The Cornish Escape: The perfect summer romance full of sunshine and secrets

by Lily Graham

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘It’s strange, because it’s the one thing that calms my father down – the sea. Since we moved here, it’s really helped him.’

  ‘Helped him, how?’

  Fen hesitated. ‘Well, before, he used to have so many more episodes. That’s what me mam calls them.’

  ‘Episodes?’ I asked in surprise.

  ‘He gets sick, I suppose.’

  ‘Sick? What happens?’

  He picked up a rock and threw it in the water. But he didn’t say anything. I saw him absently touch his boot – the one on the foot that was twisted somewhat – and give me a sideways look. ‘I’m… We’re not really supposed to talk about it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘They don’t want anyone to know.’

  ‘Is it bad?’

  ‘Aye, sometimes.’

  ‘You can tell me, Fen. It’s not like I’d ever tell anyone.’

  He nodded, looked out to sea. ‘It’s like a fit. He shakes, cries. It’s hard to speak to him, he gets…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Violent.’ He touched his foot again.

  ‘Violent,’ I repeated. I looked at his foot. He’d said it was an accident, but I couldn’t help wondering…

  I hesitated. ‘Is that what happened to your foot?’

  His face look pained. ‘It wasn’t his fault – he was sick, I knew that.’

  I gasped.

  He looked at my wide, horrified eyes, and said, quickly, ‘He didn’t hit me or nothing like that. It was an accident. He was starting to… He shakes, and screams, but the only person he hurts is himself. We just try to calm him down. When it happens we know to get him to his bed, out of harm’s way. It’s the only way to help. I was trying to do that, to get him to follow me, but he started shaking, hitting himself. I tried to get him to stop, there was a struggle, and I fell down some stairs. It wasn’t like he could help it,’ he said, his eyes sad.

  I put my hand on his shoulder.

  ‘But he blames himself. Though he shouldn’t, I was the one who didn’t want to go to a doctor. Da wanted to take me straight away, but I was worried, you know, of what would happen to him? In case they took him from us.’

  ‘Oh, Fen.’

  He looked at me. ‘Yeah, by the time I did see a doctor it was too late, because it had healed the wrong way. They tried breaking it again to set it right, but it’s never been the same. It’s one of the reasons we moved, you know. Da didn’t want to stay where that had happened. Anyway, now he doesn’t get them as much – his episodes. It’s worse in the winter, when it gets dark. In summer, he’s better. Even he’s surprised at how much better he’s been. A few weeks ago we were worried they’d come back when the long hours at the farm started, but it hasn’t been as bad. Now when he gets them, he just sits in the living room ands stares at the sea. It really helps.

  ‘He’s a good man, me da – been through a lot. Wouldn’t hurt no one. He taught me how to charm foxes, did I tell you that?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘That’s how I got Arthur. It’s all about patience. It’s how I tamed you too, Tilly Asprey.’

  ‘Really?’ I said with a laugh.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said, picking up my hand, and giving it a kiss.

  I looked away from his gaze, felt my heart start to pound, and a crazy grin spread across my face.

  ‘See, you wouldn’t have let me do that before…’

  I sneaked a look up at him, shaking my head. ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ I said, then blushed furiously.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Present day

  ‘PTSD, do you think?’ I asked, the most recent diary pages scattered in front of me, where Tilly had described Mr Waters’ episodes.

  Adam nodded. ‘Jeez, poor guy! Back then they didn’t understand it.’

  ‘God, that’s sad. It explains the cottage then, perhaps.’

  He looked at me in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, if he needed a place away from prying eyes while he had these outbursts.’

  He whistled. ‘That makes sense.’

  It was late, but it was hard to call it a night. Adam and I had swapped our pages as we decoded Tilly’s diary, until well past 3 a.m.

  He poured me another cup of coffee. His blue eyes had dark shadows beneath them, and his hair was sticking up from where he’d been leaning back in the egg chair.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, reaching out for the cup. One of Angie’s charity shop finds, a ceramic unicorn with a rainbow horn, it was so kitsch it was cute. ‘I see you used my super-cool mug,’ I noted with a grin.

