Mrs Opie was coming home the next day and Hannah was personally preparing her rooms. With Pogo asleep on his favourite chair in front of the cosy fire in the sitting room, she put clean linen sheets on the bed, affectionately plumping up the pillows and smoothing the deep, lace-edged hem of the top sheet over the soft wool blankets. Then she draped the silk bedspread over the top in just the way Mrs Opie liked. She cleaned the bathroom until the tiles and brass fittings sparkled. Next she polished the furniture and laid out the lace runners and doilies she had made during Mrs Opie’s stay in hospital. She dusted the ornaments, then replaced the array of cosmetics, perfume and the silver hairbrush and trinket box on the dressing table. The day after the robbery Mr Greg had bought a safe and locked the jewellery inside it; in future Hannah would have to tell him when his grandmother required her jewellery.
When she had arranged the last cushion and attended to the clocks, Hannah stayed awhile, smiling as she pictured Mrs Opie back home in her rightful place. Since she had come here she’d shared nearly all her feelings with Mrs Opie and hoped the nurse would not encroach on their close relationship. From her hospital bed Mrs Opie had noticed her sadness the day after the wedding and had found an excuse to send Greg out of the room before inquiring the reason.
‘Is something wrong, dear? Were there problems at your brother’s wedding?’
Without a second thought Hannah told her why the wedding had taken place secretly.
‘That’s absolutely appalling,’ Mrs Opie said indignantly, delicately touching her hair which had been recently cut and styled; she looked every bit the elegant, confident, self-controlled lady Hannah had first seen. ‘No wonder you look down in the dumps. I’m so glad your brother and his poor wife have got away from Porthellis. I must think of a way to help them, nothing patronising of course. It’s a wonder to me why you want to go down to the village, Hannah.’
‘I don’t think I’ll be able to face it for a long time,’ she answered mournfully. The violence between Matt and Daniel had seen to that, and although she had pondered the unexpected kindness shown to her by her father and was cheered by it, the risk that her hopes might be misplaced and that she would face his usual hate-filled attitude towards her was too painful to bear right now. And while she wanted to ask Danny about Matt’s allegations that he was mixed up in the burglary, she didn’t really believe he could be involved in something so unlawful and violent.
When she and Greg had left, Mrs Opie had asked a nurse to pass her her writing things. Out of the gold initialled, tan leather case she took her journal and fountain pen and wrote, ‘Nothing left for me to do now. Hannah is mine for good.’
It was time for Hannah’s morning break and she took a tray up to her room, sat in front of the fire and ruminated over the future. Mrs Opie was coming home, the burglars who had put her in hospital would be locked up for a very long time, and if not for the fact that she was pregnant things would have quickly returned to normal. They might even have taken the London trip when Mrs Opie’s hip had mended properly. There could be no doubt she was pregnant. The morning sickness had stopped abruptly but she had missed two monthlies. She’d leave it a little longer then go to see the doctor and look for the right moment to tell Mrs Opie.
She would have married Matt, she didn’t doubt he would have asked her, if events hadn’t taken another turn. She had tried to shut out the memory of the dreadful fight between Matt and Daniel and especially Matt’s last harsh words to her. She felt her anger with him was justified, but he had been right, it wasn’t so much what she’d said to him but the way she’d said it. In unguarded moments she would recall the way she had felt alive and complete in his arms, his tender touch, the wonderful sensations as they’d given themselves to each other completely. She would be filled with a terrible ache and tears inevitably followed.
Apart from visiting Mrs Opie in hospital, she had left the house only to call on Mitch and Viv at Portmellon. Greg offered to drive her there and dropped her off just outside the village. The road ran across the beach of the village and he did not want to risk getting the car stuck in the sand. Hannah asked at a cottage close to the water’s edge the way to Mitch and Viv Spargo’s home. She found it in a quiet, sheltered spot at the back of the village. The view of the sea was blocked by other houses but it had a scrap of garden at the back and front and a backdrop of sloping fields which formed the side of a natural valley.
Mitch, bleary-eyed from a hard night’s fishing, had been delighted to see her. ‘Hannah! Come in,’ he exclaimed, pulling her through the door. ‘Viv, sweetheart, come down here,’ he called up over his head. ‘I’m putting the kettle on. Hannah’s here.’
