The Cornish Affair

by Lockington, Laura

  “You know Fin, don’t invest too much hope in this party… I think you’re expecting too much from it darling. I know we miss the old parties here, but you can’t bring back the past Fin, as much as you’d like to. Besides, you have so much to look forward to, lovely Oliver, for one-”

  “I thought life was too short to moon over a man?” I said, wincing slightly as she pulled my hair.

  “You know very well what I mean,” she said sternly.

  Her hands were busy with my hair. Maybe she was right. I too might like to keep Oliver as a romance, not a fixture in my life. And as for expecting too much from the party, all I hoped for was a good time. I knew in my heart it would never be like the old parties here, it couldn’t be. Penmorah was a party house after all, it needed this party, and so did I.

  Nancy pulled me round so that I faced the mirror. I looked very strange, to tell you the truth. My hair was piled up on my head, in a sort of messy, abandoned top knot with trailing corkscrew curls hanging down all around me. The dress was so tight. And low. I’d never seen myself in anything like this before.

  Nancy clasped a jet choker around my neck, and ordered me into my shoes.

  “There!” she said, looking proudly at me, “What a stunner! You look utterly gorgeous yourself!”

  “What about this?” I said, pointing to the milky white cleavage I had which contrasted terribly with my weather tanned arms.

  “It’s a good job someone round here reads Vogue,” Nancy said tartly, waving a plastic bottle at me.

  “Fake tan!” I cried, “But it’ll go all streaky and orange and I’ll end up looking like Judith Chalmers!”

  “No you won’t,” Nancy said firmly, “This is state of the art stuff, as used by all the models nowadays, put it on after your bath tonight, not forgetting to exfoliate first, and you’ll wake up looking peachy, I promise!”

  I glanced doubtfully at the bottle.

  “Trust me, I’m a fashion doctor,” Nancy said.

  “OK, OK… are you sure I look alright?” I asked, turning in front of the mirror.

  “More than alright. Now then, I’ll do your hair again tomorrow, but don’t wash it or it won’t stay up.” Nancy cautioned me as she left the room.

  I got changed back into my ordinary clothes and headed downstairs whilst Nancy went into the muddy garden to see what she could pick for the party.

  Nelson was weaving around on his perch and I went to give him a scratch.

  “Pleased to be home Nelson?” I whispered to him.

  He moved from claw to claw, rocking with pleasure at my fingers digging in his feathers.

  I wracked my brains as to what I could do with him and Baxter tomorrow night. Neither of them minded a large group of people around them, but what about Oliver? I couldn’t have him wheezing and sneezing all over the place, and the one thing I couldn’t do was to put the dog and the parrot in the same room. Well, I could but only one of them would come out alive.

  I slipped the ham into the oven to glaze, and started to make some mayonnaise. By the way, if there is anyone left on the planet by now who hasn’t ever tasted homemade mayonnaise, just go and make some now. It will be a taste revelation to you. It won’t be anything like the slightly sickly goo you buy in jars. It really is so easy, and nothing to be scared about. A blender does help, of course, but making it by hand will build your arm muscles nicely. Just be sure to use good olive oil and fresh eggs. Go on, please. You’ll thank me for it.

  Nelson gave his preliminary screech to the phone, and I stretched my arm out to answer it.

  It was Harry, sounding very excited. He started to gabble at me and I had to get him to slow down. Something about offers flooding on for TV.

  “Offers for who?” I said, dipping my finger in the bowl of golden mayonnaise and tasting it. Divine. Maybe a touch more salt?

  “Whom,” Harry said sternly, then added, “you, you fool!”

  “Harry, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, reaching for the salt and tucking the phone under my chin I ground some more sea salt into the bowl.

  Gradually it all came out. It seems that a couple of TV producers had seen me on the news, losing my temper and had made a few enquiries and discovered that Harry was my agent.

  It seems they had a few ‘projects’ in mind for me.

  “Are they mad?” I cried down the phone, “What in the name of arse can they possibly be thinking about?”

