by Liz Fenwick
He turned to her. ‘Do you have a camera?’
‘Just the one on my phone.’
‘Is there a way to get to the other side of the creek easily?’
‘You could swim,’ Gabe said with a faint smile.
‘Don’t fancy it. You?’ He grinned.
‘No.’ Gabe laughed. Her skin should still be prune-like after last night but it wasn’t and she would like to keep it that way. ‘You could walk around the creek. It would take about an hour at most.’
‘Drive?’
‘Yes, but it would still take a half-hour and then the walk down to it. The quickest way would be by boat.’ Gabe looked at the hill behind the quay. Jaunty’s old rowing boat was under a tarpaulin in the undergrowth about halfway up.
‘I need photos for the insurance. They’ll be sending a loss adjuster, but Jezebel wasn’t the only boat damaged last night, it could be days or weeks before the loss adjuster comes here.’
Gabe nodded then walked up the path and turned into the hillside, walking through the ferns and brambles to where she could just make out the blue plastic sheeting. Fin followed. Once upon a time this little rowing boat had been Jaunty’s pride and joy. In the summer, tide permitting, Jaunty had rowed them both to Helford to collect supplies and have an ice cream, but Jaunty never went beyond Helford village. She would venture to Gweek and fish the many creeks but never out to the bay. Maybe it would bring memories of near-drowning too close. Gabe knew she had been found near the Manacles, off St Keverne.
Gingerly Gabe pulled back the tarpaulin and watched a large spider move away, then woodlice dropped down. When a slug fell on it, Gabe shook her hand and pulled back. Fin came closer and released the rope holding the tarp down. In one movement, he pulled the cover off and revealed the little white boat with its blue trim. The paint was flaking off in large chunks.
‘Let’s turn it over.’ Fin pushed through the undergrowth to the stern and Gabe took the bow. It flipped easily and despite the neglect it looked sound, but there were no oars. ‘Shall we take it down to the quay?’
Gabe nodded, thinking the oars must be in the shed. Holding on to the bow, Gabe back-stepped on to the path and finally on to the quay. The tide was still too far out so they would have to wait for a while.
‘Shall we leave it here?’ He smiled, and the sunlight caught his cheekbones and cast shadows on his deep-set eyes. Right now they looked almost navy and very guarded despite his smile. What was he hiding?
‘By the way . . .’ He bent to fix the rowlocks, then paused, looking up from his task. ‘I can’t say thank you enough for saving me. And well, yours and your grandmother’s kindness for letting me stay.’ He smiled and studied her. Gabe blushed and turned away.
‘Um, yes, thanks.’ The less said about the rescue and its aftermath the better. The image of him standing with a small towel slung about his hips wouldn’t leave her thoughts. She knew nothing about this man, yet he was making her think about desire again. But desire, want, and need had left her four years ago, and without those emotions her singing was flat, even if it was pitch perfect. To be a decent soprano, let alone the one she had wanted to be, passion was required. But fear trapped her. In an act of violence one man had neutered and silenced her.
The back of her throat tickled and Gabe coughed. She hadn’t been able to do her vocal exercises this morning. Because Fin was here her whole schedule had been disrupted and her grandmother was behaving oddly. He had a lot to answer for.
Jaunty walked to the gramophone. She needed music. Gabe hadn’t sung this morning; there had been no scales, no arpeggios, no arias. She flipped through the records and selected Tosca. It was her mother’s finest role at La Scala. It was also the last time Jaunty had seen her perform. Despite her shaky hand, she placed the needle sucessfully then sat and let the music flow over her while she wrote.
Milano. Mother’s home. For her, singing at La Scala was the pinnacle, a greater triumph than the Met. It is also where my parents met. Father had been visiting with friends when they attended Carmen. Mother had been in the chorus then, but according to Father she shone far more than the diva and he had declared he had to meet her. It was love at first sight, much to my English grandmother’s dismay. Despite my mother’s aristocratic, if somewhat impoverished, background she was nothing more than a foreign singer as far as Lady Penrose was concerned. My grandfather was still alive then and Father said that he had given his blessing against his wife’s wishes. They were married in a church just steps away from Lake Garda one bright July morning, and although I wasn’t there I can picture it clearly: Mother in a beautiful suit and Father looking like the happiest man alive. For me, that image summed up love and I wanted the same. It is funny the way life turns out, Gabriella. Embrace it.
