‘I wish we could go on an adventure like that, don’t you?’ Davie closed the book he had been reading and ran a finger over the cover. He was lying on the floor on his stomach, knees bent, sandalled feet waving in the air. He put his chin on his cupped hands and looked up at Richard, who was sitting in an armchair reading The Times. Richard folded the newspaper and dropped it to the floor, smiling. ‘D’you think we could one day?’ the boy persisted. ‘When I’m grown-up, perhaps?’ He paused, frowning slightly. ‘You wouldn’t be too old then, would you?’ he added, a little doubtfully.
Richard threw back his head and laughed. ‘I don’t suppose you’re ever too old for that kind of adventure.’
‘It would be smashing, wouldn’t it?’ Davie’s dark eyes were shining. He squirmed round and sat up, holding an imaginary steering wheel and making engine noises. ‘Brrm, brrm – we’re in Persia. Look at the desert! Brrm, brrm – we’re crossing the Alps – look at the mountains! Brrrm! – now it’s Turkey – look at the turkeys!’ He curled up with laughter at his own witticism.
‘I’ve got a strong feeling you’re going backwards,’ Richard observed dryly. ‘Best you take a course on map-reading before we leave, I think.’
Davie scrambled to his feet, still gurgling with laughter. ‘Oh, we’d be all right. We could just lean out of the window and ask “Which way to India?”’ he said breezily.
Richard laughed again. ‘I must say I think that might be just a little haphazard,’ he said. ‘And besides… in my dotage, as I obviously will be, I’m not sure I’d be able to go all the way to India. Eight and a half thousand miles might be a bit much for an old codger. No, I really think that the trip I did last year was exciting enough for me.’
Davie draped himself leggily over the arm of the chair. ‘Last year? What did you do last year?’
Richard smiled into the eager face. ‘I drove to Paris,’ he said.
Davie stared. ‘Paris? You drove to Paris?’
‘Indeed I did. Not in the Wolseley, of course – I didn’t have it then. I reckon it would be even more fun in that, don’t you?’
‘But – how did you get the car across the Channel?’
‘They crate it up and put it in the ship’s hold.’
Davie blinked. ‘Gosh!’
‘And then they unload it the other side – and Bob’s your uncle, off you go.’
‘Just like that?’
‘Just like that.’
The boy looked at him, dawning delight in his face. ‘Could we do that?’ he asked slowly, his huge eyes entranced upon Richard’s. ‘Could we?’ There was an almost breathless pleading in the words.
Richard shrugged. ‘One of these days, I expect.’
‘When? When could we?’
Richard cocked his head, his face thoughtful. For a moment he did not reply.
‘Soon?’ the boy prompted excitedly.
‘Your mother said that you wanted to go to Scotland – I’d been half planning—’ He stopped.
‘But Paris would be much more exciting!’ The meaning of the words suddenly registered and Davie jumped to his feet. ‘What had you been planning?’
Richard hesitated. ‘Your special treat, remember?’ he said. ‘I promised you a special treat – to make up for missing your birthday, and as a man-to-man thank you for letting me marry your mother. I was going to suggest that – after the honeymoon, of course – we could take you on a trip. Anywhere you wanted.’
‘I want to go to Paris,’ the boy said with neither hesitation nor a moment of thought. ‘I want to see them put the car on the boat and take it off again—’ He stopped abruptly.
Richard eyed his suddenly stricken face sympathetically. ‘Exactly,’ he said.
‘Mother wouldn’t come, would she?’ Davie ambled over to a chair and threw himself into it. ‘And – even if she agreed to let me go with you on my own, she’d worry so… Oh, blast it!’ He eyed Richard a little warily.
Richard let the forbidden expletive pass without comment. He was tapping a finger pensively on the arm of the chair. ‘There is one possibility,’ he began at last, slowly.
Davie cocked his head to look at him.
‘Your mother has agreed to talk to a friend of mine about this phobia of hers. He’s a doctor – a psychiatrist, actually – and a good one. I’ve spoken to him about it. He thinks he can do something for her. If he did…’
‘We could go,’ Davie said excitedly. ‘Couldn’t we?’
Richard nodded. ‘Yes, we could.’ He paused, his brow still furrowed in thought. ‘There’s a problem, though.’
‘What?’
‘We’d have to go during the summer holidays, of course. And that’s only a few weeks away. Unfortunately these things take a bit of arranging. If we could persuade Annie, I’d have to book a place for the car. Fairly soon. There would be all sorts of things to arrange – passports, tickets—’
Davie glanced at him from beneath the long curling fringe of his eyelashes. ‘Couldn’t you… book it all first and persuade her later?’ he ventured hopefully. ‘Sort of… as a surprise for her?’ The suggestion was shamelessly less than artless and they both knew it.
