Hidden Treasures

by Fern Britton

  ‘OK.’ He took his coat back and put it on. ‘If that’s the way you feel.’

  He took a step away from her, turned his back and began throwing a ball for Jack, who was enjoying the thrill of jumping up as high as he could to snatch the ball from the air.

  ‘I don’t know, Jack,’ he said, bending down to ruffle Jack’s ears as the little dog returned with the ball and dropped it at his feet. ‘I’ll never understand women, especially the ones who look as if they’re upset and could do with a friendly ear, but then when you try to help they tell you to piss off.’

  Helen rounded on him. ‘I don’t need you – why don’t you just go back to being your usual unpleasant self, then we’d all know where we are,’ she said angrily.

  She then reached down for Jack’s ball, which had rolled towards her, and threw it towards Piran’s shoulder blades as hard as she could.

  ‘Ow! And then, Jack, they throw balls at you, just to add insult to injury – or is it the other way round? Go fetch, boy.’ He threw the ball again, then watched Jack retrieve the ball and return with it in his mouth, his whole body quivering with pleasure.

  ‘Take my advice, boy. Never go to a woman’s rescue. That Helen Merrifield, for instance. I found her knickers blowing all over the county, but did she thank me? No. Looked at me as though I was depraved. Me! Her knickers are too small for me anyway.’

  ‘I’ve had enough of this!’ Helen was just about to stomp off, more miserable than ever, when Piran turned quickly towards her, and caught her wrists in his strong hands, preventing her from escape. His sea-blue eyes ringed with long, dark lashes looked deep into her face. His dark curls rippled in the wind, exposing the small gold ring in his ear.

  ‘What is your problem, Helen Merrifield?’ he said quietly.

  Helen lowered her eyes, brimming with tears, and remained silent. He let go of her, took his coat off again and wrapped it around her shoulders, then slowly and gently took her in his arms. Her tears flowed freely into the warmth of his thick jumper. After a few minutes, he led her to a rock and they sat down, his right arm holding her shoulder warmly.

  ‘I’m a good listener.’ He bent his head to look into her still downturned eyes. ‘Here—’ He dug in a pocket for a couple of crumpled tissues. ‘I used them to clean my windscreen, but they’re clean enough.’

  She smiled and took them gratefully. Her eyes were sore, her head hurt and her pride was hanging out of her like guts out of roadkill. Taking a deep breath, she told him all about her failed marriage, her reasons for coming to Pendruggan, and then Gray’s sudden arrival and his unexpected materialisation back in her bed.

  ‘I’ve made such a mess,‘ Helen groaned. ‘Drink played a part, or maybe it was having the children around again, but just for a moment it seemed like the easiest thing in the world to just slip back into our old ways.’

  ‘And is that what you want, Helen?’ Piran asked, studying her face keenly. ‘To go back to the old life?’

  For a moment their eyes locked, and Helen was acutely aware of the space between them, and how easy it would be close the divide and lean in towards him; to feel his lips against hers.

  Piran broke the spell and turned his face out towards the sea.

  She studied his strong profile, then answered, ‘No, I love this new life. I’m going to make it work, but sometimes the past refuses to disappear.’

  ‘Why did you put up with him for so long?’

  Helen thought for a moment. ‘Most of the time I was too exhausted by the situation to think clearly. It was easier to make others happy and forget my own unhappiness. And there were happy times, too. It wasn’t all bad, you know.’

  Piran sat, almost motionless, looking out at the horizon. Jack whined in boredom. Helen looked at her watch and realised they must have been talking for quite some time.

  ‘Thank you for listening.’ Without thinking, she put her hand on his leg and kissed his cheek.

  He threw a stone for Jack and when he turned back to her, he looked troubled.

  ‘What is it?’

  He seemed about to speak, but then shook his head. ‘Another time, another place … maybe.’

  ‘I’m a good listener too, if you ever need one.’ He gave her a small smile, whistled for Jack and then stood up.

  Helen followed suit. ‘Here’s your coat back. I’m much warmer now.’

  ‘That’s all right. I’ll collect it the next time I’m passing.’

