What Happens In Cornwall...

by T A Williams

  ‘Hi, Sam. Where have you got to? I’ve already had a shower. We’re all going down to the Smugglers Arms in a bit.’

  Samantha explained the problem. She had already passed on Ryan’s information that Miles Vernon had been asking about her the previous night. Now Becky sounded as puzzled as she was, to hear that he was back in Tregossick once more. Sam outlined her plan. ‘Listen, Becs, I’m going to sneak home along the beach. Hopefully I should be able to get past the pub without being spotted. If you see Miles Vernon, please can you make sure that nobody tells him where we’re staying?’

  Mmh.’ Becky sounded doubtful. ‘Yes of course, we won’t say a word, but I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you. He’s managed to follow you this far and there are only two or three places to stay in Tregossick, so it won’t take Hercule Poirot to find ours.’

  Samantha sat on the bench and nodded ruefully to herself. Becky was right, of course. ‘Well, how about this? If he asks about me, tell him I’m staying on the island. Tell him I’m having dinner with the owner, but don’t mention Ann’s name.’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘What? Having dinner with Ann? Well, yes, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Wow, mixing with the stars, eh? All right, if Miles comes and talks to us, we’ll tell him you’ve moved away.’ She couldn’t help adding, out of devilment. ‘Just so long as he can’t swim.’

  Samantha put her phone away and did another check of her options. Their guest house lay on the other side of the pub from where she currently found herself. Behind the pub, and the string of houses fronting the road, was a cliff about a hundred feet high. The only way back was right past the front of the pub. What she needed was a taxi or a bus. It was too late for buses and any taxi would have to come all the way from Polwenton. So the only alternative was the beach.

  She stood up and walked quickly away from the pub until she was back at the end of the promenade. Only then did she cross the road and peer down over the sea wall at the beach. The tide was well on its way in and the thin remaining strip of sandy beach was fast disappearing beneath the waves. Hopefully the water wasn’t too deep. The important thing was that the level of the beach was a couple of metres below the level of the road. If she kept close to the sea wall, she should be able to sneak home unobserved.

  She found the nearest set of steps, climbed down and took off her sandals. At first, the water was only up to her ankles as the waves swept in, but the further along she went, the deeper it got. She splashed along, hugging the sea wall until she was well past the pub. By the time she climbed back onto the road again, the water level had reached above her knees, and her shorts were wet from the waves. As she squelched her way back up the hill to the guest house, she was seething. Surely Miles Vernon’s relentless trailing of her qualified as stalking, and she knew that stalking was a criminal offence. She was going to have to do something about Professor Vernon.

  Dinner with Ann was another gastronomic delight. This time the cook had prepared what she called her Cornish selection, accompanied by tankards of cold cider. There were pies, pâtés, cheeses and a host of other dishes, among them some of the best seafood Sam had ever tasted. Sam was pleased and surprised to see Ann joining in and having a real meal for a change.

  ‘Stopped worrying about the steel bikini?’ They were eating freshly grilled sardines, accompanied by a delightful mixture of different salad leaves. Ann looked up and grinned.

  ‘The one bonus of the paparazzi scare is that I’ve lost a few pounds, so my dietician has given me a night off.’

  ‘You have a dietician here?’

  Ann shook her head. ‘Online. Cook weighs all my food and I send a list over every day, along with my weight. On the basis of what they say, I either eat or starve the next day.’ She gave Sam a smile. ‘Be in no doubt, Sam, it’s all scientific these days. But you must have had very strict dietary rules when you were in athletics training.’

  Sam nodded, remembering how badly she had longed to join the other girls in the pub or at the fish and chip shop. ‘Don’t remind me.’

  The highlight of the meal was home-baked stargazy pie, the heads of the fish pushing up through the pastry crust. By this time their appetites were waning – they barely dented it, and had to refuse the goats’ cheese platter that followed. Even so, when a sweet pasty filled with cherries and plums arrived, accompanied by thick clotted cream, both of them managed to find space for a plateful.