Richard frowned a little, thoughtfully.
‘If she knew it was booked, it might help her to make up her mind?’ the lad suggested helpfully.
Still Richard said nothing.
Davie contained himself, and waited.
‘Leave it with me,’ Richard said, after a long moment. ‘But’ – he lifted a warning finger – ‘don’t get your hopes too high. I don’t want to disappoint you. It obviously depends on your mother.’
‘Shall I ask her?’ His voice was eager.
Richard shook his head quickly. ‘No. Not right now. She’s got quite enough on her mind at the moment. Leave it to me, and to Charlie Draper. He says that an awful lot depends on her co-operation – on whether she really wants to be cured.’
‘Oh, I’m sure she does. She’s often said so.’
‘Well, we’ll see. Just don’t say anything yet, all right?’
‘I promise.’ Davie said it in his best grown-up voice, but his eyes gleamed with a very boyish excitement.
Richard stood up, walked over to him, ruffled his hair with a smile. ‘That’s my man. Now – why don’t you thrash me at chess again? Or at least give me a chance to get my own back?’
Davie eyed him a little suspiciously. ‘You didn’t let me win last time, did you?’
‘Of course not. Why would I do that?’ Richard pulled him to his feet and put an arm about his shoulders. ‘That’s hardly the sort of thing a good father would do, is it?’ he asked quietly.
‘No.’ Davie shook his head, his face shining with happiness. ‘Not a really good one.’
Richard grinned. ‘At least I’m on the right track, then?’
The boy’s eyes were suddenly solemn. ‘I think you’re going to be the best father anyone ever had,’ he said stoutly.
Richard caught a sharp breath and drew the boy to him for a moment. But he said nothing.
Even though he was satisfactorily late to bed that night Davie found it hard to sleep, though it was neither the thought of the following day’s ceremony nor the until now much-anticipated prospect of grown-up lunch at the Savoy that kept him awake. Despite Richard’s cautions the suggestion, however vague, that they might drive to Paris had fired his boyish imagination and roused an excitement that no amount of down-to-earth common sense could quell. It would be an adventure of the finest order. Surely – surely! – his mother would see that? So rarely did she refuse him anything that by the time sleep finally did claim him he had all but convinced himself that the only decision to be taken was when they would go. When Richard came to look in on him before going to bed himself the boy lay with arms outflung, long fair lashes curling against the still-childish smooth roundness of his rosy cheeks, a faint smile curving his mouth.
Richard stood for a long time looking down at the sleeping child before very gently brushing the tousled hair from his forehead and bending to kiss him. Davie stirred, muttered, settled. Richard went to the door, stood for a moment longer watching him before quietly leaving the room.
‘Do I look all right?’ Annie asked nervously for at least the dozenth time.
‘Darling, you look gorgeous.’
‘What time is it?’
Smiling, Jane glanced at her wristwatch. ‘Five minutes later than it was when you last asked.’
‘Oh – I’m sorry. I knew I shouldn’t have got ready so early.’ Annie prowled restlessly about the room, stopped to look in the mirror, made an infinitesimal adjustment to her wide-brimmed hat.
‘You can sit down, you know,’ her mother pointed out.
‘I don’t like to. I don’t want to arrive all creased.’
‘Are you planning to stand up in the car?’ Jane asked innocently. She checked her own appearance in the mirror, smoothed the neatly coiled bun of her hair, adjusted the fox fur that was draped around her shoulders.
Annie giggled. ‘Don’t be silly.’ She came up behind her mother and their eyes met in the mirror. ‘You look awfully nice,’ she said sincerely. ‘That colour suits you so well.’
‘Thank you, darling.’ Jane smoothed the flared skirt of her emerald-green suit, smiled reassuringly at her daughter’s reflection. ‘Soon be over,’ she said.
Annie turned and wandered to the window. ‘It’s all happened so quickly that it seems rather like a dream,’ she said slowly. ‘I honestly thought that being swept off your feet only happened to dotty heroines in romantic novels. I do hope—’ She stopped abruptly. Behind her she heard the chink of glass and she turned to find her mother holding two glasses. Jane grinned and offered her one. ‘Just a splash,’ she said. ‘Dutch courage. You can always suck a peppermint in the car.’
Annie took the glass, tossed back the contents in one swallow and promptly choked. By the time that emergency had been taken care of, the wedding car had arrived and it was time to go.
‘Gosh, Mother, don’t you look swagger!’ Davie’s eyes were wide with what Annie thought could only be regarded as unflattering surprise.
