Summer in a Cornish Cove

by Kate Ryder

  What’s happening to me? Could it be...?

  He simply cannot let that happen.

  Neatly stacked on his desk are several unopened envelopes and Oliver debates whether to leave them until the morning, as Deanna suggested.

  No, why should I unquestioningly follow her lead?

  The thought takes him by surprise. Why is he casting Deanna in the role of villainess? She has done nothing wrong. He tries to convince himself that the journey, on top of two sleepless nights, has rendered him exhausted and feeling less than charitable. Oliver picks up the envelopes and rifles through them. Mainly bills… but what’s this? Instantly, he recognises the handwriting. Why didn’t he take Deanna’s advice and leave the post until morning? Now he’s got to open it. There’s no chance of sleep, knowing it’s sitting on his desk.

  Oliver opens the top drawer and extracts a letter opener. Sliding the blade beneath the flap, he opens the envelope in one clean sweep. With mounting apprehension, he removes a sheet of blue notepaper. Her manic characters leap off the page, effectively shattering the calm of his study.

  Oliver, YOU PROMISED, but you haven’t kept your promise.

  PHONE ME or I WILL HAVE TO INTRODUCE MYSELF to that attractive wife of yours.

  Next time I will knock on the door (not just deliver to your letterbox) and won’t your WIFE AND I HAVE A LOT TO TALK ABOUT! I expect your call.

  My undying love, Sylvie xxxx

  Oliver’s mouth turns dry. He picks up the envelope again. No stamp. So she did hand deliver it!

  ‘Fuck!’

  Running a hand through his hair, once again he wonders how secure the house is. Changing the number of the landline has achieved nothing. She knows where he lives! How? Did she find out on Holy Isle? Oliver walks from room to room, checking the windows and making sure all external doors are locked. She’s gone to the next level now. There’s no denying it, she’s deranged and who knows what she’s capable of? With everything else going on he has not given Sylvie any thought since her phone call. How easily she has slipped his mind.

  I should have phoned. If she speaks to Deanna, God only knows where that will lead!

  Oliver glances at his watch. It’s way past midnight. Too late to phone her now, although she’s probably awake plotting her next move. The thought makes him break into a cold sweat.

  What the hell am I going to do?

  He can’t involve the police. What would that do to his reputation? And if the press ever got a whiff of what went on at the retreat, well… it didn’t bear thinking about. They would crucify him and drag his family through the mud. No, he is just going to have to handle this himself. He will phone her tomorrow and play her at her own game.

  Satisfied the house is secure, Oliver picks up his bag and silently makes his way upstairs. He walks past the children’s closed doors to the master bedroom at the far end but, before entering, turns and looks down the hall. Again, he is struck by how little of him is here. Has he been absent that long? As Oliver opens the bedroom door, a feeling of disconnectedness threatens to overwhelm him. He places his bag on the floor and makes his way to the en-suite. Switching on the bathroom light, he closes the door quietly behind him and walks to the basins. Averting his gaze from the mirror, unwilling to see what his reflection might reveal, he quickly washes and cleans his teeth. Then, discarding his clothes in the laundry basket, he walks from the room and climbs into bed.

  For a long while Oliver stares up at the ceiling, unseeing. He’s far away in a simply furnished bungalow perched high on a cliff, and Cara’s light fills his soul. Though desperate for sleep, he knows a third sleepless night beckons.

  Turning onto his side, he reaches for his wife. ‘Dee,’ he whispers, hoping that by making love to her he will reconnect.

  ‘Not now, Ollie,’ Deanna mumbles, as she surfaces from deep sleep and feels her husband’s growing need.

  Oliver freezes. He feels so far removed from this life. He turns away and, after what seems like hours, falls into a fitful sleep where he is visited by Cara’s golden light, Deanna’s cool strength and Sylvie’s dark energy.

  *

  It’s mid-morning when Oliver eventually comes to. The bed beside him is empty; the sheets cold. He feels exhausted and a raging headache instantly takes hold. Light floods in through a gap in the curtains but he just wants to block out the day. As the ‘grey mist’ claims its victim once again, Oliver acknowledges his old adversary.

  ‘So where have you been these past few days?’ he growls.

  Suddenly his eyes fly open, recalling the previous evening’s unwanted discovery.

  Shit! Sylvie!

