by Kate Ryder
The tide is out, allowing him access to a further stretch of sand usually cut off by the sea. Here, the cliffs tower high above a natural and wild cove with no human habitation in sight. At the far end is Cara. Oblivious to his presence, she walks with head bent, her white jeans rolled up to her knees. Occasionally she stoops to pick up a shell or some other object of interest and Oliver’s heart swells. He loves that she should still finds things of interest, even though she’s lived here for years and has probably beachcombed every inch. Her blonde hair glistens in the sunlight and he is simply dazzled by her.
A beautiful, guardian angel of silver and gold.
The thought surprises him but, as he watches, Cara’s radiance intensifies as if, indeed, she is an angel come to earth. He knows their night of passion was born of the deepest love and the highest faith, for he felt her within; soul-bound complete, entwined forever in pure serenity…
How poetic and so early in the morning too!
The discordant screech of a gull from high on the cliffs makes Cara look up. Catching sight of Oliver, she waves. It was one hell of a night! She left him sleeping, needing time alone to assimilate all that occurred. He looks different this morning, she thinks. Still devastatingly good-looking, of course, but there’s an additional element to his countenance. What is it? She smiles as the answer comes to her. He looks free.
‘Fancy a swim?’ she calls along the lonely beach.
‘What, now?’
‘No time like the present,’ she says with a laugh.
Unzipping her jeans, she steps out of them and then peels off her T-shirt. Lastly, she removes her knickers. Vulnerable and naked, Cara glances at Oliver, but there’s nothing vulnerable about the look she gives him. It’s the same one from his dream, promising him the world. Turning, she runs into the sea. As she dives beneath the waves, her neat buttocks rise briefly out of the water enticing him in. Oliver’s breath hitches in his throat. Surfacing a few yards further out, Cara shakes her long wet hair out of her face and turns to face him. With the sun behind her, she rises out of the ocean and, with arms outstretched, raises her hands high above her head, the water cascading through her open fingers giving the impression of wings.
Indeed! A beautiful, guardian angel of silver and gold.
‘Come on in, Oliver,’ she says, a smile lighting her face. ‘It’s as warm as a bath.’
Oliver glances up at the cliffs and along the beach. This would be a prime opportunity for unsolicited photographs to end up in the papers. Unbuttoning his shirt, he takes it off and places it on the sand. Then, checking the beach and cliff top again, he removes his jeans. Oliver stands naked on the sand.
Even though she’s just spent the most glorious night with this man, Cara breathes in sharply. He’s in great shape: no spare flesh; muscles well defined; and there’s an outline of a six-pack. She savours his physique.
Oliver walks towards the sea, the wet sand oozing between his toes. It’s a glorious feeling to be unfettered by any trappings. Entering the water, he winces and sees her playful grin.
‘Just you wait ’til I get you,’ he threatens with a smile.
Cara lets out a little shriek, at the same time giving him a wide-eyed look.
He wades in deeper. The cold water chills his skin as it works its way up his legs. Suddenly he dives beneath the waves and, resurfacing in a sea of bubbles, sets off towards her in an overarm crawl, his muscles glistening as he powers through the sea. Soon, he is beside her.
‘Nothing like a bracing swim to start the day,’ she says casually.
‘Warm bath, you said!’ Oliver gives her a mock stern look.
‘Well, to a cold-blooded creature it probably is,’ she says mischievously, ‘though you proved last night to be anything but…’
Reaching out, Oliver pulls Cara through the water towards him. Gently, he lifts her out of the sea. He watches, mesmerised, as the water runs in rivulets from her shoulders across her soft, rounded breasts, teasing her nipples erect. He has never seen anyone so exquisite and he cannot speak. He doesn’t need to; the look in his eyes says it all. Despite the cold, he feels himself stir.
Putting her arms around his neck, Cara wraps her legs round his waist. Feeling safe in his arms, so strong and powerful, she allows herself to believe that, together, they can face the world.
Oliver braces himself against the rhythmic swell of the sea. Cupping her buttocks in the palms of his hands, he draws her into a loving kiss. As their passion grows, any concern about water temperature is soon forgotten.
