Miranda's Mount

by Phillipa Ashley

  ‘Oh yes. I meant …’

  ‘Why am I bunking off?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘I decided to give the staff a break from me.’

  ‘Ah.’

  He smiled ruefully and Miranda almost forgave him for denying they’d almost made love. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and frowned against the sun. She thought of the picture of the serious little boy with his fishing net.

  ‘There’s a photo of you in your mother’s room that I think was taken down here.’

  He frowned as if he didn’t remember then nodded. ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘How old were you?’

  He shrugged. ‘Six or seven. I’m not sure, but it was a very hot summer, I do remember that. I spent most of it down here on the quayside or beach, rock pooling.’

  ‘With your father?’

  He shook his head. ‘God, no. He was far too busy running this place. We didn’t have a property manager then.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘My mother came down here with me when she could spare the time, but I’m afraid to say that I also had a nanny until I went to prep school.’

  Miranda tried not to laugh at the thought of a stern-faced nanny wiping the nose of a scrawny young Jago.

  ‘I knew you’d find that amusing.’

  ‘Not at all. I’m sure it’s perfectly proper for the sons of the aristocracy,’ she said with all the solemnity she could muster. ‘What was her name? Binky? Tiggy?’

  Jago treated her to a glare, which was strangely enjoyable. ‘Insolent wench. I’m sure I needed watching. Her name was Ursula, if you must know, but I’m afraid I called her Duckface behind her back. Don’t ask. She kept an eye on me and sometimes my mother let me have a few friends over from the village. I don’t think they were here with me that day. Maybe that’s why I look so fed up.’

  He looked sad then hopeful. Was he relieved that peace had broken out between them? She was surprised how happy that made her feel.

  ‘What are you reading?’ he asked, nodding at her book.

  ‘An historical novel.’

  ‘Of course. It’s your day off. You know, I think my presence in that office is a mixed blessing. Ronnie keeps giving me death looks and the two women in the admin centre seem terrified of me. They’re always making an excuse to go off together to the bathroom or to run errands. I feel as if I have the plague but there haven’t been any major disasters yet so you can get on with your book. I’ll go and make a nuisance of myself somewhere else.’

  ‘No, don’t do that!’ He looked surprised and she shrugged. ‘I mean don’t rush off on my account. This is your beach.’

  Her face grew warmer as his gaze slid over her from top to bottom. ‘In that case, are you going to offer to share your lunch? I’m starving.’

  She opened her sandwich box and held up a limp crust of bread. ‘Ham or cheese?’

  ‘What? No caviar or silver spoon? Never mind, either will do. I’m not fussy.’ Miranda handed over the sandwich.

  ‘Thanks. Shuffle up, then.’ There wasn’t really room but she shifted across the rocky surface towards a patch of barnacles. They ate in silence for a few minutes, Miranda keeping her eyes on the horizon. She could feel Jago next to her, his bare legs almost brushing hers. She knew the hair would tickle, she remembered that from the boat. Why had he pretended they hadn’t almost made love? She swallowed her last piece of crust down furiously, wondering whether to confront him again now they weren’t hungover and knackered.

  ‘Can we have a grown-up conversation?’ Jago asked.

  She wriggled on the rock uncomfortably. Was he now opening the door for them to talk about what had really happened? ‘Of course. What about?’

  ‘The sale. Unless there’s something else you think we should discuss.’

  ‘No … should there be?’

  ‘No reason that I can think of. We’ll confine the discussion to business.’

  ‘And leave pleasure out of it?’

  ‘Perhaps that would be best.’

  ‘I know we’ve talked about the sale before but please say you’re not serious about it?’ said Miranda.

  ‘I am serious and I am going to sell.’

  ‘But to them?’

  ‘Who else but Southcastle? How many people are in the market for a white elephant like this? How many have the finance and the business acumen?’

  ‘You could let a heritage charity manage it. I’ve thought about it. You don’t have to sell; you could lease it to them instead. That way you could still live here in the castle apartments and at least oversee how the place is run.’

  He smiled. ‘As ever, a compromise from the sensible Miranda.’

