‘An official car, no less,’ Cresswell said huskily, with the ghost of a smile. ‘We’ve been accorded that honour, Skye, and a few minor government people will come from Washington for the funeral tomorrow. I refused to let it be held anywhere else. It’s what Sinclair would have wanted. Your mother too. They’ll be buried side by side in the family plot.’
His voice broke, and she squeezed his hand, grateful for the glass screen that separated themselves and the driver. Sinclair would have loved all this, she thought ironically. To be fêted with an official driver, and to have some of the semi-bigwigs attending his funeral. Oh God… even now, she couldn’t put his pomposity out of her mind. She was a monster, she thought. A real, honest-to-God monster…
‘How long can you stay?’ she heard her father say next.
‘Until you agree to come back with me, if only for a visit,’ she said, plunging right in. ‘I’d ask you to come for good, but I have a feeling you won’t agree to that.’
He shook his head. ‘Not while your mother’s here, and she’s not moving anywhere.’ It was the nearest he got to anything like humour – if humour it was.
But after the ordeal of the funeral was over, Skye realised that in death her brother had become something of a local hero, if nothing else. It did much to bolster up her father’s waning spirits, which Skye could see were alarmingly low. She spoke to him more urgently about coming back to Cornwall with her. Here, in her old home, sitting out on the porch, surrounded by the fragrance of the roses and shrubs her mother had grown, and with the strong sense of Primmy and Sinclair surrounding them, they sat together on the old swing, and spoke about the people they loved. And since they were talking more candidly than usual in their mutual grief, Skye felt the loss of Primmy more sharply than ever before.
‘She’s still here, you know,’ Cress said gently, as if reading her thoughts with uncanny accuracy. ‘I feel her presence every single day. When I pass her piano and I ripple my fingers along the keys, I see her smiling, playing for me, and telling me that she didn’t regret a single thing about our lives together. I smell her perfume, and sometimes I hear her voice in my head. When you’ve known such a love as we did, you know that death isn’t the final parting.’
Skye was mute at such an impassioned, yet quietly dignified speech, and she shifted uncomfortably, knowing that his words were going beyond the things she wanted to hear. Shouldn’t be hearing, since they were too private and intimate for anyone else to share.
‘I’m sorry. I’m embarrassing you, my love,’ Cress said with a wry smile.
‘A little. But only a little,’ she lied.
‘And you seriously want me to leave my Primmy behind and come to Cornwall with you, do you?’
‘Only for a while, Daddy,’ she said, certain now that it was hopeless to expect anything more. If he was destined to live out the rest of his life as a lonely widower with only his memories for company, then so be it. What right did she, or anyone have, to try and change his wishes?
‘I want you to come because you have grandchildren who need to know you,’ she continued, and then played her trump card. ‘I’m sure Mom would want you to do this, Daddy. You know how she always set such store on the family background, and how she used to tell me and Sinclair so much about them. I felt I knew them all even before I set foot in Cornwall. It was comforting and gave me a great sense of continuity.’
‘I know. The charm of it all meant a lot to her too.’ He gave a deep sigh. ‘And as the years pass, there are fewer of them left. So how is that old reprobate, Albie?’
Her heart leapt at hearing his name. He could have mentioned any one of them. But it had to be that name, among all the others in this big, tangled family. The one name that had meant the most to her mother, before she and Cress had fallen in love so madly that they couldn’t bear to be apart.
‘He’s well enough for a man of his age,’ she said cautiously.
For the first time since she had arrived, she heard her father laugh. ‘Careful, honey. We’re much the same age, in case you forget.’
‘But you haven’t lived the kind of life he has,’ she replied swiftly. ‘He’s a self-indulger, Daddy, a hedonist, if you like, and it all shows in his face, and in the way he’s become so debased and sarcastic, and mean.’
