Life in Polwenna Bay was many things but dull certainly wasn’t one of them.
Today had dawned steel grey with rain clouds hanging heavy on the horizon, and there was a sharp easterly wind. It was a typically bleak January day and it suited Issie’s mood perfectly. Digging her hands deep into the pockets of her coat, she sprinted down the beach steps and jogged along the tideline until she drew parallel with the cave.
From the outside everything looked just as it always had. The mouth of the cave yawned dark and vast, and the smell of rotting seaweed made her nose wrinkle. How odd to think that at the far end of this cave the lost tunnel had begun, twisting its way under the village all the way up to St Wenn’s Well. It was even stranger to think that, in the shadowy depths, the remains of Black Jack Jago guarded his unlucky loot. Stepping into the cave made Issie shudder. Alice had been right: the treasure was cursed. What if Issie’s meddling was the reason Jimmy had been caught up with Mickey Davey and almost implicated in the crime? Was this her fault? And when Luke revealed the truth about the tunnel, would there be worse to come?
Issie knew she was being ridiculous – but in the blackness, where the only sounds were her own breathing and the drip, drip, drip of water, it was only too easy to be superstitious. She was unlucky in love too. Was that another sign of the curse? After all, how many twenty-two-year-olds had grandmothers with love lives in better shape than their own?
Issie attempted to step forwards, but cried out as her knee slammed into solid granite. This couldn’t be the back of the cave, could it? It had been far deeper than this before. Something must have changed. Issie pulled her iPhone from her pocket and switched on the torch, then gasped.
“No way!” she whispered to herself in shock. At least half of the cave was now blocked.
Yesterday’s explosion must have destabilised the rocks. There’d been falls in the past – many of them, judging by the state of the tunnel – but never anything quite like this. Water still trickled through the cracks, but apart from that there was no chance of anything or anyone being able to get through now. If the beach end of the smugglers’ passage had been obstructed before, then it was well and truly sealed now. It was as though the village was doing its very best to guard the secrets that lay within.
Her hangover forgotten, Issie raced back across the beach and up the steps. A thought had just occurred to her and all she could think of now was seeing whether or not she was right. After all, what was it that Jonny St Milton had kept telling them all? The village keeps its own secrets. He’d said it over and over again, and now Issie knew why: Jonny had found the treasure years ago. His stories of exploring the tunnel weren’t stories at all – they were true.
The cottage that Luke had rented was empty now. As she walked up the path, panting for breath and with an agonising stitch in her side, Issie tried her hardest not to think about the time she’d spent with him there. Luke had to be put out of her mind. He’d been a lapse in her judgment, a mistake, a fling, she told herself sharply. He wasn’t her soulmate or her missing half; Luke Dawson had been nothing but a confidence trickster, and she’d been a gullible idiot to be taken in by him so easily.
The outhouse was just as gloomy as Issie remembered, but at least this time there was no need to move a decade’s worth of rubbish and piles of rotting wood. Dragging the heavy slab from the opening of the old privy took some effort, and a couple of annoyed spiders scuttled out, but within minutes Issie realised that the explosion and the rockfalls in the cave had altered everything.
She crouched down and peered into the darkness, her eyes wide when she saw water swirling by only inches below the aperture. The rockfalls further downstream must have blocked the tunnel significantly and the water, unable to flow as freely as before, had backed right up.
Black Jack, his treasure and the smugglers’ tunnel were entirely hidden now. Did this mean that she’d escaped the curse? Was that why Jimmy had been released without any further trouble?
Issie laughed. These thoughts were absurd, of course, but even so she felt a huge sense of relief. There was no way any other treasure hunters would be able to come across the lost cargo now. The secret was safe with her.
Except it wasn’t just her secret, was it? Luke Dawson knew everything, and Issie could only imagine that in his industry a few fallen rocks and some fast-flowing water were just minor inconveniences. Nothing was going to stop Luke. Look at all the effort he’d gone to already. And worse, he had those pictures on his phone as evidence. With a wealthy sponsor and his ruthless determination, he wouldn’t rest until he’d returned for the treasure. The passage might be blocked for the time being, but nothing had really changed: the future of the village and the slumbering secrets beneath it were still in his hands. Luke had been gone for three days now, more than enough time for him to set the wheels in motion. He was probably shacked up in some luxury hotel with the mysterious Stella, swilling champagne and having a right laugh about how stupid English girls were.
Deflated, Issie made her way back into the village. The police were still in evidence and the quay remained out of bounds, but the locals had moved on – probably to the pub, since it was coming up for lunchtime. She decided she might as well join them. If the hair of the dog didn’t make her feel better, then a big plate of cheesy chips certainly would.
“Aha! The wanderer returns! We missed you last night!” said Adam Harper when she pushed the door open.
“I had a night in,” Issie said, hopping onto a bar stool and indicating the scrumpy pump.
“A night in drinking, by the look of you.” Adam poured the cider and then rubbed a chalk mark off the tally chart on the beam above. “Six left, Issie.”
“I’ll buy you another,” said Little Rog quickly, holding an empty glass out. “Half for me, Ad, and put a scrumpy in for Issie.”