Pulling back briefly, Oliver gazes at Cara, spellbound. In a voice he hardly recognises as his own, he whispers, ‘Cara, you have saved me. You are my one, my all.’
*
High on the cliff, amongst the heather and wildflowers, Sylvie grinds her teeth together in fury.
‘Bastard! You are mine.’
She holds the camera steady and, focusing on Oliver’s face, takes the photograph. She has never seen him look so passionate or enraptured, not in any of the numerous love scenes she’s examined time and again. She thought she knew his complete range of emotions, but this is something new. She scowls and clicks away. Then she zooms in on Cara’s face. She wants to hate her but there’s something about this woman that confuses her. It’s as if Cara pours oil onto Sylvie’s troubled waters, easing and soothing away her pain. Lying low on the cliff, careful not to be seen, Sylvie is transfixed by the luminous glow that surrounds the couple. She watches them making love in the sea, oblivious to anything but each other, and quickly lowers her head when they finally emerge from the water. As Oliver glances up at the cliff top again Sylvie ducks, then watches as they gather their clothes and walk hand in hand, naked, along the beach.
Rising to her knees, Sylvie keeps her finger on the shutter button until Oliver and Cara disappear around the rocky promontory into the main cove. Only then does she howl into the wind, her misery and sadness becoming unbearable. She remembers her excitement at finding herself in his presence on Holy Isle. But last weekend he was so cruel, telling her he didn’t love her and never had, although she knows that’s a lie – he loved her in Scotland. If it weren’t for this woman turning his head he would love her again. Beyond frustration, Sylvie raises the camera high above her head, ready to smash it against a rock. She hesitates. Slowly, a look of pure maliciousness replaces the one of despair. If she can’t be with him then neither will this golden woman. She will see to that.
*
Approaching the rocky outcrop, Oliver glances cautiously along the empty beach of the main cove and hears Cara’s carefree, light-hearted laugh.
‘Can’t help it,’ he says, holding his clothes in front of him to afford some dignity. ‘You never know who may be snooping.’
She considers the constraints of his life, so different from her own. ‘It’s so early, Oliver. I doubt there will be anyone on the beach for at least an hour.’
She turns and smiles up at him. It’s only then he notices the small but vibrantly coloured hummingbird tattoo on her left ankle.
‘Cara, you are full of surprises,’ he says in wonder.
She glances down. ‘Oh, that. One wild summer when I was sixteen. Seemed a good idea at the time. I still like it, though.’
Oliver nods. He loves it.
‘What time do you have to go?’ she asks.
‘I can stay until three.’
‘That gives us around seven hours,’ says Cara, doing a quick calculation. ‘What would you like to do?’
Oliver gazes at the golden girl with the hummingbird tattoo walking naked beside him, at ease in her own skin and making no attempt to cover her beautiful body.
‘That’s easy,’ he says without hesitation. ‘You!’
Chapter Thirty
Deanna stares out of the windscreen. She can’t put her finger on it but her conversation with Oliver the previous evening has left her feeling out of sorts. Her husband sounded distracted, as if on autopilot.
‘Postie’s here,
’ calls Sebastian from the back seat.
‘Hmm?’
‘The postman, Mum!’
Deanna looks towards the electric gates. On the other side – in the real world – the postman climbs out of his van.
‘Go and intercept him before he puts the post in the box, Seb.’
Her son opens the car door. Yelling instructions at the postman, he sets off at a run up the gravelled drive.
Nothing shy and retiring about that one, thinks Deanna. She glances in the rear-view mirror. Where is Charlie? He knows she wants to get away early to miss the traffic. She catches sight of Jamie watching his brother out of the window.
‘Are you looking forward to seeing Granny and Grumps?’
Jamie nods and meets his mother’s gaze in the mirror. He’s so quiet, her youngest. She never really knows what he’s thinking. He looks pale and she wonders if he’s going down with something.
‘Are you OK, Jamie?’
‘Yes, but…’ The boy purses his lips and looks away.
‘But what?’ she asks softly.
