by Kate Ryder
‘Not so good today.’ Greg doesn’t elaborate. Putting his wife’s illness to one side, he says, ‘I’ve had some encouraging news regarding your application.’
Eagerly, Cara sits forward.
‘I shouldn’t tell you this before the end of the pre-selection process, but three of the paintings we submitted have gained approval,’ Greg says.
Unable to mask her excitement, Cara’s eyes light up.
‘They are The Cove at Sunset, Porthcurno Early Morning and Lanyon Quoit at Night. However, there’s one in particular that stands out for the selectors. Can you guess which?’
Cara considers her paintings. She has no idea which one the selectors would have chosen but if she doesn’t come up with an answer, no doubt, Greg will again think her flaky.
‘Lanyon Quoit,’ she says, guessing wildly.
Greg shakes his head slowly.
‘Well, it’s fifty-fifty now! Either The Cove at Sunset or Porthcurno Early Morning,’ she says with some amusement.
Unable to resist playing with her, Greg prolongs the moment.
Oliver observes the man. Patronising fool!
‘The latter,’ Greg eventually says.
Cara breaks into a smile. She painted the beach at Porthcurno with an early morning pink light, the Logan Rock in the background appearing through a fine mist. It came together effortlessly.
‘As you know, there’s a hefty first prize of twenty thousand pounds,’ Greg says, ‘but visitors can vote for their own favourite quite independently of the judges. This means the prize winner could win an additional ten thousand pounds.’
Cara’s smile broadens. That would really make a difference. They could all have a long overdue holiday, her parents included.
Sitting beside her, Oliver feels her excitement. If anyone deserves to win, it’s Cara. But what is Greg’s agenda? What is he getting out of this?
There’s something about the man that is just too smooth and polished. Oliver doesn’t trust him an inch.
‘What do you think of that, Cara?’ Greg asks, aware of Oliver’s scrutiny.
‘Fantastic, if I can pull it off!’
‘If you are selected, I will return to the UK and guide you,’ Greg says importantly.
Oliver clenches his jaw.
A flurry of excitement at the door makes them all turn. Appearing in the doorway, Sky dumps his school bag on the floor and grins when he sees Oliver. ‘Have you come to tea?’
Oliver smiles at the lad. ‘Sadly no, I have a performance tonight.’ Crestfallen, Sky walks over to Barnaby. ‘But I’m sure I can stay for another hour.’
‘Yippee!’ Sky says, sitting on the floor beside his dog. He strokes Barnaby’s ears.
Bethany enters the room and glances shyly at Greg, offering him a small smile as she joins Oliver and Cara on the sofa. Sitting between them, she snuggles up to the actor.
Cara’s eyes widen in surprise. It’s unlike her daughter to be so forward! She is such a good barometer of people and she, too, obviously feels comfortable in his presence. Over the top of Bethany’s head, Cara smiles at Oliver.
As he glances down at the young girl, Oliver’s heart melts. This little family is becoming so precious to him. And then he thinks of his family in Surrey and immediately attempts to stem the strong emotions threatening to blindside him. What the hell is he doing playing at happy families in Cornwall? Yes, things are not so great with Deanna at the moment, but he made his bed many years ago.
Greg clears his throat. ‘Well, I must go.’ He rises from the armchair and Cara gets to her feet. ‘It’s been nice meeting you, Oliver.’
‘You too,’ responds Oliver, remaining seated.
‘Bye, children.’
Bethany compresses her lips into a smile.
Greg turns his attention to Sky. ‘Don’t forget our dog walk, young man.’
Sky grins. ‘I won’t. Barnaby likes Milo.’
Greg quickly follows Cara out of the bungalow. As soon as they are outside he catches hold of her elbow and turns her to face him. ‘Cara, how do you know Oliver Foxley?’
‘We met at Rick’s beach party,’ she says innocently. ‘Why?’
‘Are you two having an affair?’ Greg asks urgently.
‘Oh no, he’s just a friend.’ She laughs a little too loudly, unable to stem the blush.
‘I never thought I’d appreciate Marietta’s interest in that actor,’ says Greg with a tinge of bitterness, ‘but you do know that he and his wife are reported to have one of the strongest marriages in the business?’
