‘The mead’s helping.’
‘Good. Drink up.’ He was on his feet, binning the rubbish before she’d stood up.
They continued to explore the festival, ambling along at a leisurely pace, taking in the sights, of which there were many. A mini zoo filled with farm animals. A sculpture workshop. Even a pottery tent, complete with working kiln and oven.
Conversation came easily, she found. Barney Hubble was surprisingly good company. They chatted about the plays he’d acted in, and the enjoyment he got from teaching kids to surf. In turn, she told him about her love of interior design, and how much she was learning from designing for the stage.
Time passed quickly. Before she knew it, it was time for the procession to start and they made their way onto the bleachers. A woman dressed in a long white frock danced in front of the decorated floats, swirling long ribbons in time to the music. A band of drummers followed, noisy and energetic. Next came the jugglers, throwing flame-lit batons into the air, causing the crowd to gasp.
A wagon drove past filled with straw hay bales. The words Buxom Wench were painted in red letters on the side. Sitting on top was a woman wearing a low-cut fancy gown and big wild-west hairdo. She was fanning her face, trying to look coy as she waved and blew kisses at the gentlemen in the crowd.
Charlotte pointed her out to Barney. ‘Isn’t that …?’
Barney nodded. ‘Yep, that’s her all right.’
The woman caught Charlotte’s eye and blew her a kiss, throwing a handful of rose petals from a wicker basket. Charlotte waved back. Dusty certainly popped up in the strangest of places. And then she stilled … Dusty? That was the name of Paul’s boutique. What a coincidence. Maybe they were related in some way?
After the parade had finished, Barney suggested they head up to higher ground to watch the evening’s music festival. ‘We’ll get a better view of the fireworks up there,’ he said, pointing to the area of the castle above them.
The lights from the festival faded as they climbed higher, away from the throng of visitors and half-cut revellers. The area was cordoned off, but this didn’t deter Barney, who lifted the rope and gestured for her to duck underneath.
Never one to break the rules, she hesitated. ‘Should we be doing this?’
‘I helped organise, remember?’ He waited. ‘Trust me, it’ll be worth it.’
She decided to go with it. What was the worst that could happen? They’d be chucked out for being in a restricted area. Hardly the crime of the century.
The path led to a stone wall covered in vines. At first, she didn’t think there was an entrance, but then Barney twisted the ring handle on a wooden door and eased it open. There was something exciting about stepping inside, the contents shrouded in shadows and mystery.
The garden beyond was filled with roses of all kinds, from potted plants to bushes, to climbing plants which were entwined with the vines trailing along the surrounding walls. The sun had almost set, but there was enough moonlight to see the beauty of the flowers.
‘Come over here.’ Barney led her up a flight of stone steps to the top of a mound. The view was stunning. Directly below, she could see the castle grounds and the festival tents. Music drifted up, mingling with the scent of flowers and the salt of the sea. Penmullion Bay stretched out to the right, the harbour almost empty apart from two tall ships standing proud in the water.
‘Are you cold?’ He touched her hand, sending a shiver up her arm.
She shook her head. The climb had left her quite warm, aided no doubt by three glasses of mead. The mound was circled by a smaller wall, shielding them from the sea breeze. It was beautiful.
Barney wiped the seat of a wooden bench. ‘Come and sit down.’ He could be quite the gentleman at times. ‘The view’s just as good from here.’
She joined him, noticing a plaque screwed to the back of the seat. She peered closer, trying to read the inscription in the dusk. The legend of Tristan and Isolde is the tragic tale of two lovers fated to share a forbidden yet undying love. She sat down. ‘Is that the same Isolde the drama group are named after?’
‘The very same.’ His arm snaked around her shoulders.
She contemplated moving, but it was comfy to have something to rest her head against.
‘The legend forms the basis for the festival.’ He drew her closer, no doubt testing how much he could get away with before she objected.
Strangely, she was in no hurry to move. ‘I’ve heard of the names, but I don’t know the story.’
‘There’ve been various versions of the legend throughout the centuries, but the local story is claimed to be the most accurate. Want to hear it?’
‘I like a good legend.’ She tilted her head so she could watch the stars twinkling above. ‘Can you use your acting voice?’