The door opened into the only downstairs room which doubled as a kitchen and parlour. It had oddments of old furniture, a patched, faded cloth on a small square table, and a fresh coat of paint, pale blue on the walls, white and sky-blue on the woodwork. There were two small, square-paned windows, one with blue and green floral curtains, the other pink with frilled edges, not new but in good condition. It was spotlessly clean, bright and appealing. There was a sense of promise here and Hannah was thrilled to see how happy Mitch was in his snug home.
‘You have it lovely in here, Mitch,’ she said, handing him a straw shopping bag and a parcel. ‘I’ve brought you and Viv a few little things and a present for your new home.’
Mitch put them on the table and enfolded her in a bear hug. ‘It’s so good to see you, Hannah.’
‘You too, Mitch,’ she said, patting his back.
Viv came down the narrow flight of twisting stairs from the bedroom and opened the other door to the room. She had a bundle of laundry in her arms. ‘Hello,’ she said, a note of welcome in her shy voice.
Hannah gazed at her sister-in-law for a moment. Viv looked a picture of health. Her auburn hair, hanging in one long plait down her back, gleamed and her eyes shone with a healthy energy Hannah hadn’t seen in them before. She couldn’t help hugging her, it seemed the natural thing to do, and Viv responded in the same way. ‘I didn’t realise you were so pretty,’ Hannah said.
‘I’ve got the most beautiful bride in Portmellon,’ Mitch said proudly. ‘All the villagers here say so.’
‘You forgot to put the kettle on, Mitch,’ Viv chuckled, seeing to it herself.
‘Sorry, sweetheart. Come and look what Hannah’s brought us, a bag of goodies, I shouldn’t wonder, and a present for the house.’
No one mentioned the wedding or the harrowing events surrounding it and if Mitch had heard about the fight that day, he didn’t bring it up.
‘Real sheets and pillowcases,’ Viv exclaimed as she opened the parcel and held up the lengths of white cotton. ‘We’ll have the grandest bed in Portmellon, Mitch. Thank you, Hannah.’
‘I’m glad you like them. I bought them in St Austell before Mrs Opie broke her hip and I thought I’d wait until you had your own home before giving them to you.’
The bag was filled with Mr Patrick’s baking, items of lace Hannah had made and some odds and ends that Mrs Opie had said Hannah could take from the house. ‘When she comes home she’s going to send Mr Patrick up to the attic to turn out a few things for you. She said she hopes you won’t be offended, but she’d rather think about someone other than herself just lying in bed all day with little to do.’
‘It’s very kind of her, we’re grateful,’ Viv said, nibbling on a piece of Patrick Opie’s shortbread. ‘Mitch is teaching me to read and write and when I’ve learned enough words I’ll write and thank her. How’s Leah? We became close friends when…’
‘She’s very happy now she’s working openly at Roscarrock. She sends you both her love.’
‘You must bring her next time,’ Viv said.
Hannah promised she would.
‘Did you walk here, Hannah?’ Mitch asked, slipping his hand round Viv’s small waist. Viv pressed her head against his shoulder for a moment.
‘No, Mr Greg brought me.’
‘We’ll be the talk of the place,’ Mitch puffed out his chest. ‘Having a grand lady visit us who’s driven up in a car.’
‘I’m not a grand lady,’ Hannah protested mildly.
‘You look like one, doesn’t she, Viv?’
‘Yes, you do, Hannah,’ Viv agreed. ‘I haven’t seen clothes on anyone like that since I passed the mayor’s wife in the street at Newlyn.’
Hannah blushed. ‘I’m only wearing what Mrs Opie bought for me to go to London in.’ She changed the subject. ‘How are things on the boat you work on, Mitch?’
‘We’re not doing too bad. Course, not as many boats go out from here. Like the other villages, we’re pilchard driving up round Looe and Polperro. ’Twas a poor catch last night, but we’re making ends meet, aren’t we, Viv?’
Viv smiled shyly.
When Hannah left, Mitch walked her across the beach towards the car in which Greg Opie was sitting and making notes for his novel, quite oblivious of the interest he was stirring among the villagers. ‘I’m glad to see you so happy, Mitch.’
