The Golden Cup

by Marcia Willett

  He shook his head. ‘I couldn’t sleep and suddenly I had a very strong feeling that I should be here. I was too late to see Mutt but at least Joss had some company after the shock of finding her.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ said Mousie. ‘Perhaps I should have stayed but I had one of those feelings too. It seemed to me that Joss and Mutt should be here together. Odd, isn’t it?’

  ‘I think you were absolutely right. From what I can gather something very special happened between them earlier on.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good,’ she answered with impulsive warmth. ‘They were so close, those two, and Joss brought her a great deal of comfort. Thank God that Emma was here too. Mutt was quite relaxed when I left her last evening, though she’d had something on her mind these last few days. Strange …’

  He watched the puzzlement in the intelligent, slate-blue eyes and felt a tiny twinge of fear in his gut.

  ‘Strange?’ He spoke lightly, eyebrows raised, and she seemed to recall herself and shook her head.

  ‘Nothing important,’ she said. ‘Or anyway, not at the moment. You look exhausted. Go home and try to get some sleep before Emma wakes. There will be an awful lot to do later. Go on, Bruno, there’s nothing more you can do here.’

  There was no alternative but to let himself out into the grey morning. A damp breeze touched his face and a soft mist wreathed and curled through the branches of the rhododendrons. Hands thrust into the pockets of his jacket he walked quickly down the drive, anticipating Emma’s reaction, persuading himself that Mousie would not find the letters. He wished now that he’d seized his chance when Mousie had gone to deal with Joss’s hot-water bottle, but he’d had no plan as to where to hide them and feared to be caught red-handed. As soon as he could he would remove them to safety but some deep instinct warned him that it would be foolish to destroy them: perhaps, all too soon, they might be needed. Now that Joss knew the truth there would be further problems and he wondered how she would deal with this new knowledge. His guess was that Raymond Fox would travel at once to St Meriadoc, so as to be on the spot at the reading of the will, and Bruno could well imagine the dilemma in which Joss would soon find herself.

  He tried to empty his tired mind, to think about Mutt: immediately grief closed up his throat, making it difficult to swallow, and suddenly he saw how very much he would miss her. Despite his anger, the letters had touched him deeply and, remembering that younger, vulnerable Mutt, his heart was weighted with sadness and loss.

  He let Nellie out, filled the kettle and went to revive the fire, all the while bracing himself to the task of telling Emma that her mother was dead.

  Joss was already asleep. She’d obediently swallowed two tablets with some water, gratefully clutching the hot-water bottle.

  ‘Sleep.’ Mousie had spoken the word as if it were part incantation, part order. ‘You’ve done wonderfully, my darling. Now rest. I’ll bring you a cup of tea at nine o’clock.’

  Alone at last, her head beating painfully as a result of weeping and strain, Joss had slid beneath her quilt and closed her eyes. Phrases from the letters, fragments of conversation, images conjured from the past, jostled in her weary brain. If only Bruno were right and she could believe that Mutt had wanted to share her secret, then she might be able to forgive herself; it was unbearable to accept that she’d betrayed Mutt’s trust. Yet she suspected that both of them knew that he’d been making a generous attempt to exonerate and comfort her. As she willed herself to relax she tried to relive the shock the letters had first had upon her: to re-create that disbelief at the realization that Mutt was an impostor. At some deep level she understood that if she could only concentrate on Mutt’s deception then her own behaviour might seem a little less disgraceful, which made her feel even more ashamed.

  As she’d stirred restlessly, turning her aching head on the pillow, it slowly dawned upon her that Mutt would be the last person to judge her. The writer of those letters would not condemn her but would, rather, be full of compassion at the knowledge of the burden of secrecy that she, Joss, must now bear in her turn. Just as, earlier, Bruno had tried to take the weight of guilt from her so now it seemed that Mutt, in her turn, was easing that burden.

  Joss had stretched, her cramped muscles relaxing, her heart a little lighter, and composed herself to sleep. For the first time in hours she’d thought about George: George, who was not after all her second cousin, who was no relation at all. She’d reviewed this information, from this angle and that, and saw that it made no difference: that the relationship that had been forged over their lives remained unchanged. The awareness of him, only half a mile away, had filled her with a warm peacefulness. Tomorrow she would see him.

