Christmas on the Little Cornish Isles

by Phillipa Ashley

  After his joke had fallen flat, he shuffled papers nervously, and Maisie felt a glimmer of sympathy for him. His idea had potential, in fact it was a good one, but whether people would trust him enough to go for it was another thing altogether.

  Why did he have to look so amazing? He was very tired but also freshly gilded by the Australian sun. In comparison, Maisie was shattered and desperately trying to hide the fact she was throwing up every morning and feeling sick at the sight and smell of every pint.

  Patrick cleared his throat again.

  ‘As you’ll have read, I’m proposing a compromise: a trust in which I have no say and which is run by a committee of islanders and an independent representative. I’ll put in the initial investment required to bring the properties involved up to standard and it will run as a co-operative, with everyone sharing in the profits. I won’t be breathing down your necks – in fact I’m going back to Melbourne – but I will take more responsibility for matters in the future.’

  ‘What about Petroc? Will you sell it to Hugo?’ someone demanded.

  ‘Hugo will still be in charge of Petroc. He’s made a success of it and I’ve no wish to interfere,’ said Patrick. ‘It’s in all our interests that Petroc remains successful to help fund Gull, but I’m still the owner. Hugo will have to consult me in any major matters and he’ll have nothing to do with Gull at all.’

  There were hmms and huffs, which Maisie took to be approval. She felt sorry for Hugo in one way, having made Petroc the success it was while never actually being its legal owner. Patrick was speaking again. ‘I know you’ll want to discuss this among yourselves so I’m going to answer any more questions you may have and then leave you to vote on it. If you agree, I’ll get my lawyers to draw up detailed contracts and we’ll set the plans in place.’

  Patrick stayed an hour or so more to explain how the Gull Island Trust would work and answer more questions, then he left. Maisie and he hadn’t exchanged a direct word although he’d looked at her with longing and pain. She’d looked at him with guilt; he had to be told about the baby while he was here but she was worried about his reaction. Would he be horrified and hot foot it out of Scilly, or would he feel it was his ‘duty’ to stay and help her? God knows it was his child and she could use the financial help, but did she want to be beholden to him in that way?

  The atmosphere warmed once he’d put his offer on the table. Maisie and the other residents stayed for another hour to discuss it. They were getting the best of both worlds. Security and freedom. Only Maisie was the one who felt she was getting neither. She hated being forced to be grateful to Patrick. And yet what he said made sense and she gave him credit him for facing up to his responsibilities and putting things right.

  But saying she agreed to being part of the scheme had hurt.

  She went home after the meeting but there was no sign of Patrick. According to Javid, he’d been taken back to St Mary’s and then to London to meet the UK branch of his lawyers and to give people time to consider the offer, but he was coming back to Gull again a few days later.

  For the next two days, Maisie was at a loss. Then the day came when Patrick was due to return for the meeting: the final time he would ever set foot on the island and probably the last time she would ever see him. Gull seemed a strange land as she walked up the hill to the community hall on Wednesday afternoon. Towering dark clouds gathered to the far west as another storm marshalled its forces, ready to unleash rain and hail and gales on Scilly. Patrick was flying from London to Newquay according to Javid and then on to Scilly, all being well.

  Maisie stared at the weather front. She hoped he made it or it could be another couple of days. She couldn’t wait any longer to put an end to this. Everyone had agreed to meet with Patrick at the community hall and give their verdict.

  Fifteen minutes after the start time, the door opened and Patrick strode in. His hair was wet and he was breathing heavily. ‘Sorry I’m late. I almost didn’t make it.’

  ‘Lucky you did. We were going home,’ said Una.

  He nodded at Maisie. This was agony. She had to speak to him today.

  The meeting started and the islanders delivered their verdicts. It was a ‘yes’ from the Fudge Pantry, the Hell Cove Cottages, from Javid and all the others. That left the Samsons and the Driftwood.

  ‘Maisie? Hazel? Ray?’ Patrick asked.

  Ray stood up. ‘Yes. We agree.’

  Patrick’s shoulders slumped visibly in relief. ‘Thank you. I hope this will be the start of a long and happy relationship.’