  ‘I’d be very grateful if you didn’t tell anyone the stuff I just told you.’

  ‘I’m not a gossip, Helen. And you’re not the first woman to do something stupid.’

  She looked at him sharply. What did that mean?

  ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Helen glared at him.

  ‘Don’t go all sulky on me, woman. You asked my opinion and I gave it.’

  She started off up the beach at a fast pace, her fury at him reignited.

  ‘There you are, you see,’ he called after her. ‘Typical bloody woman, doesn’t like hearing the truth.’

  She carried on walking, not looking behind her until she got to the top of the path that led away from the beach. When she turned around, she saw Piran and Jack striding purposefully off in the distance, without a backward glance.

  26

  As Helen opened the front door of Gull’s Cry, she saw the note in Chloe’s handwriting on the table.

  Dear Mum,

  We are all worried about you. We waited as long as we could for you to come back, but we have to hit the road now to get back to town for work tomorrow. Love you so much, and don’t worry about anything. I’ll phone you when I get in.

  Chloe (and Sean and Terri) xxx

  She put the kettle on, swallowed a couple of painkillers and went to bed.

  By the time Chloe rang that night, her headache was a lot better and she was sitting by a warm fire in her new dressing gown and old slippers reading one of the books Sean had given her.

  ‘Hi, Mum. Thank you for a fabulous Christmas. Sean and Terri send their love and will ring you tomorrow. I put them off calling you tonight, thinking you may want a bit of peace. Are you OK?’

  Helen sighed and ran her hand through her unwashed, salty hair. ‘I feel much better. I am so sorry about this morning, darling. Everything just got on top of me and the hangover didn’t help.’

  ‘What happened between you and Daddy?’

  Helen groaned but gave Chloe the briefest details.

  ‘So, I’m confused, does this mean Daddy’s trying to get back together?’

  ‘Ha! If you’re confused, imagine how I feel. I think he wants to have his cake and eat it, like he’s always done, and I am not interested. I will always love a bit of Dad, but I am carving out my own life now.’

  ‘Oh.’ Chloe’s voice was childlike in its disappointment. ‘I understand. I just couldn’t help hoping somehow.’

  ‘It’ll all be OK, darling. It’s early days. We’ve had our turn!’ Helen put a smile in her voice. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing what direction your life’s going to take!’

  ‘Nobody’s interested in me.’

  ‘That’s not true. You wouldn’t know if anyone was interested in you because you aren’t looking.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  They chatted a bit more, Chloe reassured that Helen sounded fine, and Helen full of love for her kind and gentle daughter. When they’d said goodbye, she settled back to her book but was soon interrupted by a knock on the door.

  ‘Simon. Hello, come in. Forgive my dressing gown.’

  ‘You look very fetching, Helen.’

  ‘Would you like a drink? I’m on tea. My liver needs a break from alcohol.’

  ‘Tea would be lovely, thank you.’

  ‘Did you have a good Boxing Day yesterday?’

  ‘Yes, super. The parish gatherings can get quite lively.’ Helen tried to hide her sceptical look.

  ‘We had a ca
nasta tournament. Great fun and very competitive.’ He took the mug Helen offered. ‘Queenie was cheating outrageously, but no one challenged her. You must come to the next one.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  They sipped their tea as they moved to the warm fire. Helen sat down in the window seat, leaving Simon the big armchair.

  ‘Talking of which,’ he continued, ‘you haven’t forgotten the diocesan dinner, have you?’

  ‘It’s a week on Friday, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. If I pick you up at about five-thirty, that should get us there in time. A bit early, I know, but the bishop’s wife likes to eat at seven.’

  ‘Perfect. At least it means we’ll be home early!’

  As Helen showed Simon out, he said casually, ‘By the way, a bit of joyous news: Piran and Dawn are engaged.’

  Helen felt her world tip slightly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes. It surprised me too. Isn’t it marvellous! Bye.’

  Helen shut the front door and opened a bottle of wine.

  *

  The days between Christmas and New Year passed uneventfully. Helen spoke on the phone to Penny a couple of times, but only briefly, as she was up to her neck in filming schedules, design meetings, costume fittings and final castings. When Helen asked her about Orlando the chef, Penny replied, ‘Room service is to be recommended!’

