Simon… She thought about him a lot although he didn’t appear to be smitten by her undoubted charms – but it was still fun to flirt.
As she braked, yet again, Titania wondered how there could be so much traffic around at this time in the morning. Did they have a rush hour down here? Well, she supposed these people must earn their money somehow. She looked at the drivers: one in each car – typical rush hour traffic – so they must be commuters. Because tourists came in groups, surrounded by bags and boxes and bedding, crawling along and frequently towing horrible caravans. She hated caravans. You got stuck behind one of the damned things for mile after mile on the narrow roads, blocking the view of the road ahead so you couldn’t see to overtake on the rare occasions when there was a straight stretch.
She headed towards the west side of the Lizard this time. Surely someone somewhere must know where Black Rock Cove was. How many coves could there be? She found Mullion Cove and Ogo-dour Cove, Pigeon Ogo and The Horse, and began to wonder if it was some kind of zoo. It was certainly all very picturesque, but she wasn’t here to admire the scenery. Finally, she stopped for lunch at a quaint-looking pub because she liked the name – The Fiery Witch – and also because it appeared to be the only pub in the area. It was obviously popular because the car park was full and she had to wait until some man in a suit emerged from the pub and drove off from a spot right beside the door. Inside was dark with stone walls, low black beams and a predictable inglenook. It was also very busy and Titania had to queue at the bar. The wait gave her the opportunity to read the large placard on which some calligrapher had written the story of the Fiery Witch. She, according to tradition, had lived on this very spot and had the useful gift of being able to set fire to anyone she didn’t like – and there appeared to be quite a number – by merely touching them with her fingertips. A woman after my own heart, thought Titania. Perhaps it was a good omen. Yes – it was her lucky day! As she ordered her mushroom omelette and glass of Merlot, she asked the young barman – who had an acute acne problem – if he knew of somewhere called Black Rock Cove.
‘Sure,’ he said, ‘it’s only half a mile or so from here.’ He placed her drink on the counter. ‘Lovely spot! You visiting someone? Looking to buy?’
‘No, just touring around.’
‘Tell you something else, that Clarice D’Arcy has a house there. You know, she was an actress?’
‘Never heard of her,’ said Titania, her heart thumping.
‘She was very famous, so they say.’
The little barmaid, who’d been serving someone else alongside, said, ‘Just seen her drive past in her silver Roller, Stevie.’
‘Yeah,’ said Stevie, ‘she’ll be off to Penzance. She usually goes on a Friday.’
Titania picked up her drink and went in search of a table. She’d almost found Clarice at last! And there was no time to waste. How long would it take to drive to Penzance and back, and presumably she’d got some sort of appointment there? At least, while Clarice was out, she could suss out the lie of the land. She ate quickly, excited, eager to be on her way. But which way? And how could she ask directions without drawing attention to herself?
As she headed towards the door, spotty Stevie gave her a cheerful wave. Titania hesitated.
‘I wonder if you would be kind enough to give me rough directions to Black Rock Cove?’
‘Sure,’ he said, then turning to the girl, ‘Can you hold the fort for a minute, Hazel?’ Hazel nodded assent.
Titania waited just outside the door. When Stevie appeared he said, ‘Them little lanes all look much the same, don’t they? Now,’ he took her by the elbow, ‘turn right out of here, see? There’s a red letterbox a quarter mile down the road on the left, and opposite that is a little lane on the right, wot says “Ancient Wishing Well” and you take that. Pay no attention to the wishing well but keep going and a little bit further on is another little lane on the right and that one says, “Black Rock Cove”.’
‘Thank you very much,’ said Titania, unlocking her car and wondering if she should tip him because he’d been very helpful.
‘Hey, I like your car,’ he said. ‘Love them old sporty Toyotas! And that registration is something else – T1 TER – wherever did that come from?’
‘No idea,’ said Titania, getting into the driving seat, eager to be gone. He meant well, she supposed, but he was too chatty. Too nosy. She didn’t tip him after all.