  Turning on to her side, clasping the comforting bottle, Joss slept.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  George woke early, pulled on the long tartan dressing-gown that hung behind the door, and went downstairs. Rafe was already up, making coffee, drawing back the curtains.

  ‘Weather’s changed,’ he said. ‘Pity. I was enjoying the nip in the air and the sunshine. Did you manage to sleep?’

  ‘On and off.’ George took his mug of coffee gratefully. ‘The trouble is that this problem gets between me and everything else. I worry at it like a terrier at a rat-hole.’

  ‘That sounds reasonable under the circumstances.’

  An uneasy silence fell between them. Rafe swiped at the draining-board with a cloth, screwed the top on to the jar of coffee, aware of his helplessness. Pamela, he felt, would have had the key word, the right phrase, to help George through to some kind of conclusion or at least convey sympathy and encouragement. He, who had spent his life teaching and enabling, felt at a loss to help his own son.

  George sensed his father’s frustration and felt equally impotent. He swallowed some coffee and went to look out of the window, racking his brains for some light-hearted remark that would ease the tension. The sea slopped untidily at the cliffs; grey and unfriendly as dish-water, it heaved itself up against the land and slithered back from it again as if finding the effort too great. Presently it turned its back on the unyielding coast and began to slip gently away.

  ‘I was wondering if I might get a sail in while I was here.’ George said the first thing that offered itself. ‘Sailing helps to clear the mind somehow.’

  Rafe came to stand beside him at the window, as if considering the possibility.

  ‘Not much wind.’

  ‘No, and anyway I ought to be getting back.’ Rafe was silent. ‘It’s just, you know … not much point in hanging round here …’ George stopped. ‘I don’t mean that. It’s always great to see you both. But I think I’ll go back and tell Penny that the deed is done. She’ll be wondering how you are …’

  ‘My dear fellow, you must do exactly what’s right for you.’ Rafe slipped an arm along his son’s broad shoulders, gave him a brief hug. ‘You know you are always welcome here. Just stay in touch.’

  ‘Of course I will.’ George finished his coffee. ‘Will Ma be OK?’

  ‘Your mother will be fine. She wants what is right for you, that’s all.’

  ‘If only we knew what that is it would be a start. Relationships are so complicated.’ He shook his head as if baffled. ‘I keep wondering why, you see. She seemed quite happy in London with all her friends. She’d settled in so well, had a good job. Perhaps I should never have asked her to give it all up.’

  ‘But you’d hardly have seen each other,’ Rafe pointed out. ‘And she seemed very ready to marry you and move down here.’

  George nodded, shrugged. ‘Well, that’s how it seemed to me. She got on very well with some of the other wives too, although very often when we were at sea she’d go back to London to see her friends. Of course, having Tasha made that more difficult, but then she decided she wanted to be out of the city and I thought that having the cottage would settle her, you see. Her heart was so set on it.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Rafe carefully, ‘she was trying to distract herself. Perhaps it
was her way of trying to make things work; to take her mind off … whatever his name is.’

  Some odd kind of delicacy made him unwilling to name Penny’s lover but George had no difficulty with this.

  ‘Brett,’ he said, supplying the name without any particular emotion. ‘You could be right. I was angry because it seemed that the minute he appeared on the scene she gave in at once. Now I’m beginning to believe that he’s been around for longer than I realized.’

  ‘Is that likely?’ Rafe remembered the theory he’d put forward to Pam last night. ‘You wouldn’t have suspected something?’

  George shrugged. ‘Why should I? You don’t naturally assume that your wife’s having an affair with a former lover, do you? Especially when you think he’s thousands of miles away.’

  Rafe studied him. There was no sign in his son’s face of any real jealousy: no bitterness. He was reminded again of the rugby match tickets and Jeremy MacCann: George, once more, was suffering from a sense of being hard done by at Penny’s hands whilst at the same time feeling sympathy for her.