  ‘Only the best for you,’ he replied, sitting back down in the egg chair. ‘You know, not that I’d heard too much of you before…’

  ‘What?’ I protested. ‘I’m really big in… Finland. Okay, parts of Finland. More like one small village.’

  ‘No, but seriously. Somehow, I didn’t expect you to be like this,’ he said, indicating the mug and my Minion slippers.

  I nodded. ‘It’s true. So very few can envision such coolness, I admit.’

  ‘Well,’ he laughed. ‘I think you’re cool.’

  ‘Thanks. It’s all Ray Bradbury, you know?’

  He gave me a puzzled look. ‘The science fiction author?’

  I nodded. ‘Well, a reader sent him a letter asking for life advice on how Ray had turned out the way he had, overcoming obstacles and becoming so successful, and Ray’s response was: “Be your own self. Love what YOU love.”’

  ‘Love what you love?’

  ‘Yup, it’s simple but profound – basically you need to be true to who you are.’

  ‘Is that why you wear all those funny T-shirts?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘See, you’re cool.’

  I laughed. ‘You’re probably the only person on this planet who thinks so, but thanks.’

  ‘Didn’t your ex?’

  There was a moment’s silence, in which the presence of Mark had been invited in, and I tried to push him out again.

  ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have…’ began Adam.

  I shrugged. ‘No, it’s fine. Um, Mark had a picture of the way things should have been, I think, and it didn’t always work out that way. To be fair, perhaps I wasn’t the sort of woman he should have been with.’ I pictured the glamorous form of Jess. ‘I think, with Mark, there should have been high heels and stockings and slips. Not, you know, rainbow unicorns and Spider-Man tees, probably.’

  Adam raised a brow. ‘Slips?’

  ‘You know, those sexy satin things.’ I waggled my eyebrows. ‘You wear them at night, set the mood…’

  His eyes widened. ‘Well, okay now, I am a guy so I ain’t gonna pretend that that’s not like the male equivalent of rainbows and unicorns.’

  I giggled. ‘Okay, fair enough.’

  ‘You said love what you love…’

  I laughed.

  He winked, and I felt my stomach flip. Winking should not be allowed.

  Then he said, ‘I mean, look at you. It’s not like you’d need a slip to look sexy.’

  I blinked.

  There was a pause. ‘I just meant…’

  I was thirty-two years old, it was ridiculous to be blushing, but that’s what was happening. I put my hands on my warm cheeks and said, ‘You find the Minions sexy? Well, that’s fine… I mean, maybe it’s a little disturbing, but there are worse things, I’m sure…’

  He smiled and looked at me for a long moment – while I tried not to suggest anything stupid, like that I could probably find a slip somewhere. Then he said, ‘Yeah, how about we go back to this before I get myself into any more trouble?’

  ‘Oh no, I want to hear more about your fondness for little yellow men,’ I said, waving a slipper at him.

  ‘Shut up,’ he said, grabbing my arm and pulling me towards him, so that I stumbled and fell on top of him.

  His arms came round me and I found myself, somehow, on his lap. Before I could stand up, he w
as moving my hair away from my eyes, giving me that languid smile of his, and I was lost. I didn’t know who made the first move; I didn’t care.

  My head swam as I sunk into his kiss. I forgot my name, desire flamed inside me and I didn’t know if hours passed or minutes. My hands were in his hair, not letting him go.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Cornwall, 1907

  Tilly

  The first time I saw the house was by accident. We hadn’t planned on going, but when Fen saw something from the boat one afternoon, he said, ‘Lie down – quick.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just do it, trust me.’

  I grumbled, but did as instructed. ‘I’m going to get wet.’

  ‘Wetter, you mean.’

  I shrugged, and peered up at him from where I lay. Even Arthur seemed amused to see me huddled at the bottom.

  ‘Why exactly am I lying down here?’

  ‘Me mam just went by the road.’

  ‘Your mam?’ I asked in surprise and interest. My head popped up quickly in my haste to look.

  ‘Stay down,’ he ordered.