Love took me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting it, and if I am honest I had more than a bit of my calculating English grandmother in me. I knew that ‘love’ would free me, at least from her. Looking back, I suspect my parents stayed in Europe to avoid her and although Mother sang in Covent Garden, it was never a first choice. She preferred Milano or Vienna with its wonderful cafés. Even now, just thinking about those, I smell the coffee. Would I recognise those cities now? And what of Paris? I am sure I would not know London.
Jaunty stretched as she heard voices coming into the house. She covered her journal with blank sheets of paper as Gabriella entered the room.
‘Jaunty, please can you change the music?’
Jaunty heard the words, which, though they were a request, sounded like an order. But everything about Gabriella was tense so Jaunty stood and walked to the gramophone. ‘Don’t you like Maria Lucia?’
‘No, I love her. She was one of the greats, but I just can’t listen to Tosca. How about Madame Butterfly or maybe Carmen?’ Gabriella turned and left, and Jaunty stared after her. Her granddaughter was on edge. Last night must have upset her more than she had let on. In truth, Jaunty was stunned that Gabriella had managed to save a man of Fin’s size in such a fierce storm. She was lucky not to have lost her own life, and just thinking about the possibility horrified her grandmother. Of all the things Jaunty had needed to teach her, she had failed at teaching her to fear the sea. Putting the record back into its sleeve, Jaunty let her fingers run across the picture of her mother on the cover.
Of all the music Jaunty could have been listening to, why did she have to pick Tosca? After this morning’s nightmare everything was too raw. Gabe’s hands shook as she went through the shed looking for the oars. Once she’d located them and propped them up outside, she called the farmer whose land Fin’s boat had washed up on and arranged a time to meet him. He’d already helped two other yachtsmen with their boats. Gabe looked out of the kitchen window. The sun was still shining but Gabe could see a bank of grey cloud hanging above the north shore that looked as if it was coming this way.
Before leaving the cabin she checked on Jaunty, who was still in her room, sitting at her desk sketching. Gabe couldn’t be sure, but sketching was good. Her grandmother hadn’t painted in ages but maybe the desire was returning This was encouraging. Could it be possible that a few days of proper eating had improved things? Gabe worried about Jaunty’s health and wondered if Jaunty had let her health slip too far? Without a doubt Gabe had left it too long before moving here. She should have done this a few years ago.
When she reached the quay, Fin was rescuing what he could from the holly and the mud. It wasn’t much, but the tide had turned and the rowing boat was afloat. The sun shone so brightly at the moment that it was hard to believe that last night’s events had happened. She could almost think that she must have dreamt that she dived into the creek in the middle of a major storm to rescue someone.
Fin waved to her and climbed on to the quay, placing some of his belongings on it.
‘Was this stuff inside the boat or on the deck?’
‘Deck.’
Ga
be nodded. Getting the mud out of the clothes would take some doing, and she wondered what state the things in the boat would be in. Rain would have poured in through the night, and possibly salt water if the waves had risen high enough, and when she had been in the river last night the swell had seemed impossibly high.
He held out his hand and took the oars from her. ‘I think I should be able to get across now.’
‘I’m coming with you.’
He tilted his head to the side and studied her. ‘I thought you might not want to be on or in the water ever again.’
She laughed.
‘And on this, a beautiful autumn day . . .’ he pulled the tender closer and placed the oars in the rowlocks ‘. . . it doesn’t look so bad.’
Nodding, she hoped his boat wasn’t as damaged as they feared and he could be on his way. As pleasant as he was, he was a disquieting presence at Bosworgy. She had come here to be alone; well, alone with Jaunty. However, he had already proved himself useful by cleaning up Jaunty’s dinghy while she’d been looking for the oars.