  ‘What do you really want, George?’ he asked involuntarily. ‘Given a free choice?’

  George chuckled. ‘How do you spell it, Pa?’ he asked. ‘First things first. I want to make certain Penny and I have done everything we can before we chuck it in.’

  ‘And then what?’ asked Pamela from behind him.

  ‘I’ll take that step when it comes.’ He bent to kiss her. ‘Good morning. I’m going to dash off, Ma. I want to tell Penny that you’ve been told, as she asked me, and that you are very sad but not angry. The last thing I want is for her and Brett to feel they’re star-crossed lovers, defying the world. They need to see that it’s all quite depressingly ordinary and nothing special.’

  ‘You’re clearing the decks,’ she said thoughtfully.

  ‘If you like.’ He looked amused at the expression. ‘Will you tell Joss I’m sorry not to have seen her?’

  ‘Joss?’ she asked quickly.

  There was a brief silence.

  ‘And Mousie,’ he said evenly, ‘and Bruno and Emma. And Mutt, of course. I just have this feeling that I mustn’t allow any time to be wasted. I’ve got a few days’ leave, that’s all.’

  ‘You must do whatever you have to,’ she said, putting her arms around him. ‘Just stay in touch, my darling. Give our love to Penny and Tasha, and remember that we’re here if you need us.’

  ‘I know that.’ He held her tightly for a moment. ‘Thanks, Ma. I’ll phone when I get home.’

  He disappeared upstairs whilst Pamela stood quite still, her head bent thoughtfully.

  ‘I was just bringing you some coffee.’ Rafe spoke normally, an ear cocked towards the stairs. The bathroom door closed. ‘What did you mean,’ he lowered his voice, ‘about clearing the decks?’

  ‘Just a feeling I have.’ She held out her hand and he put the mug into it. ‘He never did like muddle, did he? He always wanted things cut and dried, and hated anything that wasn’t above board. Well and truly off with the old before on with the new.’

  ‘Any more clichés?’ Rafe asked drily. ‘You sound surprisingly cheerful about it this morning.’

  ‘Oh, Rafe, I think I am,’ she answered. ‘I think … oh, dear, I can feel another cliché coming on. I think I can see a light at the end of the tunnel.’

  ‘Or a cloud with a silver lining?’ he suggested cheerfully. ‘Well, thank God. When he’s gone you can tell me what it is because I’m damned if I can see it.’

  At The Lookout, Emma was staring miserably at the fire, her arm round Nellie, who sat beside her on the sofa.

  ‘So suddenly,’ she murmured. ‘I can’t believe it. And poor darling Joss there all alone with her.’

  Bruno didn’t correct this impression. He, too, had been making coffee but Emma’s stood untasted on the table.

  ‘It could have been much worse,’ he said, hearing the conventional uselessness of the words but too tired to think of anything original. ‘And wonderful for Mutt to slip away like that without pain.’

  Tears streamed down Emma’s cheeks and she wiped at them with the back of her hands.

  ‘I wish you’d woken me up,’ she said. ‘When you went.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have mattered,’ he told her. ‘I didn’t see her alive either.’

  ‘I must go and see Joss.’ She made as if to move but sank back again, as if defeated by the heaviness of grief.

  ‘I told you that she’s asleep,’ he reminded her. ‘Mousie will get her off to work but she needs to rest.’

  ‘Surely she doesn’t have to go to work,’ protested Emma. She laid her cheek against Nellie’s head. ‘They’ll understand, won’t they? Poor Joss …’

  ‘She’ll want to go.’ Bruno had never been able to convince Emma of the work ethic. ‘And quite right too. Work is the best thing for her. It’ll take her mind off things. Why don’t you go up to Paradise and see how Mousie is coping, and then you’ll be able to have a word with Joss when she wakes up?’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ Emma pulled herself together. ‘Mousie will have telephoned the doctor and I suppose one of us will have to contact the undertaker …’

  ‘There’s a lot to be organized,’ he agreed. ‘I need a shower and a shave and then I’ll follow you up after I’ve told Rafe and Pamela.’