  He’s got to deal with her… and the sooner, the better.

  He will call her, but before he does he will go for a run. He can’t afford to be anything less than ‘on the ball’ and, maybe, fresh air will clear his headache. Oliver throws back the covers and quickly gets dressed.

  Pausing at the top of the stairs he listens for a moment, the sounds of family giving him some sense of belonging. He descends the stairs and stops at the open door to the TV room. His youngest sons are engrossed in the latest Xbox game. Fiercely competitive, Sebastian sits forward, completely absorbed.

  ‘Hello, boys,’ says Oliver.

  Jamie looks up and smiles.

  ‘Hi, Dad,’ says Sebastian, allowing Oliver’s presence to draw him away from the action for a nanosecond.

  ‘How long are you here?’ asks Jamie.

  ‘Three days.’

  ‘Will you come cycling with me?’

  ‘Sure,’ agrees Oliver.

  ‘Oh, come on, Jamie, concentrate!’ Sebastian’s irritated voice cuts into their conversation. Pulling a wry face, Jamie returns to the battle.

  ‘Hi, Dad. Good to see you.’ His eldest son stands in the kitchen doorway, a half-eaten slice of toast in his hand.

  ‘Hi, Charlie. What are you up to today?’

  ‘Off to Nathan’s and I’m late. Said I’d meet him at ten thirty.’

  Oliver’s eyes follow his son as he walks down the hallway. The lad is almost as tall as he is and each day he matures that little bit more. Suddenly, a vision of life at home without Samantha and Charlie hits Oliver squarely between the eyes, leaving him feeling even more adrift. He enters the kitchen.

  ‘Hi, Sammy.’ He kisses his daughter affectionately on the cheek.

  ‘Hi, Dad.’ Her lips brush his cheek in return but, immediately, she returns to her magazine.

  ‘I’ve put a wash on for you, Ollie,’ says Deanna, appearing at the utility-room door. ‘Do you want a cooked breakfast?’

  ‘No, just toast. Thought I’d go for a run.’ He pops two slices of bread into the toaster.

  ‘Dad, will you persuade Mum for me?’ asks Samantha.

  ‘Persuade Mum of what?’ Oliver glances at his daughter. She is so like a young Deanna and his heart swells with love and pride.

  ‘Oh, Sammy is being ridiculous,’ says Deanna in a no-nonsense voice. ‘She thinks she wants a tattoo!’

  ‘I don’t think I want one, I know I want one!’ Samantha says indignantly. ‘All the girls at school are having them. What do you think, Dad?’

  ‘There’s no point asking him,’ says Deanna dismissively. ‘You know he lets you do whatever you want.’

  Samantha smiles sweetly at Oliver.

  ‘Not anything, Deanna,’ Oliver says, bristling. ‘There has to be a valid reason for Sammy’s actions.’ He turns his attention to his daughter. ‘Where do you want one? Not your tummy, I hope. Think how it will stretch when you’re pregnant.’

  ‘Da-ad!’ Samantha exclaims, embarrassed.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re even humouring her. It’s simply not going to happen,’ Deanna says with finality.

  Samantha groans.

  Oliver stares at his wife. Whatever happened to open discussion? Ignoring Deanna, he asks again, ‘Where, Sammy?’

  Samantha studies Oliver thoughtfully. ‘Well, Rosie’s got one at the top of her back
, which looks really cool.’

  ‘Not cool when you’re wearing a low-backed evening dress,’ comments Deanna.

  ‘And when am I ever likely to wear one of those?’ snaps Samantha.

  ‘Maybe not often now,’ Oliver says gently, ‘but in a year or two I’m sure you will have every reason to. Then, you might curse the day you had it done. Why not consider somewhere less obvious?’

  ‘Oliver, don’t encourage her.’ Deanna’s reprimanding voice rings out strong and clear.

  Startled, Samantha looks at her parents. Closing the magazine, she gets up from the table and says, ‘I think I’ll give it a bit more thought.’ Quickly she makes her exit.

  Oliver and Deanna stare at each other, neither saying a word. The air crackles with tension and both jump as the toaster pops.

  ‘Don’t encourage her,’ Deanna says, turning away to stack the dishwasher.

  Oliver is rankled. It’s as if he’s viewing everything through different eyes today. ‘You can’t tell a seventeen-year-old not to do something and simply expect her to comply,’ he says, extracting butter from the fridge.

