White Rivers

by White Rivers (retail) (epub)

  She understood, and she forgave, knowing she could do nothing else, when these raging personality conflicts were none of his doing. It had nothing to do with drink or drugs, just a terrible injury inflicted on him in a war. But it was gradually tearing him apart, turning him into two separate beings in one body, and it was tearing her apart too.

  She still loved him, even though that love was often sorely tested, and she desperately wanted him the way he used to be. But the more time passed, the further apart they seemed to be, and she knew in her soul there could be no going back.

  Chapter Four

  By the following morning, the day of the Pollard wedding, no one would have known of Philip Norwood’s savage mood change, and he appeared to have forgotten it. That was the way it always was, and Skye was grateful enough that he was his old self, at least for now. When Em and Will arrived from Padstow to the squeals of delight from the children, he was charm itself towards them. That was a bonus too, as he often implied that the farming pair were a cut beneath the others.

  ‘So what be ’ee wearing for the event, Skye?’ Em wheezed, large and ungainly as ever in an unfashionable frock and jacket. Skye’s thoughts soared with pleasure as she described the elegant green shot silk ensemble. She saw Emma’s doubtful look and gave a sigh.

  ‘Oh, don’t tell me you’re going to be an old fusspot like Charlotte, just because I’m wearing green! It’s just a colour, Em, and nobody can be so dumb as to think it can influence anybody’s future!’

  Emma snorted. ‘And you a Cornishwoman! Even if you’m an imported one, you can’t deny the senses that were given you at birth, and you’d do well not to scoff at superstition, my girl, nor sneer at them that believe in ’em.’

  ‘I don’t sneer,’ Skye said quickly, realising that for all Emma’s affability, she was really put out now. ‘But I have my own opinion on style, and knowing what suits me.’

  She bit her lips, wondering if Emma would see this as a further slight. Whatever Em wore to the wedding, she was going to appear lumpy and red-faced and breathless – and perfectly content with her lot. To Skye’s relief, she saw that her aunt was laughing now.

  ‘Don’t you worry none about style as far as me and Will are concerned, Skye. We go our own way and always have done, and they who starch themselves up to the nines for the wedding must take us as we are.’

  Skye gave her a hug. ‘And love you for it,’ she commented, suddenly husky.

  Of all the long Tremayne dynasty, by whatever name they now were, these two were the most contented of all. It may not be a fiery, passionate relationship – and only Em and Will knew the truth of that – but there was a lot to be said for the easy, loving companionship they shared.

  But Skye admitted that for herself, in the glorious, fulfilling prime of her life, such thoughts were more depressing than encouraging. She wasn’t ready to settle for easy, loving companionship… any more than Morwen Tremayne would have been, at whatever age.

  Skye’s eyes gleamed, remembering her grandmother’s sometimes more than vague hints on just how passionate a girl and woman she had been. Reminding Skye that passion didn’t have to end as the years advanced – providing the two people concerned felt the same way. Providing that passion didn’t become ugly and turn into abuse…

  ‘Are you cold?’ Emma said as she shivered. ‘’Tis a lovely day for a splicing, but if that silk affair you’m planning to wear be too thin, you’d best think of summat else.’

  ‘Stop it, Em,’ Skye said, laughing at her blatant guile. ‘I’m wearing green, and that’s that.’

  * * *

  The New World family and their relatives arrived at the church shortly before the due time. Baby Oliver had been left behind with his nanny until later in the day, and knowing of the girls’ restlessness and excitement, to have brought them any earlier would have been disastrous.

  As it was, Sebby was already challenging the hapless verger and a furious Lily in the church porch, saying he was too hot in his rubbishy outfit, and he might decide not to march up the aisle behind the bride and the little idiots after all.

  ‘Oh yes, you will, you little brat,’ snapped Philip, wrenching Sebby’s arm and taking charge. ‘You spoil this day for your cousins and I’ll throttle you.’

  ‘Philip, go on inside the church with Em and Will,’ Skye said, knowing she had to stop this before it came to blows. ‘I’ll stay outside with Lily and the children, and join you in our seats later as arranged.’