  “Well, one of them thinks that you might like to front a show about gm crops and environmental issues, and the other one, which I rather like, is a cookery show in real peoples’ homes, you know a sort of reality bites thing-”

  I interrupted him with a very rude word indeed.

  “Well, let’s not forget dear that you are still awaiting Mr Harris’s verdict on Penmorah, aren’t you? A lovely bit of dosh might not go amiss right now,” Harry said smugly.

  “But Harry!” I said imploringly.

  “Well, just bear it in mind, that’s all I’m saying. We can talk about it tomorrow. By the way, we’re all flying down – how grand is that? Courtesy of Oliver Dean, who, by the way, seems rather taken with you.”

  “Really?” I asked, feeling a bit like a teenager who is imploring her best mate to tell her exactly what was said.

  “Yes, and Oliver’s got a great idea for Port Charles, but I’ll let him tell you that himself. We may well be a bit late tomorrow by the way, we’ve got to wait for him to finish shooting.” Harry said importantly.

  “Tigers or himself in the foot?” I asked sweetly.

  “How we laughed… so what’s the weather doing?”

  “Oh I’m pottering in the kitchen, so, umm, let me think.”

  It would have to be something cosy and comforting.

  “Almond and bread soup from Spain, cold, with lots and lots of lovely fresh garlic in it,” I said.

  “Keeps the vampires away, I suppose. See you tomorrow darling, love to Nancy.”

  I went about the kitchen muttering to myself. TV indeed! Bloody ridiculous. I don’t care how much it’s going to cost me to repair Penmorah, I wasn’t going to resort to that. I’ll leave the showing off to Oliver, not my cup of tea at all!

  I started to make a quick chutney to go with the home cooked ham which I’d just rescued from the oven. Jace had sent up some over ripe mangos in the box, they’d do perfectly.

  I was just sloshing some balsamic vinegar into a pan when a van drove up outside. Baxter and Nelson started to make a row, so I pushed Baxter out of the door, and told Nelson to shut up.

  “Shut up yourself!” was his startling reply.

  I went to open the kitchen door and found the woman from Fowey there with my wine and glasses.

  “Hell of a job, getting’ ‘ere,” she said, “Some roads still not be clear, proper awful, innit?”

  I agreed and went to help her unload. Two buff chickens were squawking in a cage in the back of the van, seemingly disturbed by being surrounded by so much alcohol.

  I glanced at some of the boxes that the wine was in, and saw that instead of the red and white that ordered, most of the boxes were labelled ‘Dom Perignon’. She caught me reading the labels and smiled.

  “Well now see, Sam ‘ad an order at The Ram an’ so did the Cat and Fiddle over Bodmin way, an’ some of the stuff got a bit mixed up, still a nod’s as good as a wink to a blind ‘orse, so they say, an’ ain’t nobody goin’ to be none the wiser, if you know what I mean! So ‘old yer ‘orses and keep shtum an’ let Jack Sprat eat! ” She tapped the side of her nose with her forefinger.

  “Know what I means?”

  Frankly, no. I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Nancy and I had baked beans on toast for supper, sitting in the kitchen with the battered silver tea pot in front of us.

  “How very glamorous,” I commented on our student meal.

  “We could always sneak a slice of that delicious looking ham from the ba
ck, so that no one could see that we’ve attacked it,” Nancy said, pouring tea into mugs.

  I was beginning to come round to her view point when there was the unmistakable sound of a taxi drawing up.

  We looked blankly at one another, and Baxter did his half hearted guard dog impersonation.

  “Oh god, I hope it isn’t some pissed up artist who’s got the date wrong for the party,” I said.

  We heard women’s voices at the back door, and I got up to open it.

  A dark haired woman wearing jeans and a leather jacket, toting an enormous suitcase stood next to a small brown haired younger woman looking very anxious.

  “Fin!” cried the woman with dark hair, moving forward to hug me.

  My god… It was my cousin, Beatrice.

  I stumbled out a few words of welcome, and turned to the other woman. Who was she? A friend of Beas?

  Nancy and Bea were hugging and chattering, and I heard snatches of conversation that involved plane times, delays, and complicated journey timetables.