  ‘It had better be,’ said Hazel.

  Maisie winced. ‘Mum …’ she murmured.

  ‘How do we know we can trust you?’ said Hazel.

  ‘It’s in writing. I can’t back out,’ he said. ‘I swear I won’t.’

  Patrick continued to be interrogated by a group of islanders but the atmosphere had lifted, and there were smiles and excited chatter over the buffet lunch after the contracts were signed. Maisie was almost faint with the tension of wanting to speak to Patrick, but he was pinned down by locals and she realised she’d have to wait until everyone else had left to get him on his own. The room was stuffy as the heaters belted out warmth and she felt overwhelmed.

  ‘I’m going for a breath of fresh air,’ she told her father.

  ‘Fresh air? You’ll be blown away, love, and it’s raining out there.’ Her father put his arm around her. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes. I just need a few minutes on my own.’

  ‘You’ll come back in?’

  ‘Yes. I need a word with Patrick. Don’t let him go without seeing me, will you, but I’ll only be ten minutes anyway.’

  She escaped through the front door with a longing glance at Patrick and wrapped her scarf around her neck. The wind buffeted her and the cold rain was like needles against her face. That was it. Signed, sealed and delivered. When she’d enlightened Patrick and she’d heard what he wanted to do, she would tell her parents they were going to be grandparents.

  She had enough light to see by for a little while yet so climbed onto the hillock behind the community hall. Streetlights twinkled on St Mary’s behind her, and across the channel on Petroc, the windows of the tavern, hotel and even a few of the holiday cottages glowed. The Driftwood was in darkness, but its pale walls were just visible on the shoreline above the grey beach.

  Maisie lowered her head and walked higher. She’d been feeling a little less fragile over the past few days. She was now around eleven weeks on, according to her GP. She knew exactly when she’d fallen pregnant. A condom had failed during one of their evenings at the Flower Farm but Maisie had told Patrick not to worry because she had virtually no chance of ever getting pregnant again. Her periods had always been all over the shop so she hadn’t thought anything when she skipped one before Christmas.

  A gust almost knocked her off her feet and the rain turned to sleet, soaking her woollen mittens. She had to go back inside the hall to see Patrick and seek some shelter. It dawned on her that she could no longer do what she wanted: there was her baby to consider now. Her precious baby. Instinctively she clutched at her stomach and smiled for the first time in days. What would Patrick think?

  Should she tell him at all?

  She turned to walk down the hill, pulling her hood together against the driving sleet. People were walking out of the community hall, hurrying back on foot to their homes. A powerful gust hit her, funnelled by the hillock and the hall. Maisie lost her footing and fell with an ‘oof’ onto the wet grass at the side of the path. She was winded but not hurt because the rough tussocky grass had broken her fall.

  ‘Maisie. Are you all right? Let me help you.’ A hand grabbed hers.

  ‘Hugo!’

  He pulled her to her feet, holding her arm.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.

  He finally let go of her hand.

  ‘What do you think? I’m not going to take this lying down, you know, no matter what bloody Patrick says. I’v
e run Petroc on my own since Dad became ill. I’ve made a big success of it and he just turns up now and takes over.’

  ‘He’s not taking over Petroc. You have sole charge of it. He owns it, Hugo, whether you like it or not! And I thought he’d already spoken to you about his plans.’

  ‘He has but I’m not giving in. You think the sun shines out of his arse, don’t you? If you hadn’t been so bloody-minded, I could have offered you a way to keep the Driftwood in your name with an injection of cash to bring it up to the standards of the Rose and Crab.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  His voice softened from the bitter tone he’d adopted. ‘Like I said I genuinely care about you … I always have,’ he said.

  ‘You’re offering us a loan?’

  ‘An investment. You wouldn’t have to worry too much about repaying it … the terms would be very favourable and you and your parents would stay as owners.’

  He cut a pathetic figure, Maisie thought, but was too angry to feel any sympathy with him. ‘But what would be in it for you, Hugo?’

  ‘We could come to an arrangement.’