Great, she could get drunk again for free, flirt with Little Rog and afterwards stagger back to her grandmother’s home and pass out. Then she could do it all over again tomorrow. And the next day. And maybe the day after that too. Seeing her life panning out this way made Issie feel quite depressed. She had to do something to change it or she’d end up being the mad old drunk in the corner nobody wanted to talk to.
The answer was obvious, and it wasn’t one that could be found in the bottom of a glass: Issie had to go back to university. Mark Tollen couldn’t influence her future anymore. It was time to take charge of her life.
“Delivery for Miss Isabella Tremaine? The Ship Inn, Polwenna Bay?”
Issie looked up in surprise. A deliveryman stood at the bar, glancing around at the motley collection of locals, who in turn were eyeing him suspiciously. Even The Ship’s most loyal customers weren’t in the habit of using the pub as their fixed address.
“That’s me,” Issie said, intrigued.
“Great. Here’s your parcel,” the deliveryman replied, placing a rectangular package on the bar. Now, if you’d just sign here?”
But Issie was confused. “I’m not expecting anything and, if I was, I wouldn’t ask for it to be delivered here.”
“We’re a pub, not the bloody post office,” Adam huffed.
The deliveryman laughed. “You’d be amazed at some of the places we deliver to. Haven’t you see Castaway?”
“I thought that was FedEx. But either way, being marooned on a deserted island without the missus and this place sounds good to me,” sighed the landlord, returning to polishing glasses.
Once Issie had provided her signature and the deliveryman had bid them farewell, the curious locals gathered round to see what was in the parcel.
“Go on then, Issie. Open it. Don’t keep us all in suspense,” Adam urged.
“I’ve no idea what it is or who’s sent it,” Issie said, turning the parcel around as she studied it. The return address was the same as the delivery one – somebody was certainly determined that she got this parcel. She felt rather nervous. What if Mark had sent something? Wasn’t it odd that for months she’d longed
for a romantic gesture from him but now she couldn’t imagine anything worse?
“Only one way to find out,” Big Rog said.
“Quicker with these too,” added Adam, passing her some scissors.
“God, you lot are so nosey. Get a life,” grinned Issie and, taking the scissors, she snipped through the packaging tape.
“Yours is so much more exciting,” Adam sighed. “Nobody sends me secret presents.”
“Is it something personal?” Little Rog asked hopefully, peering over her shoulder.
“It’s not from Ann Summers if that’s what you’re hoping, you sad person,” Issie said, rolling her eyes. Still, just in case, and to the disappointment of the lunchtime drinking crowd, she took the parcel over to a quiet window seat to open it in private. If Mark had gone mad and sent some sexy underwear, unwanted or not, the last thing she needed was the Pollards perving over it.
The outer packaging contained a box filled with bubble wrap. Frowning, Issie eased this out. Slowly she unravelled it until she was holding a beautiful ship in a bottle. The glass was old and thick, filled with bubbles and swirls, and the neck was sealed with a thick cork. The vessel inside, sailing on a blue-glass sea, took her breath away. Tears filled her eyes because there was only one person in the whole world who would have sent this. The ship in the bottle was a stunning miniature galleon, perfect in every detail and proportion, and on the bow, written in gold script, was the name Isabella.
Issie felt as though someone had just cut all her strings. A rolled-up parchment rested just inside the neck of the bottle and, as though in a dream, she pulled out the cork and retrieved it. Holding her breath, she unrolled the document slowly and smoothed it out on the table, then placed on its corners whatever paperweights came to hand – the salt cellar, the pepper, the vinegar and a bottle of ketchup. And when she finally saw what was on the parchment, she laughed out loud.
The document was a hand-drawn map of the village. It was sketched out in an amateur fashion in crayon and ink, and yet it was accurate in a way that was deeply personal.
Treasure of Polwenna Bay, declared the map’s heading.
The map showed the wreck, the cave, the old cottage privy, the church and all the locations in between, from shops to houses to the special places where the events of the past few weeks had happened. It must have taken hours to draw and had been crafted with such loving attention to detail that Issie could only shake her head in disbelief. This wasn’t the work of someone whose only thought was of money and glory. This didn’t make any sense at all. Unless… Unless…
Unless the person who had sent her this map was trying to give her a message that only she would understand?
Where wishes bring true riches, read the script on the map.
There was no X marking the spot, and there were no more clues – but Issie didn’t need them. She knew exactly where she had to look. It was obvious and always had been to her.
But could the person who had sent this to her really feel the same way? And, if so, could her heart learn to trust again? Overflowing with questions and full of a hope she hardly dared acknowledge, Issie left the pub and set off on a new treasure hunt.
Chapter 29
Issie stopped dead at the top of the footpath. Her breathing came in sharp painful gasps, plucked from her lungs after running most of the way up from the village to the woods at the top. Here it was still and eerily quiet. There was no birdsong, no shrieking of seagulls, and even the wind seemed to have stilled. As always there was the strange sensation that time was holding its breath here. Stepping into the dim hollow, it was as though the outside world had ceased to be; there was nothing else except the trickling of quicksilver water onto the dank earth.