  I huffed, hunching down, and peered over the rim of the boat. In the distance I could see a dusky dress walking away down the dirt path.

  ‘Didn’t you want her to see me with you?’ I asked, wondering why it bothered me, when I knew he was simply being cautious. I wasn’t the only one who would get in trouble if they saw us together.

  ‘If she saw you then there’d be questions. And,’ he said, eyes mischievous, ‘you’d miss your chance, Tilly Asprey.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Well, I thought that you wanted to see the cottage. Don’t you ask me at least once a week?’

  I sat up quickly and the boat rocked precariously, sending up a heavy splash of water that sprayed both Fen and Arthur, who shot me a very disgruntled look.

  ‘The cottage!’ I whooped. ‘I can see it, finally? Today?’ I took hold of the oar and started making rapid strokes towards the shore.

  Fen laughed. ‘You’re such a goose.’

  ‘I can’t believe you live here,’ I said, when a little while later we walked into the garden around the cottage.

  It was like something out of a fairy story. The stone cottage, set above the rock face, looked almost like it was about to fall off the edge of the cliffs into the sea below.

  ‘Seafall,’ I said.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘That’s what I’d call it, if it was mine.’

  He grinned. ‘I like that.’

  Spring had come early to the cliff-top garden; I could see wildflowers, tulips and purple irises in bloom. My mouth opened in surprise at the unexpected sight. ‘It’s lovely,’ I said.

  ‘It will be, got plans to create more of a garden here. Da wanted to grow daffodils here as well. He’s mad about them, thanks to your father,’ he laughed.

  We’d been hearing about their latest hybrid for weeks. There had even been someone from the papers round to write an article on the new variety that Father said would change the face of daffodil farming, as it was so much hardier. Rose and I had even been summoned to the farm to have our pictures taken; it had been very exciting.

  ‘Before we came here, that’s all he spoke about when he was sick – the daffodils. He wanted to see the fields full of them. Your da had told him all about them, you see. Then he got the offer to come work here…’

  ‘Michael Fenwick Waters,’ said a cold, hard voice from behind. Fen straightened up and his face went pale. He turned around with a fixed smile on his face. ‘Hello, Ma.’

  ‘Hello, Ma?’ said a short, stout woman standing behind him. ‘Hello, Ma, is it!’ She had broad shoulders and a face that looked like a crab apple – red and streaked with white. ‘Don’t be talking about your da with anyone, do you hear me?’ she said, hands on her hips.

  Fen smiled. ‘But Ma, this isn’t everyone. This is Tilly.’

  Mrs Waters crossed her arms. ‘Lady Matilda,’ she said with a pointed look at Fen. ‘’Tis nice to meet you. Though I am surprised to find you here.’ She made a poor attempt at a smile.

  ‘I’m not a lady,’ I corrected her. She was giving me a hard stare so I continued, in a rush of explanation, ‘What I mean is that my father’s a baron, um, so you would address my mother as Lady Asprey, but not me, or my sister, officially, um, I’m just Miss Matilda, but everyone calls me Tilly.’

  Mrs Waters’ face had closed. ‘Thank you, Miss Matilda.’

  I swallowed. Somehow, I had made it worse.

  ‘Mam…’ began Fen.

  She crossed her arms. ‘We spoke about this already. Your father won’t be impressed. Bid La— Miss Matilda good day.’

  He just stared at her.

  She turned to me. ‘Thank you for your visit, Miss Matilda,’ she said, dismissing me. In that moment, I despised my own name.

  I knew Fen would be in trouble as soon as I left. I was sorry I’d insisted on coming now. ‘Mrs Waters, it was my fault. I asked Fen if he’d show me the house.’

  Mrs Waters’ rigid smile faded. ‘Well, it’s not my place to say, but your father wouldn’t like it. He’s assured us that no one from the big house is to come down here. I think it’s best if you don’t come again.’

  ‘But why?’ It was out of my mouth before I could take it back, even if I’d wanted to.

  ‘It’s no place for you, Miss Matilda. I’ll say goodbye now. I’ve dinner on the table and Mr Waters is resting,’ she said, waiting for me to leave. I had no choice but to turn around and head on home.