  Finally, totally stuffed, they sprawled out in a couple of armchairs and drank tiny cups of espresso coffee. And they talked. In particular, Sam told her the whole saga of Miles Vernon. Ann was horrified.

  ‘But surely that’s harassment in the workplace or whatever they call it, isn’t it? He’s effectively your boss. He can’t go round doing that sort of thing.’

  Sam nodded. ‘I’ve been thinking along the same lines. I’ve decided I’m going to lodge a formal complaint the next time he pops up.’

  ‘Damn right you are. If you need any legal help, let me know. My lawyers are a bunch of Rottweilers and they could chew him up and spit him out in an instant. Mind you, that’s what you need in my business.’

  After that, another subject that came up was Sam’s inexplicable attraction to a certain medieval history specialist from Cambridge. She did her best to describe how he could be downright rude one moment and then gentle and caring the next. Ann did a lot of listening but only finally gave her judgement just before Sam finally left for the mainland at the end of the evening.

  ‘Handsome and intelligent, Sam? That’s a pretty rare combination. My advice to you is to grab him and hang on tight.’

  ‘Yes, that’s all very well, but he’s already got somebody.’

  Ann gave a derisory snort. ‘No competition. You go for him, girl.’ Sam wasn’t so sure.

  Ann insisted on Ronnie accompanying Sam up the hill to the guest house, just in case Miles was lurking somewhere. It was very comforting to have him at her side as she walked back to the Island View at midnight. There was no sign of her stalker, but it was reassuring all the same.

  Chapter 32

  The next few days passed uneventfully, although Sam still couldn’t avoid looking over her shoulder whenever she was out, in case Miles Vernon reappeared. The dig proceeded and the collection of bones began to grow. An amazing fish supper at the Smugglers Arms on Wednesday meant that Samantha didn’t sleep very well that night, and next morning she got up early. Too lethargic to go for a run, she decided to head over to the dig and so she was on the jetty just after seven o’clock, waiting for the boat. To her surprise, she found that she was not the only early bird that morning. Half-hidden by a pile of lobster pots, James Courtney was sitting on a bollard, watching the launch cut through the water towards them. Sam felt a surge of pleasure as she caught sight of him. He jumped up and gave her a big smile when he saw who it was.

  ‘Hi, Sam. You’re up early this morning.’ The smile lit up his whole face and she was pleased to see him looking far happier than the last time they had seen each other. ‘I was hoping I’d see you today. How’ve you been?’

  She smiled back at him, feeling a rush of excitement. She had spent an uncomfortable night, interrupted by unpleasant dreams in which Miles Vernon’s smug face kept appearing. Now, seeing James again, Sam felt much, much better. It was good to meet a genuine man.

  ‘Good morning, James, it’s really good to see you.’ And it was. ‘I’m fine, thanks. I wondered how long it would be before curiosity got the better of you. I suppose you’ve come to inspect our bone collection.’

  ‘Yes, although really it’s the Cistercian abbey that interests me, but I told Virginia I’d help out on the dig if you need me.’

  Sam glanced out to sea. There were very few waves and the sea was a brilliant blue, a world away from the gunmetal bleakness of the previous weeks. The highly varnished woodwork of the launch was gleaming in the morning sunlight as it cut through the water towards them, the white wake behind it arrow straight. Ronnie t
he boatman spotted Sam and waved his hand. She waved back cheerfully.

  When she looked round at James, she found the pale blue eyes staring at her, rather than the launch. He glanced away.

  ‘Launch’ll be here soon.’ After a few seconds, he turned back again, the smile still on his face. ‘You’re looking great, Sam. A bit of sunshine’s done you good.’ She realised she was smiling back at him. When the clouds lifted from his face he really was a very handsome man.

  ‘Thanks, James. I’m really pleased you could come.’ There was no doubt about it. ‘And I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you we were all coming down here to the island, but I couldn’t find you to tell you.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I enjoyed our chat together at my place.’ He nodded his head in response.

  ‘Yes, me too. I’m really sorry I had to rush off and since then I’ve been out of circulation.’ His eyes following a cormorant in the water until it suddenly dived in search of fish. ‘My sister came down and I took some time off to drive her around. But, as far as meeting up’s concerned, we must do it again soon.’

