Treasure of the Heart

by Ruth Saberton

  From her curled-up position in the window seat, Issie tuned out the family chatter and watched the pewter waves chase one another up the beach while the rain trickled slowly down the glass. Nobody was out treasure-hunting today, and even the gulls were silent. Perhaps everyone had given up and life in this small Cornish fishing village in the depths of winter was starting to return to normal.

  She drew a heart in the condensation on the big sash window, then scrubbed it off viciously with the heel of her hand. Normal? Nothing was going back to normal. Nothing would ever be normal again now, thanks to Luke bastard Dawson. She’d been so stupid to be taken in by him. How he must be laughing right now. She’d told him everything he wanted to know – and he hadn’t even needed to try that hard to get the information from her. One smile from that full sexy mouth, one twinkle of those gorgeous green eyes, and she’d been putty in his hands.

  Yes. Issie could just imagine how much Luke Dawson and the mysterious Stella were crowing over her gullibility. For a while – for the sweetest and most blissful interlude she’d ever known – Issie had really thought she was falling in love with him. She’d even thought that maybe, just maybe, Luke felt the same way too. To discover she’d been played from the very beginning was intensely painful.

  After leaving Luke’s cottage yesterday, Issie had fled through the village, little caring about the tears streaming down her cheeks for all to see. Bumping onto Ashley and Mo, who’d been on their way home because Mo was feeling sick, Issie had found herself being scooped up by them and taken into their care. She’d spent the afternoon up at Mariners sobbing as though her heart would break.

  “Please, Issie, talk to me. Tell me what’s happened,” Mo had said, clearly worried. “This isn’t like you.”

  It was true. It wasn’t like her at all. Issie was usually so proud; she almost never cried in front of other people, and she wasn’t given to sharing the innermost secrets of her heart. Even when she’d been in pieces about Mark, Issie hadn’t breathed a word of it to anyone. Yet Mark, the man she’d once believed herself so in love with, faded into nothing when compared to Luke Dawson.

  Poor Mo was green with morning sickness but had gathered Issie into her arms and rocked her gently while she choked out the story of how she’d been betrayed by Luke. At some point Ashley had made himself scarce by going to Seaspray to fetch an overnight bag, since the alarmed Mo was adamant that Issie should stay with them. There was no way she was letting her little sister out of her sight in this state. Wine had been opened and tissues had been fetched, and gradually Issie had calmed down and her weeping had subsided. Several glasses of wine later and totally exhausted, she’d fallen into a heavy sleep on the sofa. It was where she’d woken up this morning, toasty warm beneath feather duvets and with Mo’s dog Cracker lying on top of her ankles, cutting off the circulation to her feet. Turning down breakfast (which usually came with the condition that she helped Mo muck out her horses), Issie had returned to Seaspray with red and heavy eyes, and an even heavier heart.

  Luke Dawson held the future of Polwenna Bay in his hands. What he would choose to do with it was anyone’s guess.

  Far across the bay the mouth of the cave was a big black yawn. Despite the warmth of the fire in Seaspray’s sitting room, Issie shivered to think of the narrow tunnel snaking beneath the village; a tunnel hiding the bones of a long-dead thief.

  For as long as Issie could remember, she had adored the story of Black Jack Jago. As a child she’d begged Alice to tell it over and over again. She’d loved imagining the wreckers high on the cliffs with their lanterns, luring innocent ships onto the snaggle-toothed rocks. Mo had been sick of this bedtime tale, Black Beauty being more her style, but Issie had never been able to hear it enough times. Although the gold-coin necklace technically belonged to Alice, it was Issie’s proudest possession; she’d always dreamed that one day she would find the other riches that had accompanied it. When the wreck had washed up and at last people had begun taking the story seriously, Issie had hardly been able to contain her excitement. Yet seeing the skull had suddenly made everything real, and the dream had melted like frost in sunshine. She realised now that all of her grandmother’s warnings were justified: already, the village was flooded with people intent on finding the cache and, worse, excavating it. Besides, there was a body trapped in there with the stolen treasure. Issie shuddered at the idea of disturbing Black Jack’s final resting place. She was certain the hoard was cursed, and it seemed unwise to go unsettling things that ought to remain buried. As she’d stared at the photo on Luke’s phone, Issie had been struck by an overwhelming sense that they must leave well alone. She and Luke knew the truth and they’d proven that the tale was true. Surely that was more than enough?