‘Well, don’t sound so astonished,’ she said in a mildly injured tone, replying to her son but with her eyes on Richard, handsome as she had ever seen him in morning suit and grey top hat, a cream rose that matched her own bouquet in his buttonhole. The sight of him steadied nerves that had threatened to overwhelm her. She smiled a little shakily, looked at the man who stood by his side.
‘Annie, darling, you look wonderful.’ Richard doffed his hat, bent a little carefully, dodging her hat brim to kiss her, then straightened and turned. ‘I’d like you to meet Joshua Foster. He’s a very old friend of mine. An art dealer. He’s very kindly agreed to be my witness.’
Annie shook hands with the rather patrician-looking Mr Foster. ‘How do you do?’ She glanced back at Richard enquiringly. Had he not said that his doctor friend was to be his witness? She was certain that he had.
Richard caught her glance, sent her the shadow of a wink and shook his head very slightly. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘seems we’re all present and correct.’ He grinned at Annie. ‘Shall we go and take the plunge?’
The ceremony was short and simple. So quickly did it seem to go that Annie found herself wondering a little bemusedly how such a momentous change could take place in such a short time. In Paris the ceremony had seemed interminable, and even when she married Charles there had been friends and relatives and church blessings and photographs – what had in fact felt like a whole day of to-ing and fro-ing. Now, in what seemed to be the twinkling of an eye she found herself ensconced comfortably in the back of a taxi, Richard’s hand in hers, the bright gold ring gleaming on her finger. ‘Are we really married?’ she asked in not wholly assumed astonishment.
Smiling, he ducked under her hat again and kissed her. ‘Indeed we are, Mrs Ross. Were you nervous?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you nervous now?’
‘No.’
‘Good. I’d hate you not to enjoy your lunch. I have to tell you, by the way, that Davie was planning what he was going to eat over the breakfast table. He intends to make the most of it.’
She laughed, turned her head to look at the following taxi that held their guests. ‘That reminds me… didn’t you say that your doctor friend – what was his name? – was going to be your witness?’
‘Draper. Charlie Draper. Yes, he was, but unfortunately a crisis blew up – he has a very classy practice, his patients are of the kind who think that everyone, even an eminent psychiatrist, should be at their beck and call – so he had to pull out. He sends his abject apologies. Thanks for not mentioning it when I introduced Joshua. I didn’t want him to think that he was second choice, that’s all.’
She snuggled close to him. ‘Do you know what?’
‘What?’
‘You’re a very nice man.’
‘I do my best,’ he said modestly.
Joshua Foster, his sober and even somewhat supercilious appearance notwithstanding, turned out to be unexpectedly good company. He quickly discovered Davie’s artistic ambitions and charmed the boy with a series of wicked – not to say scurrilous – anecdotes about the foibles and pretensions of some of the artists with whom he dealt. He won Jane’s heart entirely by waxing lyrical about her much-loved east coast, which he clearly knew well, and wondered aloud, wittily and often, whatever hidden qualities his friend Richard might possess that he had managed to capture such an enchanting bride. The food was excellent, the Champagne cool, crisp and plentiful, the service attentive. More than once Annie found herself wondering if she had not wandered into an especially luxurious and self-indulgent version of Alice’s Wonderland.
Davie it was who brought the celebrations to an end. In the middle of the afternoon, having eaten everything that had been put in front of him and partaken of far too much Champagne, he suddenly lost interest in the proceedings, put his head on the table, closed his eyes and was sound asleep in a moment.
‘Davie!’ Annie was mortified.
Joshua Foster laughed and touched the boy’s shoulder gently. ‘You’ll have to develop a better head than that if you mean to be an artist, young feller-me-lad.’
Davie stirred. Briskly Jane poured a glass of water. ‘Come on, Davie. Up you get.’
Davie sat up abruptly. ‘What’s up?’
His grandmother put the glass of water firmly in front of him. ‘Drink that, my dear. All of it.’
A hovering waiter smothered a smile, his eyes sympathetic.
‘Time for a bit of air, I think,’ Jane said. ‘Richard, thank you for a quite superb lunch. We really should go.’
‘A stroll along the Embankment, perhaps?’ Joshua Foster suggested. ‘That’ll bring the young man to his senses, I should think. I’d be honoured to accompany you, dear lady.’
‘But—’ Annie was looking anxiously from one to the other.
Her mother patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry, darling. He’s all right.’ She smiled at Joshua Foster. ‘And thank you, we’d be delighted with your company.’ As she stood up, a positive army of waiters sprang to draw back chairs and assist the party to rise, hurrying off for coats and wraps. Within moments Annie found herself in the large, elegant foyer making her farewells.
