“I use the path a lot, often use this way back from the beach,” he said simply.
Well, that was news to me. Technically, of course, he was trespassing, but that was an absurd thought, and I banished it. It took us ages to reach the top, and I was so grateful when we finally did that I sank down on the ground and refused to move for a moment. I had a sudden wild urge to drag him off to the woods, and make love amongst the bluebells, but I was so cold and sticky with salt water, another idea popped unbidden in my head. Maybe Jace would stay the night with me? I let the idea drift about in my head for a bit, and decided to let things just happen, and not plan anything. This was, after all, a night when the dark shadows were at play, and what would happen would happen, damn what everyone else would say about it in the morning. That could take care of itself.
Chapter Seven
As we skirted the gardens, with all the bushes of lavender ghostly pale in the moonlight, I saw that the lights were blazing away in the kitchen of Penmorah, and I dragged Jace into the shadows. A terrible thought entered my mind, and I knew that I was probably right.
“Oh, god… I think Oliver bloody Dean must have arrived, Nancy must be keeping him company in the kitchen, you’ll have to go home, Jace. Sorry.” If I’m honest, there was a part of me that was relieved that he would have to go home. It wasn’t the brightest idea I’d ever had, Jace staying the night with me, anyway. The hideous embarrassments of the morning would be avoided if he went, and I was only too aware of just how ghastly I was going to be feeling by then.
“Reckon you’re right,” Jace whispered, peering into the lit windows.
He then started laughing softly to himself.
“What’s so funny?” I hissed at him.
“You want to see yourself! You look like you’ve drunk a couple ‘a bottles of wine, got stoned, had sex, and then –“
“Shut up!” I laughed, nudging him in the ribs with my elbow, “I can imagine what I look like thank you very much! I’ll sneak in through the library, go on, you’d better go.”
I could see Jace nod his head in the moonlight. He leant forward to kiss me, and then, after giving me a very cheeky slap on my still wet bottom, he sloped off.
I was very pleasantly surprised at how matey we were, it was all quite jolly and natural. Maybe this is how the young things all treated one another now? It was quite refreshing. I thought that maybe because Jace and I were friends, and we’d had a momentary lapse, a moonlight dose of madness, we could continue as before. Surely things wouldn’t change between us? I hoped not, anyway, it would make my life very difficult indeed if they did.
I eased the French doors of the library open, and stepped inside. I could almost hear my mother laughing at me, she would have considered tonight’s episode as a remarkably good joke, a prank, a quick lapse of good judgement, nothing to worry too much about. But then she had a very relaxed attitude towards relationships. I knew, even as a child, that she had lovers. I think my father did too, although it was never discussed. I wished, not for the first time, I had more of their sang froid about the whole thing. Perhaps I was just a born worrier.
I crossed the room in the dark, whilst tying my fleece more tightly around my hips, and ran my fingers through my sticky hair. As I leant on the library door, I strained my ears to hear any footsteps coming from the kitchen, if the coast was clear, I could run up the stairs, have a quick wash, get changed and come to down to greet Oliver Dean.
As I strained to hear what was going on, I became aware of the noise of someone breathing. I froze at the door, and held my own breath, perhaps I could just hear myself? No. It was definitely not coming from me. Oh Jesus… I felt tiny prickles of sweat start under my armpits. It felt as though I was suspended in ice, moving had become impossible, and I had to force my arm up to grope for the light switch. I could hear the sound regularly now, it was a steady, rhythmic breath, coming from somewhere behind me.
I gave a little sob as finally my hand encountered the light switch, and the room flooded with light. I swung around to look behind me, and screamed.
The man sitting in what had been my father’s chair gave a shout, too.
“Who the bloody hell are you?” I shouted, my voice as shaky as an old woman’s with fear. Although, I had guessed who the hell he was, but what was he doing sitting in the dark? I clutched my fleece even more closely to me, pulling the arms of the top behind my back even tighter into a knot around my waist.
