The Cornish Affair (7 page)

“Shit,
oh shit, it’s cold!”

Jace
swam over to me, in lazy professional strokes and clasped me in his arms. His flesh was cold and smooth under water, and I could see his face in the moonlight. Our limbs were weightless in the salty liquid, and it was easy to wrap my legs around his waist. I clung to him for warmth, and begged him to carry me out.

“Jace,
my teeth are chattering, I’ve turned blue all over and –”

“All
over? That could be proper nasty, I’d better take a look…”

He
waded into the shallows, and we raced up the beach to the blanket. He gallantly offered me his tee shirt to dry myself with, scrubbing my back hard with it, to help me get warm. Trying to put my clothes back on was difficult, my flesh was goose pimpled and damp. My fingers were so cold, I had a great deal of trouble with managing buttons or zips. In the end I put my sweatshirt on, and wrapped my zip up fleece round my hips, it was far too much trouble to tackle my jeans in such a state.

“You
know what?” Jace said, softly.

“What?”
I replied, thinking that now perhaps I would hear that I was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him, and wondering how I was going to feel about that. Flattered, certainly, but not able to carry it off with any degree of confidence.

“I’m
proper starvin’!”

I
collapsed with laughter again. It seemed so wildly inappropriate. I had to sit down again, to recover from my giggles. Jace pulled me to my feet and said, “How about we tackle the cliff path to Penmorah, an’ maybe we could have something to eat? Know what I really fancy?”

“No,
what?” I spluttered, thinking of exotic dishes flavoured with cinnamon and decorated with gold leaf.

“Fish
finger sandwich!”

I
howled with laughter again. We found that it was infectious, and as soon as one of us stopped, the other one would start giggling again, till we were locked in some awful hysteria loop. It actually began to
hurt
.

I
begged Jace to stop, and with an enormous effort we pulled ourselves together. We headed towards what I took to be the direction of the cliff path, holding hands and weaving around over the sand. Soon, the bank loomed in front of us, and I tried to sober up a bit. The path was tricky at the best of times, and in the dark, under the influence, was not going to be easy. I decided that the best way to tackle it was on my hands and knees, much to Jace’s amusement.

“You’ll
hurt yourself right proper, get up and hold my hand, we’ll go real slow,” he said, leading the way.

I
objected, “This is
my
path, and I know it better than you, and I think I should go first.”

We
had a drunken tussle, with much giggling on my part, but in the end I allowed him to lead me.

“I
can’t think how you know the way,” I grumbled.

“I
use the path a lot, often use this way back from the beach,” he said simply.

Well,
that was news to me. Technically, of course, he was trespassing, but that was an absurd thought, and I banished it. It took us ages to reach the top, and I was so grateful when we finally did that I sank down on the ground and refused to move for a moment. I had a sudden wild urge to drag him off to the woods, and make love amongst the bluebells, but I was so cold and sticky with salt water, another idea popped unbidden in my head. Maybe Jace would stay the night with me? I let the idea drift about in my head for a bit, and decided to let things just happen, and not plan anything. This was, after all, a night when the dark shadows were at play, and what would happen would happen, damn what everyone else would say about it in the morning. That could take care of itself.

Chapter
Seven

As we skirted the gardens, with all the bushes of lavender ghostly pale in the moonlight, I saw that the lights were blazing away in the kitchen of Penmorah, and I dragged Jace into the shadows. A terrible thought entered my mind, and I knew that I was probably right.

“Oh,
god… I think Oliver bloody Dean must have arrived, Nancy must be keeping him company in the kitchen, you’ll have to go home, Jace. Sorry.” If I’m honest, there was a part of me that was relieved that he would have to go home. It wasn’t the brightest idea I’d ever had, Jace staying the night with me, anyway. The hideous embarrassments of the morning would be avoided if he went, and I was only too aware of just how ghastly I was going to be feeling by then.

“Reckon
you’re right,” Jace whispered, peering into the lit windows.

He
then started laughing softly to himself.

“What’s
so funny?” I hissed at him.

“You
want to see yourself! You look like you’ve drunk a couple ‘a bottles of wine, got stoned, had sex, and then –“

“Shut
up!” I laughed, nudging him in the ribs with my elbow, “I can imagine what I look like thank you very much! I’ll sneak in through the library, go on, you’d better go.”

I
could see Jace nod his head in the moonlight. He leant forward to kiss me, and then, after giving me a very cheeky slap on my still wet bottom, he sloped off.

I
was very pleasantly surprised at how matey we were, it was all quite jolly and natural. Maybe this is how the young things all treated one another now? It was quite refreshing. I thought that maybe because Jace and I were friends, and we’d had a momentary lapse, a moonlight dose of madness, we could continue as before. Surely things wouldn’t change between us? I hoped not, anyway, it would make my life very difficult indeed if they did.