‘I miss Dad,’ he mumbles. ‘I wish he was here.’
‘I wish your dad was here too,’ Deanna says, colouring slightly as she remembers telling him not to come back as he would only be in the way. Nagging disquiet gnaws at her. Turning in her seat, she reassures her son. ‘Now that we’re spending August in Norfolk the time will fly by and your dad will be home again before you know it. You can phone him once we arrive, if you like.’
Through the rear window she sees Charlie carrying a huge suitcase out of the house. Deanna smiles at Jamie and gets out of the car. ‘What have you got in there?’ she asks, walking towards her eldest son. ‘We’re only away for a month.’
‘Just covering all eventualities,’ Charlie says, smiling engagingly.
‘Well, put it in the boot. You know I’m keen to miss the traffic.’
She continues to the house and punches in the burglar-alarm code, although she doubts it will be necessary with all the security. Closing the front door behind her, she walks back to the car just as Sebastian skids to a halt in a flurry of gravel, armed with the post.
‘Sebastian, don’t do that! It makes such a mess.’ Giving her son a stern look, Deanna stomps on the skid marks. The boy shrugs and climbs in the car next to Jamie.
‘OK, we’d better get going if we’re to make Fakenham in time for lunch,’ Deanna says, getting in the car. ‘You know what the Dartford Tunnel can be like.’
Charlie closes the boot and climbs in the passenger seat.
From his seat in the back, Sebastian waves the post at his mother through the gap between the front seats.
‘Put it in the glove compartment, Charlie,’ Deanna instructs. ‘I’ll look at it once we’ve arrived. Everyone strapped in?’
She drives the Range Rover towards the opening gates. Braking at the entrance, Deanna checks the track before sweeping out of the drive. The electric gates close smoothly behind her. At last, she’s escaped the gilded prison Oliver has created.
Looking quietly out of the window, Jamie is the only one who notices the dark blue car with his initials on its number plate parked at the entrance to the National Trust car park. He hasn’t seen it for several weeks and wonders where it’s been.
*
Mission accomplished! Sylvie congratulates herself.
Arriving at the start of the week with package in hand, she expected to hand-deliver it to that smug wife of Oliver’s, only to find that a pair of tall gates now prevented her from accessing his property. She walked the fence line looking for a place to enter, but the newly erected fence is impenetrable. When the Doberman picked up her scent and started barking at her from the far perimeter of Oliver’s grounds, she was fearful, but the guard held onto the dog. Thwarted, she scurried back to her car and resorted to Plan B, posting the package that same afternoon.
She arrived early this morning, parked the car and waited. Keeping her binoculars trained on the electric gates, Sylvie observed the postman arrive and pass a bundle of envelopes to a boy, her package included. As she watched the boy run back to the Range Rover, mounting excitement consumed her. Now that self-satisfied cow will get her comeuppance! A malicious smile cracked her face but it was soon wiped off when Deanna ignored the post. Instead, the tall lad sitting in the passenger seat took it from the boy and stowed it away in the glove compartment.
No! She wanted to witness Deanna’s reaction.
Nevertheless, as the Range Rover sweeps out of the drive, Sylvie hugs herself with glee. Her package was successfully delivered. Even though she won’t have the satisfaction of seeing the look of shock on Deanna’s face when she opens the envelope, Sylvie knows it won’t be long before all hell breaks loose. All she has to do now is return to Cornwall and keep watch. She can hardly wait for the fallout. Raising the binoculars one final time, Sylvie scans the grounds and sees the guard walking the fence line with his dog. It’s odd that Oliver’s property is so inaccessible. She used to be able to nip through the post-and-rail fencing, but now there’s a high, welded mesh fence surrounding the estate. She frowns. Has he done this on her account? She breaks into contemptuous laughter. Serves him right. If he’s not going to play ball, then she’s going to make his life as uncomfortable as possible.
Chapter Thirty-One
It’s another glorious August day and the sun rides high in a cloudless sky. Porthleven bustles with tourists and the restaurants are packed. Carol loves days like this and she should be full of joy, but her thoughts weigh heavily upon her. She must choose her words very carefully. The door to The Art Shack is open and she sees Cara at the till talking to a young couple. As she enters the gallery, Carol smiles at her daughter and waits for the couple to leave before shutting the door and turning the sign to ‘closed’.