‘Viv was a bit depressed at first, but when she got better after the miscarriage and started doing things round the cottage she cheered up no end. Everything’s fine between us, Hannah.’ Mitch went quiet but Hannah knew he had something else to say. ‘I’m going to hate telling you this, but I feel you ought to know. It wasn’t my baby Viv was expecting, it was Daniel’s.’
‘Danny’s!’
‘Please be careful of him, Hannah. He seduced Viv, as good as forced her against her will, and when she told him she was pregnant he became angry and hit her. He arranged for her to get rid of the baby. Viv told me everything. It was painful and she cried a lot, but she wanted our marriage to be based on trust, with nothing hidden in the past. Daniel also told Viv he couldn’t marry her because he was engaged to a girl called Hannah.’ Mitch was deadly serious. ‘For God’s sake, you mustn’t get involved with him. It would be better if you had nothing to do with him at all.’
Hannah found it hard to believe that Daniel could be so ruthless and heartless, but she couldn’t keep setting aside what people were telling her about him. ‘Don’t worry, Mitch, I don’t see Daniel at all now.’
Leah had been thrilled when Hannah told her she could go to Portmellon on the next visit. It was through Leah that Hannah knew what was happening in Porthellis. Josh wasn’t expected to recover fully from Mitch’s beating, his speech was slurred, his mind slow in taking in information. He couldn’t go to sea and stayed home all day, following Prim wherever she went, like a young child frightened to let her out of his sight. Bitter over losing Mitch and Hannah’s decision to keep away from Porthellis, Prim had accused Janet of not doing enough to stop Hannah from taking the job at Roscarrock and they were no longer speaking.
Three days after the fight, Constable Burt had arrived in Porthellis with a police vehicle, after an anonymous tip-off. He arrested Matt and Daniel and kept them locked up in separate cells for the night. The next day the magistrate fined them five pounds for breach of the peace and issued a stern warning about their unacceptable behaviour. People said Daniel was lucky that was all he was charged with. Since then there had been a series of thefts in the village – a fine pocket watch stolen from old Mr Nunn’s house, some of Mrs Penney’s best pieces of porcelain, a cameo brooch from Miss Peters, and cigarettes from the shop. People were pointing their finger in Daniel’s direction; the thefts only happened when the boats were home, and they were wondering if they ought to begin locking their doors, which was almost unheard of in the village.
There had been a big change in the ownership of the Sunrise and the Misty. Matt had swapped shares with Terence Spargo, who’d declared he wanted nothing more to do with Jeff, and Terence was paying Matt the balance on the more modern, better equipped boat. He had taken Morley with him to work with the Kittows and Joses. Matt now fished off the Misty and two middle-aged unmarried brothers called Chellew had thrown in their lot with him and Jeff. All these events had left a sour atmosphere in the village and Leah said she wished that she, too, could move out for good.
Leah sat at the kitchen table slowly peeling vegetables for the evening meal. She was daydreaming, about Mr Greg. Hannah and Patrick were out visiting Mrs Opie. That afternoon Greg had said he’d come to a vital part in the plot of his book and so Patrick had driven himself and Hannah to the hospital. Angie went occasionally, but when asked if she wanted to join them she’d complained of a headache and Hannah had sent her to lie down in her room.
Hannah had made it clear to Leah that she didn’t like the familiarity that existed between her and Mr Greg; did she think he might want to get her into bed? Leah smiled ironically to herself, she knew all about that sort of thing. Hannah seemed to think she was totally ignorant about what went on between a man and woman in bed, but Hannah hadn’t lived at home in her adult years to hear their father having his way with their mother.
Leah’s scar had been the main reason she had never shown any interest in young men, but her father and Josh’s unhealthy attitude to sex had quashed all desire she might have had to look for a husband and have a family. She was sure Greg’s kindness towards her was sincere, but even if there was more to it she still trusted and liked him.
Ten minutes after the car had gone he came down to the kitchen. ‘Could you bring me some coffee, please, Leah?’ He smiled at her warmly. ‘I’m working on a tricky piece and the old brain cells need lubricating.’
‘Right away, Mr Greg.’ She got up from the table and washed her hands. ‘You should take a walk round the gardens, that’ll clear your head.’
‘Not in this weather.’ He lingered, leaning on the table and fiddling with some carrots. ‘It’s getting dark early. Looks like we’re in for rain.’
Leah leaned over the sink to get a view of the sky over the top of the railings. ‘And it looks like I’ll have a wet walk home.’