Gabe climbed into the boat and sat in the bow. Her arms still felt heavy with tiredness and her left hand bore the marks of the holly tree. This would interfere with her piano-playing for a while. Fin untied the painter and pushed off. He sat still and let it steady before he began to row the short distance out of the creek and towards his beached lugger. Gabe could hear but couldn’t see the tractor in the field above. Steve, the farmer, was true to his word and his timing.
Watching the river rather than the stranger’s broad shoulders as he rowed, she still wasn’t sure how she could have pulled a man of his size to safety. She wasn’t big or strong. Well, she had a certain level of fitness because her singing required it and her lungs were good, but even so, the more she thought about it, the more she wondered how she had achieved it. It was a miracle they hadn’t both died. She watched an egret land on an outstretched branch, its white feathers in stark contrast to the hillside behind it.
Gabe turned as they came around into the next cove and approached his boat. How it had come to rest here when the tide had been going out puzzled her. She couldn’t remember which direction the wind had been blowing, but it must have been an easterly.
Splintered wood sprang from where the mast had been. It was bad, but not as bad as she had imagined. She tied the rowing boat on. The lugger was upright but leaning at an angle, wedged in the rocks, and Fin climbed aboard. The boat shifted but remained stable.
She spotted the tractor and waved to Steve.
‘Damn!’ Fin’s voice came from below.
Climbing on to the boat, Gabe nearly lost her footing on the deck, but she managed to make it to the cabin below. Then she wished she hadn’t. She closed her eyes, trying to let go of the fear. Water swirled around her calves and she tried to take a slow breath, but couldn’t get any air in. All the terror of last night swamped her. Opening her eyes to find her way back out she saw papers scattered all over the table. Once her head was above the hatch, she could breathe.
‘Hey, Gabe,’ Steve called. ‘Is she seaworthy?’
Gabe scampered the rest of the way out. ‘There’s a lot of water inside but that could be rainwater.’
Steve clambered over the rocks, looking at the side of the boat. ‘Nasty gash.’
Gabe saw the hole in the deck.
‘Aside from a some scratches the hull is intact, it appears.’ Steve was now at the side of the boat and he gave Gabe a hand as she climbed off and on to the rocks.
Fin emerged from the cabin. ‘I can’t see any interior damage other than water. I don’t suppose anyone has seen the masts and sails anywhere?’
‘Not that I’ve heard yet, but the river is filled with debris.’ Steve shook his head. ‘It wasn’t a clean break so I don’t think the main mast would be much use to you anyway.’
‘True. Just wishful thinking on my part.’ Fin turned, pulled his phone out of a waterproof bag, and began taking pictures with it.
Steve moved around the rocks so that he could get a good look at the far side. ‘When the tide is a bit higher we should be able to float her off. Don’t suppose you know where you want to take her?’ he called.
Fin had disappeared inside the boat again, then he came out and handed Steve his phone. ‘The insurers mentioned a boatyard in Falmouth. Would you mind taking a few shots of the bow from down there for me?’
‘No problem.’ Steve moved around the boat. ‘Lucky you weren’t on the boat last night, then.’
‘I was. Came on deck to check things and something hit me and I was knocked into the water.’ He paused and looked at Gabe. ‘If it wasn’t for Gabriella, I would be with the mast somewhere out in Falmouth Bay.’
Steve looked up. ‘What?’
‘She saved me last night.’
‘You saved him?’
Gabe nodded.
‘Known him long?’ Steve grinned knowingly at Gabe. She went pale. Surely Steve didn’t think Fin was hers?
‘No, don’t know him at all.’ Then Gabe thought of the mole that sat just below Fin’s navel. She shouldn’t know about that at all. She might have seen him nearly naked, but despite that she knew nothing about Fin.
Steve tilted his head and winked. ‘Ought to be careful then. Save a stranger from the sea, and he’ll turn your enemy.’