  She glanced at him, grateful for his presence. ‘You look exhausted,’ she told him anxiously. ‘Could you snatch an hour’s sleep? Why don’t you try?’

  ‘I might,’ he said. ‘I’ll see how I feel after I’ve showered. As long as you’re OK?’

  She nodded, although her lips trembled a little. ‘It’s just so hard to believe she isn’t there any more.’

  ‘You’re allowed to cry,’ he told her gently. ‘You don’t have to be brave with me.’

  ‘I know that,’ she said. ‘But you’re right about being busy. It distracts. I’ll go and get dressed and then get up to Paradise. It’s not right to leave it all to Mousie and, anyway, I want to say goodbye properly to Mutt. Oh God! I can’t believe it.’

  He watched her go out, mopping her eyes, and then drank his coffee in one gulp. Bending to stroke the recumbent Nellie, he wondered if Joss might think about the letters; whether she’d have the opportunity to move them to a safer place. Taking the mugs into the kitchen, letting Nellie out, all the while he was thinking of how and when he might transport the letters away from Paradise.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Joss woke suddenly. She heard the front door close and voices, muffled, in the hall. Awareness of loss and anxiety squeezed at her heart and she huddled beneath the bed-clothes, dredging up the courage to face the day. So much had changed, despite Bruno’s reassurances that she was still exactly the same person she’d always believed herself to be. Emma was her mother, Mutt her grandmother, true enough: but there was no link now to Bruno, or to Mousie and Rafe, and she’d already had a taste of how difficult it would be to pretend otherwise. It was not in her character to mislead or conceal, and the few moments that she’d had with Mousie had shown her how different these relationships would be from now on. Yet with Bruno himself, after that first adjustment, she’d found herself confiding and talking as if there were no difference. The love and trust between them, nurtured over the years, had paid off and their friendship had proved to be above family ties; stronger than blood. Yet there was a difference.

  Joss rolled onto her back, pushing the tepid bottle to one side. The difference was that Bruno shared the secret with her. If anything, this knowledge would be bound to strengthen those ties: with the other members of the family she must always, now, be on her guard. How, she wondered, had Bruno survived all these years of secrecy? Would she be able to do the same? Fear stiffened her muscles as she thought about her mother and the complications that lay ahead regarding the will. How could she, Joss, now accept anything from the estate and how could she approve her mother inheriting above Rafe and Mousie, especially if her father were to interfere? She knew his ways:
if her mother were to inherit the boatyard then he would try to convince Emma that the development of the cove would be in every-one’s best interests: that Mousie, as well as Rafe and Pamela and all their family, would share in the profits.

  Joss stirred, gritting her teeth with anxiety, already seeing his campaign: patient, relentless, good-humoured. The trouble was that it could split the family. Rafe and Pamela would be devastated at the idea but their two eldest children would almost certainly be in favour of such a lucrative project. Olivia and Joe would instantly grasp at an opportunity that, with their growing families, was likely to increase income and would be impatient with the suggestion that their parents would hate to be uprooted from the cove or made miserable were they to stay. Joss could well imagine how difficult it would be for Pamela to resist once she was shown how the development would bring such financial help to her children.

  Olivia and Joe had never had the passion for the valley of St Meriadoc that she, Joss, and George shared. Neither of them could wait to get away; both were ambitious and their visits rapidly dwindled as they became more successful, although this was blamed on growing pressure of work and the complications of travelling with ever-increasing broods of small children. They would be indifferent to the loss of peace and natural beauty: unmoved by the fact that The Lookout’s prospect would become a noisy holiday centre. It would be bad enough for Rafe and Pamela, and Mousie – yet of all of them it would be Bruno, the true inheritor and only legitimate beneficiary, who would actually suffer most. The tranquillity and privacy that he valued so much would be destroyed and, even if it were his cousins who benefited financially, it was quite wrong that this destruction should be instigated by someone who had no rights at all over the estate that belonged to Bruno’s family. How, Joss asked herself, would she be able to remain silent if all this were to happen? Perhaps, after all, a time might come when it would be necessary for the truth to be told and the letters shown. They must be kept in a safe place, just in case.