by Susan Sallis
She said, ‘Ned is coming for me.’
‘I’d have taken you back.’
‘You’ve been drinking.’
‘That’s why I brought the boat.’
‘Same applies.’
‘Not really. Think about it.’
‘Death by drowning rather than in a car crash?’
‘Well, depends on your preference, of course.’
He sounded as if he might be giving up and she was sorry. At least their repartee kept any thoughts of Andrew well in the background. She shivered.
‘Actually, we could die of hypothermia right here.’
He reached the floor and stood where he was, hanging on to the newel post.
‘Couldn’t pay the bills so they cut me off. Bastards.’
‘The old Rory would have had a store of driftwood for the kitchen stove. Probably mackerel in a frying pan.’
‘You never knew the old Rory. Who told you that?’
‘Dad. Aunt Rosemary. Gran. Old Beck.’
‘OK. This Rory is far more practical. He’s selling up and going to live in the sun somewhere.’ He was silent for a while and so was she. She thought that she would have to leave Cornwall too. She would go after Christmas. She could not risk Andrew finding her.
‘Rosemary talks about me sometimes, does she?’ Rory asked.
‘Yes. Not often. How you met at Knill’s Monument.’
‘But she still hates me?’
Gussie forced herself to think about it. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘Dad thought she did. And Ned said that when married couples split up they always hate each other. But actually, I don’t think Kate hated her first husband. She never talked about him, though.’
‘And Ro talks about me?’
‘Yes. Sometimes.’
There was the sound of a car turning off the A30 to Redruth and starting down the drive.
‘Listen, Gus,’ Rory said urgently, ‘I thought of going to see Zannah myself. As soon as I’ve got rid of this bloody albatross.’ He waved a hand around the dark hall. She could feel his eyes turn on her; they gleamed blackly. He even had pirate’s eyes. ‘Come with me. Come on, let’s do it together.’
She was astonished out of her immediate fears. ‘You must be joking! And please do not call me Gus!’
‘You sound just like your mother!’ The car drew up outside the front door; gravel splattered. He said, ‘That’s Ned. Think about it.’
She didn’t answer; she was pulling at the heavy door. And there was Ned. She ran down the steps and into his arms. Rory stood at the top and called, ‘I’ll bring those frocks and things over. Better check with Ro about the jewellery. I gave it to her so she probably hates it.’ He started to turn away and she could only just hear his words. ‘Unless she doesn’t.’ And he gave his most piratical laugh.
Ned helped Gussie into the car. She seemed to be weak at the knees and clung to him. In spite of the December fog, he was sweating.
‘You all right?’ He tucked in her coat and shut the passenger door, came round and got in beside her. ‘It’s warm tonight.’ He unzipped his jacket and wound down the window.
‘It was freezing in that house. Everything was … awful.’ She fastened her seat belt and huddled down. ‘But, oh, Ned, I think as soon as Christmas is over, I will have to go and see Zannah. Uncle Rory is planning to descend on her as soon as he’s got the money from the sale of the house and its contents. He’ll be rich for a time, and he’s a drinker and a gambler and needs looking after. She’ll end up as a skivvy. Also, it’s going to be difficult for Aunt Rosemary … I’m not sure, but I think he might get in touch with her again. They are chalk and cheese! How on earth they ever got it together …’ She rambled on for a while; it was better than letting herself think about other things. Eventually she stopped and waited for him to tell her she must stay in St Ives.
He said, ‘Actually, Gussie, I think that’s a good idea. I’ve more or less decided I will have to go and visit Victor Gould. He’s pretty ancient so it will have to be soon. Mack put me off by asking for my help – talking Victor into signing a contract donating some of his work to The Spirit of America. It made me livid at first. Now I can see it wasn’t intended as a ghastly commercial thing. In fact, I feel it might be good to take a hand in the business of the Trust.’
She was astounded. ‘You’re planning to go off after Christmas to – to California? You were the one who did not want to go to the States for the memorial thing!’
‘I know. But, frankly, Sis, I don’t want to be a research chemist any more. There are plenty of others to take my place. I never came near to being indispensable.’