‘He’s a friend, Greg,’ Cara says, looking him straight in the eye.
‘I’m just looking out for you, Cara, that’s all. I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.’
Through the bay window Oliver observes Greg talking to Cara. She seems ill at ease and he wonders what’s being said. He frowns as the American leans forward and kisses Cara lightly on the mouth.
How very familiar!
‘He’s always doing that,’ comments Bethany quietly beside him.
At once Oliver is on red alert. What is it about Greg that puts him on edge? The man is obviously educated and has done well for himself, but there’s something unnaturally taut about him, as if his sophisticated manner is a well-polished act.
Maybe he’s just tense because of his wife’s illness?
Oliver’s frown deepens. Greg seems pleasant enough, if a little self-important, but there’s something about him that doesn’t quite stack up. And what game does he think he’s playing with Cara?
As Greg opens the driver’s door to the Marsdens’ hatchback, he notices Oliver watching. Nodding once, he makes sure the actor sees his small, satisfied smile before climbing into the car.
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘A burglar alarm I can live with but high fencing, electric gates, CCTV plus a security guard and that frightful dog…’ Deanna shudders. ‘You’ve imprisoned us in a gilded cage!’
Oliver gazes at the ocean, calm and serene; the antithesis of his wife’s current mood. Having pulled into a lay-by to answer his mobile, he now faces Deanna’s wrath. As the sun dips behind St Michael’s Mount, a stunning sunset bathes the bay in a blood-red glow.
If this were a painting it would be hard to accept as real.
Oliver’s mind wanders fondly to Cara but his wife’s sharp tone brings him back to the present.
‘What’s happened to make you do this?’
It’s a fair question, but he can’t give her the true answer. ‘The way the world is.’
‘No, Oliver, that’s not good enough. We’ve lived here perfectly happily for nearly eighteen years. It’s not you that has to live under lock and key. What have you done?’
‘Don’t be so dramatic, Dee.’
‘I am not being dramatic.’ Deanna seethes. ‘You are free to come and go as you please but we have to live here. Your celebrity has made us prisoners in our own home.’
‘My celebrity, Deanna, is what’s given you that home,’ he says evenly.
But Deanna is on a roll. ‘If you’ve done something to jeopardise the safety of my family I will never forgive you.’
‘Our family.’ Oliver’s voice is dangerously low.
‘Our family?’ Deanna screams, her customary coolness escaping her. ‘You’re never here! You’re always swanning around the globe and only coming home when you feel like it.’
Oliver holds the phone away from his ear. That old chestnut. Why does it always come back to her accusing him of not pulling his weight where the family is concerned? It’s below the belt, and she knows it. He can hear her breathing heavily, steadying her fury. Oliver remains silent and watches a fishing boat travelling across the mirror-like sea. A dozen seagulls follow in its wake.
So serene. Like a painting come to life. Again, his mind wanders to Cara.
‘Have you finished?’ he asks.
‘Aargh!’ Deanna shrieks. ‘You are so frustrating!’
‘Look, what’s a guard dog? You won’t h
ave to come into contact with it.’
‘That’s not the point. It’s what it represents. The psychological aspect, as you of all people should know.’
Oliver squeezes his eyes shut. For the first time in several weeks, the ‘grey mist’ engulfs him. Has she pushed him over the edge on purpose? When he speaks again it is little more than a growl. ‘Deanna, get used to it. The world has changed and we have to change with it if we are to remain safe.’
‘Oh, that’s just fine for you to say. You don’t have to live in jail!’
‘You knew what you were getting into when you married me. If you didn’t want the trappings and restrictions celebrity brings then you should have married someone out of the public eye.’
Hearing the underlying message, Deanna softens her voice. ‘But you have no idea what it’s like living this way. How I feel…’ She lets the sentence hang.
Oliver sighs. It’s been a couple of weeks since he was last in Surrey, going over the plans with the security firm. Perhaps he should return soon to assess if Deanna is being unreasonable. Though, with the threat of Sylvie hanging over them, what option does he have but to install extra security?