I saw that the man, was making noises of apology, but they didn’t really sink in. I was only too well aware of what I looked like, and just wanted to escape upstairs. I looked at him again, and my very first thought was – he’s too old to be a TV chef. Awful, isn’t it? But I swear, that’s the truth. I was so used to seeing young, good looking, shiny people on the box, that he looked like a non starter to me. He was old, he was fat, well, not fat exactly, but big, and he had a beard for chrissake. Now, be honest, you don’t see too many of them in those happy, clean, hip, life style joy of cooking programmes, do you? No.
I banged the door behind me, and raced up the stairs. When I reached my bathroom, one look in the mirror told me why he’d been shocked by seeing me. I looked like a dishevelled over age drunkard in charge of a surf board. My copper coloured shoulder length hair looked like a national health wig, that someone had held under a tap, given a good backcombing with a nail brush and plonked back on top of my head. My eyes were bleary, I had mud and the remnants of mascara smeared over my salt encrusted face, but worst of all, and I do mean worst of all, my fleece didn’t cover my bare bottom (which too, was covered in mud and sand.) My bare legs were covered in scratches, and my feet were filthy. I gave a whimper of distress, and sat on the edge of the bath, my head in my hands. Somewhere along the line I had lost not only my shoes, but my jeans and my underwear.
Great start to a working relationship.
I turned the taps of the bath on. This was going to take a lot more than just a quick wash.
As I was drying myself, I heard a tap on the bedroom door, and Nancy came bustling in.
“Fin, Fin, where have you been? Harry and Oliver Dean are downstairs, but Oliver is very allergic to fur and feathers, extraordinary isn’t it? So he’s been sitting in the library, as I thought it was the room that Baxter and Nelson hardly ever go into, and I’ve hoovered his room, and put on dust sheets under his bedclothes, I think he must have dozed off, as Harry and I were having a drink in the kitchen… Are you OK?”
“Just dandy,” I said.
She gave me a quick glance, but obviously thought better about saying anything. I quickly threw my dressing gown on and pulled a comb through my wet hair.
“I, umm, I had a quick swim,” I said.
“Swim? In the sea?” Nancy said incredulously.
“No, I caught the fast train to London and had a dip in the Serpentine, yes, yes, the sea. Don’t look like that! I have been known to go swimming, you know!” I said crossly.
Nancy chose to ignore my bad manners, and I ran towards her and put my arm round her slender shoulders. I felt a stab of worry at how slim she was, I couldn’t use the word frail, but soon, soon.
“Sorry, Nancy, I’m feeling a bit frazzled,” I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
Nancy squeezed my arm affectionately. “It was a good picnic, wasn’t it? And weren’t the dolphins wonderful, I’m so glad they’re back, aren’t you? People went a bit potty after that, you know. Sam kissed me behind the beer barrel!”
“Tongues?” I said, laughing.
“Tongues and more!” she said firmly.
Well, maybe a bit of the madness had infected us all. I glanced speculatively at Nancy, surely she and Sam hadn’t, well, you know, hadn’t … Maybe they had? I suppose you didn’t stop having sex just because you were seventy. I tried to calculate how old Sam was, maybe sixty, sixty five? Nancy laughed, and I had the grace to blush.
“I know what you’re thinking madam, not that it’s any of your business,” she said g
randly.
“Come on then, tell me more about Oliver Dean, and you say that Harry’s here too?”
“Yes, it’s lovely isn’t it?” Nancy said enthusiastically.
She and Harry had formed a long time ago a mutual fan club, so she was always thrilled when he came down. It gave her someone to talk to about Angelique and other more esoteric subjects that I was woefully ignorant about. I tasted a sudden pang of guilt. Maybe I should have insisted that Nancy not stay here at Penmorah with me, maybe she would have been much happier living a life of gentle debauchery in Soho or Paris. She might be happier there, but I knew I wouldn’t be here, without her.
“Nancy, so, what’s he like then?” I asked.
“Well, he seems very nice… I expect. It’s just that he’s so allergic, he started wheezing dreadfully, I haven’t really had time to talk to him. He and Harry got here about nine, and let themselves in. Good job that Harry came or Oliver would be wandering the fields by now looking for us, anyway Harry can only stay for a few days, he’s got some contracts or something for you to sign.”