‘Mum, what are you doing?’ asks Cara.
‘I want to have a quiet word with you, my darling girl,’ Carol says. With hammering heart, she approaches her daughter.
Cara frowns.
‘Would you like coffee?’ Carol asks, stalling for time. She walks round to the back of the counter.
‘Mum, stop procrastinating. Whatever ‘quiet word’ you are planning to have you might as well start now.’
Carol pulls up a stool and takes Cara’s hands in hers. Where on earth does she start?
‘Mum, what’s wrong? You’re worrying me. Is it Dad?’
‘No, it’s not your father.’ Carol takes a deep breath. ‘It’s you, Cara. We are worried about you.’
Cara laughs, the tension releasing. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m just fine.’
Carol scrutinises her daughter. It’s true, she looks positively blooming. That’s the problem.
‘Cara, please listen to your mother for a moment. You know your father and I want only the very best for you. We want to see you happy again.’
‘I am,’ Cara says.
‘I know, darling.’ Carol hesitates. ‘But it’s the source of your happiness that worries us.’ She watches myriad emotions sweep across her daughter’s face.
Swiftly, Cara extracts her hands and climbs off the stool. Walking away, she gathers her thoughts before turning to face her mother. ‘Oliver means the world to me.’
Carol nods. ‘I can understand that but, darling, he’s not available.’
Cara studies her mother. Is this going to be a lecture on right and wrong? No one can dictate to her on that! The day Christo died, right and wrong died too. She knows from bitter experience that life is fleeting and if anything wonderful, exquisite and out of the ordinary comes along it should be grabbed with both hands. There’s no grand prize for being good or strong, or loyal or loving. Life is just what it is.
‘Mum, please don’t think badly of me. It’s not as simple as that. It’s not that black and white.’
‘Oh, Cara, I’m not judging you. You are an adult and can make up your own mind. You’ve faced more heartbreak than most and I know you won’t take things on lightly. I’m just c
oncerned you run the risk of having your heart broken again.’
Cara considers her mother’s words. Yes, she has fallen for Oliver big time, but he’s fallen for her too – hook, line and sinker. Neither of them knows what the future may hold but, for this moment in time, they are happy. Besides, to live in the moment is how she survives.
Cara walks over to her mother and hugs her. ‘When Christo died, something died in me too,’ she says softly. ‘I didn’t ever believe I’d find it again.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘But life continued, though it was a poorer version of the life that went before. I seemed to be forever waiting for that something to return. Only it didn’t.’
Carol bites her lip. Cara has always seemed so resilient and has never expressed her thoughts since that fateful day. She seems so far away… With heart fit to breaking, Carol waits patiently for her daughter to continue.
Cara glances around the gallery. It’s her space filled with her style and yet, many times over the past two years, she’s been merely the understudy standing in for the real Cara Penhaligon, currently unavailable. She turns back to Carol.
‘When I first met Oliver I had no expectations, but he kept coming back. As we spent time together we discovered our keys fitted each other’s locks and, at last, I feel safe enough to let my truest self step forward.’ Cara wonders if her mother will think she has lost the plot, but the look on Carol’s face encourages her to continue. ‘I can be completely and honestly who I am with Oliver and we love each other for who we are, not for who we pretend to be. I truly believe that each of us unveils the best part of the other.’
‘Cara,’ Carol whispers, ‘you are describing soul mates!’
Cara nods. ‘I believe I am. But I also know how cruel life can be and, so, I will not hold him to anything. I will let life take its own course and allow the connection be what it is. It may only last five weeks, five months or five years… or it may last a lifetime. Who knows? But I will let it manifest itself the way it is meant to. I know that our meeting is no chance encounter. This relationship has a destiny. If it stays or if it leaves, I am thankful for having been loved by him. And, anyway, life is too short to be anything but happy. Falling down is part of life. Getting back up is living.’