  She’d never imagined for a second that Luke might not agree. That he’d believed her and shared her passion for the tale was something she’d truly thought of as a link between them, a soulmate’s bond even. The notion that he’d simply exploited her for her local knowledge was unbearable. For Luke, finding the lost treasure wasn’t about uncovering the past, as it was for her. No, everything he’d told her was a lie. He was a professional treasure hunter, bankrolled by a sponsor and only here for the money. He didn’t care about the history, or the village or about Issie. Luke Dawson only cared about the loot.

  And Issie hated him.

  This morning she’d Googled his family and felt sickened with stupidity. The evidence was right there in front of her. Blue skies, blue water, tanned people with white smiles, Luke and his father beaming at the camera from the deck of their dive boat… It was endless and she’d shut the laptop lid with a howl. She’d been too trusting.

  Was this her punishment? Issie wondered now. Emma Tollen must have felt betrayed and heartbroken when she’d seen Issie at the door. It didn’t matter that Mark had lied and that Issie had genuinely believed his marriage to be over: Emma must have known this twisting, turning pain that Issie was feeling now; no doubt she’d wept until her eyes were sore too. Seeing Mark yesterday had been a shock, yes, but it had also been liberating. At least Issie knew now that she felt nothing for him. In fact, she’d seen him for the weak man he really was – somebody who lied to everyone, himself included, and who abused his position in order to feel admired and special. He wouldn’t have left Emma of his own accord, Issie reflected. Hopefully his wife had seen sense at last and kicked him out. He’d only fled here because he’d nowhere else to go. He didn’t love Issie. He never had. There was only one person Mark Tollen loved, and that was himself.

  God, but she was an idiot.

  “Can’t I just pick them?” she said bitterly.

  “What was that, sweetie?” Jimmy Tremaine asked, peering up from the laptop. He was busy booking another trip to the USA; unlike the last time though, Jimmy was paying for this with his own money, earned by running errands for Mickey Davey.

  “Nothing,” Issie muttered. She knew there was no point trying to talk to her father about what had happened. Jimmy would be the first person trying to dig up the village if he thought there was a chance of money. As for discussing her broken heart, well that was never going to happen. Judging by the amount of silent calls they were getting and the Skype history he’d forgotten to erase from the family computer, Jimmy was busy breaking his own share of hearts. There was probably a trail of sobbing women all along the west coast of America. The latest went by the moniker of Emerald SanFran and didn’t look a day over twenty.

  Was it any wonder her love life was such a mess, with Jimmy Tremaine as a role model?

  “Can I come to America with you, Dad?” she asked hopefully. A break from Polwenna Bay was just what she needed; that, and a bit of winter sun. Maybe she and Jimmy could do Route 66 and have a bit of father–daughter time? The idea made her spirits lift. It could be fun.

  Jimmy didn’t seem thrilled by this idea. “Not this time, doll. I’ve got things planned.”

  “What things?” Issie asked, knowing full well that it wasn’t a cas
e of what so much as whom. It was typical of her father that he’d rather chase a total stranger than spend time with his own daughter. Issie didn’t remember her mother, but she did have vivid memories of Jimmy Tremaine taking off and leaving them. Mo had cried for days.

  “Just things, baby girl. We’ll go another time. I promise.”

  Issie wasn’t going to hold Jimmy to this. As far as she was concerned her father was just another man in a long line that had let her down.

  “You’re not still upset about what happened in the restaurant are you, love? I can imagine it was very distressing for you,” Alice said, with a worried look.