I bet he had. Harry was a monster when it came to slipping things in under my nose for me to put my name to. We haggled every point and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves over a bottle or two.
I stopped at the bedroom door, “Do you think Oliver Dean has gone to bed?”
“Yes, I think he had a bit of a shock in the library… come on, it’s only Harry. Go down and say hello, and then we can all get to bed, I’m exhausted, aren’t you?”
Exhausted was one word for it, I thought to myself with a smile.
We found Harry with his feet up on the kitchen table, his hands cupped around a glass of red wine. He jumped to his feet and we kissed hello.
“Fin, darling! I was beginning to give up on you, I thought some Cornish imp had spirited you away… good picnic? I heard from Nancy the news of the dolphins, you must all be thrilled.”
We settled down for a chat around the kitchen table, with mugs of tea for me and Nancy and more wine for Harry.
Harry looked well. He was a slim man in his late forties who had a taste for very elegant clothes. He kept his dark hair very dark. I suspected he wouldn’t be caught dead with packets of blackberry or violet from the local chemists, but enjoyed paying a fortune at his hairdressers to remain so urbane.
Harry and Nancy were talking about some new play that he’d seen in London, when I gave a jaw breaking yawn, hoping that they hadn’t noticed my elbow slipping off the table.
“Keeping you up darling?” Harry said acidly. “I always forget what a philistine you are at heart, I’m taking Nancy back with me for a romp in London, she needs an injection of culture.”
“Mmm, good idea,” I said, my mind not on the conversation at all. I had been remembering Jace’s arms around me, and the feel of his body next to mine. I could feel a rather soppy smile beginning to spread on my face. This, of course, was immediately noticed by Harry, who demanded to know what the weather had been like for the picnic.
I racked my brains for a pretty exotic soup. Something rare and out of the ordinary, something you certainly wouldn’t have, or couldn’t afford, every day.
“Sour cherry and champagne, it used to be made for the royal family in Russia, delicious,” I said dreamily.
Nancy and Harry laughed, and I got sleepily to my feet and kissed them both good night. I called Baxter to me, and stumbled my way upstairs.
I took my time getting dressed and made more of an effort than usual, in the hope that Harry would notice that I wasn’t wearing my customary jeans, and that Oliver Dean could see that I didn’t normally rush around with no knickers and a mud stained jumper on. Wide linen trousers, and a linen shirt, complete with rather fancy shoes should do it, I thought, slapping some Madame Rochas behind my ears.
Nancy was bustling around in the kitchen, and gestured to me that Oliver Dean was sitting outside in the garden.
“What’s he doing there?” I whispered, noting that even with a huge stretch of the imagination could it be called sunny or warm enough to have breakfast outside.
“Allergy,” she whispered back.
“Oh.”
I felt a stab of annoyance. What was I meant to do? Ritually sacrifice my dog and my parrot because of his ridiculous allergies? OK, OK, I know I was being unfair, but then, I was feeling unfair.
I poured myself a mug of tea, and marched out to formally greet Oliver Dean.
My impression of the old, fat man with a beard that I had encountered so horribly in the library last night, was counter attacked, by the man lounging on the garden bench against the wall. I judged him to be about forty five, forty six, and no, he wasn’t fat exactly, but he certainly was large. He had a closely shaved scrubby beard, and curly dark hair, with a pair of those trendy expensive glasses on, the sort that many, many years ago you would have got for free on the national health. And he was wearing a skirt. OK, OK, it wasn’t a skirt, skirt, but a plain navy blue kilt. He had rolled down thick navy socks over tan timberland boots, and a dark red thick jumper on. Every bloody inch the trendy London chef.
My heart sank. I plastered a smile on my face, and banishing every thought of last night’s undignified encounter, walked towards him, holding my right hand out to say hello.
He stood up and we shook hands.
We both muttered the obligatory ‘pleased to meet you’ and ‘how do you do’ and there was a slight pause. He had an amused smile (or sneer, I hadn’t quite decided yet on his face) and I knew he was thinking about last night’s meeting in the library which, I was not going to mention.
