All I Want For Christmas (12 page)

* * *

Later, surrounded by warmth and kindness,
while
the old couple fussed round, bringing home-made soup and thick slices of granary bread, Lauren couldn't stop tears from sliding down her cheeks.

‘Now, my dear, don't you take on so. Tired out, you'll be. Long journey and then finding nowhere to stay,' Rose comforted. ‘Eat up that soup, afore it gets cold. Don't reckon you've had much all day, have you? Ted and me've made up the bed in our spare room.' She patted Lauren's hand. ‘Come morning, things won't seem so bad, you'll see.' Lauren found her eyelids drooping before she'd even finished the soup and let herself be led up a narrow flight of wooden stairs into a room almost filled by a high double bed. Through the tiny diamond-paned window, she could see stars glitter in the frosty sky and hear the soft swish of waves. And then she slept.

* * *

A tapping on the door woke her as Rose popped her head round. ‘Sleep well, my dear?' she asked, carrying in a pretty china cup of tea. ‘Bit brighter this morning, though my Ted says there was a frost early on. I've put out a towel for you in the bathroom. Take your time, my dear. There'll be bacon and eggs when you be ready. Keep a few hens, I do, so they be new laid.'

When
she'd gone, Lauren pulled back a corner of the sun-faded curtain and looked out through the salt-hazed glass. Her mouth curved with delight.

Below the cottage, only metres away, tiny waves swirled in along the edge of the shoreline, pushing strands of seaweed across the sand, exactly as in the watercolour Matthew had given her for Christmas.

She'd found it. The same view. And she was sleeping in the same little fisherman's cottage he'd painted all those years ago!

After she'd bathed and dressed, she joined Rose in the kitchen.

‘Porridge be all right for you, my dear?' Rose asked. ‘Tis what we do have, winter-time. Bacon comes from farm over the hill, so 'tis always good.' She chuckled. ‘Could choose your own pig, if you wanted, I reckon.'

‘Have you always lived here, Rose?' Lauren asked, when she'd finished breakfast and was still sitting at the table, drinking more tea.

‘In this cottage?' Rose said, brushing toast crumbs from the cloth, and nodded. ‘Since we wed, and that's nigh on fifty years. Not that I'm complaining. My Ted's a good man.'

‘Did a doctor and his children live nearby? About twenty years ago?

Rose laughed. ‘You mean Doctor Zennor? He's still doctor here. Though he's away now. At his sister's over in Australia for some celebration, I've heard tell.'

Leaning
back in her chair, Lauren studied the view through the window, already knowing every tiny detail from the perfection of Matthew's painting.

‘Were you thinking of staying down here long?' Rose asked.

‘I'd like to.' Lauren hesitated, before continuing. ‘You see, I was caught up in a fire a while back, and it's taking a bit longer than I realised to feel really fit again.' She let her gaze return to the peaceful view. ‘And I thought here . . . ' Her voice trailed away.

‘Ah, my dear, 'tis a restful place. And, should you want to, you're welcome to stay as long as you like. My Ted and me'd be only too pleased for your company.'

Overwhelmed by such kindness, Lauren said yes. Having lived with her grandmother for a large part of her life, she found it easy to get on with Rose, and the older woman was delighted to take Lauren under her wing.

‘Ted and me never were blessed with children,' she confided one afternoon as they were making scones for tea. ‘Grieved me more'n him, I reckon. Still, my four sisters made up for that with ten between them. Always had one or t'other's children around here. Doctor Zennor's youngsters used to come along with them. Liked my scones, they did.'

Thumping a lump of dough onto a wooden board, she began to knead it with deft hands. ‘I
remember
one little lad. Came down summertimes. Always drawing, he was. Out there, sitting on a rock.' She inclined her head towards the living room. ‘Gave me that painting in there, when he were a bit older. To thank me for all them scones, he said.'

Lauren got up and went to look at a delicate watercolour of the cove, showing Rose and Ted's cottage. It was so similar to her own that Lauren knew it had to have been painted by Matthew.

‘Can you remember his name, Rose?'

‘Oh, my dear, 'tis long ago now, and there were so many of them children. Dark hair, he had. That I do remember.' She pursed her lips as she thought. ‘Mark, or were it Martin?'