  Issie sighed. Loved-up her grandmother might be, but she still had a nose like a bloodhound when it came to her grandchildren. “It’s fine, Granny. Mark’s just an ex. I just wasn’t expecting him to turn up, that’s all, and certainly not at a family lunch and make a scene. We’ve been finished for ages.”

  “Just because people are apart doesn’t mean that the love has gone,” remarked Jonny St Milton, peering at her over his half-moon glasses.

  “I don’t think I ever really loved Mark in the first place,” Issie admitted.

  Jonny fixed her with a searching grey-eyed look. “Who says I’m referring to this Mark, hmm? He wasn’t the only young man to make a dramatic exit.”

  Issie screwed up her nose. “If you mean Luke Dawson, he’s gone and I won’t be seeing him again.”

  “That’s a shame,” said Alice.

  “I didn’t think you liked him?”

  “I thought he was very charming, and certainly you seemed happy spending time with him, which was nice to see,” her grandmother replied thoughtfully. “I suppose I just didn’t like the idea of strangers being so keen to explore secrets that I feel should remain hidden.”

  “You were right. He’s not from here, and Polwenna Bay’s past has nothing to do with him,” Issie said hotly. “The village’s secrets should be left alone. And you should have this back too.” She slipped the necklace over her head and held it out to Alice.

  Alice was taken aback. “But, darling, you love this necklace.”

  Issie shrugged. “I don’t think I feel the same about any of the Black Jack Jago legends anymore. You’re right: it’ll ruin the village if people keep coming here trying to find his gold.”

  “I really shouldn’t worry about the village,” said Jonny with a wink. “Polwenna Bay can keep a secret or two.”

  “Meaning what exactly?” Issie asked.

  He tapped the side of his nose. “Let’s just say that sometimes things that are found have a way of being unfound again. All will be well, that’s the bare bones of the matter.”

  Her mouth fell open. Was Jonny saying what she thought he was saying? Had he found the skeleton and seen the gold too, when he was a boy? He’d always claimed to have discovered the tunnel, but she’d never once heard him mention a skeleton or anything else in there. He winked at her again before returning to selecting wedding stationery, and the moment was lost.

  Issie glanced outside again. Luke’s cottage was in darkness now, and the only evidence that he’d been here at all was the clawing sensation in her chest. In spite of everything, she missed him dreadfully and her mood matched the bleak weather. She was trying as hard as she could to erase the memory of his touch, but whenever she closed her eyes she relived the moments they’d spent alone and her heart beat faster. Her reflection floated before her in the glass, pale and strained. There were dark rings around her eyes too. If this was love then you could keep it.

  The shrilling doorbell was a welcome distraction from her gloomy thoughts.

  “I’ll get it,” Issie said, slipping out of the window seat and making her way to the hall. A small pathetic part of her was hoping that when she opened the door she would find Luke there, if only so that she could have the satisfaction of slamming it in his face. But unfortunately it was only Mickey Davey on the doorstep, in a very bad temper.

  “I want a word with your brother! Now!”

  Issie was not in the mood for bullies. What was he going to do? Park his Rolls across the Seaspray door and block them in to starve?

  She raised her chin. “Just the one? I’ve got five, although it might take a while to fetch Zak from Antigua, and Nick’s out trawling.”

  Mickey was puce in the face already from the steep climb up, and now he was turning purple.

  “Don’t get clever with me, love! You know exactly which one! Is your father in on it? Was this his idea?”

  “In on what?” asked Issie, totally confused.

  “My delivery!” Mickey’s eyes were bulging as he advanced on Issie. “He’s stolen my delivery and I want it back. I don’t have time for this. I’ve got the builders in.”

  “Again?” Issie was surprised. Mickey was always having builders from up country in to work on Davey’s Locker – it was a constant source of upset for Little Rog – but whenever she went to the café it always looked exactly the same. There was a new floor and a heavy front door, but apart from that it was pretty shabby. Even the Pollards would have done a better job.

  “I think it’s me that Mr Davey’s looking for.”

