The distance from home garnered an edgy sort of freedom, but with each step back to Porthsennen it weathered a little. Although Tom’s mother had warned him against it, just the thought of getting to spend a few hours away from the village with Elizabeth, away from prying eyes like those belonging to Mr. Bolitho, whom he had seen watching them only that morning, had been too much of a temptation to resist. Joy swelled inside him, greater than anything he had ever felt. It had been the perfect afternoon. Being with Elizabeth outweighed everything.
“Still got a bit of a way to go,” he told Elizabeth as they crested the brow of the hill overlooking Gwynver Beach, going as slowly as he could. At his feet he noticed a small crocus flower growing against the odds in the shadow of a rock. The petals were blue, bright as amethyst crystals in the coastal caves. The stem snapped easily as he held it at the base, presenting it for her to see.
“My favorite,” she said as she took it into her hand.
“Then I shall bring you one every year to mark this day,” he said as she held the flower to her chest. His hand brushed the soft curve of her back, the day behind them emboldening his touch. All the effort to hold back over the last six weeks felt foolish now; it was the right time. How could he not kiss her in that moment? But just as he was about to move in, he caught sight of a sparkling Austin Morris, red with a chrome trim, parked at the end of the track just on the other side of the trees. The sunlight dazzled him as it danced off the grille at the front.
“Isn’t that James?” he asked as she pulled away, turning to see.
“God, what’s he doing here?” she whispered. “You’d best let me do the talking,” she said, pulling Tom’s sweater over her head as they descended the last few steps on the rocky path. Moments later they were standing in front of James Warbeck in the small clearing. The sea was rough, and Tom could feel the spray of it on his cheeks.
“James,” she said, smiling. Her voice sounded different, affected in some way. “Whatever are you doing here?” Tom had to look away as Elizabeth kissed James’s cheek. The young doctor took one of her hands into his without once looking away from Tom.
“Looking for you.” A jagged tooth jutted from his smile as he draped his arm around her shoulders. “Mrs. Clements told me that you went to Land’s End with Margaret, but I saw her in the grocery store, and I thought to myself, ‘If Margaret is back from her trip, then that must mean that my Lizzy is also back.’” An elaborate show exposed what looked to be an expensive wristwatch. Tom wanted to push his arm away from Elizabeth’s shoulder. “I have been looking for you for over half an hour. And here you are.”
“Yes,” she said, a little quieter, less sure than she was before. “Here I am.” Tom saw the crocus flower fall from her hand.
“I have been itching to show you this. I thought to myself, ‘My Lizzy would just love to see it.’” An arm swept wide in the direction of the vehicle. “Your carriage to Porthcurno tomorrow. Have you ever seen such a fine example of a car?” he asked, looking at Tom.
“It’s very nice, sir,” Tom said, hanging back. But he wasn’t thinking about the car. He couldn’t shake a sense of anger over James’s insistence on referring to Elizabeth as my Lizzy. He had no right; she wasn’t a possession. She wasn’t his.
“Come closer,” James insisted, beckoning them both forward. “Take a look at the interior.”
Tom took a few hesitant steps as a wave crashed over the seawall and the sun dipped behind a heavy cloud. Even from a distance he could smell the warmth of the new leather. He couldn’t deny that the red seats and the slick black dashboard were beautiful. It was spotless, like nothing Tom had ever owned. Jealousy stirred, and it felt like sickness, a rousing disappointment that he knew he would never be able to offer Elizabeth such things.
“It’s a very fine car,” Tom said. Waves continued to strike the seawall. Was that sea spray or the first drops of rain? Elizabeth would be cold, and he thought to give her his coat, but he doubted it was appropriate.
“Yes, James. Really, it’s lovely.” Elizabeth had a quick nose in the car, then took a step back. James watched them both then, his gaze flickering one to the other.
“So, tell me. Where have you been?”
“Tom kindly agreed to show me the path that leads to Gwynver Beach. Margaret had told me that the view was quite spectacular, and I wanted to draw it.”
“Wonderful,” James said, taking a step toward her. She handed her book to him when he reached for it. “What happened to your walk to Land’s End?”
“Margaret couldn’t make it. Tom saw how disappointed I was and offered to cheer me up.”
“What a kind fellow you must be.” James gave Tom’s upper arm a slap. Cordial enough if you didn’t know the truth. “Keeping her entertained while I am otherwise engaged, saving lives. So, what have you been drawing?” The pages fluttered in the breeze as James struggled to turn them. “I don’t see anything new.”
Tom knew he had to do something when he saw Elizabeth stutter. “It was too windy, sir,” he said, stepping in to cover their tracks. “She drew a wonderful landscape of the coast, but the wind picked it right up and tore it away.”