He chuckled. ‘How much have you had to drink?’
‘Not so much that I won’t slosh you if you get fresh.’
His laughter made her head wobble against his arm. ‘Okay, settle in, for story time is about to begin.’
‘Nice rhyme.’
‘Thank you.’ He stretched out his legs, crossing his ankles. ‘So … Tristan was the nephew of King Mark of Cornwall. Isolde was an Irish princess.’ His fingers began playing with her hair. ‘After the fall of the Roman Empire, Britain was divided into several clans. Ireland, who had remained untouched by the Roman invasion, grew in power and were able to dominate the weak British tribes. The King of Ireland sent the brutal Morholt to defeat King Mark of Cornwall.’
A loud bang made her jump. ‘Jesus, what was that?’ She sat up, dislodging his arm from her shoulder.
‘The ship’s canon.’ He nodded at the two ships in the distance. ‘It signals their arrival.’
Searchlights circled the water, accompanied by music, which grew in volume – haunting orchestral melodies that swelled up from below.
Barney sat forward, his thigh resting against hers. ‘During the bloody battle, Tristan saved his uncle’s life by defeating Morholt. But he was injured, and escaped Morholt by boat, which landed on the shores of Ireland.’
The ships’ sails began to expand, the sheets of material blowing forward as they caught on the wind. One of the ships had white sails, the other one black. ‘Carry on, I’m listening.’
‘Tristan was found on the beach by Isolde, and nursed back to health. They fell in love, but she was promised to another.’
The ships began to move in the water, tilting from side to side. ‘What happened?’
‘When Tristan was about to be discovered by Irish guards, he escaped back to Cornwall to avoid being captured and killed. Isolde vowed to follow him when it was safe, hoping to persuade the king to release her from the promise of an arranged marriage. Tristan requested that the ship carrying her should have white sails to show she was free to marry him, and black sails if not.’
She pointed to the ships. ‘Is that why they have black and white sails?’
‘It is.’ He rested his elbows on his knees. ‘Tristan arrived back in Cornwall and helped defeat the Irish, but he was seriously wounded. He took to his sickbed and awaited the arrival of Isolde.’
Charlotte sat back, allowing Barney to resume his previous position, tucking her under his arm. ‘I have a feeling this isn’t going to end well.’
‘Each night he waited for her. Finally, the ship appeared on the horizon, bearing white sails.’
She rolled her head to look at him. ‘There has to be a but …?’
‘Too sick to sit up, he asked about the colour of the sails. Jealous of his passion for Isolde, and knowing the significance of the colour, his nurse lied and told him they were black.’
Another bang made her jump. A red flare exploded into the sky, followed by a spray of green.
Barney’s warm hand found hers. She didn’t object. It was nice to be held. ‘Tristan fell into despair and died. When Isolde arrived, and learned of his death, she too died from grief.’
A shower of blue and gold shimmered abov
e them. ‘That’s a horrible story.’
His thumb circled the back of her hand. ‘There’s a happy ending … of sorts.’
Another firework whizzed into the air. ‘I can’t see how?’
He got up, dislodging her from the comfort of his embrace, and pulled her to her feet. ‘They were buried here in Cornwall.’ He manoeuvred her so she was standing in front of the mass of foliage covering the curved wall. ‘From Isolde’s grave, a rose tree grew, and from Tristan’s, came a vine that wrapped itself around the tree. Every time the vine was cut, it grew again – a sign that the two lovers could not be parted, even in death.’
Behind them, the fireworks continued to explode, firing trails of glitter into the night sky to mingle with the stars. Faint music danced on the breeze, heady and hypnotic.
His hand stroked her forearm, stirring her from her thoughts.
‘Is this part of some cunning plan to seduce me? Feed me mead, tell me a romantic story and bring me up to this beautiful spot, where we just happen to be alone?’
She felt him smile. He leant closer and whispered in her ear. ‘Has it worked?’
The shiver that ran across her skin coincided with another firework exploding. She turned to him, the warmth of his body dragging her mouth towards his. ‘Maybe.’