She reversed out, lowered her window, waved at him and shouted, ‘Thanks again!’ as he gave her a wave and went back through the door. She turned right, motored for a few minutes and saw the letterbox, barely visible through clouds of cow parsley, and the turning opposite was just as obscure. You could drive past it quite easily. The sign for the wishing well had fallen victim to the wind at some point and was now dangling sadly from the post. No, she’d never have found this without the help of spotty Stevie.
And he was quite correct; the next lane on the right was some quarter of a mile further on and was signposted ‘Black Rock Cove’. Titania was mystified as to why it should be signposted down here but not up on the main road. Perhaps that was why Clarice had chosen such a remote spot, because no one was ever likely to find it unless they knew exactly where they were going.
The sea was visible ahead and Titania passed a couple of farms and three roadside cottages. There was nowhere round here that resembled any hideaway that Clarice might buy and all the time she was getting closer and closer to the sea. Then the road came to a complete halt, terminating in a flat grassy stretch with a sign which said ‘Please park here and take the footpath to the beach’.
Titania parked and got out of the car. It was windy up here, and none too warm on what was plainly the top of a cliff. She wandered across to the footpath which was perilously steep and stony, but the cove beneath was beautiful: a stretch of almost white sand dotted with large black rocks. The reflected sunlight had turned the water a tropical turquoise. Then, suddenly, one of the rocks moved and made its way to the sea, and she realised it must be a seal.
But where was The Hideaway?
She looked round and saw, at the far end of the car park, a five-bar gate. That must lead somewhere, surely? Titania walked across as speedily as her pink sequined sandals would permit. There was a sign on the gate which said ‘Private Property’.
Huh!
Titania opened the gate and proceeded to walk down a path that was just wide enough to take a car, obviously, because she could see the tyre tracks. Ahead of her was a clump of windblown trees through which she could see a house: a modern bungalow of stone and glass which, like The Sparrows’ Nest, appeared to be built on a rocky ledge and, also like Sparrows’, enjoyed a panoramic view of the sea. ‘The Hideaway’ sign was attached to the wall of the house, next to the main oak door. It certainly was hidden away, you couldn’t argue with that. There was a terrace which seemed to stretch all the way round the house, but no garden.
There didn’t appear to be any sign of life but Titania hesitated. Would Clarice have a housekeeper, a cook, or even a cleaner? Well, she’d just have to bluff it. She was an actress, after all, and she would say to whoever opened the door, ‘Sorry to bother you but I’m trying to find a friend of mine who lives round here…’ and she’d make up a name. ‘Charles Daltrey’ – that would do.
Her heart thumping furiously, Titania rang the bell, and waited. Nothing. No sound whatsoever from within. She pressed the bell again. Still nothing. She was in luck; the house was empty.
She walked round the terrace to the front of the house, which was facing the sea, and found a wall of almost unbroken glass similar to Simon’s folding doors. There was an open-plan living area with sumptuous-looking white sofas on polished wooden floors and some artistically arranged flower displays.
And here was the bedroom with its bloody antique four-poster, placed on a raised platform like the altar to human sacrifice it was, in the middle of an otherwise minimalist white space. This was where that woman had stolen and
seduced her lovely Henry, and most likely brought about his demise.
Titania could feel a red rage coursing through her body which made her grit her teeth and clench her hands into fists. I’ve waited a long time for this, she thought as she turned away from the window and continued to walk right round the house, past the urns of geraniums and hydrangeas, examining the exterior carefully. But she had to hurry because she couldn’t risk Clarice finding her here. Please God don’t let me meet her on the path up to the car park!
Luck was with her. When she got back to the Toyota there was only an elderly Nissan parked nearby where a young couple were loading themselves up with bags and windbreaks, obviously undaunted by the precipitous path leading down to the cove. Titania drove away, made a left at the first turning and headed back towards the so-called main road. It was just as she was passing the wishing well that she saw a silver Rolls Royce heading towards her.
Titania pulled into a layby, lowered her head, and let it pass.