  She didn’t miss the verger’s thankful glance, and guessed he’d been sorely tested before they arrived. But they had been almost the last, until the horse-drawn carriage arrived with Theo acting as proxy father of the bride, and Vera looking as unlike Vera as Skye had ever seen her. Love – and wedding nerves – made all the difference, she conceded.

  ‘Will I do?’ she whispered to Skye through the filmy veil covering her face.

  ‘You look perfectly beautiful,’ Skye assured her, ‘and Adam will love you for ever.’

  But it felt a little strange to Skye to follow the bridal procession up the aisle, feeling that she really had no place to be there at all. It hadn’t been her choice to do so, but Lily had insisted that she couldn’t control Sebby as well as the Norwood girls if trouble erupted between them.

  It was hardly the way to regard a wedding day, but Skye couldn’t deny the possibility. So as the strains of the traditional bridal march began, she followed at a reasonable distance behind Theo and Vera, Sebby and her daughters, and finally Lily.

  There was a lump in her throat as she saw how people turned to gaze at Vera and smile at her. So many family members and friends, all wanting to wish her well on her special day. And at the far end of the church, where the preacher awaited them all, Adam and his brother Nick, his supporter, stepped forward and turned to see the vision who was approaching them now.

  Nick Pengelly was curious to see this woman who had captured his brother’s heart. He knew she was no young flapper, he thought irreverently, but she and Adam obviously suited one another. He couldn’t see Vera’s face clearly behind her veil, and he felt momentarily guilty that he hadn’t made the effort to call on her when he arrived back in Cornwall.

  But there had been so little time, and anyway, it was too late now for such thoughts. He always said that if you couldn’t change things, then you simply got on with life, and didn’t let past regrets get the better of you. It was something he frequently tried to impress on his clients.

  He glanced beyond the bride and her uncle, to the scowling young boy and the fragile-looking little girls in their white organdie frocks, to the strong-faced older attendant, whom he now knew was Vera’s sister, Lily. And then his heart stopped.

  Paintings didn’t come to life. He knew that. Someone whom he had been told didn’t exist couldn’t suddenly appear in the flesh – and such delectable flesh that it curled his toes and tightened his loins. A woman who had been described as no more than an illusion, a dream, couldn’t possibly be here, as if she had emerged as fully formed and beautiful as Aphrodite rising out of the waves…

  Dear God, thought Nick, poetry was never my strong point… and it had no place in a hard-headed lawyer’s thinking. But seeing this startlingly beautiful woman garbed in the silken sheen of a sea-goddess or a shimmering mermaid was turning his mind…

  He swung away abruptly, concentrating on the fact that Adam was moving towards his bride, and that he was supposed to stand beside him, ready to perform his supporter’s duties. But not before he had caught someone else’s glare, directed straight at him from several rows back.

  He knew at once that Albert Tremayne had interpreted his reaction. Albert Tremayne knew just what his feelings were, because he had once shared them. In that instant, Nick knew himself to be just as capable of the so-called Cornish intuition as any of them. You could move away, but you could never escape your roots.

  * * *

  Skye was aware of her heart beating erratically as she slid into the seat beside
Philip, as close to her girls as possible. She was perfectly confident at meeting strangers and always had been. It was part of the American psyche to be confident and outgoing, and so she was. She had held down a job for many years, against all the odds of a male-dominated world, gone through a war and seen sights in a foreign hospital that no sensitive young woman was ever meant to see, and she was a mature wife and mother.

  And yet one look into a stranger’s eyes had suddenly filled her with feelings she hadn’t known for years, if ever.

  She had never denied the instant attraction she had felt for Philip all those years ago, but love had developed gradually. It had been held in check by the knowledge that he already had a fiancêe, and she had had no intention of breaking up another woman’s relationship. To his credit, neither had he. She should remember that now, since she was hardly a free woman.

  The incongruity of such fleeting, irrational thoughts didn’t escape her mind. But nor could she deny the heat that seemed to sear through her veins as her glance locked with Adam Pengelly’s brother. It was frightening and overwhelming, and more shiveringly exciting than a feeling had any right to be on a solemn occasion like her cousin’s wedding.