Davie, chin firm, flung his arms about her. ‘Bye, Mother. Have a lovely time.’
She hugged him tightly to her. ‘It will only be for a week or so,’ she said very softly, and then coloured as she saw from the small affectionate rise of Richard’s eyebrow that he had heard her.
‘I’ll be all right,’ Davie said reassuringly, though there was a suspiciously damp look about his dark eyes. ‘Nan and I will have a really good time.’
‘That we will.’ Jane kissed Annie crisply, turned to plant a kiss on Richard’s cheek. ‘You two have the most lovely honeymoon.’ She took Davie’s hand. ‘Air,’ she said firmly.
Joshua Foster bowed over Annie’s hand, shook Richard’s firmly. ‘What an extraordinary woman,’ he said appreciatively, mischievously leaving it to his listeners to decide to which woman he was referring.
‘I like him,’ Annie said as they watched the others through the huge revolving doors that led out onto the Strand.
Richard turned her to face him. ‘And I like you,’ he said. ‘Now – one more bottle of Champagne here? Or a bath and a rest upstairs?’ He smiled. ‘There’s dining and dancing this evening, remember.’
‘Richard! I couldn’t possibly eat or drink any more today!’
This time his smile was deliberately and lazily suggestive. ‘Sounds as if, like Davie, you need some exercise, Mrs Ross? But not on the Embankment, do you think? I’m sure we can think of something more… imaginative?’ He took her hand. ‘If we want to look at the river,’ he added innocently, ‘there’s a very good view of it from the window of our room.’
‘Tired?’ Richard asked.
Annie smiled sleepily and yawned again, snuggling into the comfortable leather car seat. ‘I am a bit, yes.’
‘Not surprising.’ Richard slowed the car a little, steering it one-handed as he reached into his pocket for his cigarette case. ‘We’ve been going since six this morning and yesterday was a very busy day.’
Annie smiled at him. ‘To say nothing of not getting to bed until two o’clock—’
‘—and not getting to sleep until a good deal later.’
Annie blushed a little, turned to look out of the window. The flat road stretched ahead of them, the wide Wiltshire plain reaching from horizon to horizon. ‘Am I allowed to know where we’re going yet?’ she asked after a moment. ‘Is it much further?’
He laughed. ‘You sound like Davie. Yes, of course I’ll tell you. We’re going to Cornwall. To a little fishing village called Tregeeth, not far from Helston. It’s very quiet and very beautiful. Do you know Cornwall at all?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I’ve never been there, though I’ve always wanted to.’
‘Then you’ve a treat in store. My sister and I used to go every year with our parents. It’s a magical place. Cliffs and coves and tiny sandy beaches…’
‘I’ve seen pictures.’ Despite her effort not to, she yawned again.
He lit his cigarette, glanced at her, smiling. ‘Why don’t you try to have a little snooze? We’ve a long way to go yet.’
‘There,’ Richard said several hours later, rolling the car to a halt on the narrow clifftop road. ‘What do you think of it?’
Annie looked down at the tiny harbour beneath them and clapped her hands together in delight. ‘Oh, Richard! It’s lovely!’
The road dropped steeply away, zigzagging down the cliff to a sheltered little cove in which, along the narrow banks of a tumbling stream, nestled a cluster of white-painted cottages. Several small fishing boats were drawn up on the sandy beach, and nets were spread upon the harbour wall to dry. Through the open car windows Annie could hear the sound of the restless sea as it creamed and curled about the rocks, and surged, foaming, across the flat, golden sand. There was the smell of seaweed in the air. She scrambled out of the car. The soft breeze was warm; the sun, low in the sky behind them, danced on the moving waters. Seabirds wheeled in a sky of cobalt blue. ‘It’s idyllic,’ she said, as Richard climbed a little stiffly from the car to join her. ‘Absolutely idyllic. Like a picture postcard.’
Smiling at her enthusiasm, Richard pointed: ‘That’s where we’re going to be staying. See? The long thatched place next to the harbour. It’s an inn called the Ship. It isn’t the Savoy’ – he flashed her a laughing glance – ‘but it ought to be fairly comfortable.’
She slid her arm through his. ‘I’m sure it’s going to be perfectly wonderful,’ she said confidently. ‘The very place to begin living happily ever after. Wouldn’t you say?’
She tilted her head back, shutting her eyes against the glimmer of sun on water.
Her husband kissed her. ‘I certainly would,’ he agreed.