  Helen did not tell her about the Gray incident or Piran’s news. It could all keep for another time.

  Dorrie and Don wanted her to come up to the Dolphin for New Year’s Eve, but she feigned a cold and was in bed early instead. She left her bedroom window open to hear the ship’s horns hoot in the new year in Trevay. It was a tradition carried out in ports around the UK and she was delighted she was able to hear, at exactly midnight, the whistles and blasts carried on the breeze straight into her room.

  She was glad the old year was over and wondered what the new one would bring.

  27

  Helen’s kitchen table was covered with Penny’s laptop, iPad, script, schedules, a cup of coffee and one of her two BlackBerry phones.

  It had been this way for the three weeks since the new year began. The casting of Mr Tibbs and the Hidden Treasure was now finally agreed and contracts signed. Mr Tibbs, the star of the series, was to be played by David Cunningham, a well-respected British Hollywood star who, having reached his early forties, had found happiness with a make-up lady called Sonia. They had settled down, got married and had twins, breaking the hearts of many fans and previous leading ladies. His brand of old-school gentlemanly charm, intelligence and humour were perfect for the role. His attractive secretary sidekick, a slightly older woman called Nancy Trumpet, was to be played by veteran siren Dahlia Dahling.

  The other BlackBerry was even now clamped to Penny’s ear as she tipped boiling water into a coffee mug and mimed a pouring action at Helen and pointed to the fridge. Helen duly fetched the milk.

  Mouthing ‘Thanks’, Penny continued with her phone call. ‘John, darling, I promise I’ve booked Dahlia the best room in the Starfish … Yes, the kitchen know she’s vegan … yes, the air conditioning has been off for the specified seventy-two hours …’ She looked over at Helen and rolled her eyes. ‘The room is very quiet, yes … I’m not sure we can do anything about the seagulls making noise too early … Yes, we are so looking forward to seeing her for the first read-through tomorrow … She is mine and Sven’s dream Nancy Trumpet … Wonderful! See you then. Bye.’

  Setting the phone down on the table, Penny sank into a chair and ran her fingers through her tangled blonde hair. ‘My God, he’s a good agent. Not only for getting Miss Dahling a whacking salary, but for dealing with the tricky cow in the first place.’ She took a sip of the hot coffee. ‘God save me from pain-in-the-arse actors.’

  ‘You love it! You know you do.’

  ‘Maybe. I like the initial idea and the end product. It’s just the messy bit in the middle, dealing with spoilt actors and actually making the bloody thing that I hate.’

  One of the BlackBerrys started ringing. Penny’s tired mascara-smudged eyes looked into Helen’s. ‘Oh, make it STOP!’ Then, in a flash, she manufactured a giant smile, picked up the phone and said, ‘Hello, Sven … Yes, the witch queen is on her way … She’ll be here by six … Yes, I told John, her agent, four o’clock because I know she’s always late … Yes, it’s a Bentley, not a Merc … Well, thank you, and you are the best director I have ever worked with … Yes, I do mean it … OK, drinks in the hotel at five-thirty before Medusa descends … Ha ha … love you, bye.’

  Helen proffered a packet of chocolate fingers. Penny took two and stirred her coffee with one.

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help you, Pen? When does your PA get here?’

  ‘Charlie? She’s on tonight’s train,’ Penny said through a mouthful of soggy biscuit. ‘She only left on Friday afternoon for a couple of days skiing in Cor-so-posh or whatever it’s called, but when she’s not here, even for a couple of days, I realise how bloody good she is. By tomorrow morning, she’ll be back in harness. Thank God.’

  One of the BlackBerry’s chirruped with an email, and Helen left Penny to it.

  Upstairs, she opened her wardrobe door and pulled out a couple of outfits for the diocesan dinner. The first was a five-year-old draped jersey Armani trouser suit. The jacket was shaped like a tuxedo and the trousers slim over the hips with a liquid flow to the wide legs. Were trousers allowed at vicars’ dos? The other choice was a gorgeous Mad Men-style fifties dress. She’d bought it for a wedding last spring. It was petal pink with three-quarter-length sleeves and, although demure at the front with a boat-shaped slash neck, it plunged at the back in a deep cowl. She took both outfits downstairs to show Penny.