‘Mr Patrick will be back by then. I’ll drive you.’
‘Thank you, Mr Greg.’ He had occasionally driven her home and they had chatted comfortably on the way.
He went back to his study and waited for the coffee, leaving the door open for Leah to carry it through. He shut it after her and watched her willowy form as she poured it out of the silver coffee pot. Her long black hair was tied back with a red ribbon and he had a strong desire to touch it. She smiled at him as she put two sugar lumps into the cup.
‘Thank you, Leah,’ he smiled back, slipping into the conversational mode he enjoyed with her. ‘Pity you can’t type. I’ve got a couple of boring letters to answer.’
‘To people in London?’ she asked with interest as she brushed up some fallen ashes in the hearth.
Greg noticed her attentiveness and responded to it. Often when he spoke to her she seemed to slip off into a little world of her own. ‘Yes, I’ve been invited to a university reunion party, which I’ve no intention of going to,’ he told her. ‘I get asked every year and I never go, can’t think why they keep asking me. The other’s to a barmy old colonel who likes to find fault with my books. He says he was a spy in the Great War and knows what he’s talking about. He probably does, and much better than I do, but judging from his bumptious way of writing he’d never succeed in getting it down on paper.’
‘Do you mix with writers, actresses and people like that when you’re in London?’ Leah watched him sipping the coffee where he’d parked himself on the desk, and it struck her that he really was a handsome man – and tall and rich like the classic storybook hero.
‘No, can’t abide them.’
He’d said as much to her before. Becoming a little daring, she asked, ‘Do you like many people, Mr Greg?’
He grinned. ‘No, not many.’
‘You’ll turn into one of them recluses if you’re not careful.’
‘I suppose coming from a big family you like lots of people round you all the time.’
‘Not really, I like to be on my own. My grandmother used to call me weird for it, but I’m not. When you’ve had to share a bedroom with three sisters it’s nice to have some space. That’s why I like working here, there’s so much space and it’s peaceful and quiet.’
‘We have something in common, Leah.’
That remark made her smile shyly. ‘Is there anything else, Mr Greg?’
‘Not for now, Leah.’ He was disappointed he could think of no reason to keep her here longer.
She raced back to the kitchen with her hands over her pounding heart. She stood on the flagstones and trembled like the last leaf hanging on a tree in the wind. For the first time she had noticed a man in the masculine, sexual sense. She had never felt so excited in her life; she was nervous, a little confused and light-headed, but one thing she knew clearly, she wasn’t afraid to feel this way.
As the afternoon wore on, the sky became more overcast, the wind howled round the house and the expected rain came down in torrents. Leah turned on the kitchen lights and worked through Hannah’s list of jobs as quickly as she could, so the last thing she had to do was collect Mr Greg’s tray. Hopefully they would have time to chat before the others came back from the hospital. She was disappointed not to find him in the study. She washed the coffee things then tried to think of a reason to go back to the study and see if he’d come back. Then she remembered Angie and felt guilty about forgetting her. Perhaps Angie would like a cup of tea. She went upstairs to ask. As she started up the second flight of stairs she heard a noise, and thinking it was Mr Greg coming out of his room she pattered back down and made her way to the long corridor. She would say she was popping to Hannah’s room for something; Hannah didn’t mind that.
As she turned into the corridor she froze. Fear clamped her spine rigid. In the gathering gloom she could make out a figure floating along in a white gown, arms outstretched, coming towards her. Roscarrock’s ghost! A real ghost this time, not someone who’d sat in old clothes for a portrait. It was obviously the ghost who owned the steps that Hannah had heard at regular intervals. And it was coming for her! Leah tried to back up and run away but her legs wouldn’t move. The ghost had passed Hannah’s room and was steadily gaining on her. Leah was terrified out of her wits.
Somewhere from deep in her chest she found her voice and let out a high-pitched scream. The ghost shrieked at her and she screamed again. The ghost stopped moving but still Leah screamed. And the ghost screamed every time she screamed, frightening her more and more until she was in a total frenzy.
Suddenly someone rushed past the ghost and grabbed her arms.
‘Leah, Leah, stop screaming, it’s me, Greg.’ He tried to gather her to him but she clutched his sweater with feverish hands.
