Hidden Treasures

by Fern Britton

  *

  ‘Mummy, would you like me to stay in case things get violent?’

  Helen looked up sharply. ‘What’s Daddy been saying?’

  ‘He’s a bit worried about you, that’s all. You must admit, Piran is an unknown quantity … apart from being given to unprovoked attacks.’

  ‘Daddy started it, not Piran. But if you want to hang about, then be my guest. I have nothing to hide.’

  ‘Well, Mack and the lads are coming over in about half an hour, but I could put them off.’

  Helen smiled. ‘Go out with the boys. I’ll be fine.’

  Dear, sweet Chloe. She had decided she wasn’t going back to Bristol or her job. She had given her landlord notice on her flat and was spending every minute with Jako, Haz and Mack (short for Mackerel, apparently), planning their three-month trip to the other side of the world. Chloe was changing every day. Her skin was gently tanned by the wind, her freckles blooming on her nose. Her hair, always so sleek and shiny before, was now a glorious tangle of stiffened, seasalt-covered curls. She was belatedly turning into a woman, and a beautiful one at that. Helen could see, without having to ask, how bowled over she was by Mack. And he by her. Dorrie had known him since he was six or seven and first started coming down to Cornwall on family holidays. She’d given Helen the full SP on his parents, and proclaimed them good, hard-working people from the Midlands. Mack, she reckoned, could be trusted, adding darkly, ‘at least, as far as any young man can be trusted with a beautiful young girl’.

  Helen waved Chloe and the boys off as they jumped into the VW camper van with the legend LOVE SURF hand-painted on the side.

  She had half an hour to look as if she hadn’t bothered to get ready for Piran. Shower, leg shave, minimal make-up, hair piled casually on top of her head, skinny white leggings and over-sized blue-and-white striped man’s shirt on top. She undid an extra button to reveal her pretty pink-and-green floral bra, and just as quickly did it up again.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Piran’s Toyota truck pull up outside. Two minutes to eight. Early. A good sign. One last look in the mirror, checking her teeth for lip-gloss, and she went downstairs, opening the front door just as he lifted his hand to knock.

  ‘Hi, come in. Excuse the mess.’

  ‘If this is mess, my house is a landfill.’

  His tall bulk blocked the door and cast a shadow over her face. Why didn’t he move? She realised she was standing still and blocking his way.

  ‘Come in, come in. What would you like to drink? Gin and tonic? Wine?’

  ‘I’d like a beer.’

  Damn, why hadn’t she thought of that? ‘Oh, I haven’t got any beer. Whisky?’

  ‘Aye, just a large one.’

  As she moved past him to go to the cupboard by the sink, which was her drinks cabinet, he took her elbow and spun her round to face him.

  Helen felt like she was in a scene from a Barbara Cartland novel. Time slowed so that she took in every millimetre of his face, his eyes, his hair, before his mouth bent to hers and finally he kissed her, properly. With passion and a depth she’d not known since the early days of Gray. She pressed herself against him and cupped his face with both hands. His right hand slid round her waist and his left hand reached into her hair, winding his fingers through it.

  They broke apart and looked at each other.

  ‘Golly,’ she said.

  ‘Good God, woman, is that all you can say? “Golly.”’ He imitated her London accent and made her laugh.

  ‘What do you want me to say?’

  ‘“Come upstairs, Piran, and make love to me” would be suitable.’

  Helen took his hand and without saying anything, took him up to her bedroom.

  He closed the door and kissed her again. They undressed each other, the feel of skin on skin so wonderful that they stood and hugged for a moment until Helen took his hand once more and, sitting on the bed, pulled him down to her. She closed her eyes and drank in the scent of his body and the feel of his body on hers. This was the point of no return. For the first time in over twenty-five years, another man made love to her.

  *

  ‘Golly,’ she said a little while later as she lay in the crook of his arm, her head on his chest.

  ‘How about “Holy shit” for a change?’ He kissed the top of her head.

  ‘Holy shit.’

  ‘That’s better. Shall I get you a drink?’

  ‘I’d love a cup of tea.’