‘But you are doing something that could make a difference!’
‘Me and fifty others. Yes. It will go on, love. Without me.’ He started the car and crunched back to the main road. He had called her ‘love’. He often did and she hadn’t noticed. ‘It’s so different from what you do,’ he went on. ‘Nobody will create the same sort of landscape you will. Dad was a sculptor and so are you, but you use the land itself. That’s wrong – you don’t use the land, you work with the land. You emphasize a beauty that is already there so that the most obtuse of us can see it, feel it. Oh, Gus, you have to go on with your work.’
She watched the Christmas lights of Lelant flick past her window. She said slowly, ‘That’s the second time I’ve been called Gus this evening.’ Ned said nothing and she continued, ‘I never thought of it so concisely. Grandfather Scaife used to talk about seeing the land through its relationship to the sea, and of course Dad was always looking for what his lump of granite or marble might be hiding.’ She glanced round at him; his dear face was visible in the flash of a brightly lit Santa Claus. She said, ‘Perhaps you should see Victor. He is a painter and perhaps – nothing to do with getting him to sign contracts with The Spirit of America – seeing him could show you what you should do next.’
Ned shook his head. ‘I don’t want any of his genes, Sis. When I think how it must have been for Mum all those years ago, it still makes me cry. I was six when he popped us into that boarding house and left. No, I’m going to confront my personal devil. Get to grips with life.’
She said in a low voice, ‘Thanks for staying this long.’
He was silent again. The car began the long descent past Porthminster beach. A line of creamy surf swept up the shore as if it would eat every grain of sand. They both saw how erotic it must have looked to Gerald Scaife.
She said slowly, ‘We’ll always be the same three in the same boat. Won’t we, Ned?’
‘Of course, Gus.’ He flashed her a grin and she managed a wan smile.
Nothing more was heard of Andrew Bellamy. He had bought Old Beck a pint of bitter in the Sloop and enquired about August Briscoe. Like Ned, Old Beck had mistrusted him immediately and declared he’d never heard of a woman with such a name, and was she a lawyer or a preacher or summat like that.
‘Went on and on about the Scaife paintings. Reckon he’s after that stuff in the studio. Sniffing around like a dog, he were.’
‘Glad you didn’t mention Gussie. I did wonder whether he was one of her clients but she didn’t remember him.’
‘He were staying at the Sloop for the night an’ leaving today. Taxi picked ’im up just as I were going to chapel.’ Old Beck was a preacher of the hellfire variety. He never entered a public house unless he was preaching the next day. ‘I need to know about hell and redemption on a personal level,’ he would say, tapping the side of his nose.
Ned was startled. ‘So you might have mentioned something during your session?’
Old Beck was affronted. ‘He were under the table before I’d finished my fifth pint. Thought he was safe with Cornish cider.’
‘Ah,’ said Ned.
‘Ah,’ agreed Old Beck, nodding wisely. ‘Them what lives by the sword will die by the sword. That cider were brewed out Leven way. I did warn him.’
‘You can’t do more than that.’ Ned thought of Bellamy’s conde
scension and smiled.
Jannie came home fresh from the special school at Hartley. She was so full of emotions she almost fizzed. She had had her hair cut in spikes but it curled close to her head and would stay spiky only if she smothered it in gell.
‘It looks so pretty in those close curls, Jan,’ Gussie told her as the gell lost its staying power and the curls reappeared. They were decorating the parlour window with a sleigh scene and Jannie had just caught sight of herself in the glass. She shook her head impatiently.
‘Remember that old film we watched – just a year ago? What was the name of the little girl in it?’
‘Shirley Temple.’
‘She could get away with little curls because she was about five years old! I am twenty-one next month, Gus! Wasn’t that the age of consent in your day? So why would I want to look like a five-year-old movie star?’
Gussie said weakly, ‘She was dark and you are blonde.’
‘It was a black-and-white film. I’m going to have to grow it long and scrape it into a ponytail. I just wanted to be a bit different from every other student in the whole world!’
‘You’ll always be different,’ Gussie said peaceably. ‘Incidentally, why is everyone calling me Gus lately?’
