The Cornish Affair (15 page)

I
turned at the welcome sound of a cork being pulled from a bottle. Oliver handed me a glass, and we silently toasted one another.

“Well,
a tornado. That’s something to think about, isn’t it?” Oliver said, raising his drink to me.

“Indeed.”

We drank in silence for a while. I wondered if I could possibly be suffering from some sort of post storm syndrome. I felt curiously flat, but edgy, too. The experience that I’d just been through had been so intense, that now it was over, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I glanced out of the window, the sky had cleared and the rain had nearly stopped.

“It
was terrifying while it lasted, wasn’t it?” I said, sipping my wine.

Oliver
glanced at me, “Christ, yes. Are you alright?”

“I
feel a bit strange,” I said.

“I
know what you mean. Do you feel a bit restless?”

I
nodded.

“Me
too.”

We
sat in the dusky kitchen clutching our glasses of wine, with the air full of crackling static electricity around us, audible to nobody but us. The previously silent birds started to make a row outside the window. I walked over to the door and flung it open. The smell of raw wet earth flooded through the kitchen. It smelt of life.

Oliver
stood up and reached for the bottle of wine. He slowly topped my glass up, and then his own. His every movement seemed very slow and deliberate, or was it just me thinking that?

I
picked my glass up and went to sit next to him at the table, not opposite him where I had been sitting. I moved closer to him so that out arms were very nearly touching.

What
was wrong with me? Was I trying to seduce this man? I honestly couldn’t tell you, I just felt drawn to him – and up till now I couldn’t with any truthfulness have told you if I even liked him, let alone fancied him. I was sure it just wasn’t me that felt this almost irresistible compulsion to touch him, surely he must feel it too?

I
took a gulp of my wine.

Well,
if he wasn’t going to make a move, I would.

I
would.

Really.

Just as soon as I finished this glass of wine.

I
felt Oliver tense the muscles of his arm, in preparation to moving, and I took another gulp of wine.

He
stood up, and reached down to pull me up too. His hands were warm, and his eyes were fixed on mine.

“Are
you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked gently.

Well,
probably.

I
nodded.

Oliver
started to kiss me. I blindly fumbled for the table to put my glass of wine down, I thought I’d found it safely but the crash of glass on the flag stoned floor told me I’d been wide of the mark.

I
know that comparisons are odious, but I just couldn’t help it. After all, I reminded myself, it wasn’t often that I got kissed by two men in the space of the same number of weeks.

Jace
kissed like a boy.

Oliver
kissed like a man.

He
was holding my head in his hands, and had his tongue deep in my mouth. I was kissing him back with a passion that I had never felt before.

I
broke away, I was gasping for breath and started to run my hands through his curiously rough curly hair and over his muscular back. I breathed in deeply the scent of him, from the cradle of his neck. I could feel his hands slowly move down to cup my buttocks.

At
the sound of my name being called, we both jumped away from one another, as if scalded.

I
could hear Sam shouting from outside, and I ran to meet him.

“
You’m alright?” Sam asked anxiously, taking in the great chunk of cliff that had fallen away.

“Yes,
what about the rest of Port Charles,” I said.

“Pretty
bad. I had to walk up ‘ere. Couldn’t get the van past the trees that have come down, Kev and the boys was out in it, he’s not come back yet. Still, plenty of time. Baxter’s OK, an’ I just seen Jace an Will tryin’ to patch up the roof on Pritti’s cottage, ripped right off!” Sam said, pulling back the hood of his rain soaked coat and wiping his brow with one hand. He looked shattered, and I went to make him a cup of tea, then remembered the power situation. I thought about putting the kettle on the hob, but it would take ages, so I poured him a glass of wine instead. He took it gratefully.

Oliver
was questioning him about the amount of damage there was.

“Fair
bit, I reckon. Old Mrs T is fair shook up, Doris is with her… but I reckon you’s two should come back down to The Ram for the night. I don’t like the look of the sky, more rain tonight, not to mention the wind getting’ up again. That cliff goes any more an’ you’ll wake up in the sea!” Sam said, draining his glass of wine with the sad lament of a man who really wants a pint of the devil instead.

Oliver
looked questioningly at me.