  ‘I like your style. I’ll put the kettle on. Don’t move, I’ll be back.’

  She watched him as he wandered, naked, through the door and downstairs. She could hear him opening cupboards and running the tap. She lay in her bed just as he had left her. Happier than she could remember. Feeling sexy, wanton and wicked. ‘Up yours, Gray!’ she said to herself.

  He came back up the stairs.

  ‘Where shall I put the tray?’

  ‘Just there on the dressing table.’

  ‘I’ve made you gunpowder tea.’

  ‘Oooh! What’s that?’

  ‘Ordinary tea but with a slug of whisky in it.’

  He passed her her mug and she tasted it. ‘Mmmm, that will put hairs on your chest.’

  ‘You bet.’ He climbed back into bed and she settled on to his shoulder again.

  They drank the tea in companionable silence for a few minutes.

  ‘Your husband all right today?’

  ‘Black eye and bruised cheek.’

  ‘Good. He was out of order last night.’

  ‘Dahlia told me.’ Another silence. ‘Have you seen or heard from Dawn?’

  He took a great sigh and shifted slightly, making her neck uncomfortable, so she sat up and moved away from him.

  ‘Yes.’

  She didn’t think she was going to like this. ‘And?’

  ‘She wants me back. I came over to say goodbye to you.’

  Helen moved like a scalded cat. She sat up and turned to face him, swinging her open palm at his face, but he caught it.

  ‘I’m joking. I’m joking.’

  ‘It’s a stupid fucking joke. Don’t you ever do that again.’

  She got out of bed and put her dressing gown on, feeling suddenly vulnerable.

  He got out of bed and held her. ‘Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I haven’t seen her. I don’t want to see her, but I must at some stage.’ He tilted her head up to his and kissed her gently. ‘Forgiven?’

  She kissed him back as an answer, but when Chloe got back later that night all she found was two middle-aged, fully dressed people sitting on the sofa eating spaghetti bolognaise from one large bowl and watching Newsnight.

  40

  The following morning was Saturday and the cast and crew had the weekend off. Helen was brewing tea and making porridge as Chloe came in, yawning, her hair like a bird’s nest.

  ‘Morning, Mum.’

  ‘Hello, darling, did you have a good night?’

  ‘Yes. Sorry, I was so tired when I got in – I hope Piran didn’t think it rude of me to go straight to bed.’

  ‘No. He quite understood.’

  Helen turned her back to Chloe to stir the porridge, hiding a ridiculously soppy smile.

  ‘So, what’s going on with you two? I thought you didn’t like him.’

  ‘Erm …’ Helen thought quickly. ‘He’s not too bad once you get to know him and …’ inspiration came to her: ‘He’s interested in finding out more about that treasure box, the one that Tony and I found in the garden.’

  ‘Oh, good. When will he start?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Soon, I hope.’

  The phone rang. Chloe got there first.

  ‘Hello? … Hi, Piran. Yeah, Mum’s fine. I hear you’re going to be examining her old box … What are you laughing for? Oh, you’ve had a good look at it already. Great. Mum’s here, if you want to talk. Bye.’

  Helen wrenched the receiver from her daughter’s hand. She could hear Piran’s deep laughter coming down
the line.

  ‘Mornin’, maid. How’s that old box of yours? It seemed in pretty good nick to me.’ He laughed again, then stopped and said, ‘You’re a good woman, Helen Merrifield.’

  For some reason tears sprang to her eyes. The tenderness of his voice and the fact he was actually bothering to phone caught her unawares. She sat down in her rocking chair by the Aga.

  ‘I was wondering what you might be doing for lunch today,’ she asked. ‘Would you like to come over?’

  He paused then said, ‘I must see Dawn and talk to her about everything.’

  ‘Ah. Would you like to come over after?’

  ‘Do you want me to look at your old box again?’

  She laughed. ‘You’re a bad man, Mr Ambrose.’

  ‘I’ll be there ASAP. See you later, Helen.’

  When she had put the phone down, she sat in a dream, her body warm with sensual thoughts.

  ‘Mum!’ Chloe was pointing at the Aga. ‘The blinking porridge is burning.’