  Penny was still at the table with the empty coffee cup by her elbow, a glass of Scotch in her hand, her face white.

  ‘Penny, what’s happened?’

  ‘What am I going to do?’ Two large tears rolled out of her reddening eyes. ‘It’s Charlie – she’s broken a leg and both wrists. Snowboarder ploughed into her. Not a fucking scratch on him. She can’t come home till she’s been operated on. She’ll be out of action for weeks.’ She slugged back the remains of the Scotch and started sobbing theatrically.

  Smiling, Helen moved to her best friend and put her arm round her. ‘Is that all? I thought someone had died, or Dahlia Dahling had pulled out, or you’d lost your Birkin bag … Or something really serious.’

  ‘Ha bloody ha!’ Penny spat, knocking Helen away. ‘The whole production is in jeopardy and you stand there making jokes.’ More sobs.

  ‘I’m just saying that it’s not the end of the world.’

  ‘Not the end of the fucking world!’ Penny looked coldly at Helen and then something seemed to switch inside her and she launched into a tirade:

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s the end of the fucking world! This village and your life! Take a look at yourself. You haven’t had a haircut in months. Your eyebrows are overgrown. You have a definite moustache and I’d be ashamed to be seen with you in London. In fact, I shall be ashamed to be seen with you when the cast and crew get here. I’ve been meaning to say this for some time. You are a mess. You haven’t got off your fat backside since you married Gray. You’ve been very lucky. No money worries, wonderful parents who had the decency to drop off the perch without a fuss and leave you financially independent. OK, Gray was, and is, a shit. But look what you got in return. A comfortable home, a man to make love to, two gorgeous children … people to go on holiday with. And … I …’ she began to break down in sobs ‘I … have worked my heart out … and … have NOBODY. You even have Simon fucking Canter and Piran shitting Ambrose panting after you … And you say doing without my PA is nothing more serious than losing a Birkin BAG?’

  Helen was expressionless watching her friend descend into this self-pitying morass. She had seen this hysteria and heard the cruelty many times before and always during a work crisis.

  She took a deep breath and sai
d in a calm voice, ‘Penny, I didn’t mean to upset you, but let’s get this into perspective. There must be another PA in London somewhere who could match Charlie. Maybe even better her.’

  ‘NOBODY knows me the way Charlie does. I have spent five years honing her, moulding her, to my very own specifications! I haven’t time to train up some gormless temp.’ Penny stood up and started sifting the piles of papers into her briefcase.

  In a quiet voice, Helen said, ‘I know you. And I can type. Could I help a little?’

  Penny snapped her laptop shut and sat down heavily. She wiped her black-streaked cheeks on one sleeve and her dripping nose on the other. After a long moment, studying the kitchen floor, she looked up at Helen and said,

  ‘You’ll have to have a lip wax first.’

  28

  The world of a film set is a magical universe, Helen thought as she stood staring out of her bedroom window, drinking her morning tea. It was only 7.30 a.m. but through the winter gloom she could just make out the goings on around the village green.

  The council houses to her left had disappeared behind a massive timber wall on which the scenic artists had painted two beautiful thatched and terraced eighteenth-century cottages. Next door to them was painted Mr Tibbs’ bank, the South-West Friendly, an imposing Edwardian red-brick building with a pillared entrance and curlicued window sills. Next to that were a couple of Victorian buildings: the post office and the village shop.

  Helen watched Queenie as she collared a young male crew member carrying a walkie-talkie. Whatever she was saying to him, he clearly couldn’t help her. Shaking his head in apology, he moved away, leaving Queenie to walk as quickly as her rolling gait would allow back to her shop. Apparently it was there her problem lay: two red double-decker buses had been parked right in front of her entrance. As Helen looked on, a breathless Queenie reached the buses and started gesticulating at the bus drivers. Though they were smiling and piling on the charm for her, it didn’t look as if they were going to budge.