the Loch,” Issie explained, and Luke laughed.

  “I have heard of the Loch Ness Monster! I’m from America, not outer space.”

  “Which is a long enough way to come just to research a paper,” Alice said. “Why are you really here, Mr Dawson?”

  There was a brief silence. Then Luke Dawson put his arm around Issie and pulled her against him.

  “Does it matter what brought me?” he asked. “I know what I’m staying for.”

  Issie blushed and Alice sighed inwardly. Luke Dawson, whoever he was, certainly had her granddaughter on side.

  “No wonder Teddy’s in a foul mood,” Jonny remarked.

  Foul mood didn’t come close, Alice thought. For the past few days that particular young man had been driving his car way too fast through the village and swaggering round with his arrogant cronies. He was trouble; there was no doubt about that.

  Looking Luke Dawson straight in the eye, and reluctantly admiring his unflinching returning gaze, Alice nodded. She’d get the measure of this young man one way or another. There was more to him than he was willing to admit; she just knew it. Her eyesight might not be what it once was, but Alice Tremaine could still see when somebody was keeping a secret – and every fibre of her being told her that Luke Dawson’s was something to do with the blasted treasure.

  Of course, the American boy already had the greatest treasure imaginable in his arms, but maybe only a daft old fool like her would know that. Young people had to make their own mistakes. Alice only hoped that, unlike her and Jonny, Issie and this Luke wouldn’t end up with regrets that echoed throughout the rest of their lives.

  Chapter 18

  “This is exactly what I need,” Issie said, wrapping her hands around the coffee cup and sinking back into her seat. “What a morning.”

  Luke grinned. “Exploding cottages. And there I was thinking you Brits were anti-firearms!”

  “I’m not sure if buying a load of explosives off the Internet and rigging them up to blow a hole in a stone floor really counts as using firearms,” said Issie. Her face was white. “Jesus, Luke! What were they thinking? Somebody could have been killed.”

  The police had eventually sealed off the entire village green and moved the spectators on, so Luke and Issie had retreated to Davey’s Locker for coffee and a general regroup. Tucked away in a window seat overlooking the bay and the sparkling sea, they were attacking pasties with gusto and analysing the unbelievable events of the morning. If Issie’s head hadn’t already been spinning from an incredible night with Luke, it certainly was now. She could hardly take it all in.

  “I think we’re all more likely to die from the fat content in these pasties,” Luke said, forking up a huge chunk of golden pastry and munching it. The expression of bliss on his face made Issie laugh. After turning up his nose to start with, he was now a firm fan of this Cornish staple.

  “Mickey Davey does make amazing pasties,” Issie acknowledged. “Don’t ever let Patsy Penhalligan hear me say that though. Mickey’s about as Cornish as you are! No wonder he’s selling so many of them. My dad’s been driving all over the place delivering for him.”

  “Your pa sounds fun. Your grandma’s pretty scary though.”

  “She’s just protective, that’s all.”

  He quirked a dark eyebrow. “Of you or of the village?”

  Issie thought about this for a moment. Granny Alice was no fool; none of the Tremaine siblings had ever been able to get anything past her. Without doubt, the next time Issie was alone at Seaspray there would be a full interrogation.

  “Both of us,” she decided. “She loves the village so much, and seeing all this chaos is all of her worst nightmares coming true.”

  “And folks blowing up cottages won’t have changed her mind, huh?”

  “Hardly.” Issie put her fork down. Her appetite had suddenly deserted her. “Luke, what if she’s right? What if the treasure is cursed?”

  “Honey, you know that’s all mumbo jumbo to keep people from helping themselves, right? It’s no different to the tales of ghosts up in the churchyard.”

  “I suppose so,” Issie said, but deep down she wasn’t so sure. There was a palpable feeling of avarice in the village at the moment as locals milked the unexpected trade for all they could and greedy treasure hunters stalked the streets.

  “I know so.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. The mere sensation of his strong forefinger skimming over the back of her hand was enough to turn her legs into soggy seaweed as memories of the night they’d just shared came racing in faster than the turning tide. “Honey, we’re so close to finding something really special. I just know it.”

  She nodded. “You really think that the smugglers’ passage ran between the pub and your cottage?”

  “I think it did.” Finishing the pasty and pushing the plate aside, Luke reached for a paper napkin and took a pen from his pocket. “Here’s the cave and here’s the pub,” he said, scribbling a crude map onto the paper, “and here’s the church. As the crow flies they all line up, do you see? I think there was some kind of tunnel taking that path, maybe using an existing river channel.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. There’s only one river running through the village and it comes out in the harbour.”

  “One that we know about. What I can’t figure out is where the tunnel would begin. The church is too obvious.” He threw down the biro and ran his hands through his hair. “There has to be another place. Somewhere nobody would see. My theory is that Jago was carrying the loot somewhere only he knew about. I don’t think he shared the plan with anyone else.”