The landlady of the Ship was a plump, motherly woman called Mary Tregowan, who greeted them as if they were long-lost family. Indeed, since she remembered Richard from his childhood visits, it seemed that they almost qualified as such. ‘My father was running the place then,’ she informed Annie, in her rich Cornish accent. ‘Afore the war it was, of course. And Mr Ross here and his family always used to take Polrun House, up there on the cliffs, for a month in the summer. Isn’t that right, Mr Ross?’ She puffed her way up the narrow staircase.
‘It certainly is. It was the highlight of our lives. My sister Dolly and I used to run completely wild – swimming, fishing, picnicking on the cliffs. For a couple of town children like us, it was absolute bliss.’
‘There.’ Mrs Tregowan pushed open a door, stood back for them to pass. ‘I do hope it’ll suit.’ She sounded a little anxious. ‘’Tis all we have that’s big enough—’
‘It’s delightful!’ Annie ran to one of the two little dormer windows that peeped out from the thatch. ‘Richard – look – what a lovely view! Right across the bay!’ She turned and surveyed the room. It was large, clean and very simply furnished; the pillows and bedspread on the huge bed were crisp white cotton, the bunch of bright cabbage roses in a vase on the table matched those that twined across the wallpaper. A large china jug and bowl, also rose-covered, stood upon the washstand.
Mary Tregowan beamed. ‘I’ll send Tom up with your cases, then, shall I?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘And I daresay you could do with a jug of warm water, to freshen up with?’
‘That would be lovely,’ Annie said. ‘Thank you.’ As the landlady left the room she turned to Richard and threw her arms about him. ‘Oh, Richard, this is perfect!’
‘You are sure? It isn’t too’ – he glanced around, grinned a little at the glimpse of a chamber pot under the bed – ‘primitive for you?’
‘Of course not! I love it.’ She took off her hat and tossed it onto the bed. ‘Come on, let’s get changed and take a walk round the harbour. I want to see everything, absolutely everything.’
‘Wouldn’t Davie just love this?’ she asked later as they leaned in the late evening light with their elbows on the harbour wall. A small fishing boat bobbed out on the water, the lights from its lamps dancing on the rippling surface. The waves slapped gently against the wall, and out on the point beyond the harbour the sweeping beam of a lighthouse was beginning to move across the sky. Even though it was not yet fully dark the moon hung in ghostly splendour over the sea.
‘We’ll bring him,’ he said. ‘But for now, it’s ours. I did so want you to see it.’
She reached out to squeeze his hand.
They had dined simply but well, on fresh-caught fish and home-grown vegetables washed down with cider. The contrast with their meal the evening before had only increased Annie’s delight. They pushed themselves away from the wall and, hand in hand, strolled on to the end of the harbour and stood for a moment in silence, breathing in the salt air and watching the bobbing fishing boat.
‘We’ll walk along the coast tomorrow,’ Richard said. ‘There’s another village just round the point there. And inland there’s a famous ring of standing stones above a village called Mallagan. My father used to hire a pony and trap and take us there. Dolly and I would play for hours up there. They always used to have a summer fair – about this time of the year, I suppose it must have been. I’ll ask Mrs Tregowan. Now – who’s ready for bed?’
She sighed happily, closed her eyes and laid her head on his shoulder. ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ she said.
‘Does the summer fair still visit Mallagan, Mrs Tregowan?’ Richard asked the next day as he tucked into the biggest breakfast Annie had ever seen in her life.
Mrs Tregowan placed another heaped plate of toast on the table. ‘It surely does. ’Tis on now, as a matter of fact. It’ll be up there till at least the end of the month.’
‘We’ll go later on in the week, if you’d like?’ Richard looked at Annie. ‘It isn’t just a fair – it’s a market, too. You’ll enjoy it, I think.’
Mrs Tregowan was hovering, eyeing the boiled eggs and toast that Annie had asked for with something close to disapproval. ‘Are you certain that’s all you want, Mrs Ross?’ she asked.
Annie laughed. ‘Yes, thank you.’ She shook her head a little, glanced again at Richard’s plate that was piled so high with ham, eggs, sausages and bacon that it just might, she thought, have defeated even Davie. ‘Quite certain.’
‘I’ll get in a couple of nice crabs for supper if you’d like?’
‘That would be lovely.’
Annie was enchanted by the picturesque Cornish coastline with its towering cliffs, its coves and inlets, and small, white-painted cottages. That morning they rambled along the cliffs and around the point, passing the lighthouse, to yet another village further down the coast, where they stopped at the pub for a leisurely lunch of bread and cheese and a pint of beer for Richard before setting off back to Tregeeth. This more or less set the pattern for their days. Mostly they walked, sometimes drove further afield; often they sat on the beach reading, talking, or simply watching the sea and the activity around the tiny harbour. The packed lunches that Mary Tregowan provided would, as Annie pointed out, easily have fed four. ‘She thinks you don’t eat enough,’ Richard teased.