St Wenn’s Well. It had to be. Where else in the village would you come to make a wish – and not just any wish, but a wish for true love? It was here, back in the autumn, that Issie had dipped her fingers into the icy water and done exactly that. Although she’d quipped about finding a sexy millionaire, the yearning that had sprung from her heart had been for a soulmate, her missing part. The place had a brooding, watchful air that made Issie’s arms ripple with goosebumps. It was a strange and magical location, and whenever she visited she couldn’t help believing that something old and timeless had been listening to the longing that had filled her that day.
Later, when she’d come here with Luke and told him the legend, he’d laughed and said that his wish was to find the treasure. St Wenn had certainly granted that, hadn’t she? Riches beyond Luke’s wildest dreams had been within a fingertip’s reach – and still were, if he chose to come and get them. So why hadn’t he returned to claim his fortune? After all, wasn’t this what he’d always wanted? She’d Googled the Dawsons and knew they lived and breathed treasure. Some of them had even died for it.
She knelt down and dabbled her hands in the cool water, marvelling at the mysterious journey it would make down through the rocks, past gold coins and tide-washed bones beneath the village, before joining the vast seas beyond. The clear water would keep its secrets. Would Luke?
“Making a wish?”
It was him. Issie didn’t look up; she didn’t need to. Her heart knew it was Luke. He was the one she’d wished for all those months ago, and deep down she’d always known that.
“I made my wish a long time ago,” Issie said quietly.
“And did it come true?”
She continued to stare down at the laughing water. Her fingers were tingling with the cold.
“Did yours?”
“You heard me wish I’d find the treasure.” Crouching beside her, Luke dipped his own fingers in the water and swirled it thoughtfully.
“You did find it.” Issie knew she had to be strong now, not just for herself but for everything she loved. She turned to him, her eyes taking in his strong profile, the full generous mouth, and her heart fluttered. Whatever the outcome, she had to know the answer. “Is that why you’re back, Luke? Have you come for the treasure?”
In answer, his fingers slipped through the water, lacing with hers, and then pulling her to her feet. Then his cold hands cupped her face, tenderly stroking her cheeks, before his lips paused just a kiss away from hers.
“I did,” he said softly, “but I didn’t need to ask St Wenn for help. I’d already struck gold. I was just too stupid to realise it.” His green eyes held hers, earnest and full of an emotion she hardly dared name. “And yes, I’ve come back for that treasure, because you’re the true treasure of Polwenna Bay, Issie. I was just too goddamn blind to see it before. I had something so precious in my grasp and like an idiot I let it slip through my fingers. So yeah, I’m back here for the treasure – if that treasure will have me, of course?”
Issie’s eyes widened as the meaning of his quiet and heartfelt words sank in. For a moment she quailed, hurt so badly in the past that it felt as though it would take an enormous leap of faith to trust again. But then the sun peeped out from behind the clouds and dappled the grove with dancing light, as though St Wenn herself was giving her blessing. Issie’s breath caught in her throat. There was nothing left now but honesty. She ached for him to kiss her, but there was something she needed to know first, something on which the future of everything seemed to depend.
Issie stepped back and looked up at him. The sunlight glinted on his broad shoulders and burnished his curls to the colours of autumn leaves. She was mesmerised by the sheer beauty of him and the intensity of his jade-eyed gaze, just as she had been when she’d seen him for the first time. She hadn’t imagined the chemistry between them: it was as real as the dancing light, the damp earth and the blood running through her veins. Yet before she could tell him that yes, she wanted him more than she’d ever thought it was possible to want someone, there was a question that had to be answered. She’d imagined a thousand times what she would say to him if she ever saw him again, and in those conversations there hadn’t been words bad enough to make it clear how hurt and angry she was – but now that the moment wa
s actually here, Issie just felt sad. The treasure really was cursed if it had destroyed the magic that had been between them.
“It’s not just about how I feel,” she told him. “This is about more than us, Luke.”
“You mean what am I going to do about what we found?”
“You used me to find it.”
He nodded. “At first, I guess I did, and I’m not proud of that. It wasn’t something I’d intended either. I’d watched the TV broadcast and yes, I’d seen you already and I could tell you knew more than you let on.”
“You said you were a history major.”
“That bit was true. I am, or maybe more accurately I was. I dropped out to help my dad when Mom left.” He smiled ruefully. “I didn’t think you’d be nearly as happy to spend time with me if I said I was a professional treasure hunter.”
“So you kept it a secret from me.”
“Guilty as charged,” he said, visibly wincing at the accusation. “But hey, you kept a secret too. I had no idea about your past either.”
This was true and Issie nodded. “Mark was married. He was my tutor and it’s a long story and I’m ashamed of it all. I really liked you, more than I was ever expecting to like anyone again, and I suppose I didn’t want you to judge me,” she confessed.
Luke smiled. “Ditto. You blew me away, Issie Tremaine, and I was never anticipating that either. I thought I’d come here, find the lost cargo and then it would be job done. My name would be made.” He dipped a feather-soft kiss onto her mouth. “I just never expected to fall in love.”
Treasure of the Heart Page 27