  “That would make sense,” Issie agreed. After all, the secret of the Isabella’s treasure had died with the notorious wrecker.

  “If only that old dude your grandma was with would tell us what he knows,” Luke sighed.

  “I don’t thin
k Jonny knows anything. He just likes to tell a good yarn,” Issie said. “Granny Alice says he’s a fibber.”

  “Hmm. I think your Granny Alice has some issues there. Back home she’d probably be in therapy.”

  “And if she heard you say that, you’d be needing physiotherapy,” Issie grinned.

  Still, maybe Luke had a point? Her gran had always been prickly about the St Miltons. While Luke scribbled and frowned and began another sketch, Issie pondered on this and watched the world outside. Dr Penwarren was walking his dog on the beach, weaving in between people wielding metal detectors. The Penhalligan brothers were mending nets by the fish market, and Mickey Davey’s powerful boat was coming up alongside the outer pier. Unusually, it wasn’t full of Mickey’s gin-swilling Essex cronies but instead piled high with shopping bags and boxes of veg.

  “Look at that,” Issie said to Luke. “Mickey’s done his shopping by boat. His car must still be blocking those poor holidaymakers in.”

  Luke whistled. “What a piece of work. Say, why don’t we grab a takeout coffee and get out of here? I’m not sure he’s someone I want to be around.”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Issie sighed. “It’s such a shame he bought the café. With any luck he’ll get bored and sell up. Lots of incomers do.”

  While Luke went to order the coffee, Issie watched Mickey Davey and her father unload the boat. Jimmy seemed thrilled to be helping – but then, he was always happy. As long as Mickey paid him enough to buy beer and cigarettes, Jimmy wouldn’t complain. After all, what more did you really need in Polwenna Bay?

  I can’t end up like Dad, Issie thought. She had to try to get back to university, otherwise in forty years’ time that was going to be her.

  It was not a happy prospect.

  The ringtone from Luke’s mobile, which he’d left propped against the salt cellar on the off-chance of picking up a signal, interrupted her thoughts. She glanced at the phone and grew cold all over when she saw the name illuminated on the screen and the accompanying picture.

  Stella

  Who was Stella? Not his mum, that was for certain. No son would want a head-and-shoulders shot of his mother that made her look like a cross between Pamela Anderson and Katie Price. Crêpey chest and obviously bleached hair aside, whoever Stella was she was undeniably attractive.

  Was Stella his girlfriend?

  Abruptly, the ringing stopped and Issie realised she was holding her breath. There was a tight feeling in her chest, which felt horribly like jealousy. Jealousy? That was ridiculous. Why should it matter to her whether Luke had a girlfriend or not? There was nothing serious between them. Yes, the sex had been great (better than great – orgasmically, mind-blowingly fantastic actually), but it was still only sex. It wasn’t as though she was in love with Luke Dawson or anything. How could she be when she was in love with Mark?

  And she was in love with Mark. Of course she was. He was the love of her life. Otherwise what on earth had been the point of all that unhappiness?

  “OK, we’ve got coffee. Let’s get outa here.” Luke passed a paper cup to Issie and scooped up the napkin map and his mobile. Issie watched closely as he checked the missed call; she was curious to see whether he looked pleased, but not a trace of emotion flickered across his handsome face. Instead, he rammed the phone into the back pocket of his jeans without commenting.

  OK. So, whoever this Stella was, he wasn’t in a hurry to call her back. Issie wasn’t sure if she was relieved about this or not. Did it mean he wasn’t interested, or was Luke saving the return call for later on when he was alone?

  At this thought jealousy’s cold hand really did squeeze her heart.

  Furious with herself, Issie strode ahead of him out of the café and sprinted down the steps onto the beach. After the warm fug of Davey’s Locker the chilly air hit her cheeks like a slap, and she gasped as the wind snatched at her breath. Still, at least the shock of the elements had distracted her from her thoughts.

  “Shit! It’s cold!” Luke exclaimed.

  “You’re not in Florida now!” Issie called over her shoulder. “Come on! Race you to the cave.”

  Physical exercise was what she needed. The burning of her lungs and the scream of her muscles as she pounded across the wet sand was a million times preferable to the twisting sensation she’d felt in her chest a few moments ago in the café. Running as fast as she could, Issie sped towards the cave, her braids whipping against her face and her footprints filling with water. By the time she reached the beach cave, tears were streaming from her eyes and she was panting like Mo’s little Jack Russell terrier.

  “That’s cheating! I was carrying the drink,” Luke protested when he caught her up after taking a more sedate jog across the sand.

  “Do you want a rematch?”