  ‘Don’t patronise me, please. I deserve better than that.’ And she hadn’t always been sensible, she could have added, recalling their drunken night in the boat. Sometimes she could be completely crazy.

  ‘Yes, you do. I’m sorry but I want a completely clean break with the place. Southcastle know what they’re doing, and precisely because they’re not emotionally attached to the Mount, they’ll keep it going, make a profit and safeguard the future for everyone here.’

  ‘Are you sure? Do you know how many of the staff will keep their jobs?’

  ‘As many as possible, if Southcastle are as savvy as I think. I’ll do my very best to make sure everyone’s safe but, once I’ve sold, it’s out of my hands.’

  ‘Are you sure you just don’t want the responsibility?’ She knew instantly that she’d touched a nerve so raw that the sharp pain flickered across his eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘No. You shouldn’t.’

  ‘I feel so passionate about this place that I don’t want you making the wrong decision and regretting it. Oh, I know you won’t believe me and you’ll only think I’m thinking of myself – my job and the cottage. But it’s not just me and it’s not just the other people who work here. It’s you. I could see you hated Southcastle and can’t bear the thought of handing over the Mount to them.’ She stopped.

  He wasn’t angry. His eyes were sad. ‘Miranda, I know your motives are pure but I’ve thought about this for a long time. Longer than you know.’ He reached out his hand, lightly resting it on her arm. Her skin tingled under the warmth of his touch. She wanted to kiss him again while she was sober and in her right mind and see if it felt as good as she remembered.

  Instinctively, she leaned forwards a little and instantly he responded. His mouth closed on hers and she pushed her tongue eagerly inside. She felt every movement of his tongue in her mouth, his hands tangling in her hair, tasted the salt on his lips. She opened her eyes for a second to see him, filling up her vision, his own eyes closed. Then she shut them again, knowing this was real, not a fantasy or a drunken mistake. Only this moment mattered, not the past or the future. Nothing could take this away.

  A seagull screamed overhead as Jago took her face in his hands and deepened his kiss. The gull cried again and, when she opened her eyes, Jago’s were open too. He dropped his hands from her face. ‘What’s that?’

  A scream seemed to tear the air, and it wasn’t a gull. Shouts came from the harbour side beyond the gate. Miranda’s heart plunged in disappointment that their kiss had been ended and also felt half relieved that it had stopped when it did. ‘It’s probably just teenagers messing about.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  Wanting anything but for him to leave, Miranda knew he was right. ‘I’ll have to go and see what the matter is.’

  Jago slid off the rock, splashing into the shallow rock pool. ‘No. I’ll go. You’re supposed to be off duty.’

  ‘I’m sure there’s no need. It will be a fuss over nothing.’

  The screams started again. Miranda scrambled to her feet as Jago climbed up onto the stone walkway that led to the gate. ‘It’s not nothing.’

  He ran towards the gate, Miranda right behind, her sandwiches and book abandoned. As she followed him through the gate she saw the crowd clustered at the far end of the h
arbour. People stared down at the water, pointing, and one woman screamed over and over again.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Braden! Someone please help my little boy!’

  Jago started running and Miranda raced after him, tripping on the cobbles in her flip-flops. Her stomach turned over and over and her legs felt like they would give way at any moment. An empty pushchair stood on the quayside. Someone had fallen into the harbour. A child.

  An elderly man started taking off his shoes but Jago laid a hand on his arm. ‘Wait, sir. What happened?’

  The man shook visibly. ‘A little boy climbed out of his pushchair and must have fallen into the harbour.’

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘A minute? I’m … not … not sure. I didn’t see what happened.’

  The mother grabbed Miranda’s arm, squeezing it so hard, her nails almost pierced the skin. ‘Do something, for God’s sake!’

  As Miranda comforted her, Jago peered into the water. ‘How deep is it?’

  ‘With the tide in like this, about five or six feet,’ said Miranda.

  ‘Anyone see him go under?’ he demanded, pulling off his T-shirt.

  The elderly man spoke. ‘No. One moment he was in the pushchair, the next he’d gone.’

  The mother let out a howl of pain and sank into the older man’s arms. Jago kicked off his shoes and sat on the edge of harbour. There was a splash as he slipped off the wall.

