Plotted in Cornwall

by Janie Bolitho

  Miranda laughed. He had not meant to be rude, he was used to the ways of the city, to noise and parties and pubs. She knew what he meant and had expected him to be bored. She waved as he drove away, knowing that she would miss him.

  A low-lying mist covered the moor lending it a strange, eerie quality. The branches of the few stunted trees rose through it, appearing to have no trunks. She shivered, a little lost now that Michael had gone, and wondered when she would see him again and how she would occupy herself until October.

  Shutting the door she went back inside. Halfway up the stairs on her way to her room her mother called out. ‘Miranda, would you bring down my reading glasses, please? I think I left them beside my bed.’

  She’d wanted some time alone, to assess the changes that acknowledging her feelings would bring to her life, but first she would fetch the glasses.

  She saw the leather case on the bedside cabinet and picked it up. The drawer wasn’t properly closed. Naturally tidy, Miranda put out a hand to push it to. Her fingers froze on the knob. No, she thought, it can’t be true.

  Unable to help herself she pulled the drawer open and took a closer look. She knew then for certain that she had had every reason to be suspicious.

  Christmas and Boxing Day were fairly quiet for Rose and her parents, too. They had a couple of drinks with Laura and Trevor and their family then returned to Rose’s house for a late Christmas lunch. Too much food had been counteracted by long walks. On the 26th Barry had driven them up to Newquay where they’d watched the famous surf rolling up over the golden sands of Fistral Bay. Even in the sharp, clean wind there were a few surfers, protected by wetsuits, enjoying the near-perfect conditions. In the summer the place was packed.

  They walked around the headland, the wind whipping at their clothes. Arthur was sporting his new trilby with which he was delighted. Evelyn had grinned when he had dumped the old one in Rose’s bin with great ceremony. Evelyn, also thrilled, had changed into her silver-threaded cardigan on Christmas Day as soon as she’d opened the gift-wrapped package.

  The sky was an even blue; the sea, a shade darker, was crested with white. Gulls wheeled overhead and the occasional jackdaw squawked at them as they passed. Each side of them was the rough grass which survived the gales and the salt-laden air. Rose itched to paint the scenery around her, but the colours were so startlingly clear no one not witnessing that same scene would believe they were true.

  They drove back through the town, mainly shut up for the winter, and headed back to Newlyn.

  ‘Are you coming in for a cup of tea?’ Rose asked, when Barry delivered them to the door.

  ‘No. I’ve got a few things to do.’ He kissed her cheek and reversed back down the drive, not wishing to outstay his welcome. Rose needed some time alone with her parents.

  ‘I feel completely invigorated,’ Evelyn said, sinking into an armchair. ‘All that fresh air, it was wonderful.’

  ‘Well, just stay there and I’ll fill the kettle.’ Rose did so, realising that for the past two days she had thought of nothing but providing food and pleasure for her guests. Barry had stayed until seven on Christmas night and then left them to it. He had turned up again at ten that morning to take them out for the day. Having eaten a proper breakfast with grilled slices of Cornish hog’s pudding, they had decided to forego lunch, no one had been hungry.

  Tomorrow her parents were leaving. Rose would miss them but she was also looking forward to getting back to work. If the weather remained as it was her plans for Bodmin Moor could go ahead. Already she saw the scene in her mind although she hadn’t actually found a location. That was part of the enjoyment, driving or walking until she came to an ideal spot.

  They spent the last evening at home, winding down from the festivities.

  ‘Have you any plans for New Year’s Eve?’ Arthur asked before they went to bed.

  ‘I’m going to Laura’s. It isn’t a party, there’ll just be a few of us. Her family will have gone and we’ve usually sated ourselves by then.’

  ‘Is Barry going with you?’

  ‘He’ll be there, Laura always invites him.’

  Arthur nodded. The subject of Jack had been taboo since the night he had left without saying goodbye. He wondered if Rose was more to blame than Jack, if she had upset him in some way. It wouldn’t surprise him.

  ‘I don’t believe it after yesterday,’ Rose said the following morning when they assembled in the kitchen for breakfast. ‘Typical West Penwith weather.’