‘Matthew?' Lauren prompted.

‘Matthew! That's right, my dear. Not one of they Zennor children though. Cousin, I think he might have been.' Her hands were swiftly shaping the dough into rounds as she spoke.

Lauren spent each day wandering along the beach, or climbing up and along wind-swept cliff paths, spray rising in the air to softly dampen her face and hair. The gentle peace surrounding her was a balm, soothing away all the unhappiness of recent years.

Sometimes Ted or Rose walked with her, recounting tales of times long past, when tin mines flourished, and smugglers used the cove. And once Ted took her with him in his boat to catch mackerel that they brought home and
Rose
grilled for their dinner.

At night she slept deeply, the sound of waves and drag of shingle as they swept back and forth along the shore, hypnotic in their rhythm. Sinking down under thick blankets, she could gaze across to the window where a myriad stars glittered in the frosty sky. But she knew there was something she had to do before she could truly find the peace she wanted so much.

* * *

‘I have to leave you for a while,' she said one evening as they ate steaming pasties, freshly made by Rose.

‘Leave us? Oh, my dear.' Rose's face crumpled.

‘Only for a day or two. I promise I'll be back. It's just that . . . ' Lauren's voice died away, knowing she couldn't explain.

The journey seemed to take forever, or maybe it was because of her reluctance to do it. But, finally, late in the afternoon, she parked the car outside Matthew's flat and went inside.

Her note was as she'd left it, propped up against the telephone in the hall, where he'd see it as soon as he returned. Lauren moved it to one side while she dialled a number.

‘Rick? I need to see you.'

They were to meet in a pub several miles
away
from Matthew's flat. Neutral ground. Trying unsuccessfully to stop her body from trembling, Lauren pushed open the swing door, hearing a burst of voices and laughter, feeling the sudden heat after the chill outside.

Her gaze moved to the bar, seeing the back of Rick's head, his dark hair expertly cut, the straight line of his shoulders in their black leather jacket, the glass in his hand. As if sensing her presence, his head turned. But it wasn't Matthew's lookalike she saw any more. How could she ever have thought them so similar? Rick's features were no longer clearcut, his cheeks reddened, mouth drooping.

Straightening her back, she stepped towards him.

‘Darling!' he slurred. ‘Knew you'd come back. What are you drinking?'

Lauren shook her head. ‘I just want to talk. There's a table over there.' She felt his hand rest on her hip as they crossed the other side of the room, and sat down facing him.

‘I want you to understand, Rick, that I'm never coming back to you. My whole life is different now. And you will never be part of it.'

His fingers shot across the table to clasp round her wrist, nails biting into her skin, something she remembered too well. But suddenly the strength of her own hand caught the back of his, lifting it away with surprising ease, and she made herself look straight into his eyes.

Once
those eyes, and his strength, had been a power to hold her. Keep her as his possession. But now they no longer controlled her.

‘Go back to your new wife, Rick,' she said, rising to her feet. ‘I never, ever want to see, or hear from you again because, if I do, then the police will be told exactly what you did to me.'

‘You wouldn't . . . '

‘I would.'

She turned, head held high, and walked away from him, out through the door into the frosty night, ready for her long drive back to Matthew's cove.

CHAPTER TEN

Lauren went down the narrow wooden staircase, suddenly feeling very happy. Sunshine filtered in through every salt-hazed window, creating a myriad dazzling rainbows where it touched the tiny sails of a glass galleon on the shelf above the fireplace. From outside came the soft swish of waves along the shore. Spring always came early to Cornwall and, on a day like today, she was sure it had already begun.

Later that morning sitting in Rose's little kitchen, spreading clotted cream and strawberry jam over a hot scone as they
chatted
together, she heard the sound of a vehicle coming down the track.

A car door slammed and Rose got up to see who it was. Voices echoed. One high. One deep. Lauren's breath caught in her throat. Then, she too was on her feet, running across the room, as Matthew and Zoe came in.

Rose chuckled. ‘What did I tell you, my dear? Always appeared, this one did, just as my scones were on the table.'

With Zoe clinging to her like a limpet, and Matthew gazing at her in amazement, Lauren didn't know who to speak to first.

‘You found my note,' she said.