  ‘Do you think I don’t know that?’

  ‘Well, obviously not, judging by your handling of the situation.’

  Deanna straightens up. ‘Oliver, I have been handling the situation for years for all your children while you’ve been away playing at life.’

  Oliver puts down the butter knife and stares at his wife’s back. ‘Is that what you think I do, Deanna?’ he says, his voice dangerously low. ‘Play at life?’

  Hearing his tone, Deanna turns towards him and her heart stalls. ‘Well, not exactly play…’

  ‘Please enlighten me. What exactly do you think it is I do for you and this family?’

  ‘Oh, Ollie, I know what you do for our family,’ she says. ‘It’s just… at times I feel it’s only me bringing up the children.’

  Controlling his anger, Oliver considers his wife’s words. She is so independent. Most of the time she treats him as merely an extension of those children he has given her, so, yes, she probably doesn’t see him as sharing the responsibility. And then he thinks of Cara bringing up her children single-handedly not through choice, and his anger spills over. How dare Deanna complain about bringing up a family on her own? His commitment to his children is total. He has supported them all – including her – from the start.

  ‘Deanna, have you any idea how many times I’ve not wanted to be away from you all?’ Oliver seethes with anger but keeps his voice steady. ‘However, in order to keep this family going to your exacting standards I have had to earn a certain level of money, which has entailed, as you well know, work that takes me away.’

  Deanna blinks rapidly. Her exacting standards?

  ‘Well, do you?’ Oliver demands.

  Deanna falters, witnessing a side to her husband she has rarely seen, and then only on screen.

  ‘Ollie, of course I do. It’s just sometimes I feel the weight of responsibility.’

  ‘And you think I don’t?’ He’s not going to let it go that easily.

  ‘Well, you can escape into acting,’ she says, flinching at the emotion that passes across his face. Digging deep, she finds the iron will that always carries her through and has never failed her yet. In a strong, clear voice she says, ‘I don’t have the luxury of dipping in and out of family life.’

  Oliver glares at his wife, the silence weighing heavily between them. In a couple of sentences she has diminished his career to some escapist dream, suggested his responsibility as a parent is lacking and his time away from the family something over which he has a choice.

  ‘Is this what you’ve always thought or is this something that has just occurred to you?’ His voice is as cold as ice.

  Deanna catches her breath as a frisson of fear courses through her body. Turning away, she looks out over the lawns and down to the lake. There’s that flash again. What is it?

  ‘Deanna, do not turn away from me.’ Oliver’s angry voice makes her turn back and the look on his face shocks her to the core. ‘This is something we need to talk about.’

  This is an Oliver she does not know. How should she handle this man?

  ‘Ollie, I just find it overwhelming at times,’ she says, hitting just the right vulnerable tone.

  Despite his anger, Oliver’s resolve weakens. It must be hard at times and what she says is true. Because of his career, he has been absent on many occasions during their marriage.

  Deanna watches the hard set of her husband’s jaw soften and lets out a silent breath. That was tricky. Now all she has to do is cement the slight advantage she has. Conscious that she refused his advances last night, she takes a step towards Oliver and kisses him deeply.

  ‘You don’t have to go running just yet, do you?’ she says, looking up at him with big doe-eyes.

  Coolly, Oliver considers his attractive wife. He still has an urgent need to exorcise the intense emotions swirling around his body ever since first setting eyes on Cara, and it wouldn’t hurt to remind Deanna just how good her situation is.

  ‘No, Deanna, I don’t.’

  *

  One hour later, Oliver swings his legs out of bed for the second time that morning. He’s still smarting from Deanna’s accusations; nevertheless, the sex has gone some way to exonerate the deep hurt her words have inflicted. And that torturous itch has been scratched.

  Deanna props herself on her elbows and watches her husband walk naked to the en-suite. He looks mighty fine and she cannot believe the lovemaking that has just taken place. It hasn’t been this good for a while. In fact, it stirred memories of the incredible excitement they experienced when first together. She feels dazed and stunningly replete, and a satisfied smile settles on her lips. She knows her words angered him but maybe, in some perverse way, those very words aroused in him the drama that Oliver finds so lacking in his day-to-day existence. Rolling onto her back, Deanna stretches contentedly and presses her thighs together. She can still feel him there. Uncharacteristically, she does not immediately focus on her rigorous daily schedule but, instead, thinks back over their years together.