  Symon joined Issie at the door, and instinctively Mickey took a step back to size him up. Tall and slender Symon might be, but Issie’s brother had a stillness about him that reminded her of a big cat poised to spring. With his deep-red hair, high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes, he certainly had something of the tiger’s latent danger about him.

  “Your delivery was left on the doorstep of my restaurant. The driver was looking for a Mr Tremaine, my father I presume, but he was directed to me instead. Your delivery’s in my kitchen. Tara should be there soon to open up. She’ll let you in.”

  Mickey narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why would they leave it there?”

  Sy raised a shoulder. “I’m Mr Tremaine too. It was a reasonable assumption, although I can’t imagine ever needing so much flour. Nor can I imagine why you’d think anyone might want to steal it.”

  “People will half-inch anything, son,” Mickey said over his shoulder, already on his way back down to the village. “You can’t trust anyone around here. Mark my words.”

  “Ain’t that the truth?” Sy said to Issie as they shut the door. “What an idiot that man is. Throws his weight around, runs the worst café in the village and is obsessed with making pasties. There’s something about him I don’t like.”

  “He’s a nasty bully,” Issie said. “I saw him blocking some holidaymakers’ car in with his Rolls Royce, just because they’d parked in his space by mistake. He loved every minute of watching them squirm. He’s not moved it for ages, either.”

  “Sounds about right,” said her brother. “I get tossers like that in the restaurant all the time. I wish Dad wasn’t so involved with him, but you know our father; a free drink and a tenner and he’s anyone’s.”

  “Well, he’s off to San Francisco again next week, so that should keep him out of trouble.”

  “Ah yes, the mystery woman. Good luck to her,” grinned Sy. “Pa’s certainly been very secretive about it all. She’s probably a pole dancer or something.”

  “She certainly looks very young,” Issie said. “About nineteen, I’d say.”

  “About the right level of maturity for Pa then!” her brother quipped.

  But Issie wasn’t laughing. She had a very bad feeling about her father’s visit to San Francisco, and an even worse one about Mickey Davey. But most of all she was worried sick about what Luke Dawson was going to do next.

  Polwenna Bay’s future was hanging in the balance and there was nothing anyone could do about it – and it was all her fault.

  Chapter 26

  Alice Tremaine sat on a bench overlooking the bay and watched the waves running up the beach. As had been her way for decades, Alice had come here to find peace of mind; she drew comfort from the knowledge that this same scene would be here long after she was gone. The view of the village, with the sea and sky
stretching out beyond it, somehow made her worries seem smaller and more manageable. This was the magic of Cornwall and of Polwenna Bay in particular, and Alice hoped and prayed that nothing would ever change this.

  It seemed ironic that, despite having reached a point in her own life when she had so much to look forward to, Alice was also worried sick about so many other things. She glanced down at the diamond ring on her left hand and felt the warmth of true contentment. It wasn’t the biggest or the flashiest engagement ring, but it was classic and pretty, and when Jonny had slipped it onto her finger Alice had cried with pure joy, because this was the ring that a lifetime ago she’d dreamed he’d put there. So much had happened since then – loves had come and gone and whole lives had passed in what felt like the blink of an eye – but his love for her was as strong as it had ever been. Alice knew she was truly blessed to have this second chance of happiness.

  Happiness. Was there anything more important than that? If there was, Alice couldn’t imagine what it might be. Her ring sparkled in the light, a glittering reminder that although the union it symbolised was the true wealth, there were plenty of people for whom the diamond itself was the thing of value. There were all those visitors who’d flocked to Polwenna Bay in search of treasure, for instance, and the villagers who’d been only too willing to take advantage and make money from them. The Pollards were driving a new van, Betty Jago had booked a cruise and, judging by the hammering and banging from the beach café, Mickey Davey was having yet more work done. The digging on the beach and the destruction of listed cottages didn’t seem to bother any of them. Alice sighed. Of course it didn’t. Peace and beauty wasn’t a currency you could pay into the bank, was it?