I
eased the French doors of the library open, and stepped inside. I could almost hear my mother laughing at me, she would have considered tonight’s episode as a remarkably good joke, a prank, a quick lapse of good judgement, nothing to worry too much about. But then she had a very relaxed attitude towards relationships. I knew, even as a child, that she had lovers. I think my father did too, although it was never discussed. I wished, not for the first time, I had more of their
sang
froid
about the whole thing. Perhaps I was just a born worrier.

I
crossed the room in the dark, whilst tying my fleece more tightly around my hips, and ran my fingers through my sticky hair. As I leant on the library door, I strained my ears to hear any footsteps coming from the kitchen, if the coast was clear, I could run up the stairs, have a quick wash, get changed and come to down to greet Oliver Dean.

As
I strained to hear what was going on, I became aware of the noise of someone breathing. I froze at the door, and held my own breath, perhaps I could just hear myself? No. It was definitely
not
coming from me. Oh Jesus… I felt tiny prickles of sweat start under my armpits. It felt as though I was suspended in ice, moving had become impossible, and I had to force my arm up to grope for the light switch. I could hear the sound regularly now, it was a steady, rhythmic breath, coming from somewhere behind me.

I
gave a little sob as finally my hand encountered the light switch, and the room flooded with light. I swung around to look behind me, and screamed.

The
man sitting in what had been my father’s chair gave a shout, too.

“Who
the bloody hell are you?” I shouted, my voice as shaky as an old woman’s with fear. Although, I had guessed who the hell he was, but what was he doing sitting in the dark? I clutched my fleece even more closely to me, pulling the arms of the top behind my back even tighter into a knot around my waist.

I
saw that the man, was making noises of apology, but they didn’t really sink in. I was only too well aware of what I looked like, and just wanted to escape upstairs. I looked at him again, and my very first thought was – he’s too old to be a TV chef. Awful, isn’t it? But I swear, that’s the truth. I was so used to seeing young, good looking, shiny people on the box, that he looked like a non starter to me. He was old, he was fat, well, not fat exactly, but big, and he had a beard for chrissake. Now, be honest, you don’t see too many of them in those happy, clean, hip, life style joy of cooking programmes, do you? No.

I
banged the door behind me, and raced up the stairs. When I reached my bathroom, one look in the mirror told me why he’d been shocked by seeing me. I looked like a dishevelled over age drunkard in charge of a surf board. My copper coloured shoulder length hair looked like a national health wig, that someone had held under a tap, given a good backcombing with a nail brush and plonked back on top of my head. My eyes were bleary, I had mud and the remnants of mascara smeared over my salt encrusted face, but worst of all, and I do mean worst of all, my fleece didn’t cover my bare bottom (which too, was covered in mud and sand.) My bare legs were covered in scratches, and my feet were filthy. I gave a whimper of distress, and sat on the edge of the bath, my head in my hands. Somewhere along the line I had lost not only my shoes, but my jeans and my underwear.

Great
start to a working relationship.

I
turned the taps of the bath on. This was going to take a lot more than just a quick wash.

As
I was drying myself, I heard a tap on the bedroom door, and Nancy came bustling in.

“Fin,
Fin, where have you been? Harry and Oliver Dean are downstairs, but Oliver is very allergic to fur and feathers, extraordinary isn’t it? So he’s been sitting in the library, as I thought it was the room that Baxter and Nelson hardly ever go into, and I’ve hoovered his room, and put on dust sheets under his bedclothes, I think he must have dozed off, as Harry and I were having a drink in the kitchen… Are you OK?”

“Just
dandy,” I said.

She
gave me a quick glance, but obviously thought better about saying anything. I quickly threw my dressing gown on and pulled a comb through my wet hair.

“I,
umm, I had a quick swim,” I said.

“Swim?
In the sea?” Nancy said incredulously.

“No,
I caught the fast train to London and had a dip in the Serpentine, yes, yes, the sea. Don’t look like that! I have been known to go swimming, you know!” I said crossly.

Nancy
chose to ignore my bad manners, and I ran towards her and put my arm round her slender shoulders. I felt a stab of worry at how slim she was, I couldn’t use the word frail, but soon, soon.

“Sorry,
Nancy, I’m feeling a bit frazzled,” I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

Nancy
squeezed my arm affectionately. “It was a good picnic, wasn’t it? And weren’t the dolphins wonderful, I’m so glad they’re back, aren’t you? People went a bit potty after that, you know. Sam kissed me behind the beer barrel!”

“Tongues?”
I said, laughing.

“Tongues
and more!” she said firmly.

Well,
maybe a bit of the madness had infected us all. I glanced speculatively at Nancy, surely she and Sam hadn’t, well, you know, hadn’t … Maybe they had? I suppose you didn’t stop having sex just because you were seventy. I tried to calculate how old Sam was, maybe sixty, sixty five? Nancy laughed, and I had the grace to blush.