34
ONE DAY
It was Friday, the day Dominic dreaded because it was the final day of the wine and cocktail course and what possible excuse could he have to be alone with Gideon again? Only yesterday they’d admitted their feelings for each other, and oh, those looks, touches, kisses! Dominic could scarcely believe that Gideon felt such attraction for him. They’d stopped on the way back from Bodmin, parked in a layby, kissed and caressed like a couple of teenagers. It was as if a dam had burst and Gideon was at last able to swim free. More than anything in the world they needed time together. But how? And when? Gideon was expected home to set up the barrels and everything for the evening. Doing some fancy course did not excuse him from his duties.
When Gideon got into the car at five o’clock he looked around for a moment before kissing Dominic there and then.
‘I have a plan,’ Gideon said as they drove away.
‘Well, I’ve been trying to think of something all day,’ Dominic admitted, ‘and I haven’t been able to write a word!’
Gideon patted Dominic’s knee. ‘I’m going to tell Dad that it’s actually a six-day course, and that I have to go back on Monday as well.’
‘You reckon he’ll believe that?’ Even as he spoke Dominic found it hard to believe that a man of forty-five could be so beholden to his parents.
‘Why wouldn’t he? And I’m going to say that, because it’s the final day, the students and instructors are all going out for a meal in the evening. That gives me – us – the whole day.’
Dominic swallowed. A whole day! Was it possible? ‘Wouldn’t your parents think it odd if I was to bring you back at, say, 11 p.m.?’
‘I’ve been thinking about that. So, you say you’re going to be out for the day – anywhere. Maybe you could be visiting a friend in Liskeard or somewhere and you’ll be coming back through Bodmin in the late evening and so it would be no trouble at all to pick me up from the restaurant on the way back.’
Dominic could scarcely believe what he was hearing; that Gideon must have spent precious time, when he should have been dreaming up cocktails, dreaming instead of how to spend a day with Dominic Delamere! Was the idea feasible? Could they possibly get away with it? Surely – just one day to consummate their love and perhaps to be able to persuade Gideon that he’d love Hampstead and that he’d never need to pull another pint if he didn’t wish to. But there was always the opportunity for work in one of the trendy bars in the area.
It was Dominic’s idea of heaven and, somehow or the other, he had to make it Gideon’s, too.
Now he was aware that Gideon was watching him anxiously and, although he hated the idea of lying to Jed and Annie, he couldn’t possibly let this opportunity pass.
‘Do you really think they’d believe it, Gideon?’
‘Of course they will!’
‘You’d still better get the bus to Bodmin in the morning,’ Dominic said, ‘and then I’ll pick you up in Bodmin and we’ll go somewhere for the day. Where do you fancy? I’ve always wanted to go to Polperro.’
‘No,’ Gideon said, ‘it’s got to be somewhere anonymous, somewhere no one will pay any attention to us, somewhere we aren’t going to bump into someone I know.’
‘It’ll have to be Plymouth or somewhere like that then.’
‘Yeah, Plymouth should be safe.’
‘I’ll book us a room,’ said Dominic.
* * *
‘You’ll never believe,’ Jed said, as he placed a vodka tonic in front of Dominic later that evening, ‘that Gideon ’ere has another day on this bloomin’ course of his.’
‘Really?’ Dominic poured the tonic carefully into his vodka. ‘Now you mention it I think he did say something about that.’
‘Apparently, it’s a six-day course, not a five-day one. And then they’re all goin’ out for some fancy dinner in the evenin’. And ’e needn’t be thinking I’m goin’ to collect ’im at that time of night ’cos I’m bleedin’ knackered by closing time.’
Dominic hoped he looked thoughtful. ‘Look, Jed,’ he said, ‘I’m going to be visiting an old friend in Liskeard on Monday. We arranged it months ago. Good old George, haven’t seen him in years so it’ll probably be quite a day! So I might be able to pick Gideon up on my way back through Bodmin, although it may well be late before I get there, say ten or eleven o’clock.’
Gideon was serving a trio of walkers and studiously avoiding eye contact.
‘Well,’ said Jed, ‘’t’would be a relief to me to know that ’e’d get home safe. But you’ve been more than kind to us, Dominic.’