‘Are they?’
‘You just did.’
‘Did I? I didn’t notice. Perhaps it’s because you’re the head of the family now and Gus sounds more serious? That’s why these bubble curls are hopeless for me. I need to be taken seriously. Oh, darling, I want to work at Hartley School so much! It’s just so marvellous, Gus. I can’t tell you, you’d have to go there to know what I mean. It – the whole place and everyone there – is absolutely inspirational!’ She moved back from the window, a cardboard silver bell hanging from her little finger. She looked up at Gussie, who was standing on a chair arranging a line of her paper angels along the pelmet. ‘As soon as I get my Certificate I’m going to do a crash course in engineering and then Geoff says he’ll take me on.’ She saw Gussie’s expression. ‘Geoff is the headmaster and he’s married to the matron. Each of the house staff are qualified teachers, obviously, but have other skills too. One is an experienced physiotherapist and another was a ballerina in her day. And another is just great at BSL – that’s British Sign Language. They call him Dr Spock. He’s deaf himself and a wheelchair user. There are six deaf students.’
‘It does sound inspirational, Jan. But …’ Gussie affixed another paper angel and turned to look into Jannie’s face. She looked different. She had always been beautiful in a pale, Nordic way. Now she was fired up; incandescent. ‘But why on earth do you need to be an engineer?’
‘I need the basics. They’ve got a chap – Robert Hanniford – he services all the equipment. But better than that, he invents new stuff. He’s working on an electronic hand. Just rods of metal at the moment, but as soon as he’s got the movements right, I can measure the full lengths and stitch a soft leather glove.’
Gussie watched the blue eyes darken with enthusiasm. Yes. Incandescent was the right word for Jannie. Gussie realized her little sister was in love. She felt a pang of fear.
She asked cautiously, ‘What does your tutor think about this? Is it a reputable school?’
‘He got me the placement. I was going just to observe, but you have to pitch in as soon as you arrive!’ Jannie laughed as she hung her bell from an angel’s wing. ‘I’d just arrived, shaken Geoff’s hand – there was a girl waiting to see him – wheelchair – and he asked me whether I would take her to the loo. When she had directed me to the cloakroom, told me where to park the chair, how to lock the wheels, how to wriggle her jeans and pants …’ Jannie stopped laughing and reached for another bell. ‘She’s marvellous, this girl. Her name is Evie. She’s fifteen and she wants to be an actress.’ She hung the bell and went to sit on the table. ‘She’ll do it, too. I know it already.’ She smiled up at Gussie. ‘She told me that Geoff would find all sorts of things for me to do. One of them was to mend one of the wheelchairs. That was when I met Robert.’
Gussie climbed down and sat on a chair. She had been almost twenty-six when she had been in love with Andrew; Jannie was now almost twenty-one. It had been hot in June 1997, Mum and Dad had been alive … actually living and breathing and providing total protection; now it was cold and grey, the Millennium had come and gone, Mum and Dad had gone. Everything was different. And this was the first time that Jannie had fallen in love; her big sister must not spoil it – must not spoil anything. Besides, Robert Hanniford was not an entrepreneur with an eye to business.
She said, ‘Tell me about Robert.’
Jannie needed no encouragement. As Ned said when they waved her goodbye on 4 January, ‘I bet we know more about this Robert chap than he knows himself!’
Meanwhile, Christmas was a mixture of pain and pleasure. The three of them had difficulty in believing that last year Kate had presided over the kitchen and Mark had led the carol singers along Fore Street to the ancient parish church. They kept everything very low key, locking themselves away on New Year’s Eve and emerging cautiously to welcome the New Year in with a dip long before the traditional swimmers arrived.
In the afternoon, when Jannie was supposed to be packing her case for the new term, Rory arrived with two large dustbin liners full of Rosemary’s clothes. Jannie was intrigued and spread them out on the big kitchen table. Rory was morose, sitting by the range, denouncing the New Year ‘and all who live through her’.