“I
know what you’re thinking madam, not that it’s any of your business,” she said grandly.

“Come
on then, tell me more about Oliver Dean, and you say that Harry’s here too?”

“Yes,
it’s lovely isn’t it?” Nancy said enthusiastically.

She
and Harry had formed a long time ago a mutual fan club, so she was always thrilled when he came down. It gave her someone to talk to about Angelique and other more esoteric subjects that I was woefully ignorant about. I tasted a sudden pang of guilt. Maybe I should have insisted that Nancy not stay here at Penmorah with me, maybe she would have been much happier living a life of gentle debauchery in Soho or Paris. She might be happier there, but I knew I wouldn’t be here, without her.

“Nancy,
so, what’s he like then?” I asked.

“Well,
he seems very nice… I expect. It’s just that he’s so allergic, he started wheezing
dreadfully
, I haven’t really had time to talk to him. He and Harry got here about nine, and let themselves in. Good job that Harry came or Oliver would be wandering the fields by now looking for us, anyway Harry can only stay for a few days, he’s got some contracts or something for you to sign.”

I
bet he had. Harry was a monster when it came to slipping things in under my nose for me to put my name to. We haggled every point and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves over a bottle or two.

I
stopped at the bedroom door, “Do you think Oliver Dean has gone to bed?”

“Yes,
I think he had a bit of a shock in the library… come on, it’s only Harry. Go down and say hello, and then we can all get to bed, I’m exhausted, aren’t you?”

Exhausted
was one word for it, I thought to myself with a smile.

We
found Harry with his feet up on the kitchen table, his hands cupped around a glass of red wine. He jumped to his feet and we kissed hello.

“Fin,
darling! I was beginning to give up on you, I thought some Cornish imp had spirited you away… good picnic? I heard from Nancy the news of the dolphins, you must all be thrilled.”

We
settled down for a chat around the kitchen table, with mugs of tea for me and Nancy and more wine for Harry.

Harry
looked well. He was a slim man in his late forties who had a taste for very elegant clothes. He kept his dark hair very dark. I suspected he wouldn’t be caught dead with packets of blackberry or violet from the local chemists, but enjoyed paying a fortune at his hairdressers to remain so urbane.

Harry
and Nancy were talking about some new play that he’d seen in London, when I gave a jaw breaking yawn, hoping that they hadn’t noticed my elbow slipping off the table.

“Keeping
you up darling?” Harry said acidly. “I always forget what a philistine you are at heart, I’m taking Nancy back with me for a romp in London, she needs an injection of culture.”

“Mmm,
good idea,” I said, my mind not on the conversation at all. I had been remembering Jace’s arms around me, and the feel of his body next to mine. I could feel a rather soppy smile beginning to spread on my face. This, of course, was immediately noticed by Harry, who demanded to know what the weather had been like for the picnic.

I
racked my brains for a pretty exotic soup. Something rare and out of the ordinary, something you certainly wouldn’t have, or couldn’t afford, every day.

“Sour
cherry and champagne, it used to be made for the royal family in Russia, delicious,” I said dreamily.

Nancy
and Harry laughed, and I got sleepily to my feet and kissed them both good night. I called Baxter to me, and stumbled my way upstairs.

I
took my time getting dressed and made more of an effort than usual, in the hope that Harry would notice that I wasn’t wearing my customary jeans, and that Oliver Dean could see that I didn’t normally rush around with no knickers and a mud stained jumper on. Wide linen trousers, and a linen shirt, complete with rather fancy shoes should do it, I thought, slapping some Madame Rochas behind my ears.

Nancy
was bustling around in the kitchen, and gestured to me that Oliver Dean was sitting outside in the garden.

“What’s
he doing there?” I whispered, noting that even with a huge stretch of the imagination could it be called sunny or warm enough to have breakfast outside.

“Allergy,”
she whispered back.

“Oh.”

I felt a stab of annoyance. What was I meant to do? Ritually sacrifice my dog and my parrot because of his ridiculous allergies? OK, OK, I know I was being unfair, but then, I was
feeling
unfair.

I
poured myself a mug of tea, and marched out to formally greet Oliver Dean.

My
impression of the old, fat man with a beard that I had encountered so horribly in the library last night, was counter attacked, by the man lounging on the garden bench against the wall. I judged him to be about forty five, forty six, and no, he wasn’t fat exactly, but he certainly was
large
. He had a closely shaved scrubby beard, and curly dark hair, with a pair of those trendy expensive glasses on, the sort that many, many years ago you would have got for free on the national health. And he was wearing a
skirt
. OK, OK, it wasn’t a skirt, skirt, but a plain navy blue kilt. He had rolled down thick navy socks over tan timberland boots, and a dark red thick jumper on. Every bloody inch the trendy London chef.