  ‘Anyone called an ambulance?’ shouted Miranda, scanning the shocked faces around her.

  A teenage boy handed her a phone. ‘Not yet. It all happened so fast.’

  Miranda snatched the phone from him. She had to stay calm but her fingers felt like sausages as she stabbed out 999. The controller answered straight away.

  ‘Yes. An ambulance, please, at the Mount.’ Her heart pounded harder as she gave the details to the emergency control. She couldn’t believe she was saying the words. ‘There’s a child in the water. He’s about two years old, I think. How long?’ She tried to estimate the time that had elapsed from gearing the screams to now. ‘A couple of minutes, I think …’ Yes, someone was trying to get him out. Yes, they were trained. No, there was no one else in danger. Yes, she’d stop anyone else from jumping in.

  She gave back the phone to the boy and dropped to her knees, scanning the shifting surface to try to spot Jago. The water was murky but she could see his pale body, twisting beneath the surface, merging with weed and mud. He was searching right under the quayside where the pushchair stood empty. Surely the boy couldn’t have drifted far? What if he was tangled in the weeds? What if he’d hit his head? What if he was already dead?

  Jago popped out of the water, mouth open, gasping for breath. And he had something in his arms. ‘Got him!’

  The mother broke free of the elderly man and screamed.

  ‘Come to the slipway!’ Jago called to Miranda.

  Jago towed the little boy towards the slippery stone ramp that led out of the water. Miranda raced to meet him as he waded out with the limp body in his arms. He seemed to stumble but then steadied himself and ran up the slipway. By now Reggie and Ronnie had arrived to help, ushering the gathering crowd back from the harbour wall.

  ‘What’s his name?’ he shouted, running along the quayside. The mother dashed forwards, sobbing. ‘Braden. Is he all right? He’s not moving! Do something. Do something!’ The mother let out a howl of anguish that brought bile to Miranda’s throat, but she knew she mustn’t throw up. It was her job to help, not fall to pieces. ‘Please, someone help Braden’s mum,’ she ordered. ‘Ronnie, we need some space here.’

  The teenager stripped off his sweatshirt and spread it on the quayside.

  Jago knelt down and carefully laid the child on the sweatshirt. The little boy’s straw-coloured hair stuck to his face. His eyes were closed, his body still as if he were fast asleep. But he wasn’t asleep, Miranda knew that. Not asleep.

  ‘Miranda? You can do CPR, can’t you?’

  She heard Jago’s voice and glanced at him, momentarily dumbfounded. It had been ages since her last first aid course and it had only gone through the basics, not a full-scale resuscitation. Even then, none of the staff had taken it seriously because none of them ever expected to use their so-called ‘skills’. An instructor with halitosis had shown them what to do in a local community centre on the hottest day of the previous summer. The dummy had had a Hitler moustache drawn on it with biro and they’d all been too busy stifling sniggers to concentrate. She’d never thought that one day knowing what to do could mean the difference between a tiny life continuing – or ending here on the cobblestones.

  Behind her, Braden’s mother was sobbing and begging them to do something. She heard Ronnie trying to soothe the mother and tell her it would be OK. Miranda wished Ronnie wouldn’t. It might not be OK, it probably wouldn’t be. The cobbles were hard under her bare knees. She had to get a grip.

  ‘What do I have to do?’ she asked Jago.

  ‘Kneel down here. Braden? Can you hear me?’

  Gently, Jago inserted a finger inside the boy’s mouth. ‘There’s something in here.’ He scooped out a small piece of weed, a grotesque green strand and threw it on the cobbles. Then he listened at the boy’s mouth. ‘You need to help me. He’ll have a better chance if we both do this,’ he said softly.

  ‘The ambulance …’ she whispered as the mother wailed above her.

  ‘The tide’s in and it’ll be too late before help gets here. It’s up to us.’ Jago leaned in close to Braden’s mouth. ‘He’s not breathing and his chest’s not rising. I’ll have to breathe for him while you do CPR. Do you know how?’

  ‘Think I can remember.’

  ‘Good.’

  Jago tilted Braden’s head back and lifted his tiny chin with two fingers. He closed his mouth around the boy’s and gave two breaths into his tiny mouth. Miranda watched the birdlike chest. It was still as stone.