  Her husband is a complex man. She doesn’t fully understand him, but she has lived with him long enough to recognise his demons. At first, during the early days of their relationship, when Oliver could no longer hide his black moods from her, she was bewildered and believed it to be something she had caused. It took her a while to recognise the role she would have to play but once she understood what was needed, as with all things she undertakes, Deanna became a master at it. Concentrating hard on perfecting her strength and independence, she conveniently and neatly packaged his days locked away with only his dark thoughts for company as the ‘grey mist’. When the children came along, as soon as they were old enough to understand, she explained their father’s depression was an additional and necessary element to his character that enabled him to be a successful actor, and not something for them to be unduly concerned about. And it was true. From the very start of his chosen profession Oliver was an exceptional actor, capable of plumbing depths of emotion that few actors could even contemplate. Deanna knows this is due, in no small part, to his subtle understanding of the human psyche. They ingrained into the children that the ‘grey mist’ was a family secret; one to be kept hidden from their friends and the wider world.

  Where the press were concerned, his mental instability proved tricky when they started clamouring for more information about Oliver Foxley, the rising star. She remembers an occasion when he appeared in that controversial West End musical and first came to the critics’ attention. The press soon discovered where they lived and they were hounded by photographers outside their flat for days on end. She had to pretend that Oliver wasn’t there while he remained hidden in the spare room. Getting him to and from the theatre was a feat of precision engineering! Eventually, the paparazzi gave up and lost interest in that particular story.

  Over the intervening years they faced a number of obstacles t
hat could have been their undoing but, working together, they pulled it off, discovering successful strategies by which to present their lives in an acceptable way to Oliver’s adoring fans. She smiles smugly, knowing they managed to fool the press, too. Not one reporter is aware of Oliver’s mental health struggles. However, the toll on her husband is extreme. Exhausted from the energy necessary to maintain a happy and professional façade in public, he continues to retreat from the world for days at a time. Deanna prides herself on her inner strength, knowing that if she were made of lesser stuff she would not have been able to cope.

  Emerging from the en-suite, Oliver is surprised to find Deanna still lying on the bed. Post-sex, her hair is dishevelled and there’s a wanton look on her face. He hasn’t seen her looking this relaxed for a long time, in fact, not since the very first heady days of their relationship. Meeting her gaze, he smiles slowly, his eyes trailing over her body, taking in the small but perfectly formed breasts, her flat stomach and long, elegant legs. He walks to the bed and kisses his wife hard on the mouth. Immediately she responds.

  ‘Deanna, I am going for that run,’ Oliver says, resisting.

  ‘Maybe later, then?’ she suggests, her eyes full of promise.

  He laughs softly. ‘Yes, later.’ Tenderly, he cups her face in his hand. ‘You know, wife, you are one attractive woman.’

  ‘And you, husband,’ she says, without missing a beat, ‘are one fine specimen of a man.’

  He dresses quickly and walks to the door. Glancing back, Oliver briefly considers abandoning his run to spend more time with this unusually accommodating version of his wife. Then he remembers Sylvie.

  ‘Hold that thought,’ he says, exiting the room.

  As he passes Samantha’s closed door he hears his daughter chatting on her mobile. When he reaches the TV room Sebastian and Jamie are still in combat, but this time both boys are so engrossed in the game that neither looks up as he walks by. Oliver enters his study. Pulling open the top drawer of the desk, he extracts his mobile phone and National Trust card, and then slips out of the French doors onto the stone terrace. He breathes in deeply. It’s different air here. Suddenly he longs to smell the sea. Oliver squints up at the sky. Thick cloud cover, but a weak sun is trying to break through. He glances across the manicured lawns down to the woods. It doesn’t feel the same, knowing Sylvie has been here. She could be lurking anywhere. Other than getting a guard dog, which Deanna won’t entertain, what else can he do to make his family less vulnerable? He could employ a security guard but Deanna would think that totally unnecessary and, anyway, it would only make her question why he was going to such lengths. No, he will just have to deal with Sylvie himself. Keep her sweet. Fingering the phone in his pocket, Oliver steps down onto the lawn. He will go to the tower. There’s good reception there.