  The realisation of where she was brought her back to her senses, and she forced herself to concentrate on the procedure of the wedding service, aware that she had missed half of it already. The sweet litany of the vows stirred her, as always, to remember her own.

  “Do you, Adam, take Vera to be your wedded wife? Will you love her and cherish her… Forsaking all other…” Skye had done that. “…In sickness and in health…” She had done that too. “…Until death do us part…” Well, wasn’t that what every couple intended at the onset of their lives together?

  As the service proceeded, Adam’s brother placed the gold ring on the vicar’s prayer book, and for one more breath-stopping moment he glanced at Skye again, then looked away.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Philip hissed. ‘You’re fidgeting worse than the girls.’

  She felt as if she could hardly speak, as if she was sick with a fever she couldn’t explain. It was madness… but as Wenna began to droop and reach for her mother’s hand, she clutched at it as if it was a lifeline, pulling the child into the seat beside her until the central figures moved towards the vestry to sign the register.

  This was her life, she reminded herself, just as if anyone was daring to question it – her husband beside her, her daughters behaving like little angels, and baby Oliver asleep at home until he was made sweet and fresh and brought to the reception to be displayed and crowed over. There was no room for anyone else.

  * * *

  Charlotte was firmly in control of her daughter’s wedding, and at the reception in the big marquee in the garden of the Pollard house, the guests were all shown to their appointed tables. Family by family, group by group, the closest ones were placed nearest to the bridal table. With Celia and Wenna being an official part of the bridal party, the Norwoods had been given due prominence.

  But by the time the speeches began, the girls had joined their parents, and only Sebby and Lily sat alongside Vera, Adam, Charlotte and Theo – and Nicholas Pengelly.

  As he stood up to make his speech, Skye heard his voice for the first time. It was a rich Cornish voice, but more modulated and educated that Adam’s or young Ethan’s. Families were a mishmash, she thought, and most of hers were distinctly unalike. Emma and Charlotte might be sisters, but in every respect they were different. It was a wonder any of them got on together, so perhaps there was more than a thread of truth in the old saying of blood being thicker than water.

  Oliver began to get fretful then, reaching out for her, and noisily rejecting the arms of his nanny, and Skye concentrated on being a mother and not a philosopher.

  Once the formalities were over and the cake had been ceremoniously cut, the whole tempo became more relaxed as the adults began to mix and talk over old times. The children, however, quickly became bored. Inevitably, she saw with a sigh, Sebby became the ringleader of some noisy arguments. He was ready to fight with everyone, and his young brother Justin soon left him for the safety of his mother’s wing. Celia stood up to his taunting as long as she could, then she kicked out at Sebby in frustration, ducking out of his way as he went to swipe her. His arm landed heavily on the side of Wenna’s head, making her squeal with pain.

  Before anyone else could move, Sebby was quickly hauled out of the way and told in no uncertain manner that he was a bully and a pig, and he should learn to respect girls.

  Wenna stared in awed astonishment at the way Sebby scowled for a few silent moments at this verbal attack, and then stalked away to find some other prey. She was only five years old, but she knew a red-faced champion when she saw one. And as she was asked awkwardly if she was all right, and if she would like some lemonade, she nodded, letting Ethan Pengelly take her hand, and following him adoringly to the buffet table.

  ‘Will you just look at that?’ said an amused voice beside Skye. ‘Is that a future romance in the making, do you think?’

  Skye felt as if she turned her head very slowly, hardly knowing if she intended to savour this moment – or to put it off as long as possible. The stranger spoke again.

  ‘I’m sorry if I startled you. I should have introduced myself formally. I’m Nicholas Pengelly, Adam’s brother.’

  Skye looked at him properly then, seeing the slightly incredulous look in his dark eyes, and not understanding it. Her own eyes imperceptibly widened, and Nick caught his breath at their incredible colour. She swallowed, not too happy at being caught off guard like this, and reacting so naïvely.