  Jago blew into the mouth again but there was no response or movement, just gasps and sobbing from the crowd around him.

  ‘You’ll have to do chest compressions while I breathe for him. You know how?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. Miranda brought down the heel of her hand onto the Braden’s chest. Her palm felt like a giant’s. She would break him, surely? Her huge palm would crush the fragile ribcage? She pressed gently then brought her other hand on top. Just the way she’d been taught in the class. Back then she’d been shaking with laughter, and she was shaking now too, but with genuine terror and helplessness.

  ‘Just one hand will do. He’s only small … that’s right. You need to do fifteen compressions while I breathe for him. Ready? Now.’

  Miranda tried to block out the mother’s wails and just focus. This needed to be perfect. The rhythm of her compressions, the depth of them, had to be precise. She had to get this not just right, but absolutely perfect.

  Sweat trickled down her back, just the way it had in the stuffy first aid centre, except today it was fear not heat. Fear of failure. If she got this wrong. If she and Jago failed, the boy would die, his mother’s life would be ruined. There’d be no future for him, any children or grandchildren, just a life wiped out.

  ‘Wait.’ Jago lifted his head and listened briefly for any sound of breath or movement of the toddler’s chest. ‘Carry on.’

  Miranda’s own heart tried to do the work of Braden and herself. It thumped away, and a pulse beat in her brain. Ohpleaseohpleaseohplease …

  The little body twitched. Jago lifted his head. The boy coughed and spluttered. Miranda let out a cry. ‘He breathed!’

  The mother broke free from Ronnie’s arms. ‘Braden? Can you hear me?’

  Jago turned him onto his side as he coughed. ‘Good. Good boy. That’s it.’

  The mother collapsed on her knees. ‘Is he alive?’

  ‘Wait,’ said Miranda. ‘Hold on.’

  Jago held the boy’s head as he coughed again and vomited seawater onto the cobbles.

  ‘He’ll be all
right, though. He’s OK!’ The mother stared at Miranda, begging her to give the right answer.

  ‘He needs to get to a hospital fast. He needs proper medical attention,’ said Jago.

  ‘But he’s breathing!’

  Miranda glanced at Jago. The little boy had been unconscious for over two minutes. Even she remembered that from the first aid course. There could be all kinds of complications. Brain damage. Secondary drowning. Hypo thermia.

  ‘We need to keep him warm,’ said Jago. ‘And get him into the medical room.’

  Ronnie brought a blanket. Braden started to sob with shock. Miranda didn’t blame him, falling into the harbour and waking up to two strangers doing horrible things to him. He couldn’t be kept down on the cobbles any more and let out a howl: ‘Mummy.’

  That was good, that had to be a good sign, thought Miranda.

  Jago picked him up, from the quayside.

  ‘Mummmmmyyyy!’

  Jago grimaced. ‘You’d better take him,’ he said, handing him to the mother. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Louise,’ said Ronnie as Braden’s mum hugged him and cried even louder than her son.

  ‘Any ETA on the ambulance?’ asked Miranda.

  ‘Twenty minutes,’ said Ronnie. ‘But the lifeboat’s on its way.’

  ‘Good. Let’s get him into the medical room.’

  As Miranda led Louise and Braden to the medical room, she was amazed to see so many people with their phones and cameras out, filming. Bloody hell …

  ‘Show’s over, folks. The little boy will be fine now,’ said Ronnie, with a laser glare. She turned to the elderly man. ‘Thanks for your help, sir. Can we treat you and your wife to tea?’

  Jago was by Louise’s side keeping a close eye on Braden who shrank against his mother, clearly disgusted with Jago. Miranda noticed Jago limping and the trail of blood spots on the cobbles where he’d walked. Inside the medical room, he gave Louise a blanket and, as she wrapped Braden up, he spoke quietly to Miranda. ‘We need to keep an eye on him and the ambulance needs to get here as soon as it can. There could be a risk of secondary drowning.’

  ‘I hope not. The RNLI are bringing the paramedics over. They’d have called an air ambulance but there’s no place for it to land with the tide in.’