‘Dee,’ he says more gently. ‘I’ll come back for a couple of days next week and we’ll talk about it then.’
Deanna smiles. She still knows how to push his buttons. ‘The security guard and dog must go.’
‘They remain,’ Oliver says.
‘Oliver, they will go,’ she says defiantly.
‘Deanna, they will not.’
‘But you don’t have to live like this!’ Deanna feels like screaming. ‘Oh, don’t bother coming back. There’s no point you being here anyway. You only get in the way.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t want to do that,’ he says sarcastically.
Once again, Oliver feels his role within the family is inconsequential. She’s got his children and that’s all Deanna is interested in. Perfectly independent.
‘Anyway, Sammy’s going to Rosie’s parents’ villa for the summer and I’m taking the boys to Ma and Pa’s for a few weeks.’
‘When did you decide this?’ Oliver asks.
‘Oh, Sammy was asked months back,’ Deanna says airily.
Oliver frowns. Why hasn’t Deanna discussed it with him? Obviously, his daughter is of an age when she can make up her own mind but it would have been nice to be included in the family’s plans.
‘And I decided to decamp to Norfolk the day the security guard arrived.’ Unflinchingly, Deanna delivers this last piece of news.
Oliver grits his teeth. She certainly knows how to pack a punch. He watches a car pass by on the lonely road.
‘It will be good for the boys to spend time with their grandparents,’ he says, ‘but your reasons for visiting, Deanna, are totally ridiculous.’
‘How would you possibly know? As I’ve said before, you come and go as you please. It’s us who are forced to live with the consequences of your actions and decisions.’ Deanna feels her trademark strength and full mastery return. ‘Frankly, I’m sick of it, Oliver. Don’t come back any time soon until you’ve thought about that.’
‘If that’s what you want.’
There’s an edge to his voice and Deanna hesitates, experiencing a tremor of foreboding. She is on the verge of softening him up again when Oliver disconnects.
*
Sylvie can’t believe her luck. Having taken a couple of days off work to make a long weekend, she is on her way to the farmhouse to check Oliver’s whereabouts when she passes him parked in a lay-by, speaking on his mobile. She stops in a farmer’s gateway nearby and waits. Ten minutes later Oliver drives by. Dipping her head, Sylvie surreptitiously watches as the Mercedes disappears round the bend before pulling out into the road, ensuring enough distance between the two cars not to draw attention. She’s getting good at this.
*
Oliver’s mood is black. Not only does his wife know how to bury the knife up to the hilt but also to twist it… slowly. As he grapples with his old adversary once more, his anger turns inwards. How disappointed he is in himself. He thought he had mastered his depression, but that was just an egotistical illusion. The ‘grey mist’ – conspicuous by its absence for most of the time he’s been in Cornwall – is here again, in all its forceful glory.
Does he want to go to the gig tonight? He could simply return to the farmhouse; no one will be around. Rick and Tania are running the event and Tas will be there enjoying himself. He could ride out the storm without bothering anybody. But Oliver doesn’t want to be on his own this evening. As dusk descends, he drives straight past the turning to the farmhouse. Aware of headlights following, he thinks nothing of it. Cars on the coast road only have a limited number of destinations. Indicating right, he takes the lane leading to the cove.
Oliver parks the Mercedes and gets out. Apart from the sound of breaking waves some distance away and the gentle strum of guitars, all is quiet. Breathing in the sea air, he attempts to lighten his sombre mood. He glances along the track and the light from The Lookout blinks like a beacon. How he’d love to be going there right now, but he doesn’t want Cara to experience his vile mood. And, anyway, he can’t just turn up like that. There has to be a reason. Oliver walks towards Rick’s Beach Hut, the ‘grey mist’ hanging heavily upon him.
Sylvie holds back and stops on the bend. She plunges the car into darkness and waits until Oliver enters the café before switching on the headlights again. Parking as far away from the Mercedes as possible, she considers her options. Excited at being so close, she’s also frustrated she can’t get nearer, but coming across him so unexpectedly must surely be a sign! This is her chance to meet him again, and who knows where that may lead?