And, dear God, if she wasn’t careful, she’d be delving into forbidden territory. What in hell’s name had made her mention that word hedonist? A pleasure seeker of the worst kind…
‘You don’t need to tell me, Skye. But those days are long past, and best forgotten.’
Unfortunately, the past had a habit of bearing quite strongly on the present, and Skye shivered, remembering the possessive way Albie had looked at her, his eyes burning, seeing not the daughter, but the mother… his Primmy…
‘So will you come home with me?’ she persisted. ‘To make your acquaintance with Celia and Wenna and Oliver?’
He didn’t speak for a long moment, gazing into the garden as if seeking affirmation, and then: ‘All right, I’ll come back with you for a visit, since your mother would wish it. So do I, of course, though it’s a long while since I had anything to do with children. But this is my home, Skye, and it’s here that I’ll be returning.’
She had to be content with that, knowing she couldn’t press him further, nor suggest a possible date for the voyage. Not yet. Not while he still grieved for Sinclair, and messages of sympathy were still coming to the house daily. Yet she knew in her heart that this homecoming to New Jersey had meant more to her on her mother’s behalf than her brother’s, and her guilt was paramount again.
‘I’ll want to show you the pottery too,’ she went on, turning the conversation to less emotive matters. ‘You’ve no idea how it’s flourished in the past few years, and now we’ve got this large new Christmas order from Germany that Theo’s forever crowing about.’
‘Is he still as loud-mouthed as ever?’
Skye laughed. ‘I see you don’t forget much, do you, Daddy? Yes he is, and he and I frequently clash. But for all that, I think we make reasonable business partners.’
She said it in some surprise, but she supposed that it was true. Business partners who didn’t always see eye to eye, and could thrash out ideas until they reached a sensible conclusion, were preferable to those who were each afraid to upset the other one, agreeing mouse-like on every topic and heading for possible disaster.
‘And how does Philip see your business partnership?’ Cress said idly, but with his blue eyes as astute as ever.
Skye shrugged. ‘Philip was never wholly happy about it, and I don’t suppose that will ever change.’
‘And you? Are you happy?’
‘With the business? Of course.’
‘No. Not with the business.’
The words seemed to hang in the air, and it was the first time anyone had questioned her on the state of her marriage, or her relationship with her husband. Or was it? She dismissed the uneasy thought that Nick Pengelly had done just that, whether in words or looks or feelings… and she waited too long before she answered.
‘Well, of course I’m happy. I’ve got three darling children, haven’t I?’
‘So you have, but that’s not what I asked.’
She stood up, feeling a chill in the air as a small breeze rustled the branches on the trees and wafted the scent of roses towards them. As if it was Primmy admonishing her to tell the truth now, the way she had said it when Skye was a child. But she was a child no longer, and such confidences were not invited or wanted.
‘I think it’s time we went inside, don’t you? I’ll make us some coffee and then I think I’ll have an early night. We have some of Sinclair’s old buddies calling on us tomorrow, and we’ll both need a steady head to deal with them.’
And she couldn’t bear to sit here on the old swing on the porch one minute longer, pretending to her father that she still loved her husband with the passion that had made their union inevitable. The shock of finally realising the truth wa
s almost as great as learning of her brother’s death, and that was the most terrible thought of all.
* * *
‘When is Mommy coming home?’ Wenna said plaintively to her father, her small chin sticking out mutinously. ‘I want Mommy. Mommy plays with me and tells me proper stories.’ Philip counted to ten, wondering how it was that he could be so voluble and erudite to a group of earnest students, debating intellectual topics for hours, when he couldn’t seem to string two sentences together that would satisfy his five-year-old daughter.
‘I’ve told you proper stories,’ he almost snapped. ‘I’ve told you Goldilocks and the Three Bears, and Cinderella, and Little Red Riding Hood.’
‘I know all those,’ Wenna howled, not ready to give an inch. ‘Miss Landon tells me those. I want to hear the stories Mommy tells me, about the uncles and cousins and Granny Morwen. And ’sides, I don’t like witch stories.’