  He laughed. “Hell, no. You look ready to collapse, honey. Here, have some coffee.”

  Issie took the proffered cup and sipped what was left of the latte as they stood just inside the cave, droplets of salty water dripping down on them from the granite ceiling. It was dank and still and smelt of mouldering, half-forgotten secrets. Issie shivered.

  “This place gives me the creeps,” Luke admitted.

  She looked up, taken aback that he felt it too. “I’ve never liked it in here. It feels unlucky to me.”

  “Yeah. You can really believe somebody was trapped near here and died.” Reaching for her hand, he led her deeper into the cave, further and further back until the light began to grow murky and their feet sank into a cushion of wet seaweed. Issie didn’t protest; all thoughts of the mysterious Stella and of Issie’s dislike of the cave were forgotten the instant Luke’s skin touched hers.

  “There’s nothing to see in here,” she said.

  “Who says I want to look at anything?” Issie sensed his smile in the darkness before he drew her against him and kissed her. Trembling, she lifted her mouth to his and kissed him back. As his tongue probed hers he reached to cup her breast, teasing her with agonising tenderness that made her quiver. Memories of what had happened the last time he’d kissed her made her quite faint with longing.

  Luke broke the kiss first, stepping away slightly and catching his ragged breath. “D’you know? This cave is starting to grow on me,” he murmured.

  “You really do take a girl to all the best places,” Issie said, or thought she did. It was hard to tell above the thudding of her heart.

  “I try, ma’am. It’s the southern charm.” He cupped her face in his hands and brushed his lips against hers. “Sweet Jesus, Issie Tremaine. You are driving me crazy. We’d better get out of here before I lose my mind.”

  Issie couldn’t think of anything she’d like more than for Luke Dawson to lose his mind. Every fibre of her being was aching with desire, but the cave was hardly a private place and, much as she enjoyed risk-taking and the thrill of danger, the thought of being interrupted by a dog-walking doctor or a Pollard wielding a pneumatic drill was not a good one.

  “I could invite you back to my luxurious lodgings, but I couldn’t get that damn stove to light and I’d hate a lady to freeze,” Luke said as, hand in hand, they headed back towards the daylight.

  “Hard to resist as that sounds, I’m working in the pub at three.” Issie wasn’t looking forward to it. If Teddy wasn’t there making sarky remarks, then Adam would be moaning or Rose would be demanding that Issie should help in the kitchen too. Oh, to go back to the cottage, burrow under the duvets with Luke and spend hours exploring every inch of that gorgeous muscular body until night drew a veil across the sky and they passed out with exhaustion… “I finish at ten, though, so—”

  She broke off. Luke had dropped her hand and was crouched on the cave floor, scrabbling in the wet seaweed.

  “No way. Impossible!”

  “What? What is?”

  Luke straightened up and held out a soggy object. For a moment Issie’s eyes struggled to adjust to the dim light – but when they finally did so, her mouth fell open.

  He was hol
ding her pink flowery hair slide. The very same hair slide that had fallen into St Wenn’s Well.

  They stared at each other in disbelief.

  “I don’t suppose you ever lost another of these?” Luke asked slowly.

  “No way. I only had the one. Dad brought it back from San Francisco.” Issie took it from him. It was sodden and a bit sandy, but very definitely the same hair slide she’d lost to the well.

  “How is that possible?”

  “I have no idea,” Luke shrugged. “It’s a mystery.”

  “It’s more than a mystery,” Issie said. Why wasn’t he looking more excited? This was incredible! Somehow her hair slide had made its way from St Wenn’s Well to the beach. There had to be an explanation and she knew it was something to do with the smugglers.

  Luke, however, couldn’t have seemed less interested. He looked at his watch and sighed.

  “Honey, there’s a few things I gotta do now. How about we catch up later once you’ve finished work?”

  Issie frowned. “What things?”

  “Just research and stuff.”

  “For your paper?”

  “Yeah, sure, that’s right.” But Luke couldn’t quite look at her as he said this, and Issie felt a prickle of unease. Issie opened her mouth to ask him more but Luke was too busy dropping a kiss onto her cheek and promising to call her later to listen to anything she might have to say. Moments later he was sprinting across the beach to the steps, his mobile clamped to his ear before he’d even reached the top.

  Who was he calling with such urgency? The mysterious Stella?

  Issie walked back to the village with a heavy heart. The thrill of their earlier kisses in the cave and the excitement of finding the hair slide were seeping away, and anxiety tightened in her gut. Luke was hiding something from her.

  But what? Was he with someone else?

  Was he playing her?

  Had she just betrayed Mark for nothing?

  This time when her phone vibrated and she saw who was calling, Issie didn’t ignore it. Instead she accepted the call with a shaking forefinger.

  “Hello, Mark,” Issie said.