With that one word, he closed the gap and kissed her. If she’d anticipated having any time to formulate her thoughts and decide whether she wanted anything physical to happen or not, it was overridden by an explosion – and not just the fireworks above. With no recollection of how she found herself there, her back was pressed against the wall and she was kissing him with complete abandon. He seemed to take this as encouragement. His hands were everywhere. Under her top. Over her breasts. Unhooking her bra. Good God.
Her mind couldn’t keep up. Tiny objections kept creeping into her consciousness about the inappropriateness of their location, the unsuitability of their personalities, the differences in their situations, but they were wiped out by feeling, a physical response to what he was doing. It was so powerful she couldn’t have stopped if she’d wanted to.
And she didn’t want to.
She was starving … craving his touch … his mouth … the weight of him. His hands cupped her bottom and lifted her up, his hips moved between her legs. Her skirt was around her waist. She didn’t care. Her hands laced into his hair, gripping hold. His mouth covered hers, hot and insistent and … Oh, God …
Let go, her sister had said … Do something reckless, her sister had said …
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tuesday, 26 July – 4 weeks till curtain-up
The weather had been crap all day. So much so, the rehearsal had been moved from the Corineus Theatre to the village hall for the night. Trying to act in an outdoor space whilst being battered by high winds and torrential rain really wasn’t much fun. Barney hadn’t complained when Jonathan announced that they were changing venue – even if it hadn’t helped improve the director’s mood. With less than a month till curtain-up, Jonathan was getting increasingly stressed. The situation wasn’t helped by the kids messing about, Daniel moaning about the ‘authenticity’ of his costume, and Sylvia forgetting her moves.
Barney was staying well out of it. He was keeping a low profile, tucked away in the corner of the hall, until he was needed. It also meant he could avoid Kayleigh, who’d taken to sitting next to him whenever she got the opportunity, telling him about her bass lessons and her plans to join him on stage when she could manage a whole song without forgetting the key, which wasn’t an appealing prospect. Avoiding her wasn’t overly mature, but his subtle hints didn’t seem to be working.
The other reason hiding at the back of the hall appealed was so he could watch Charlotte working on the set without anyone noticing. She was decorating the army netting for the fairy grove with artificial flowers. Dressed in a knee-length skirt and loose-fitting man’s shirt covered in paint, she wasn’t an obvious object of lust, but in his eyes, she was gorgeous as hell. After all, he knew what lay hidden beneath the conservative exterior. And, boy, had that been a surprise. He was still struggling to convince himself that it had really happened and wasn’t just erotic wishful thinking.
She stretched up to attach a flower to the top of the netting. His gaze was drawn to her calves, accentuated by the hint of a tan. She reached higher, her upper body leaning forwards, her backside sticking out, straining against the fabric of her skirt. He seriously hoped last Saturday wasn’t a one-off.
As if sensing his need to be cooled off, a shower of cold water sprayed across his face. He turned to see Nate removing his crash helmet, his biker leathers soaked from the rain. ‘Everything okay?’
Nate shrugged off his jacket and dumped it over the back of a chair. ‘Not really. A man jumped off the cliffs tonight.’
No wonder his mate looked so forlorn. ‘Christ, and in this weather, too.’
Nate rubbed his face. ‘It took ages to reach to him. We were in danger of being smashed against the rocks.’
As if emphasising the point, the wind outside pelted rain against the windows. ‘I assume he died?’
Nate nodded. ‘He was alive when we first got to him, but his injuries were too severe. Way beyond my basic first-aid skills. By the time the medics arrived, he was past saving.’
‘Suicide?’
Nate unzipped his boots. ‘Looks that way.’
It never ceased to shock Barney how much the RNLI had to contend with. Before moving to Cornwall, he’d assumed they only dealt with boating incidents. But over the last year, they’d been called out to rescue numerous swimmers caught in the riptide, hikers falling from the costal path, and even a family trapped in their home when the area was struck by heavy flooding. It was an incredibly demanding job. And they didn’t even get paid for doing it. ‘Why don’t you head home. Give rehearsal a miss.’
‘Nah, I’m all right. I need the distraction.’ Nate ran his hands through his hair.