A shiver went down Gabe’s spine as she looked at Fin.
Seven
Looking up from her desk, Jaunty watched the mist lift from the river. The sun hit the emerging shoreline at Groyne Point, where three herons walked the beach. She imagined the leaves were turning colour as she knew they did at this time of year, but she couldn’t see it. It was lost.
Paris. I’d been there for a year studying with Pierre. I was improving. My parents, even my English grandmother, could see that. This was not what they wanted for me, but the more time I invested in my art, the deeper my determination went. It was also freedom. I knew the city well, and during my time there Jean and I would wander, painting. Nothing was beneath our notice, from the dustbins to the whores. The thought of the variety now makes my head swim.
I turn the corner and Jean is trying to hand a plate back to a waiter. I laugh. It’s happened again.
‘Bonjour.’ I come up to the table and smile at the waiter as I take a seat. I tell him I will take the salad covered in anchovies that sits in front of her and order Jean a plate of tomatoes, cucumber and lettuce instead.
‘Why do they never understand me?’
I chuckle. ‘Oh, but they do.’
She laughs and pushes a letter across the table to me, then looks down. I don’t understand how she can still be embarrassed about this now. She is so clever in other ways. I skim the contents and realise that it is the assistant at the art gallery who has written, and he has used words that she would never be able to read, such as exquisite. He has also thrown in numbers, and that would flummox her all together. I look up and take Jean’s hand.
‘It’s all good. All your paintings have sold and they want to know if you have more.’
Her shoulders relax and she smiles. ‘What would I do without you?’
‘Well, learn to eat anchovies for one thing!’
I knew from the outset that I was in the presence of true genius. Jean was so gifted and while I had talent it was not on the scale of brilliance. I could have been jealous, but I was in awe. I excelled in portraiture and knew that after my years of study in Paris I would retreat to the acceptable position of painting society portraits. She, however, would become great.
We would roll into the studio after a morning painting and I could see the way Pierre regarded her. He too knew that she was special. Sometimes I wondered if it was the difference in our backgrounds that shaped our talent. Had mine been too soft, too loving? Had my years studying the great artists of the past held me back? She had limited exposure but so muc
h drive.
I felt very protective towards Jean. I did all her correspondence and her accounts. They muddled her. I tried to teach her but her energy was reserved for her work. She even ignored the attentions of Pierre. Jean had a zest and an energy that glowed from within. She was all for art, while I was all for life.
The escalating cry of a curlew sounded across the water, and Jaunty raised her head. The tide was further out, exposing a tangled mess of seaweed, rock and silt. This was the noisy time, when the mud was exposed and the wading birds gathered to find food. She pushed the window further open. The fresh breeze swept through the pine needles, whistling in accompaniment to the curlew and the gulls.
A sharp spasm ran up her arm and Jaunty dropped the pen. With her other hand she rubbed her knuckles and wrist. Gabriella and Fin were out. Gabriella was cautious with Fin, and she was probably right. There was something about him, aside from his looks. He was quiet but he missed nothing, and perhaps it was madness to give him free rein in her studio. Only Gabriella had had that. Jaunty could tell that she had looked through the stacked canvases but nothing more. Soon Gabriella would have no choice but to clear out the studio. Jaunty should have done it years ago and a bonfire would have worked nicely. Maybe it was not too late, but would it matter when she was dead? Everyone else had preceded her, no one could verify or deny what was there.
Dietrich.
No, it was too soon to talk of Dietrich. Jaunty looked at her sketch of Fin. Alex.
I was home from Paris and forced to stay with my grandmother. Mother was performing in New York again and I loved my grandmother’s house, but not her. Her home, well, really our home, since my grandfather and my father’s older brother had died, sat on the banks of the Lynher. I loved the water and the time my father spent teaching me to sail. Those were the good memories, not the time spent with the sourpuss. I hated being left with her. I longed for the lazy Augusts normally enjoyed on Lake Garda with Mother’s family and her artistic friends, but in 1939 that wasn’t happening because of the American performances that my mother had lined up.