  ‘Skye Norwood,’ she murmured, and then, as if to defend her position, ‘mother of the smaller bridesmaids and the infant Oliver, who’s now been taken away to be tidied.’

  She knew the words were inane, but it seemed somehow important to establish herself as this staid figure, even though her appearance totally belied such a label. She saw Nicholas Pengelly offer her his hand, and had no option but to place her own in his for a moment. His fingers tightened around hers, and she tried not to snatch them away.

  ‘I’m delighted to meet you, Mrs Norwood, but I must confess that I can hardly think of you so formally, for we have already met before.’

  ‘Oh, I think not!’ Or she would certainly have remembered it…

  Nick gave a short laugh. ‘Well, perhaps that was a stupid remark to make. But I’ve seen your portrait – dozens of them, in fact, but I was given to understand that the portrait was of someone who didn’t exist. Of course I knew that couldn’t be true, but the artist seemed oddly reluctant to tell me the lady’s identity, so you remained a mystery until today.’

  He began to feel fraught with embarrassment. For if this Skye Norwood was the woman in the portraits, and if Albert Tremayne had been in love with the sitter as Nick believed, then there was something very ugly in an old man’s obsession with her. And what were her feelings towards him? He would almost rather not have known that she existed at all…

  ‘You are truly mistaken, Mr Pengelly,’ he heard Skye say lightly. ‘I presume you are referring to my Uncle Albert as the artist, but I assure you that any portraits you may have seen in his studio are not of me.’

  ‘Then who?’

  ‘My mother. Primrose Tremayne.’

  ‘Ah.’

  He couldn’t deny the huge relief he felt that there was no incestuous relationship between this lovely young woman and that disgusting old man. At least, not a physical one, nor even one that she was aware of, he guessed. But the likeness between the mother and daughter was so intense that he could easily believe the artist still lusted over them both, unable to separate one from the other in his twisted mind. Nick had seen too many deviants in his line of work to disbelieve anything, or be shocked by it.

  ‘Ah, indeed,’ said Skye, with no idea of his thoughts. ‘Now, I must see to my children, Mr Pengelly.’

  ‘Of course. But please call me Nick – or
Nicholas, if you prefer. We are related by marriage now, and how enchanting it would be if these two children continued the trend.’

  She followed his amused gaze to where Ethan had put a protective arm around Wenna’s shoulders. And her little daughter’s adoring look towards her fourteen-year-old hero was nothing short of flirtatious now. Even at Wenna’s young age, a female knew the value of a look from glorious blue eyes and a tremulous smile. The Tremayne look…

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Skye said shortly. ‘And please excuse me, Mr Pengelly.’

  Skye had to get away from him. She had never quite believed in the power of an aura; that invisible shield that surrounded and protected a person. But she had felt Nick Pengelly’s aura, drawing her into him as if they were soul mates whose destiny linked them inescapably together. It was a powerful and frightening sensation that she wanted to run from while she still could.

  She looked around in desperation for Philip, and saw him entertaining some of Charlotte’s more erudite acquaintances with intellectual conversation. He was having a good time on his own level now. Philip hadn’t missed her. None of the children had missed her, and were playing happily.

  She started, because of course no one had missed her. She hadn’t been anywhere. Her brief chat with Nick Pengelly had taken no more than moments, and yet she felt eerily as if she had leapt a great distance in time. Nothing was as clear-cut in her mind as before, and whatever lethal concoction had been in the so-called fruit cup that Theo had generously provided for the reception was definitely swirling her brain.

  It was at that moment, against all her better judgement and without warning, that the craziest thought entered her head. Maybe she should consult old Helza, and demand to know what the future held for her. She had to know if Nick Pengelly was destined to play any part in that future – but not with any intention of anticipating any clandestine romance! If Helza were to confirm such absurd thoughts, she could then do all in her power to go against destiny. She was in control of her own life, and always had been, and she was oddly uplifted by the thought, dismissing any notion that you couldn’t go against fate, however much you tried. If she did consult Helza – and it was no more than a fleeting thought – then she would disprove such nonsense for good and all.