  The rain was sheeting down, hitting the roof of the shed and bouncing back up again. Rivulets of water ran down the drive and snaked down the window. ‘It won’t be much fun driving back in this. Why don’t you stay another night?’

  Evelyn looked at Arthur. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘We’re supposed to be going to the Hutchinsons’ for lunch tomorrow, and it might still be raining anyway.’

  ‘You’re right. Thank you, Rose, but I think we’ll stick to our plans.’

  Rose smiled. They were tired and wanted to get home. Her father was a good driver and a sensible man, he would not take risks in such weather. Rose was also tired, how much more so must they be? There had been the party and Christmas Day and a long day out in Newquay, and they had, over the four days, walked miles. She understood and did not press them.

  They ate fruit and yoghurt and emptied the coffee machine between them. ‘If you’re all packed, shall we make a move?’ Arthur suggested.

  ‘Yes. I’m ready.’

  He went upstairs to bring down their bag, now overflowing with the presents they had received. Rose had bought small gifts as well as the main ones. Their gifts to her had been vouchers for theatre tickets which she could use at the Theatre Royal in Plymouth, or any other city, a bottle of her favourite perfume and a beautiful lacy nightdress.

  Tears filled Rose’s eyes as they pulled away, but the rain, blowing into her face, disguised the ones which fell. She hated partings, especially from her parents, but she knew by the evening she would be back in her old routine and glad for it.

  She spent the rest of the day cleaning the kitchen and sorting out the left-over food and the deep freeze. With a glass of wine in her hand she got out a large-scale map and studied it. The rain had abated but the sky was still grey. The forecast for tomorrow was good but that didn’t mean anything. In that part of the world it was far too changeable to be predictable.

  ‘Damn.’ The ringing telephone made her jump. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mrs Trevelyan, it’s Miranda. Can I come and see you tomorrow?’

  Her voice was no more than a whisper, she obviously did not want the conversation to be overheard. Again? Rose thought. ‘Yes,’ she heard herself saying, wondering how she had forgotten the family so easily ‘Can you make it in the morning?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll leave here as early as I can.’

  ‘I’ll see you when you get here, then.’ Rose hung up. So it was all going to start again. The Penhaligons would be back in a couple of days; hopefully she could hand the whole mess over to them. Jack had not been in touch since the party so he couldn’t help. Rose was certain that she was now out of his life altogether.

  I’ll have an early night, she decided, get Miranda out of the way in the morning, then I’m definitely going to do some work.

  Jack picked up the telephone and dialled Anna’s number. She answered almost immediately as if she had been standing by the phone waiting for his call. ‘Did you have a good Christmas?’ she asked almost shyly.

  ‘Yes, thanks. Did you?’

  ‘We had a great time.’

  What do I say now? Jack thought. He had spent the morning of the twenty-fifth mooching about the house waiting for the Mount’s Bay Inn to open for its traditional two hours. It was the same small pub on the sea-front which Rose often frequented. She was not there that day. When the pub closed he went back to his flat, cooked a meal and watched television. He was not lonely, he never was. He liked his own company. Nor was he miserable
or full of self-pity. People made such a fuss about spending Christmas together and mostly regretted it after a few days. But he was not about to tell Anna how he had spent his time.

  ‘How did the party go?’ she asked in order to break the silence.

  ‘Very well. Look, Anna, I’ve had a chance to think things over. I want to see you, you know that, but Rose is my friend, I can’t just abandon her.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Meaning what?’

  ‘Meaning, Jack, that I can never be sure of you.’

  ‘That’s unreasonable, Anna, and you know it. We’re not exactly teenagers, adults can have friendships outside of relationships without it meaning something more.’

  Anna sighed. ‘I know that. I didn’t mean to sound childish, really I didn’t. It’s just that – oh, damn it. You’re a good, decent man, Jack, and maybe that’s why you can’t hide your feelings. What you feel for Rose is more than friendship. I can hear it in your voice every time you say her name.’

  She’s right, Jack thought, but what do I do about it? ‘So where does that leave us?’