  ‘I’d like that, James. Very much.’

  They both sat in silence for a few moments, watching the reappearance of the cormorant, this time with a little silver fish in its beak. With a lightning shake of the head, it spun the fish round and swallowed it whole, just as a seagull swooped low over it. The launch drew ever nearer, now less than a hundred yards from the shore. James glanced across at her. ‘So, tell me about the island and the abbey. Is it amazing?’

  ‘We haven’t got into the abbey church yet. In fact, we’re mostly outside and we only really see a tiny part of the abbey. I’ve been in the upper rooms a couple of times and they’re incredible. The thing is, the owner’s in residence, so we don’t get much chance to see the inside.’

  ‘And the owner, according to Virginia, is a famous film star?’

  Sam nodded. ‘Yes, Ann Cartwright, no less.’

  He whistled. ‘Wow, talk about famous. I keep seeing her face all over the place. In fact, we were just talking the other day about going to see the new film, what’s it called? Night Something or other, isn’t it?’

  ‘Night Encounter.’ Sam hesitated, and then surprised herself, and him, by asking a direct question. ‘Do you and Clio often go to the movies?’

  He sat back and gave her a very strange look. ‘Sam, I may be half crazy, but I haven’t started taking the cat to the cinema quite yet. Somehow, I don’t think Clio’s interests extend to films. She’s more of a mice and fish cat really.’

  At that moment the launch arrived and Sam was able to turn away in the hope that he wouldn’t notice the red wave of shame that spread across her face. They hopped on board and the topic of conversation changed naturally to the sea state and the weather with Ronnie. By the time Sam and James started talking again, James’s cat was no longer being discussed and Sam had had time to begin to recover from her embarrassment. She spent the whole trip filling him in on the progress of the dig and the history of the island, even though it occurred to her that he probably knew that better than she did. She found herself rabbiting on about anything that crossed her mind. Anything, rather than broach the subject of James’s bloody cat. How could she have been so stupid!

  ‘Mind the weeds on the steps. I haven’t had time to clean them off yet.’ Ronnie offered his hand as they climbed out onto the jetty. ‘You two are up almost as early as me today.’

  They took the lift to the main hall and found Freddie Griffiths waiting for them. Clearly, their arrival had been noted. Sam gave him a big smile. ‘Good morning, Freddie. Can I present Dr James Courtney from the University of Cambridge? He’s a specialist in medieval history and he’s going to be lecturing at our university this winter. James, this is Freddie Griffiths. He runs the island.’

  Freddie inclined his head formally. ‘Good morning, Dr Courtney.’

  ‘Good morning Mr Griffiths. I have to confess to having a special interest in the Cistercians, so being able to come out here to the abbey is a dream come true for me.’

  Freddie Griffiths glanced at his watch. It was still early, so he had an idea. ‘Dr Courtney, if the Middle Ages and the Cistercians are your thing, would you maybe be interested in taking a quick look at the abbey church? It’s just through here.’

  ‘That would be phenomenal. Yes, please.’ James turned to Sam and raised both thumbs triumphantly.

  While Freddie went off to get the key, James spent time running his hands across the massive timbers of the double doors that led into the church. They were blackened with age and part corroded by the salt-laden air, but the carving was still clear and distinct. He glanced at Sam and whistled.

  ‘Because it’s been protected from the elements in here, it looks almost like new. Look at the detail, Sam. See the Virgin Mary’s necklace?’ She was pleased to hear the animation in his voice and to see the smile on his face. ‘This is quite amazing and what a treat! I wasn’t expecting this on my first visit.’

  Freddie was back a couple of minutes later with a huge iron key, the length of a carving knife. ‘We think this is the original medieval key. It’s certainly heavy enough.’ He pushed it in and twisted it with difficulty. With a loud clunk, the lock released. He leant on the ornate handle and the door creaked open. They all peered inside. Sam’s first sensation was one of surprise. Somehow she had expected the interior of the church to be dark. In fact it was quite light in there, thanks to rows of narrow slit window openings along both sides. It would have been even lighter, but for the fact that the windows were covered with what looked like fishing net.