Above the mayhem of the kids practising their fairy dance, Jonathan spotted Nate across the room. ‘Nice of you to join us, Mr Jones. Can we expect Mr Saunders any time soon?’
Nate didn’t rise to the bait. How, Barney didn’t know. ‘He’ll be here soon. He’s just finishing up with the police.’ It was a much politer response than Jonathan deserved – he clearly didn’t appreciate that the RNLI put their lives on the line every time they were called out.
‘How very dramatic, if somewhat inconvenient.’ Jonathan returned to trying to appease Daniel, who was sulking over the cut of his breeches.
Nate sat down. ‘Dickhead.’
Barney tried to ignore Kayleigh smiling at him as she read in for Tony. ‘Seriously, mate. Are you sure you want to be here? You look fucked.’ It was a look he recognised. That slightly haunted expression, dark-rimmed eye sockets and sickly pallor. ‘Stuff Jonathan.’
‘I’d rather keep busy.’ Nate rubbed his face again. ‘Plus, it’s not just the call-out.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I’ve done something I might regret.’
Barney raised an eyebrow. ‘Illegal?’
Nate shook his head. ‘But it might land me in hot water.’ His eyes drifted to Lauren, who was modelling her costume for an unimpressed Jonathan. ‘I saw this poster at the police station about loan sharks. There was a number on it for people to report suspicious activity.’
Barney looked at his friend. ‘Tell me you didn’t?’
The hall doors crashed open. Tony arrived, accompanied by a gust of wind. The kids squealed. Jonathan’s script blew off the table, scattering pages everywhere. Sylvia rushed to close the doors. Daniel hastily retrieved Jonathan’s script for him.
Nate shrugged. ‘It was a spur of the moment decision.’
Jonathan signalled for Kayleigh to continue reading in while Tony removed his soaked overcoat, assisted by Glenda, much to Sylvia’s irritation.
Barney glanced at Lauren, who didn’t look like she enjoyed being scrutinised in her shapeless costume, even if Jonathan’s attent
ion was only half on her as he bellowed directions at the actors. ‘This could end badly. You know that, right?’
Nate’s gaze settled on Lauren. ‘But look at her? She’s lost weight. She hardly ever smiles anymore. I had to do something. So, I called them and gave them Glenda’s name.’
Barney considered this. It wasn’t the end of the world. After all, Glenda most probably was a loan shark, so maybe sparking an investigation wasn’t such a bad thing. ‘You didn’t give them Lauren’s name though, did you?’ It was one thing to drop Glenda in it, it was another to implicate Lauren, whose safety might be put at risk. Glenda’s sons weren’t barred from Smugglers Inn for crimes against knitting. Nate’s silence didn’t bode well. ‘Shit, mate. She won’t thank you for interfering.’
Tony appeared on stage and took over from Kayleigh, who skipped down the steps and returned to her seat, waving at Barney as she did so.
Nate’s chin dropped. ‘But it’s not like I stood a chance with her. I’d rather see her happy and hate me, than continue being bullied.’
Sylvia took Tony by the hand and led him across the stage. ‘“O, how I love thee! How I dote on thee!”’ She lay him down and began stroking his imaginary donkey’s ears.
Barney slung his arm around Nate’s shoulder. ‘You’re a good bloke, you know that?’
Nate gave him a rueful smile. ‘Remind me of that when Lauren finds out what I’ve done. She’s likely to chop my balls off.’
Tony yawned. ‘“Where’s Peaseblossom?”’
‘I need a piss.’ Nate disappeared into the gents’, leaving Barney contemplating the potential fallout of Glenda being reported to the cops.
Lauren joined her dad on stage, treading on the hem of her dress as she did so. ‘“Ready.”’
‘Mind my sewing!’ Glenda barked, making Lauren flinch.
Nate was right, Glenda wasn’t a nice woman. Action was needed. Barney would just have to support his mate when the shit hit the fan. Nate was likely to need it.
Tony nestled closer to Sylvia. ‘“Where’s Monsieur Mustardseed?”’ And then he stopped acting and sat up. ‘How am I going to do this bit, Jonathan? I’m supposed to be playing Mustardseed as well.’
The Summer Theatre by the Sea Page 17