Celia sniggered, looking up from her painting book. ‘She wouldn’t mind hearing a story about the old witchwoman on the moors, though, would you, ninny?’
Wenna howled again, and Philip turned on Celia. ‘No one is to mention that old crone in this house, do you hear me? Your sister will have nightmares, and besides, she’s not a witch. Witches don’t exist.’
‘They do too,’ Celia dared to yell back as always. ‘Mommy says so, and so does Ethan.’
‘Who the devil is Ethan?’ he said, forgetting.
‘He’s the nice boy who works at White Rivers,’ Wenna said, her lips quivering. ‘Ethan says—’
Philip spun around, uncaring what Ethan said, and shouted for Oliver’s nanny to come and get these two ready for bed. Then he went down to the drawing-room and poured himself a large whisky. And then another. It was against doctor’s orders, and unless he drank enough it did the burgeoning pains in his head no good at all, but it was the only panacea he knew.
And the more he drank, the more resentful he became about his wife’s absence, wishing to God that she would come home and see to her children, because they were beyond his capabilities to handle. By the time he had drunk himself into a near stupor, he staggered up the stairs and threw himself across his bed, snoring like a bullfrog.
* * *
‘Are you quite sure about this?’ Nick said slowly to his partner. ‘You’ve really thought it all through carefully, and weighed up all the pros and cons, have you?’
William Pierce nodded, his face and voice determined. ‘God knows I’ve dithered for long enough, Nick. If I don’t make the break now, I’ll always look back and think what a fool I was to miss the opportunity. I’ve got the chance to buy the place I want, lock, stock and chattels, and it’s a going concern. I’d be obliged if you would go through all the details with me, though, and give me your expert opinion.’
Nick laughed. ‘Soft-soaping me isn’t in your character, Will, and you don’t need me to tell you if the thing is viable. You’re a better lawyer than that, and I know damn well you’ll have gone into it thoroughly before you mentioned it to me. If your heart is really set on going into the antique business, then who am I to try and stop you?’
‘It’s been my dream for years. You know that. I’d ask you to come up to Bristol with me this weekend to look the place over, but I know you want to get down to Cornwall as soon as possible. And yes, it’s viable. What concerns me more is dissolving the practice. I couldn’t give you much time to find a new partner, Nick, and that truly worries me.’
‘Then don’t let it,’ Nick said briskly. ‘Good God, man, do you think I’d stand in your way, when I can see how much all this means to you? As for finding a new partner – maybe this is a good time for us both to think about the future.’
His thoughts were moving fast, in a new direction. He didn’t yet know how bad his mother’s illness was, but Adam had sounded serious on the telephone. And he and William both knew that to sell the practice as a thriving concern to new people without the strings of one surviving partner, would be to ensure a far more handsome price.
The worst scenario he envisaged, depending on his parents’ health, would mean he was needed in St Austell for a long while. He was far from being a pauper, and in any case, he would be affluent enough with the half profits from Pengelly and Pierce, to bide his time before looking for anything else. He might then seek out new premises to begin again on his own, or to see what partnership openings there were in a reasonably close area to his family.
Not in St Austell itself, he thought, without examining his reasons why. But near enough to be of help when the time came. He faced facts. There were bonds that couldn’t and shouldn’t be broken. They went far beyond monetary help, and he knew it had been a mistake to put all the responsibility for his own aged parents on to young Ethan and his cousin, Dorcas. And Adam had his own commitments now he was married. It was time for him to go back.
‘Go and see your antique shop, Will, and then decide what we both intend to do. For what it’s worth, you have my wholehearted blessing, but if you go, then so do I. The firm of Pengelly and Pierce will simply be at an end.’
‘Christ, Nick, that makes me feel so guilty—’
‘Then don’t let it. If it’s fate taking a hand, blame it on my Cornish blood for finally calling me back, even if it’s only for a time. My gut feeling always told me it would happen one day, anyway.’