  As I made my way up the stone steps, I heard her raised voice. ‘Don’t let me catch you talking about yer da to anyone, ever again, do you hear?’

  I never heard Fen’s response.

  Later that day, I was to regret going there even more. Celine tried to prepare me in her own way. She hovered in the doorway, ‘I did warn you, child,’ she admonished, as my mother flew into my bedroom, purple with rage.

  ‘Is it true?’ she asked, her hand clutching her chest as if she was manually attempting to slow her racing heart. Her eyes bulged in unconcealed rage.

  ‘What?’ I answered, though, of course, I knew.

  ‘Is it true that you have spent your time in the company of some…’ She paused, gathering herself. ‘That you have been roaming around your father’s estate with some boy in your father’s employ?’

  ‘He isn’t employed by Father, he’s my friend.’

  ‘Your friend? You cannot be friends with the children of the parents your father employs.’

  ‘Why not? Father is friends with Fen’s father, that’s why he built him a house.’

  Mother’s face grew pale. ‘They are not friends, Matilda. And he built his new employee a house, that is different.’

  ‘No, it’s not! Father said they were friends – he told me so himself. If Father still treats Mr Waters as a friend, even though he works with him, why can’t I do the same with Fen?’

  ‘Because you can be friendly with someone who works for you, Matilda, without being friends. Your father may like this boy’s father, but they do not socialise together, and they both understand that distinction.’

  ‘Does it really matter who his family is?’

  ‘Yes, I am afraid that it does matter a great deal who his family is. You’re young, but I had thought you understood your position. Our people cannot be friends with those who work for us – it blurs the lines. We can’t have them thinking it is acceptable to be so familiar,’ she said, appalled.

  I stared at her. ‘You are a snob.’

  I expected her to slap me, or worse, but she simply shrugged. ‘Perhaps, but it’s a reality nonetheless. And one that I think you do understand, even if you pretend otherwise.’

  I saw then that she had been holding something behind her skirts. She brought it forward now. It was a bundle of blue cloth, one that I recognised.

  ‘Why else would you have gone to all the trouble of masquerading as a maid?’

  I blin
ked. ‘That’s not what I was doing! I wasn’t pretending to be anyone else – I used that dress simply to protect my clothes.’

  Mother shook her head in exasperation. ‘Really, Matilda! I know that is what you told Celine – and kind-hearted soul that she is, she believed you until today’s events – that’s why she came forward with this dress. She has been thoroughly reprimanded for not coming to me earlier.’

  ‘I didn’t need to pretend anything. I’m sorry Celine feels that way, the dress wasn’t about anything except keeping my clothes tidy. Fen is my friend, I don’t care if he’s a farmer’s son and I’m a lord’s daughter. What difference does it make, really?’

  ‘A great deal, actually. What happens if his father’s employment doesn’t work out and your father has to let him go?’

  ‘Then that is their business – it’s not between us.’

  ‘Now you are just being naive. We are not friends with these people for a reason. They are employed by us and we cannot be showing favouritism.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone would see it that way.’

  Mother scoffed. ‘Really? So that’s why Mrs Waters came up here, desperately upset about the whole situation? You’ve put them all in a terrible predicament. She can’t very well order you away, and if her boy is caught with you, they’ll be the ones who pay the price. If it makes you feel any better, she was just as horrified as I that the two of you have been sneaking off together. Thankfully, she wasn’t aware of this,’ she said, holding up the rotten dress. Mother straightened. ‘It stops this minute. You will be kept inside the nursery every day. Celine has been given the key and the responsibility – I had expected that she would keep a better eye on you. Know this,’ she warned, ‘if you are caught again, her dismissal will be because of you.’

  My mouth fell open in surprise. I wasn’t overly fond of Celine’s constant attention, or her tireless attempts at getting me to master French, but I was fond of her.

  Mother continued, ‘You will be permitted outdoors as usual in the afternoon, however this will only occur with Celine or another member of the family present to supervise. You will not stray far from the house. This will be your life, from now on, until you are made to understand. Are we clear?’