Switching on the internal light, Sylvie pulls out a scarf from the glove compartment. Tying it around her head Bohemian-style, she pinches her cheeks to bring some colour to her pale face. It’s a shame her make-up bag is at the B&B, however, she does have a plum-coloured lipstick in her handbag. Applying it carefully, she rolls her lips together and pouts at her image in the mirror.
‘Not bad.’
Sylvie flicks off the light and gets out of the car. All is quiet, apart from the sound of the ocean and muffled laughter coming from the café. It’s dark, except for the lights shining from some of the properties along the cliff. Suddenly, headlights appear on the road behind her and, instinctively, she cowers back into the shadows. A car pulls into the car park and she turns away, pretending to search for something in her bag. Two guys get out and walk to the entrance. As they enter, Sylvie hears a party in full swing. When the door closes again, all is quiet.
What if it’s a private party?
Desperation drives her on. As she nears the café, she sees a notice pinned to the door.
Celtic Folk Rock
with
The Corringtons
7p.m. until Late
Come on in!
It’s an open invitation. Seeing this as yet another sign, Sylvie slips in unnoticed and stands at the back of the café. It’s crowded and there’s a buzz of excitement in the air. She scans the room. No sign of Oliver. She heads towards the bar and instantly recognises the tall blonde serving at the far end. It’s the bitch who so openly flaunted herself with her lover. Sylvie’s eyes narrow to slits.
‘What would you like?’ A man’s voice shakes her out of her dark thoughts.
‘Cider.’ She says the first thing that comes into her head.
‘Which one? We’ve got Bulmers, Strongbow and Cornish Rattler.’
‘Cornish Rattler,’ she says, liking the sound of the name.
‘Good choice. Guaranteed to tickle your taste buds.’ The barman smiles at her and then turns away.
Sylvie glances around again. Oliver is still nowhere to be seen.
‘Here you go.’ Placing a glass on the counter in front of her, the man yells along the bar, ‘Hey, Tan, we’re almost out of the Rattler Pear!’
Paying for her drink, Sylvie turns away. O
liver must be in another part of the café. Pushing her way through the crowd, she spots him standing at the side of the decking talking to the driver of the big black Jeep. She hangs back.
‘You all right, Ollie? You seem distracted,’ Tas asks.
Oliver takes a swig of beer. ‘It’s Deanna. She’s not happy.’
‘What, you being so far away?’
‘No, that doesn’t upset her,’ Oliver says with a hollow laugh. ‘She’s unhappy about the new security measures.’
‘She’d be a lot unhappier if some rabid fan got in and ran amok around the place,’ Tas says.
‘Yeah, well, I didn’t go into specifics. Just said it was precautionary. Anyway, she’s well pissed off and is decamping the family to her parents’ for the summer.’
‘Possibly a good move?’ suggests Tas.
‘Maybe…’
Changing the subject, Tas says, ‘Think we’re in for a treat tonight.’ He nods towards the three musicians standing under the sailcloth at the far end of the decking.
Tristan stops strumming his guitar. Unhappy with the sound, he tightens a couple of strings and, cocking his head, strums again. He nods. ‘Welcome to this intimate little gathering,’ he says into the microphone and an expectant hush descends. ‘Let’s get the evening started and make some sweet music.’
Looking towards his sister, he counts them in, and then they’re away into the first song of the set.
Morwenna lightly grasps the microphone and closes her eyes, acutely aware of Tas standing only a few rows away. She’s seen him a few times since the beach party but, deep down, she knows he’ll be moving on once the play comes to a close. And that’s OK, she tells herself. His character is overpowering and it’s difficult not to be intimidated by his knowledge and worldliness. Taking a deep breath, she starts to sing. Her voice is rich and full-bodied; her nerves have not let her down. Daring to open her eyes, she sees Tas smiling broadly at her.
‘See what I mean?’ Tas says, turning to Oliver. ‘They’ve definitely got something. That Morwenna has a fabulous voice, every bit as clear and pure as Andrea Corr’s.’
Oliver agrees. The Corringtons make a good sound. He tries to let the music soothe his troubled soul but Deanna has deeply rattled him and his mood is hard to shift. He glances around. Will Cara come to support her friends?