‘It won’t be me,’ he told Ned, who stood over him disapprovingly. ‘You don’t have to guard your womenfolk any longer, young man. I’ve had it. Up to here.’ He put a hand on his head. ‘Bloody house. Bloody pictures. Whoever would have thought Gerry Scaife would be … what do they call it … collectable? There’s a stupid word if ever there was one.’ He looked at Ned. ‘I could do with a drink, lad. Rum, if you’ve got it. Whisky will do.’
‘I’ll make you a cup of tea.’ Gussie looked warningly at Ned. ‘Hot sweet tea, that’s what you need.’
Rory stared up at her; she thought he looked like a bloodhound.
He said, ‘I can’t get away for a few weeks, Gus. But then … the world is my oyster! Let’s have a couple of weeks with Zannah and then come with me to the Caribbean. It’s another world. Speightstown first thing in the morning. The monkeys waking up, the mahogany trees looming out of the heat mist—’
‘I’ve already booked a sleeper on the Riviera Express from Paris to Nice, Uncle. I’m staying with Aunt Rosemary overnight going and coming back. So I can take the clothes with me.’
His hangdog expression hardened. ‘I told you she told me to chuck them into the sea. They’re for you and …’ He gestured towards Jannie, who was running a silk shawl through her fingers with some reverence.
‘Jannie,’ Gussie supplied in a dry voice. ‘Now drink your tea and get along to the Sloop. I imagine that was the real reason for coming into St Ives.’
He was suddenly angry. ‘You know very well I was bringing Ro’s things across, miss! Christ-a-mighty, you sound and act just like her! Rosemary Briscoe and August Briscoe. Condescending bitches, both of you!’
Jannie looked up, startled.
Ned said steadily, ‘That’s enough. Don’t say another word. Just leave.’
Rory switched his gaze, looking surprised, as if noticing Ned for the first time. There was a long moment of silence while the two men stared at each other. Rory was solidly massive compared with Ned; but he was in his seventies and Ned was twenty-eight.
Gussie held out a mug of tea. Rory blinked and looked at it, took it from her and drank it down, though it must have been scaldingly hot. Then he lumbered to his feet and made for the door. Ned followed him, watched him cross the yard and go through the gate. It was late afternoon, almost dark. The lights from the Sloop were like a beacon and Rory walked towards them. Ned closed the gate and went back inside.
Jannie was twittering, ‘Gorgeous clothes and high drama! What more could anyone ask for the close of C
hristmas!’
Ned grinned, glad they saw Rory as ‘a character’. He said, ‘A little less drama and a lot less of the mothball smell!’
Jannie laughed, holding yet another frock to her and prancing around the kitchen. Ned was thankful to hear Gussie’s reluctant laugh. She went to the sink and swilled Rory’s mug, then assembled more mugs and poured tea for the three of them. They sobered and sipped carefully, wondering how Rory had been able to drink his in one go.
‘Dead from the neck up, if his diplomacy skills are anything to go by,’ Ned said.
‘Yes.’ Gussie sighed deeply. ‘But d’you know, I rather think our uncle Rory is still in love with our aunt Rosemary.’
‘Hard Cheddar,’ Ned scoffed. ‘Rosemary is well out of that marriage. I take it she had a schoolgirl crush on him that died a very quick death.’
Gussie shook her head. ‘I don’t know. There were so many stories going around at the time, and Dad hated people gossiping about his sister so we never heard what really happened.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose I’ll have to take the clothes but Ro is not going to be happy about it.’
Jannie started to fold them slowly and with appreciation.
‘She was quite a dresser in her time, wasn’t she?’ Ned said.
‘Still is,’ Jannie replied. ‘She goes for fabrics. Cashmere. Linen. Silk. Expensive stuff.’
‘Clothes say a lot about their owners.’ Ned held up a fox fur. ‘Perhaps that’s what it was all about – Rosemary was a big spender.’
‘Rory was too. And now he has to sell up.’ Gussie stood up, putting a decisive end to the conversation. ‘Listen, I’m going to get down another suitcase and pack those things properly. Tomorrow we can load everything into the car ready for the off the next day.’ She looked at Ned with raised brows. ‘It’s going to be rather odd for you, the two of us abandoning ship like this and leaving you on your own.’