‘If we stay much longer I’ll finish up as fat as butter!’ Annie nibbled on a hard-boiled egg. They were sitting on a rug spread on the sand, their backs against a rock. The sun was high and very hot. Richard, in his shirtsleeves and a casually tilted straw panama, was tucking into a huge Cornish pasty with considerable gusto. Annie, dressed in a pretty, short-skirted sundress and a wide-brimmed straw hat, smiled at him affectionately, shaking her head a little. ‘I just don’t know where you put it.’
‘Hollow legs.’ Richard finished the pasty, brushed the crumbs from his fingers and shirt, reached for his cigarette case. ‘Oh, damn it!’ he said mildly.
‘What’s the matter?’
He was looking at the open case. ‘I’m nearly out of fags. I’d forgotten that. I’ll have to drive into Helston. What a drag!’
Annie began to gather up the picnic. ‘Don’t they sell cigarettes in the local shop?’ she asked, surprised.
‘They certainly do. Woodbines, Woodbines, Woodbines or Woodbines. Not quite up my street.’
She laughed. ‘I’ll come with you.’
He shook his head. ‘There’s really no need. You’d have to pack everything up, change – no, it isn’t worth it. We’ve only got another couple of days, and we’re going to Mallagan tomorrow. You don’t want to waste time in the car today just because I’ve got a memory like a sieve.’ He stretched his long legs. ‘Besides, you’re enjoying your book.’ He grinned. ‘Again,’ he added. ‘I’m surprised it isn’t falling to pieces.’
Annie glanced to where the much-thumbed book lay. ‘I’ve told you before – I’m not sure “enjoy” is quite the word to use about Passage, but at least I think I’m beginning to get to grips with it.’
He leaned forward, kissed her slightly sunburned nose. ‘And his views on marriage?’ he asked lightly.
‘Are interesting,’ she said primly.
He scrambled to his feet, picked up his jacket, swung it across one shoulder. ‘I won’t be long.’
She watched his tall figure striding across the sand towards the harbour road. When he reached it he turned and waved. She lifted a hand. Once he had gone she picked up her book. ‘Interesting, but wrong, Mr Forster,’ she said aloud, very firmly.
‘Do me a favour?’ Richard asked the following morning, watching her from the bed as she stood at the washstand.
Annie turned, towel in hand. ‘Mm?’
‘Wear your red dress today? It suits you so well.’ He smiled. ‘Your skin has gone the colour of honey.’
She laughed. ‘I was going to wear the blue—’
‘I prefer the red.’
‘Very well.’ She crossed to the wardrobe, dropping a kiss on the top of his head on the way. ‘The red it must be, I suppose. Tell me – are you ever going to get up? Or are you planning to spend the day in bed?’ It was another in a string of lovely mornings, the air was fresh and saltily tangy, the sun streamed through the window, the seabirds cried above the sound of the waves.
Richard leapt, naked, from the bed and caught her about the waist, sweeping her into a spinning waltz. She could feel the warmth of his hands through the silk of her dressing gown. She squealed with laughter. ‘Richard! Put me down.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘not until you’ve given me a kiss. Two.’
They were late for breakfast.
‘Goin’ to the fair, then?’ Mrs Tregowan asked, eyes twinkling as she observed the faint, becoming flush of colour in Annie’s cheeks. ‘Saturday’s a good day. There’ll be plenty goin’ on.’
‘Yes, we are. And then we thought we might go on up to the north coast.’
‘Aye. It’s quite nice up there, so they say.’ Mary Tregowan’s tone was disinterested to the point of dismissiveness. ‘Though I wouldn’t bother myself.’
‘Do you honestly think that she’s never been to the north side of the county?’ Annie asked later as they drove away.
Richard grinned. ‘She’s probably never been any further than Helston,’ he said.
They arrived at Mallagan late in the morning, when the market was in full swing. They strolled along the rows of stalls selling everything from bolts of cloth and kitchenware to vegetables and fresh-caught fish, to where the animals were penned: calves and piglets and lean moorland sheep. The fairground beyond was only just stirring, though a few children and young people were riding the horses on a giant roundabout whose cheerful barrel-organ music boomed above the chatter of the hawkers and their customers. Gaily coloured swing-boats, worked by tasselled ropes, stood in a row. ‘Take the little lady for a ride, sir?’ The man wore a flat cap and a bright bandanna; his smile was wide and very white. ‘Only a penny a go.’