  ‘As friends. We can have the odd drink, or a meal. No hard feelings, honestly. I needed to know, you see, before – well, it doesn’t matter.’

  It did matter. Jack knew from her last words that Anna felt more for him than he had realised and had acted this way in order to prevent herself from being hurt. ‘Friends, then,’ he said, unsure if disappointment or relief was in the ascendancy.

  ‘I’ll see you, Jack. Goodbye.’

  Anna had replaced the receiver before he could say anything more. He stood by the phone staring at it as if it had all the answers. He suddenly realised that what he wanted most in the world was to see Rose.

  He glanced out of the window. It was a grey day but at least it wasn’t raining. Too grey for Rose to be working, he hoped. He pulled on a jacket and strode down Morrab Road to the Queen’s Hotel where he crossed over to the Promenade and began to walk swiftly towards Newlyn.

  By the time he had reached her drive he was breathless. He swore. A car was parked behind hers. A car which he recognised. But it was too late. Rose and Miranda were in the kitchen and they had seen him. He could not decipher Rose’s expression as she opened the door to him, but it was not particularly welcoming. ‘Sorry, I thought with your parents gone you’d be alone. Hello, Miranda.’

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Coffee?’ Rose walked towards the worktop and took a mug from its tree.

  Jack sat down. There was an air of tension in the room. He wondered what they had been talking about. Maybe it was fortunate he had arrived, Rose often managed to find herself in trouble she couldn’t handle.

  ‘Miranda was on her way over to see Joel and called in here first,’ Rose began.

  ‘We have to tell him, Rose,’ Miranda interrupted. ‘I can’t go on like this, not knowing, not being able to trust my family.’

  ‘Tell me what?’ Jack looked from one to the other.

  ‘You tell him, Rose.’

  Rose placed Jack’s coffee on the table and sat down. Her hands were in her lap. ‘Miranda found some letters addressed to her mother. The postmarks were recent. They were from Spain. Miranda is convinced it’s her father’s handwriting. So far, I, and now you, are the only people to know this, apart from Louisa, obviously.’

  Steam spiralled up from Jack’s coffee. He took a sip and burned his mouth. Was one of those letters the one Rose had seen? And if so, what was going on? Even if Louisa had known all along where her husband was, it didn’t mean anything illegal had taken place.

  ‘Inspector Pearce, I know my father owed money to Uncle Roger. Do you think that’s why he disappeared?’

  ‘Did he tell you this?’

  ‘No. Joel did.’

  ‘Have you any idea of the figure?’

  Miranda looked at the floor. Her face was flushed. ‘Somewhere around two hundred thousand pounds. Joel overheard his parents discussing what to do about it. They’re rich, Uncle Roger makes loads of money but even so that’s an awful lot of money and a debt’s a debt.’

  Yes, that amount was worth disappearing for. And if Frank Jordan owed one person he might also owe others. ‘Where are the letters?’

  ‘At home. In my mother’s bedroom drawer.’

  There was absolutely no chance of obtaining a search warrant. Jack knew something ought to be done, but he wasn’t sure what. ‘When do the Penhaligons get back?’ he asked.

  ‘The day after tomorrow.’

  He would speak to them. It was the least he could do. If Jordan was in Spain he had either reapplied for a passport or managed to obtain a false one.

  ‘Was there something in particular you wanted?’ Rose asked, suddenly realising he had given no reason for his unexpected visit.

  ‘Yes. I could have rung, but I fancied a walk. I came to invite you out for a meal.’ It was far easier to ask in the company of a third party. He did not have to offer any explanations in front of Miranda and he knew Rose would ask for none.

  ‘When?’

  ‘How about tonight?’

  Rose was aware of the girl watching them and tried to remain cool and in control, but inwardly she was pleased, more than pleased. She hoped she wasn’t blushing. How could it be that it was only yesterday her parents had left and she had felt so low? ‘Yes, tonight’s fine.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Can you do anything? About the letters, I mean?’ she added quickly aware of Jack’s almost casual response to her answer. He, too, was more pleased than he was trying to pretend.