  “But darling, you should have phoned!” Nancy kept saying.

  “I did…” Bea said, smiling.

  Had she? Well, yes, but when I spoke to her I’d been tiddly and I was damn sure she hadn’t mentioned that she was coming over here.

  The small brown haired woman was looking nervously around her, clutching, of all things a copy of Oliver Dean’s cookery book. I gestured towards her and said to Bea, “Is this a friend of yours?”

  “No, sorry, I should have said, we just sort of met in the taxi really, I gather you’re expecting her. This is Olga.”

  Who? I wracked my brains, and glanced at Nancy for some confirmation. I think it both dawned on us at the same time. Olga. Richard’s internet friend. Oh god.

  Nancy pulled her into the room and she sat down stiffly on one of the chairs round the table. Bea joined us, and I poured some tea for us all, giving myself time to think. I gave Bea a mug of tea, and she thanked me. I took a good look at her, and saw that she looked very different to how I remembered her. This was a looser, more confident, happier person than I remembered. She looked good, no, she looked great, in fact. Gone was the stiffly coiffed, business suited woman of the past. Her long black hair was smooth to her head, and drawn away from her face in a long braid. Gold hoped earrings dangled on her dark, smooth skin, and her caramel leather jacket was slung carelessly round her shoulders. She was smiling and chatting, and full of praise for what Nancy and I had been through with the storm.

  I glanced quickly at Nancy, to see how she was taking the surprise visit of her daughter. We’d only been talking about her today, and I wished like anything that Nancy had told me whatever it was she had been going to tell me before Bea had turned up so unexpectedly. What could it be?

  That would have to wait.

  I settled my gaze on Olga, and was not re-assured by what I saw. She was looking so worried, yet determined that I felt a stab of anger with Richard. How could he let this woman travel so far without telling her the truth?

  Nancy was asking Olga about her journey, and she replied in the perfect stilted English of someone who has learnt the language from books.

  Mind you, I suppose that was a bit of a relief. Imagine if she spoke no English at all. Just between ourselves, my Russian isn’t all it could be.

  Olga clutched her book to her chest, and said, “Is Richard to be here soon? I think he will be very pleased I am here, no?”

  “No,” Nancy and I both said together.

  Oh god, how were we going to explain this one? Bea looked curiously at us, and I offered to take her case upstairs so that I could explain the situation to her.

  “Sure,” she said cheerfully, “Where do you want me, the yellow room?”

  I looked guiltily at Nancy. That’s where Bea usually stayed, in the most uncomfortable room in the house.

  “No, umm, let’s put you in the Spanish room,” I said. (So called because it had once housed a collection of fans, long since vanished, but the name had stuck.)

  Bea looked surprised, but followed me up the hall. As soon as we were out of earshot, I explained about Richard and the computer girl from Russia.

  “Oh Lordy,” she said, rolling her eyes at me.

  This was unusual, where was the cross Bea? The one who would disapprove of anything out of the ordinary, and would make comments on how dusty everything was?

  “I hope I’m not putting you guys out, or anything?” Bea inquired, hauling her case up the stairs with me.

  “No, umm, no not at all. I fact you’re in time for the party we’re going to have tomorrow,” I said, knowing that she’d simply hate that. Bea’s idea of a party would be having two couples to dinner where they could safely boast about the price of their houses.

  “Great… I must say Fin, Penmorah’s looking great! I always forget how homey it is here.”

  I searched her voice for any hint of criticism, but couldn’t find any. What the hell had happened to her? It didn’t take me long to find out. She started to tell me as soon as we got upstairs.

  “I know this is kinda sudden, but, well, I wanted to touch base, you know?”

  Well, sort of. But I nodded encouragingly.

  “Matt and I have split. The boys are at camp, we’ll have to deal with them later on, and I needed some time to myself…I needed to see mummy again, and you too. Is that OK?” Bea asked diffidently.

  I could only nod again. If I wasn’t careful I’d soon resemble one of those nodding dogs seen in the back of cars.