‘Fancy it?’ Richard asked.
‘Why not?’
They scrambled up the steps and settled themselves in the gondola seats. The man set them off with a push, Richard hauled on the rope and the swing-boat went higher and higher, above the heads of the crowds. ‘If Davie could see us now!’ Annie called, laughing, holding onto her hat.
Richard grinned. ‘Why should children have all the fun?’
They wandered the fairground hand in hand. Richard tried his skill at the coconut shy with no luck at all; Annie kissed him and told him she didn’t like coconuts anyway. They rode the bounding horses of the brightly painted roundabout, Annie seated decorously side-saddle; they rolled ha’pennies and won a celluloid doll in a stiff net skirt – which Richard presented to a wide-eyed little girl whose face lit up as if Christmas had come; they ate sticky, too-sweet candyfloss and had to lick their fingers clean like a couple of children.
‘Uh-oh,’ Richard said, pointing. ‘Look what I spy!’
Annie turned. Laughed. ‘A fortune teller!’ she said. ‘Gypsy Valentino, no less!’
‘Want to visit him?’ Richard asked.
‘Of course! Coming?’
He shook his head. ‘I can’t keep a straight face. I put the bad ones off and if I ever come across a real one he’ll probably put a hex on me. You go ahead. I’ll see you over there by the rifle range. I’ll bet you didn’t know I had secret yearnings to be the next Buffalo Bill, did you?’
He watched her as she slipped into the darkness of the gypsy’s booth, her red dress bright in the shadows, then strolled over to the rifle range.
Ten minutes later, a small felt doll attached to a safety pin in his hand, he turned to find her standing silent beside him. ‘Hello, I didn’t hear you arrive. Look what I’ve won for you—’ He stopped. ‘Annie? Is something wrong?’
‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘No, of course not.’ She took the little brooch, bent her head to pin it to her dress.
He took it back, frowning, fastened it for her. ‘You’re shaking,’ he said.
‘It was chilly in the tent. I’m quite all right. Please don’t fuss.’
He eyed her but said nothing. She turned away. ‘I’d like to walk up to the standing stones, please,’ she said.
The stones stood on a rocky outcrop above the village. They climbed the steep and narrow path in silence, the sounds of the funfair dying behind them. Annie leaned against one of the ancient dolmen, her eyes on the distant sparkle of the sea.
‘Annie, what’s wrong?’ Richard asked quietly.
She shook her head. ‘Nothing, honestly. I think I may have had a bit too much sun, that’s all. I have quite a bad headache.’
He put a concerned arm about her shoulders and drew her to him. ‘Do you want to go on to the north coast? Or would you rather go back?’
She lifted her head; her eyes were shadowed. ‘Could we? Go back, I mean? Would you mind?’
‘Of course not. We’ll go back to the Ship – I’ll get some aspirin in the shop – and you can have a quiet lie-down. How does that sound?’
She smiled wanly. ‘If you really don’t mind—?’
He took her hand. ‘I really don’t mind,’ he said gently. ‘Come on, we can be there in an hour and you’ll be right as rain in no time.’
She hardly spoke during the ride to Tregeeth, but lay with her head thrown back on the seat, her eyes closed. Back at the inn, she took the aspirin that Richard had bought and allowed him to lead her up the stairs to the bedroom, where he drew the curtains. The room was cool and shady. She kicked off her shoes and lay down on the bed, one arm thrown up to shield her eyes.
‘Do you want to get into bed?’ Richard asked.
She shook her head, smiling a little. ‘No, I’m quite happy like this. Once the tablet works and the headache goes I’ll be much better. Why don’t you go for a walk? There’s no need for you to sit around with me.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Of course.’
‘Perhaps I’ll take a stroll around the harbour then.’ He stopped at the door. ‘I’ll see you later,’ he said, a little uncertainly.
She did not open her eyes. ‘Yes.’
Annie heard the door close behind him, and his light, receding footsteps. The nagging headache that she did indeed have was fading a little. For a long time she lay very still in the warm, sea-washed quiet, eyelids drooping. The curtains moved in the gentle breeze from the water, that also stirred her hair against her cheek…
Milky eyes and nibbled flesh. Gaping mouths and thin, decaying fingers, reaching – reaching…
Davie? Davie, where are you?
The cold and pitiless water, lapping and shifting; filling lungs and ears and eyes; deep, deep water, endless, bottomless, no light, no warmth, no hand or toehold – clutch at your loved one – you cannot save him – you cannot save yourself—
Davie!
‘Annie – for Christ’s sake! What the hell are you doing?’