“Art critic as well as a hero, are you?” James looked up to the sky. “Well, the weather certainly has turned. Come on, Lizzy. Let me drive you home.” Tom could do nothing but watch as James ushered her into the car, his hand on the small of her back. Every muscle in his body felt ready for a fight, as if he was about to rush toward them and tear them apart. Eventually the sight of that car and the soft ticking of the engine forced his eyes away. The petals of the trampled crocus were already turning brown as he picked it up from the ground, yet he carefully slipped it in his pocket and made his way toward home.
* * *
James pulled up outside the practice in the sheltered spot alongside a rampant honeysuckle bush. The drive had been silent, uncomfortable in every way despite the soft leather seats, which smelled new and luxurious, a little like vanilla. The engine quieted as Elizabeth arrived back to her reality, and she felt a weight in her chest, making it harder to breathe. Out with Tom in a place she had never been before, she had felt like herself, and here, in a place she could walk around competently in total darkness, she felt like somebody she didn’t know or even like that much. Tom made her feel safe even when she wasn’t.
“Lizzy, are you listening to me?”
“What?” she said, realizing that James had been speaking to her while she was lost in thought.
“You were miles away. What were you thinking about?”
“My lost drawings.”
“Oh,” he replied, licking his lips, pulling a piece of thread loose from the steering wheel. “I thought perhaps you were thinking about that boy. You seemed awfully close when I saw you.”
There was a sadness to his voice that stirred her earlier guilt. But she couldn’t find the courage to admit to her feelings. “My feet were sore,” she lied. “He was helping me.”
“Oh,” he said again, and she wasn’t sure this time whether he believed her or not. “Well, if that was all it was, he sounds like a suitably helpful person to have around. Maybe I could ask him to clean this for me twice a week,” he suggested, patting the dashboard. “He looked as if he might need an extra bob or two.”
Her jaw locked, and an acrid taste flooded her mouth. “He has a job,” she said. “He doesn’t need your money.”
Air vibrated at the back of his throat. “If you can call it that.” It was a side of James that she had never seen before, built from snide, belittling intentions; gratitude for Tom and his simple life rose within her at that moment. “It’s hardly taxing pulling fish from the sea.”
“Not everybody has the opportunity to go off to London and become a doctor,” she said, her voice cold and curt. Her fears for what he might tell her father diminished in the shadow of his cruelty. “And this is a fishing village.”
“Yes,” he said, going back to the stitching on his steering wheel. “I suppose it is.” His hand settled on the door handle, the first drops of rain falling fat against the windshield. “Let’s go inside. Your father is expecting us.”
* * *
They walked into the house together, much to her father’s delight, and her mother’s too, once he alerted her to their presence. Elizabeth sat beside her, but a vacancy hung between them. The kettle whistled to a boil, and from the seat on the other side of her mother James asked about her day. Elizabeth listened as her mother tried to tell him what she had been doing but couldn’t really find the right words. It broke Elizabeth’s heart a little, both for her mother and for James as he listened so patiently. Once the tea had brewed, her father asked Elizabeth about her walk to Land’s End. She tried to catch a glimpse of James’s expression as she told her father it was too chilly to really enjoy it. James kept his face turned away, but she was thankful for his silence until the conversation moved on.
Would she pay a price for his collusion? Perhaps, but it didn’t matter right now. Even her mother’s confusion couldn’t wipe the day clean. The taste of salt was dry on her lips, and the fine grains of sand scratched at her skin through her clothes. Knots tangled through her windswept hair. It was a detail that didn’t escape her mother, who every so often reached up to tuck a few strands back in place. With Tom, time ceased to exist in the form she knew it. It felt as if hardly any time at all had passed while they were together, yet she felt as if she had known him for a lifetime. Anything less than that could never now be enough.
“Elizabeth, dear,” her father said. “Are you here with us, or somewhere else?”
“Sorry,” she said, lost in an idea of what her life could be, of the choices that she had. “I was just thinking about something.”
“Excited for tomorrow,” her father said to James.
“What’s tomorrow?” she asked.
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten,” said James. “I’m taking you to the Minack Theatre. I’ll be here bright and early, before eight.”
“But I’ve got plans,” she said, even though it wasn’t true. Going on a day trip with James was unthinkable now. Tom had all but told her he loved her, hadn’t he? The courage was in her somewhere to tell the truth, and wherever it was hiding, she had to find it fast so that she might stop this charade.
“Surely nothing that can’t be changed,” suggested her father. “What could be more important than a day with your fiancé?”
“Nothing, I suppose,” she said quietly. Only she didn’t believe it, because now she knew that Tom was more important to her than anything else in the world.