  ‘Not until I’ve spoken to Miranda’s uncle. Look…’ he turned to the girl. ‘Are you sure she doesn’t have relatives or a penfriend in Spain?’

  ‘No relatives, no. And she’s never mentioned a pen-friend.’

  ‘Then don’t say a word about this to anyone. I’m sure there’ll be an innocent explanation, but for now it’s best not to let your mother know what you’ve told me.’

  Miranda nodded as she stood. ‘I’ll go and see Joel now, he’s expecting me.’ She paused. ‘My aunt and uncle will be back soon. I intend to see them. I owe them an apology and an explanation.’

  ‘Don’t even mention this conversation to Joel,’ Jack added firmly.

  ‘Okay.’

  Rose saw her to the door. Now she was alone with Jack she felt awkward. ‘What time tonight?’ she asked.

  ‘Sevenish?’

  ‘I’ll meet you in the Yacht, shall I?’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  Jack stood, ready to leave. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk further just then. If he had something to tell her no doubt he would do so later. Rose shook her head as she watched him go. She still had no idea where she stood with him. He might even decide not to turn up later. It didn’t matter, she knew most of the early evening customers in the Yacht. It was an art deco pub, set back from the sea-front opposite the open-air swimming pool which had also been built in the thirties. I’ll doll myself up, she thought as she picked up the canvas bag which contained her painting equipment. I’ll make a real effort for once.

  Echoing her own upswing in mood, the weather changed. The sky began to clear, greyness gave way to white cloud interspersed with ever-increasing patches of blue. Outside the air smelled of damp foliage and earth, a clean refreshing smell. Rose felt good. It was only ten thirty. She would drive to the moors and do some work.

  16

  Petra and Roger were glad to be home. Although their return flight had been delayed, somewhat spoiling the last few hours, the break had relaxed them and they were ready to face a new year.

  Joel had heard the car and went to open the door. ‘Hi,’ he said, smiling broadly. ‘Welcome home.’ It was the first time he had been left on his own and he had been surprised by how much he had missed his parents even though he tended to take them for granted when they were around. And with all that had been going on he was looking forward to what he had come to recognise as his father’s sound way of thinking.
That, of course, was down to Rose Trevelyan. He respected her, as a woman as well as an artist. If he could ever be half as talented he would be extremely happy. Joel’s future was now set, as was Miranda’s. He was pleased for her but slightly jealous of her relationship with Michael, a man he had not met. It was a sibling jealousy rather than a sexual one.

  ‘It’s great to be home,’ Roger said as he patted his son on the shoulder.

  Petra glanced around anxiously as she entered the lounge, then she smiled. ‘No wild parties, then?’ The house was tidy but the furniture could do with a polish. The cleaner had been given two weeks’ holiday.

  ‘Far from it.’ He paused. ‘Mum, Miranda’s been here.’

  ‘Miranda?’ Her face paled beneath the light tan she had acquired in Madeira.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How is she?’ Petra wasn’t sure what else to say.

  ‘She’s fine. She looks well, but I don’t think she’s very happy.’

  Petra sat down. ‘Why did she go away, Joel? Did she tell you?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Oh, hell, I suppose you ought to know. I think the police might want to talk to you.’

  ‘The police?’ Roger stood in the doorway, his car coat over his arm. ‘I’ve put the cases upstairs, love. What’s this about the police?’ he asked, turning back to Joel. ‘It was time they took some notice. They haven’t found Frank, have they?’

  ‘No, but I think they’re finally taking you seriously, about Uncle Frank, that is. You see, Dad, I was just telling Mum, Miranda’s been here.’

  ‘Knowing we were away, I take it. I don’t understand any of this, only that my brother-in-law owes me money which I’m never likely to see again.

  ‘Anyway, what’s up with the girl? Why can’t she come out in the open, doesn’t she realise she’s had us worried sick?’

  Joel took a deep breath. ‘We’ve been to Uncle Frank’s lock-up. The boat wasn’t there but his holdall was, with his clothes and passport and stuff. The police took it away.’