  ‘What kind of arrangement?’

  ‘Now your eyes have been opened to the kind of man Patrick really is, perhaps – in time – we could get to know each other better. I’d like us to be a lot more than friends and business partners. I always have done.’

  Maisie groaned inwardly. Was Hugo trying to say he was in love with her? That was a complication she couldn’t handle. The wind howled and she shivered. She longed to be back in the warmth of the hall. ‘I’m sorry. I want us to be friends too and for you to understand that I want the Driftwood to be independent. I can’t forget you tried to persuade my parents to sell the pub.’

  ‘I admit that was probably a misjudgement, but I was trying to do the right thing for you, too. I always have been.’

  She sighed. ‘Then you’ve gone about it in exactly the wrong way.’

  ‘Is there a right way?’

  ‘No. I’m not ready to talk to you about this now. It’ll take time for me to get over it and I need to get back into the hall. Mum and Dad are waiting for me.’

  ‘And Patrick?’ Hugo added bitterly. ‘Are you going to forgive him after all the lies he’s told you? If you are, you really must be blinded by love for him …’

  Maisie didn’t know how to reply. Although she was angry at Hugo’s comments, she’d also been asking herself the same questions. Could she forgive Patrick? There was no easy answer.

  ‘I’m leaving. You should too.’ She hurried off, but Hugo caught her up and laid his hand on her arm.

  His tone was almost pleading. ‘Don’t be fooled by him again!’

  ‘I know my own mind. Leave me alone.’

  He kept his hand on her arm for a second then let go. ‘If that’s what you want.’

  Maisie escaped before he said anything else. He was a sad figure, infuriating and a bit pathetic at the same time. She didn’t want to cause pain to any man, but she absolutely couldn’t return Hugo’s feelings. The thought of him having been in love with her all this time made her want to run away, even though she felt sorry for him. She rushed down the hill towards the warmth and lights. She thought she heard Hugo shout after her and that he was following her so she quickened her step, almost tripping over the tussocky grass.

  ‘Maisie! Wait!’

  Damn Hugo. She’d had enough of being told how she thought and felt. The past few weeks had been a turmoil of emotions, fuelled by her hormones and worries for the future. She stumbled again, threw out her hand to try and stay upright, thought she had … then heard her own cry as she slipped in the damp grass and rolled down the grassy bank. Seconds passed when she didn’t know which was way was up or down or whether she could stop.

  There was a roaring in her ears then a jolt.

  Finally she was still, with a hard wet surface under her body. Her leg throbbed. There were lights a few metres ahead and people shouting. She’d ended up on the tarmac car park outside the hall.

  She pushed herself up, scrambled to her feet, trying to ignore the sharp pain in her knee. She was out of breath but relieved to be in one piece and away from Hugo. As she limped to the porch of the hall, she looked round for him but he wasn’t there.

  ‘Maisie!’

  Ray ran over. ‘Are you OK, love? We were just going to send a search party for you, This wind has really got up.’

  Patrick was behind him.

  ‘I’m fine. Don’t make a fuss,’ she muttered.

  ‘Maisie? Are you OK?’ Patrick was by her side, holding her arm the way Hugo had, his face creased in concern. Maisie wanted to hold on to him and be held by him but things weren’t like that any more … would probably never be now the trust was shattered.

  ‘Yes. I just tripped. I’m fine.’ But the baby … Panic flooded her veins. She didn’t care about herself, but what if the fall had hurt the baby?

  Hazel joined them, pointing to her feet. ‘You’re soaked, love, and what’s that on your tights?’

  ‘I fell over in the mud. I’m OK, really,’ said Maisie, still light-headed with the shock, and desperate to get home and calm down in private.

  Patrick cut her off. ‘My God. You’ve cut yourself. Look.’

  She stepped under the light of the porch and brushed at her tights. ‘It’s only mud. Hugo was up on the hill. We had a bit of a chat.’ Immediately she regretted mentioning Hugo.

  Patrick stared at her, his eyes full of concern. ‘Hugo? A “chat”? What’s he done to you? Maisie?’