Dominic took a large gulp of his vodka. ‘It’s a way of saying thank you, Jed, for all the information you’ve given me about the history of this area. I’ll now be able to continue writing my book when I get back to London.’
Jed leaned across the bar. ‘We’re goin’ to miss you, Dominic. When you first started comin’ in ’ere we thought you was just one of them poncey, stuck-up city types. But you got a heart of gold, Dominic, so you ’ave.’
Dominic didn’t know whether to feel pleased or ashamed. How would Jed and Annie react if Gideon chose to go to London with him? Would they realise then that this was a scheme to lure their precious son away? Would they be able to cope without their big, strapping Gideon? Would Dominic be able to cope if he had to return to London all alone? He’d only known Gideon for a short time, but his feelings for him were already strong.
While Jed was serving another customer Dominic caught Gideon’s eye and gave him the thumbs up. Monday would be OK.
Dominic wondered how he’d ever get through the weekend.
* * *
The bus from Portmerryn took twice as long as Dominic did to get to Bodmin.
‘It stops at just about every farm gate,’ Gideon sighed as he got into the Jaguar. ‘Kids going to school, old girls going shopping – the driver knows them all. Asks after their mothers and fathers, arthritis, whatever. If you’re not in a hurry it’s quite entertaining.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ said Dominic. He was only aware of a certain excitement, tension, apprehension, now that there was the prospect of more than twelve hours together. And he was rapidly losing confidence. Here he was, seventy years old, not particularly good-looking or successful, and why on earth would anyone as gorgeous as Gideon fancy him, far less agree to move to London with him? Dominic knew from experience that he was inclined to be impulsive but, at his age, time was running out and this could be his last chance. Everything depended on today.
They arrived in Plymouth mid-morning. Dominic drove around, found the Galaxy Hotel which not only had a basement car park for their honoured guests, but was also close to the Barbican with its bars and restaurants. And the famous Gin Factory.
‘Plymouth,’ Gideon said, as they checked in, ‘is best known for the hospital, or the shopping centre. They’ve got a great big Marks & Sparks. But, best of all, is the Gin Factory. Now, that’s where they really know how to fix a cocktail!’
We won’t be going the
re, thought Dominic. Not with me. With me you’ll explore the bookshops, the galleries, the bistros. I want to introduce you to a world of culture, to meet people of every nationality, to hear other languages spoken and haunting music from every corner of the globe. I want you to start living! There’s a great big wonderful world outside of Portmerryn where you can be whoever and whatever you want to be!
The hotel room was standard, tastefully neutral, and had a mini-bar, an ironing board, a hairdryer, a safe and, of course, the standard hospitality tray.
‘Tea, coffee and hot chocolate!’ Gideon explored the room. ‘Don’t they think of everything!’
‘They do indeed,’ Dominic agreed, looking at the king-size bed.
* * *
Two hours later they had a wander round the Barbican area, arm in arm. Few people looked, or cared. All the major cities have come into the twenty-first century, Dominic thought, feeling proud of this lovely man on his arm who was fascinated by everything. They stopped for coffee.
‘What’s a barista?’ Gideon asked as he sipped his cappuccino. Then he stopped to read every menu in front of every restaurant. ‘This sushi stuff! You won’t catch me eating raw fish, ugh!’ and, outside a Greek restaurant, ‘What the hell’s koulouri? And souvlaki?’
Dominic was none too sure himself, but he was enchanted by Gideon’s innocent fascination. It was almost like taking a child on his first train journey or to a funfair for the first time. Magic.
They planned to eat early, about six o’clock, and then have some time together before they had to drive back to Portmerryn. And then what? Would Gideon be so enamoured with Dominic that he’d leave his parents and everything he’d ever known?
Later they ate Italian because Gideon was familiar with some of the dishes and he liked pasta. They had a bottle of Valpolicella, most of which Gideon drank because Dominic restricted himself to one glass, thinking of the drive ahead. They chatted the whole way back to the hotel, holding hands, Gideon sleepy and relaxed, Dominic still apprehensive.
The Golden Oldies Guesthouse (ARC) Page 23