  ‘When the builders arrived to start on the most recent round of refurbishment of the abbey, they found the church full of seagulls. You can still see what a mess they made of the place.’

  ‘You aren’t kidding.’ The floors and every horizontal surface were thick with guano. James looked across at Freddie with a smile. ‘No need to go out and buy fertiliser for the kitchen garden.’

  ‘The trouble is, you’d need a pneumatic drill to get the stuff off. Birds must have been nesting in here for the best part of five centuries.’

  ‘So it’s been empty for that long?’ James was nodding his head. ‘So presumably since the dissolution of the monasteries.’

  Freddie had done his homework and he was able to confirm the supposition. ‘Since 1539, apparently. That’s the last time this was ever used by monks. It’s sad, really.’

  James nodded again and then looked across at Samantha. ‘On the orders of Henry VIII.’ He gave her a smile. ‘But, of course, a postgrad in archaeology would know that already.’ He didn’t give her time to confirm or deny, but turned back to Freddie. ‘So are you sure it’s OK if we go in and take a look round?’ He could hardly contain himself.

  Freddie glanced at his watch. ‘Yes, of course. If you don’t mind, I’d better get about my business. When you’ve finished, would you lock the doors again and let me have the key back please?’

  After the steward had left, they did a tour of inspection of the old church. James was a mine of information on everything from the life of St Bernard of Clairvaux to the type of wood used for making the pews. They glanced up at the windows. Some were more like arrow slits. Clearly, the church had been built as a place of worship, but it was also seriously fortified. Those had been dangerous times.

  At the far end of the church there was a relatively clean pew against the wall. Presumably something had been covering it and had prevented it from sharing the same fate as all the other surfaces. James sat down and massaged his knee. Sam sat down beside him.

  ‘Not getting any better?’ She wasn’t sure what the problem was, but felt that some kind of comment was warranted.

  He pulled a face. ‘I’m afraid not.’ His tone didn’t invite comment. Sam knew she had to make a comment of a different kind however. She took a deep breath.

  ‘James, about that Clio thing, I’m sorry. I was just curious.’ He made no immediate response so she blundered on. ‘I su
ppose I just imagined a handsome man like you would have a wife or girlfriend…’ She lapsed into silence, aghast at her choice of words. Why the bloody hell was she telling him he was handsome? She would have slapped herself if he hadn’t been sitting beside her. What on earth did she think she was doing? He turned towards her. In the half-light of the church she could just see the outline of his face, but his expression was concealed in the shadows.

  ‘Clio would be pleased to know we’re talking about her.’ His voice was low, but warm. ‘She’s a very attention-seeking cat. I’ve had her for almost four years now, ever since I went to Cambridge to do my doctorate. She’s the closest thing to a wife or girlfriend I’ve got these days.’ His tone wasn’t bitter, but she could sense the sadness beneath.

  ‘Oh… I saw you the other night with a tall blonde girl. I thought…’

  ‘Of course, we saw you in the pub.’ His tone lightened. ‘Or rather, on your way out of the pub. You were in the midst of a coughing fit as I remember. That was my little sister, Viv. She comes and spends time with me when she can. We’re pretty close.’

  ‘Your sister. Oh.’ Sam sat there and let the news sink in. She sat there stupidly, wondering what to say, conscious that he had a lot to tell her, but that he didn’t know how. Or maybe he just didn’t want to. His next remark surprised her. Very much.

  ‘And you? What about you, Sam?’ There was a pause. ‘You look gorgeous, and you’re intelligent, friendly and considerate as well.’ She felt the blood rush to her face. ‘Surely it’s unthinkable that you haven’t got some handsome millionaire tucked away in the background.’

  She shook her head. ‘No millionaire, no handsome man, nobody.’ Put like that it sounded pretty bad, so she hastened to clarify. ‘I did have one, not a millionaire, but it didn’t last. We split up a couple of weeks ago.’