  Whatever Maisie was going to reply, she’d probably never know because a crushing pain robbed her of words and breath. She clutched her lower belly and her tights were wet and warm. Feeling woozy, she doubled up and let out a howl.

  ‘My God, what’s wrong? She’s bleeding,’ Patrick said.

  Her mum reached for her arm. ‘Oh, love. You must have hurt yourself. Was it Hugo?’

  Maisie tried to speak but couldn’t. A thick veil had been pulled between Maisie and the world and her legs gave way. Patrick was holding her under her back as she crumpled onto the tiles. ‘Fetch Javid and call an ambulance. Tell them Maisie’s had a fall and she’s bleeding,’ she heard him saying.

  Maisie stared at the floor. ‘It’s not me, it’s not me …’ she mumbled.

  ‘It is, my love. It is. But help’s coming,’ her mother said.

  ‘I’ll knock that bastard to kingdom come,’ Ray shouted.

  ‘No … no … he hasn’t done anything. I fell over … owwww.’ She doubled up in agony.

  Patrick was by her side on the floor. He looked like a ghost but so did everyone. ‘You’ll be all right, Maisie. We’ll look after you.’

  ‘But it’s not me,’ she said with a sob. ‘It’s not me, it’s the baby. Our baby.’

  Chapter 40

  The trip from the community hall to the hospital was the longest of her life. The ambulance station was literally next door and two of the island’s first responders were still inside the hall and rushed over, but she still had to wait for them to call the paramedics and then, eventually, load her very carefully into their Land Rover.

  ‘Who’s coming with her?’ Javid asked.

  ‘I am,’ Hazel said.

  ‘Mum …’

  ‘We’re both coming, love.’

  ‘I’ll follow.’ Patrick reached for her hand.

  ‘Patrick …’ She tried to grasp but his fingers slipped through hers as she was loaded into the Land Rover.

  The yellow ambulance boat was already waiting when they reached the quayside. Patrick arrived as the paramedics took charge and were helping her from the Land Rover. It wasn’t easy, carrying her from the quayside to the cabin, and Maisie kept begging them to be careful for the baby’s sake.

  ‘C-can I c-come?’ Patrick shouted as Maisie was settled in a chair on the deck. She could hardly hear him in the wind but she realised he must have run all the way from the hall.

  Hazel glanced from Maisie to
Patrick.

  ‘We must go,’ said the paramedic. ‘Get on board if you’re coming, mate.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, let him,’ Maisie said without thinking.

  He climbed on board. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Ray intervened. ‘You just think about yourself and this little one,’ he said, squeezing her hand.’

  Just the little one. Maisie didn’t care about herself … except the little one did depend on her, she supposed. What if rushing down the hill after her row with Hugo had caused the fall and made her lose the baby?

  ‘Patrick …’ she cried, not knowing if he would hear her above the engine.

  ‘I’m here.’ He grasped her hand. With everyone aboard, the engine picked up. Maisie lay back on the stretcher. Patrick had to let her go as the paramedic sat next to her and spoke into to her ear.

  ‘Might be a bit of a bumpy ride but don’t you worry. You lie nice and still and let us take care of you.’

  Then it was over the sea, the wind howling and the waves buffeting the boat. Hazel soothed her, stroked her hair and said she’d be all right. Patrick kept his eyes on her, dumbstruck. The doctor asked her how far along she was and who her GP was and a host of questions about her previous miscarriage.

  An eternity passed before she was across the water on St Mary’s, where she was carried off the boat and wheeled up the quay, the paramedic by her side and her mother holding her hand. Another ambulance waited to take her the short drive through the street to the hospital. Chilly air hit her face, then there was a rush of heat and she was blinking in the bright lights of the emergency department.

  ‘You’re in the best hands,’ her mother whispered.

  ‘Maisie. I’m sorry.’ Was that Patrick?

  In a second, everyone was gone and it was just her being hooked up to machines, tears falling down her cheeks. The consultant obstetrician had examined her as soon as she’d arrived at A&E and said that her cervix was still closed so they were going to scan her to see what was happening.