  *

  After breakfast, Chloe went back to bed and Helen sat by her Aga with the back door open, letting in the spring sunshine. Tony popped his head round the door.

  ‘Mornin’, Mrs M.’

  ‘Hello, Tony.’ She jumped up and gave him a huge hug. ‘Well done for yesterday. You were amazing!’

  He shifted uncomfortably on his feet and scratched an ear.

  ‘They said I’d done all right.’

  ‘You did indeed. I am very proud of you. Fancy a Ribena?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ He stood by the back door, refusing her offer of a chair. ‘We ought to start talking about potting up the seeds for the vegetable plot, Mrs M.’

  ‘I’m ready when you are, Tony. Only another week before the filming finishes. Then I’m all yours.’

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ Helen called.

  It was Simon.

  ‘Mornin’, vicar.’

  ‘Tony my boy, you were magnificent yesterday. Well done.’ He shook Tony’s hand.

  Tony grinned. ‘Mrs M., I’m going to make a start on them seed beds. I can use the new spade you bought me.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Helen. ‘If you need anything, give me a shout.’

  ‘Righto.’ And with that he wandered back out into the sunshine.

  Helen turned to assess Simon.

  ‘You look so much better than yesterday, Simon. How are you feeling?’ She moved to the kettle and reached for a couple of mugs.

  Simon settled himself against the sink.

  ‘Penny and I had a long talk yesterday.’

  ‘And … ?’

  ‘She has agreed to join me for dinner tonight.’

  ‘Excellent. Where are you taking her?’

  ‘Well, that’s just it. The Dolphin looks like I haven’t bothered and the Starfish is a bit … you know, the other night … Well, let’s say some neutral ground would be best.’

  ‘How about a picnic up on the moor? Dozmary Pool. Isn’t that where Excalibur was thrown? The lady of the lake and all that?’

  ‘It’ll be dark.’

  ‘Just the stars, the moon and each other. Tell her to wrap up warm.’

  ‘But what shall we eat?’

  ‘Simon!’ She looked at him sternly, her hands on her hips. ‘Food should be last thing on her mind!’

  He blushed. ‘Helen, it’s only a picnic!’

  ‘That’s easy then. A flask of soup and ham-and-cheese sandwiches.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ His anxious chocolate-brown eyes widened through his specs.

  ‘Trust me, they’re her favourite.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  Helen handed him his cup of coffee and ushered him into the lounge, bright in the morning sun.

  He settled into her patchwork armchair, with the air of a man who needed to talk.

  ‘Helen, I need to thank you so very much for everything you’ve brought to me over these last six or seven months.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything.’

  ‘No, no,’ he shushed her. ‘You have kindly not referred to my embarrassing behaviour on the night of the bishop’s dinner.’

  ‘It wasn’t embar—’

  ‘Please, let me finish.’ He took a deep breath and removed his glasses, polishing them on his handkerchief, before putting them back on again.

  ‘I must share my feelings with you. Helen, you are the first normal woman who has ever been a friend to me. Denise, who jilted me, was a gentle, sweet person, but too tied to her parents’ apron strings. Perhaps too immature to take on a husband and … the physical side of love.’

  Helen nodded sagely.

  ‘And, Hillary … well, Hillary just wasn’t ever going to live in a heterosexual relationship.’

  Helen tuned in more intently.

  ‘Sorry, Simon. What was that?’

  ‘Hillary is a gay woman.’

  ‘Blimey, you kept her quiet, and no wonder!’

  ‘Well, exactly. Which is why I felt I was falling in love with you. You are kind, and affectionate and … very attractive.’

  ‘Oh, Simon. I love our friendship and closeness. I want it to continue – but platonically.’

  ‘And so it shall. But here’s the difficult part. I’ve suddenly realised that I have very strong feelings for Penny. I know she’s brash and loud and promiscuous …’

  ‘Steady on, that’s my mate you’re talking about.’

  ‘But I find her so incredibly … sexy! I don’t think I have ever used that word out loud to anyone before.’

  Helen laughed. ‘Yes, she is sexy. And has been hurt many times because of it. Can I ask you a very personal question?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Are you a virgin?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘You either are or you aren’t,’ Helen said gently.