She jumped awake, found she was standing at the top of the narrow stairs, Richard’s horrified face on a level with her own. He stood a step or so below her, holding her arms in a painful grip. Confused, she swayed, and his hands tightened further.
‘Christ Almighty – if I hadn’t come back—’ He stopped, his mouth tight.
Annie pulled away from him, turned and walked back into the bedroom, sat on the bed and dropped her face into her hands, sobbing. She could still see those faces, there behind her eyelids, still feel – physically feel – the chill, dead weight of the water, the sucking and the cold suffocation…
‘Annie!’ Richard was speaking urgently. He took her wrists in his hands and, none too gently, forcibly pulled her hands from her face. ‘Will you tell me what the hell’s going on?’
She sat for a moment, fighting for control. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered at last.
‘What happened? What’s the matter? Annie, you were right at the top of the stairs – you could have fallen… You could have—’ He stopped.
‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated. ‘It was the dream. The drowning dream. I had to find Davie—’ The tears came again and she bowed her head.
He sat beside her on the bed, drew her head onto his shoulder, his movements gentle now. ‘But, darling, why? Why should the dream come back now? You’re not unhappy, are you?’
She did not speak for a moment, then, ‘It was the gypsy,’ she said, her voice muffled.
‘What?’
‘The gypsy,’ she repeated, pulling a little away from him and sniffing. ‘He said—’ She could not go on.
Richard took both her hands in his. ‘Darling, look at me,’ he said. ‘You aren’t telling me that you really believe in that nonsense, are you? God Almighty, if I’d thought that I’d never have let you—’
She was shaking her head. ‘You weren’t there,’ she told him.
‘So tell me. What was it he said?’
Annie drew a deep breath. ‘At first it was just the usual stuff. He had a crystal ball that sparkled and lit like a rainbow when he touched it. He said I had recently found happiness—’
‘He saw your bright new wedding ring, no doubt,’ Richard interrupted dryly.
Annie shrugged. ‘Perhaps. He said I had an… an aura of gentleness—’
‘Well, of course you have. It doesn’t take a bloody charlatan fortune teller to see that.’
‘Richard – please—’
He shook his head. ‘Sorry. Go on.’
‘Then suddenly the globe went… milky. Dark.’ She shivered. ‘He looked at it for what seemed ages without speaking. Then he lifted his head and looked at me. He didn’t smile, as he had before; his eyes seemed to go right through me. When he spoke, his voice had changed, too—’
‘Changed?’
‘It was deeper. Sort of… echoing.’ She stopped, swallowed.
‘What did he say?’
‘He said, “You do well to fear the treacherous waters. Not for others, but for yourself.”’ Her voice shook as she spoke. ‘Then he said something about the happiness and the gentleness being treasures, treasures to be preserved, or looked after’ – she made a rapid gesture with her hand – ‘something like that. He said they were not to be squandered amongst the damned souls of the drowned.’ Her voice had fallen to a whisper. ‘Richard – how did he know?’ she asked.
‘Oh, this is bloody ridiculous,’ Richard snapped. ‘I’ll break the bastard’s bloody neck. How dare he turn a party trick into such dangerous drivel?’
‘But – how did he know?’
‘He didn’t, you silly thing. He guessed. It was a coincidence. Oh, for God’s sake – do you think you’re the only one who’s afraid of drowning? It’s not hard to play on it, is it? He could just as easily have picked on fire, or illness. We all have our ogres. We all have our fears.’ He drew her close to him again. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to shout. I honestly didn’t realise just how deep this thing went. No more fortune tellers. And I think we’d better forget Charlie Draper as well. Lord only knows what could happen if he stirs things up, as he’s bound to do. Sleepwalking is dangerous. You could have broken your neck. What on earth does it matter if you hate boats? It isn’t the end of the world, after all—’
‘No,’ she said firmly, straightening her back.
He looked at her questioningly.
She lifted her chin. ‘You’re right. This is absurd. And it’s gone on for too long. I’m a grown woman, not a silly frightened child. I will go and see your Mr Draper. I want to, I want him to help me. I won’t let this ridiculous thing dominate me—’
‘But—’
‘Please, Richard. I’ve made up my mind. As I say, I’m not a child. And if he can help me, at least I want him to try.’
He looked at her for a very long moment, then sighed. ‘If that’s what you want then I can’t stop you, of course. But I must say I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think it will help, and it might do a great deal of harm. I wish I’d never bloody suggested it!’
‘I don’t care,’ she said, and her voice was stubborn. ‘You can surely see – I’ve got to try.’
He gathered her to him. ‘If you say so, my darling,’ he said softly. ‘If you say so.’