‘Note?' Matthew raised one eyebrow in a way Lauren had grown to love. ‘No, we haven't been back to the flat yet. My uncle sprained his ankle falling down the plane steps at the airport, so I've driven him home. And Zoe's heard so much about Rose's scones, she asked to see her while we were here.' He hugged his daughter. ‘But what are you doing here, Lauren?'

‘It's a long story,' she said slowly. ‘So enjoy your scone first, and then I'll tell you.' She waited until Zoe had joined Rose in the kitchen to help make a cake for tea, before doing so.

‘You're never going back to him?' Matthew asked, when she'd finished.

‘Never. Rick has no power over me any more.'

Matthew's
long fingers lightly swept her cheek. ‘I needed to know that.' Pushing back his chair, he stood up. ‘There's something I have to tell you, Lauren—I've been offered a new job.'

Her body tensed. This was what she'd been dreading ever since Matthew left for Australia, remembering his words:
My father's a consultant at a private hospital there. He's always been rather keen for me to join him.

She heard his voice continue. ‘While Zoe's absorbed with her cake-making, shall we walk along the beach?'

Strands of seaweed, abandoned by the tide, clung to the shoreline where wading birds delved into the wet sand, rising in a flurry of wings as they passed. Wanting to delay hearing what he had to tell her, Lauren stopped by a cluster of rocks. ‘Is this where you painted my watercolour?'

His eyes crinkled as he smiled. ‘It was my favourite spot. I was always painting this view. It's never the same two days running, constantly changed by the wind, or light, or tide. I'd almost forgotten how amazing it is.' Slipping his arm round her shoulders, he turned her towards him. ‘Lauren, about this new job—while we were in Australia . . . '

‘Oh, look!' She interrupted him, bending under his arm to gaze down into one of the deep rock pools. ‘See. A baby crab. And there. I think it's a starfish. We should have brought
Zoe
with us, Matthew. She'd love finding all these sea creatures.'

‘Lauren, listen to me, please. This is important.'

Reluctantly, she met his gaze, not wanting to hear what he would say.

‘When we were in Australia my uncle and I had a serious talk. I probably told you that he's the doctor here, in Cornwall. Well, now he wants to retire.' Matthew tilted her chin and looked down into her eyes.

‘None of his children has gone in for medicine, so he's asked me to take over his practice as GP. It would mean leaving the hospital, but life would be so different living here, Lauren—especially for Zoe.' He paused. ‘And I want you to come with us.'

Running his hand through his tousled hair, he continued in a rush of words. ‘I missed you so much while I was away, and I know I can't live my life without you there, too.' He shook his head impatiently. ‘Oh, this is hopeless. What I'm trying to say, Lauren, is that I love you. I have done ever since I met you in the hospital car park that morning. Will you marry me?'

‘Yes, Matthew.'

He stared blankly at her for a long moment. ‘Did you say yes?'

She laughed, reaching up to pull him closer, his lips tasting of strawberry jam and cream as their mouths met.

* * *

‘Lauren! Daddy! Come and see.' Zoe was jumping up and down in the cottage doorway. ‘Me and Rose have made a
really, really
ginormous cake and Rose says I can put the icing on it later. Can I stay for a while?'

Wiping her floury hands on her apron, Rose chuckled. ‘Quite a little chatterbox, is your Zoe.' Her gaze darted from one to the other. ‘Now I can see you'm a lot to talk about, so off you two go. And don't be worrying about this little maid. She'll be fine along with me.'

Matthew caught hold of Lauren's hand, tugging her across the sand. ‘If we go up over the cliffs, the path takes us right down to my uncle's house. His surgery is there, too, but a new medical complex is almost completed nearer to Penzance, so it'll be moved into that.'

He stopped to lift a strand of windswept hair away from her eyes. ‘Would you mind very much not going back to the crèche? You've done so much for it since you started there.'

Slipping her arms up to link her fingers behind his neck, she moved closer to him, gazing back into the deep blue of his eyes. ‘Wherever you are. that's where I want to be, Matthew. With you and Zoe. Nothing else matters. And as for the crèche, they've managed so well without me, I doubt they'll
even
notice.' Her cheeks dimpled as she smiled. ‘Anyway, this new medical complex—won't it need a crèche as well?'