  Simon looked very uncomfortable. ‘When I was a boy, about fourteen, at the church youth club, we had a leader called Mrs Bening.’

  Helen leaned forward, her blood starting to thrum in her ears. She didn’t think she’d like what she was going to hear.

  ‘And?’

  ‘We were on a Sunday walk with all the other children and she asked me to stand by a stile in a field, to count the children over it to make sure we hadn’t lost anyone. When the last one, my friend Steven, had gone over, she told them all to carry on across the field to the next stile. When they had their backs turned she got up on the stile and sat on the top, holding her hand out for me. I could see Steven walking away and I wanted to catch up with him, so I climbed up, but she stopped me going over the stile. She took my hand and put it on her breast. Then she put her lips on mine and forced her tongue into my mouth. She had horrible breath.’

  Simon carefully put his coffee cup down and put his head in his hands. His fingers pressed tight against his eyes. His shoulders started to heave. Helen went to him and put her arm round him.

  ‘Did she do anything else?’

  ‘She undid my shorts and put her mouth around me.’ He turned his head up to her and through tear-streaked eyes he said, ‘Then she told me we had had sex.’

  ‘And ever since, you’ve wondered if it was?’

  He nodded his head miserably.

  ‘I can categorically tell you, you are still a virgin,’ said Helen.

  ‘I remember her touch, and it shames me, but it was nice too. God forgive me.’

  ‘God does forgive you. It’s that bloody woman who’s going to have a few awkward questions to answer at the pearly gates. Do you know where she is now? It’s not too late to bring her to court.’

  ‘I don’t want anything to do with her. I just want to cleanse myself of the shame.’

  ‘Did you tell anyone?’

  ‘No. I can’t believe I have finally told you.’

  ‘It’s nothing for you to feel ashamed of. It is her shame. There are people who can help you. Therapists. The doctor.’

  ‘The chur
ch might find out.’

  ‘And what will they do? Turn their backs? I think they’re pretty used to this sort of thing. I liked the bishop when we met him. I bet he would be really sympathetic, and help you, if you wanted it.’

  ‘I want to tell Penny.’

  ‘Tell her. The good thing about a woman who’s been round the block is that she doesn’t judge.’

  ‘She might not like me in that way.’

  ‘That’s not what she told me about the other night.’

  ‘Oh God no … what?’

  ‘You kissed her.’

  ‘I did?’

  ‘Yup, and she liked it very much.’

  ‘But my vow of chastity?’

  ‘It was only kissing and anyway, how big a deal is this vow?’

  ‘It is my vow to God.’ He looked at her, shocked that she should ask such a stupid question. She tried a different tack.

  ‘Your last sermon was about the one message God has for us all. And what is that message?’

  ‘Love.’

  ‘Precisely. I think God wants you to have love in your personal and private life. Proper grown-up love. Not weirdo Mrs Bening, lesbian Hillary and ninny Denise-type love. I think, maybe, God has sent Penny to you, and he has sent you to Penny!’

  Helen surprised herself with this sudden clarity of thought. Simon and Penny had a chance to really make each other happy. Conveniently forgetting her pangs of jealousy and doubt about them both, she now felt rather smug at having played Eros.

  She took his hand and pulled him up. ‘Right, Tiger, let’s make you a picnic.’

  *

  She sent him off with a cool box, wine glasses, crockery, cutlery, a clean baked bean tin with a small bunch of daffs in it and a shopping list to include candles, a torch and a waterproof-backed rug.

  ‘Tell me how it goes, won’t you?’

  ‘I will, dear Helen. Thank you.’ He gave her a squeeze and kiss on the cheek and was off.

  41

  Helen closed the front door and was about to sink into her comfy armchair the better to think about her night with Piran and what it did or didn’t mean, when Chloe shouted from the top of the stairs:

  ‘Mum, Mack’s here. Would you let him in while I dry my hair?’

  ‘Yes, love.’ She did an about turn and opened the front door to the tall and gorgeous Mack, who bent his head to avoid hitting it on the door lintel.