‘M-Mr Greg, the g-ghost… coming to get me,’ she jabbered like an imbecile.
‘No, Leah, look closely,’ he raised his voice in her ear. ‘It’s Angie. It’s only Angie.’
It was several seconds before the cloud of fear controlling her brain cleared enough for her to understand his words. Her legs had turned to jelly and Greg had to hold her tightly to prevent her falling. She stared at Angie from huge saucer-like eyes, hardly daring to believe she wasn’t in some terrible danger. ‘A-Angie?’
Angie was standing shivering in her white underslip, her arms across her chest, hugging herself. Leah’s screaming had terrified her as much as she had terrified Leah. ‘I’m s-sorry, Leah. I-I dropped off to sleep and must have been sleepwalking. I’m sorry I frightened you.’
Leah felt more foolish than at any other time in her entire life. ‘Oh, dear,’ she cried, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her. ‘I’m sorry too, Angie.’
‘I must go,’ Angie muttered, acutely embarrassed to be standing in front of Mr Greg in a state of undress.
‘You have another lie-down to get over the shock, Angie,’ Greg said kindly. When she’d gone he looked down at Leah’s ashen face. She was trembling from head to foot and he gathered her up in his arms.
Leah realised she was nearly shredding his sweater and she let her hands drop. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she murmured, lapsing into the small whispery voice she’d once had.
‘To Hannah’s room. It’ll be warm in there to help you get over the shock,’ he said softly.
He put her down on Hannah’s bed and sat beside her, holding her gently against him. He heard her sniff. ‘It’s all right to cry, Leah.’
Leah didn’t want to cry because she’d had a shock but because she’d shown herself up as an utter fool in front of him. ‘I… I feel so stupid,’ she said, taking her hanky out of her apron pocket and dabbing at her eyes, her hand shaking uncontrollably.
‘There’s no need to feel like that. I would have been just as afraid and screamed just as loud if I’d thought I’d seen a ghost. You weren’t to know Angie was a sleepwalker.’
He’s being nice to me again, as if I’m a silly child, Leah thought miserably. She said, ‘Hannah’s heard these footsteps sometimes at night. It must have been Angie all the time.’
‘It’s a pity none of us thought to tell her. Roscarrock isn’t haunted, no matter what the locals say.’
‘Mr Patrick told Hannah it was.’
Greg gave a small laugh. ‘That was Mr Patrick being melodramatic. He’s like that sometimes.’ Leah was still shivering and he rubbed her arms tenderly. ‘Feel better now?’
She nodded and allowed her head to sink against his chest. They sat quietly for some time, each enjoying the sensation of being close. Suddenly Leah had to know, ‘Why are you so nice to me, Mr Greg? You didn’t seem to like Hannah when she first came here and she says you have very little patience with most people, and now my foolishness has stopped you working on an important bit of your book.’ She looked up into his face, her bottom lip quivering.
He gazed into her eyes, his own turning a warm smoky grey. Finally he said, ‘I find you more important than my book.’
Leah swallowed. The pleasant friendship they’d shared had changed its footing in a few quiet moments. She had never dreamt that he cared for her and now she realised he was holding her in a way that had much more to it than simply giving comfort.
Greg hardly dared breathe. Leah had changed somehow this afternoon. His grandmother had warned him she was a mere child and would stay that way for a very long time and if he didn’t keep his feelings in check he could hurt her unforgivably. He had resigned himself to wait until she grew up, until her emotions caught up with her age, but now it seemed they had. She was looking at him with her typical childlike innocence yet he recognised the new maturity in her, a woman’s need even, but if he made one wrong move he’d end up regretting it for ever.
Leah sensed he was as nervous as she was; she knew this wasn’t wise and was unlikely to lead anywhere that would benefit her, but she wished she could stay like this in his arms for ever. She took in every tiny part of his face, the strong nose and jaw, high cheekbones, proud brow, the slightly arched line of his fair eyebrows, and most of all the deepset eyes that had lost their sharpness and darting impatience and now looked velvety, open and honest. She put her face closer to his, not dropping her gaze.
Greg returned her gentle quest for knowledge of him by using his eyes to travel and linger over her, then feeling he was on safe ground at last, he lowered his head and fleetingly caressed her lips. Leah instinctively closed her eyes and put her arms round his neck when his tender touch came again.