“Hi, I’m Oliver Dean, or, as I understand from your parrot, Oliver bloody Dean,” he said, with a wry smile on his face.
I refused to be embarrassed, and ignored it.
“Are you Scots?” I said.
“No. Why?”
I gestured towards his kilt.
“Oh, I see, no. More of a fashion statement, really.”
Wouldn’t you bloody know it.
I harrumphed down my nose, which seemed to amuse him even more. We both then started to speak at once, and then just as abruptly stopped at the same time.
“No, after you-”
“No, no really-”
“Look, all I was going to say is that I’m sorry to impose myself, and my very annoying allergies on you and your aunt, but work is really hectic at the moment, and it’s the only spare time I’m going to have for quite a while. I hope we can get on OK, it’s difficult, I know, working with someone you don’t know, but Harry’s very persuasive, isn’t he?”
I nodded, smiling grudgingly at him.
He continued, “Anyway, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I loved that lemon and artichoke dip you did last year, by the way. Very nice.”
I felt slightly mollified, it’s always good to be complimented on something you do, isn’t it? Then, of course he went on to ruin it.
“Bit too much garlic, I thought, though.”
I glared at him, but he took no notice at all.
He sniffed the mild air appreciatively, as Londoners do, I notice when they wake up down here, suddenly bereft of their daily dose of exhaust fumes.
Then he was off, firing questions at me with the force of a water cannon. Where did I source my ingredients? Where could he go to find fishermen who would take him out on a boat? Where did I get my herbs from? What had I done about the roast onions? Did I make my own bread? Did I think that it was impossible to use organic produce in mass produced food? What variety of apple tree was in the garden? What did I grow in the greenhouse? It was endless, I felt like I was being interrogated.
I sank down on the bench, still clutching my mug of lukewarm tea. All of the answers would have to wait till after breakfast. I would just going to chance my luck, when Nancy stepped out from the doorway into the garden, beaming with delight.
“Well, I’ve had a wonderful response from everyone. Sam’s going to take in Baxter at The Ram, think of the fun he’ll ha
ve there! Pritti will have Nelson. I’ll run them down in the car and-”
“Whoa there, hang on a minute, what’s going on?” I said, alarmed at what was happening so quickly.
Nancy looked pityingly at me, “Oh Fin, poor Oliver can’t possibly stay here with the animals, so I’ve asked our friends to have them, just till you two have finished working together, of course.”
He was poor Oliver now, was he? And when had all this been decided? I gave Nancy a truculent stare, aware that I looked like a sulky teenager throwing a moody. I felt out manoeuvred, and gave in with a bad grace.
“Now then, do you think I should take Baxter’s basket, as well as his cushion with me to the pub?” she continued, smiling brightly at me.
“I’d take along some dog aspirins as well, he’s going to wake up with a hell of a hangover every morning living there,” I muttered grumpily.
I wondered what he was going to instigate next. No doubt he’d have Nancy going teetotal and me on a diet.
Chapter Eight
In the end, I volunteered to drive Baxter and Nelson to their respective holiday homes. I needed some time alone to think, and it seemed the only way was I was going to get it was in the car. I left Harry and Nancy washing away all traces of fur and feather from Penmorah. Oliver strode around the gardens, poking around in the greenhouse, looking like a modern day Bonnie Prince Charlie.
I dropped Nelson off at The Rampersauds home, along with a supply of sunflower seeds and a cuttle fish shell. I’d seen as I drove up that Jace’s van wasn’t there, and felt a curious mixture of mingled relief and disappointment. I implored Pritti and Sunita (one of her enchanting looking daughters) to teach Nelson some acceptable phrases in Urdu.
“The picnic was lovely, was it not, Fin?” Pritti enquired, looking, it seemed to me anyway, astutely at me.
“Yes, lovely,” I replied brightly, clambering back into the car and waving my goodbyes.
Oh God, please don’t let her find out about Jace and me, I found myself silently praying.
The Cornish Affair Page 7