He didn’t necessarily believe it, but he tried to be flippant, knowing it would relieve William’s conscience if he thought it was the answer for both of them.
Just as long as he didn’t have to see her every day… He didn’t even allow her name to enter his thoughts. He didn’t need to.
* * *
Adam had taken the telephone call at the pottery with some relief, and reported it to his wife that evening after their evening meal, at which Vera was now improving.
‘Our Nick’s coming home for a spell. It’s only right that he should see how bad Mother and Dad have got lately, and ’tis not fair to leave it all to Dorcas to care for two invalids, nor Ethan,’ he said, echoing Nick’s words.
He avoided her eyes. They could have Ethan to live with them after the inevitable happened, but they were still newlyweds, and too selfishly in love to want to share their home with anyone. Vera and he were both in accord with that, and her arms went around him, nuzzling her lips against his neck for a moment.
‘It’s Nick’s responsibility too, my love, and he obviously sees it that way, so there’s no need to fret over it.’
‘I know. But our Nick’s such an important man, and he’s talking about giving it all up. ’Tain’t right, Vera love,’ he said, still troubled.
She loved him for his loyalty and his honourable nature, but she couldn’t let that pass.
‘You’re an important man too, Adam Pengelly, and don’t you ever forget it,’ she said fiercely. ‘You’re a marvel with your hands, and not only on those old pots of yours…’
She heard herself giggle in a ridiculously girlish fashion, but she knew she could say anything to Adam and he’d quickly pick up her mood, however daring. Which was more than Skye’s pompous old Philip would, she thought fleetingly, seconds before Adam had twisted around to grab her in his arms and let his hands slide down over her rounded buttocks.
‘So I’m a marvel with my hands, am I, wench?’ he chuckled. ‘Now just what do you mean by that, I wonder?’
‘I can’t rightly remember,’ she said airily. ‘You’ll have to remind me all over again.’
And her teasing laughter was still ringing in his ears as he chased her up the winding staircase to their bedroom and fell across her on their bed, pinning her arms behind her head and kissing her soundly, their eyes glowing and their bodies ready for love. And all else forgotten.
Chapter Eight
It was more than a month before Skye and Cresswell returned to Cornwall. By then, the initial shock of Sinclair’s death had receded for her, but not for her father. For her sake, she guessed that he was trying to conceal the extent of his grief, but
it was obvious to Skye that it went very deep. She prayed that meeting his grandchildren would give him the boost to his morale that he badly needed.
As for herself, she ached to see her children. New Jersey hadn’t been home to her for a number of years, and many of the people she used to know had left. Even a brief visit to the magazine offices where she had once so enjoyed working, had a different editor, and new staff who didn’t remember her.
‘I felt like a stranger,’ she said in bewilderment to her father that evening. ‘All the people I knew have gone. Everyone was busy and didn’t have the time to spare for someone who had once been a part of it all. It was strange.’
‘People change and move on, honey,’ Cress told her. ‘There’s no stopping it. But they would all know about Sinclair, and your reason for being here, so I dare say there was a certain amount of embarrassment too.’
Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that? But he was right. People did change and move on. However sad it might seem, she admitted that it was healthy and inevitable.
And the nearer the homecoming to Cornwall, the more eager Skye was to be in familiar surroundings again, and to hear her children’s eager chatter. She had missed them so much, and she couldn’t wait to hold them in her arms again. Philip had promised to check on the time of the ship’s arrival, and would bring the children to Falmouth to meet it.
At first, disembarking in the crash of passengers, Skye couldn’t see him at all, and she was sick with disappointment. Surely he would know how important this was to her… and then she glimpsed his car at the far end of the quay, the doors opening, and her little daughters spilling out of it.
‘They’re here,’ she breathed to her father, and seconds later she was running along the uneven quay, picking up the fashionable hobble skirt that was hampering her progress, and gathering them both up into her arms, hugging them as if she would never let them go.
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