  “Are you alright?” I asked, “I mean, it’s very traumatic breaking up with someone, and-”

  “Oh hell yes! I feel great!” Bea laughed, heaving her bag onto the bed, and unzipping it. She withdrew from it a bag of duty free booze and handed it to me.

  “Let’s break this open downstairs and deal with poor old Olga, shall we?”

  I nodded dumbly again. I could see that this new Bea was someone I was beginning to like.

  As we went back down the stairs, it felt suddenly right. I know that sounds silly, but there was an undeniable air of pleased familiarity about Penmorah. A member of the family had come, it seemed to be saying. I found myself agreeing with it.

  Nancy was struggling to talk to Olga, who was sitting bolt upright in her chair, still clutching her book.

  “But what I do not understand is why would Richard write with another name? Perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me, please?” Olga said insistently.

  The three of us looked at one another, not knowing what to say.

  “I know,” I said brightly, “I’ll phone him and get him to come up here and he can explain it all to you himself.”

  That should serve him bloody well right. I thought, my fingers stabbing the numbers quite viciously. Of course, dame fortune, who I’ve noticed favours young men rather a lot, made it so that he wasn’t in. Damn. I tried The Ram, but Sam said he wasn’t there either.

  “But why would Richard not be here, this is home after all, no?” Olga said, becoming more and more bewildered.

  This was getting worse by the minute. I saw that Bea was in danger of getting the giggles. “It’s all getting a bit Chekov, isn’t it?” she whispered.

  This took me aback too. Bea was in serious danger of acquiring a sense of humour.

  “I know what you mean, we’re all going to be yearning to go to Moscow soon,” I whispered back.

  Nancy frowned at us, and I went to the cupboard for some glasses. I thought Bea’s idea of cracking open the duty free was a very good one.

  “I have some small thing I wish to confess to you all,” Olga said, taking a deep breath and looking down at her hands.

  I felt very sorry for her. It must have taken a huge amount of courage to fly here from Russia, god knows how she actually managed to get here from Heathrow, and she surely must be exhausted. She was a small, fragile looking creature, not the sort of Russian Amazon that we all might expect. She had very light brown hair cut to her shoulders, she wa
s hunched up in a long pale brown coat that had seen better days. A scuffed brown plastic handbag and a small airline travel bag were her only luggage. She had pale skin that had never seen make up, and hazel eyes. She probably was good looking, but with all that beige and brown around her it was difficult to tell. She was definitely not anybody’s idea of a brazen Russian adventuress looking for a passport and a husband.

  “What is it, Olga?” Nancy asked kindly.

  The story started to pour out of her. We all listened, horrified that we had giggled at her predicament. But she spoke in such a matter of fact voice, and told such a terrible tale of woe, it was hard to take in.

  “But this is not what I mean to say. My history is not uncommon in my country now, But the matter to confess – it is this. I have lied to Richard. I am not who I said I am. I send picture of my sister, Sonia. She is the beauty of my family, so I think Richard will be displeased, no? How will I tell him? He will see me and not want me, and then what will I do?”

  What indeed?

  To my surprise it was Bea who spoke first, and with great kindness and authority.

  “You got a photo of your sister honey?” she asked.

  Olga nodded and took out a battered photo from her cracked handbag. I guessed it was her best handbag, because she stroked it lovingly and very carefully replaced it on the floor. Baxter, of course went immediately to it and started to sniff and paw at it. I called him away, but Olga smiled, “No he is alright. I miss animals, I grow up with them they were my life. When we have to move from our farm to the city, my heart breaks to lose the animals!” She brushed a tear from her eyes, and we all of us had a collective sniff.

  Olga handed the photo of her sister to Bea and I went to stand behind her to study it with her.

  A luridly coloured snapshot of a girl smiling into the summer’s sky stared out at us. She had a gash of red lipstick on, and wavy fair hair curled on her shoulders. She looked flirtatiously at the camera, with bold eyes and a come hither look. I could quite see why Richard had fallen for her, she looked just the type to hitch a ride to England on the off chance of hitting it off with him.