“Yes,
I should go down and help, anyway,” I said, “I’ll just throw a few things in a bag and we’ll head down.” I calculated that Oliver and I would have some time alone together.

“Best
go now, afore it gets dark,” Sam said firmly.

Chapter
Fifteen

We scrambled about, packing food from the freezer into bags to take down to The Ram.

All
I could think of was what if… what if Sam hadn’t turned up, what if Oliver and I had rushed upstairs, or even slaked our passion on the kitchen table? What if…

I
heard Oliver call from the hallway asking if I had any boots that he might fit into.

“I’m
not sure, try the cupboard under the stairs, some of my father’s are probably still in there,” I shouted back, stuffing containers of frozen venison casserole into my bag.

Sam
was gathering up oddments for me, and I saw that he was emptying the contents of the fridge into another bag. He glanced at me, and said, “Best to be sure, it could well be days afore we get any more supplies, I reckon the roads are pretty impassable.”

I
nodded.

He
held up a pink suede roll that he’d picked up from the depths of the overcrowded freezer, looking puzzled, “What the hell’s this?”

“Nancy’s
jewellery, perhaps you could keep it safe for her?”

He
nodded, and carefully tucked it into his inside pocket. He patted it importantly, and gave a soft secret smile to himself.

“Candles,
shall I bring candles?”

“Nah,
the post office’ll have loads, not to mention Miranda, even if her’s be stinkin’ of that langee langee stuff,” Sam said dismissively.

I
snorted with laughter, “You mean ylang ylang Sam.”

“Whatever
it is, it fair turns me stomach. Scented candles, I ask you!”

Oliver
appeared in the kitchen doorway laden down like a pack horse.

“Are
we ready?” he asked.

I
saw that he was carrying his suitcase, and I had a sinking feeling.

“Are
you leaving?” I asked.

He
grinned at me, “I have to make every attempt to get back to London tomorrow, otherwise Boo will kill me.”

Who
the bloody hell was Boo? It sounded like a dog, but I knew it couldn’t be due to his damn allergies.

“Sorry,
Boo’s my producer. We start shooting the next series the day after tomorrow, and then the TV ads, so, you see, I have to leave.”

Sam
grunted. “I wouldn’t ‘old your breath boy, the roads an that are somethin’ awful. Now come on yous two, let’s go.”

I
pleaded for another five minutes, as I ran around Penmorah locking windows and closing doors.

I
heard Sam calling for me so I hurried downstairs and zipped myself into that most unattractively designed garments in the world – the waterproof. We distributed the bags amongst ourselves, and as I closed the front door of Penmorah behind me, so the thunder began to roll again. It was some way in the distance, but we all found ourselves looking nervously at the sky, trying to judge if it was coming this way again.

The
rain was heavy, and as we skirted the turn of the drive, I caught a glimpse of the destruction in the woods. Trees had fallen along the drive, and we had to climb through the branches. It was a curious topsy turvy experience, clambering through the top branches of a tree. What had only been touched by the birds, was now under our feet.

I
should have felt sad, I know. But in a strange way it was exhilarating. The rain was stinging full in our faces as we struggled through the fallen debris, and as we pulled the bags over the branches of a fallen sycamore, I slipped, and fell down hard on my bottom.

“Ouch,
that bloody hurt!” I complained, as Oliver and Sam hauled me to my feet.

“Once
we get in the lane, we’m be alright, no trees along there,” Sam said encouragingly.

He
was right, the high hedgerows of the lane protected us well from the rain and wind, but the water underfoot made the going treacherously slippery. Rivulets of water were streaming downhill, pushing the sandy looking soil along with it. Huge puddles were in the ruts of the lane, now overflowing. We scrambled and slipped our way downwards. The road at the end of the lane leading into Port Charles was under an inch of water, but the walking was easier once we were on tarmac.

There
were no lights on in any of the cottages that we passed, but there were a few glimmers of candles in windows.

“Do
you think we should stop at Mrs Trevellyon’s?” I said loudly, to make myself heard over the rain and wind.

“Doris
be with ‘er,” Sam shouted back, anxious to get home.

As
we turned into Port Charles, I could see only one small fishing boat being hurled around on its moorings in the small harbour and great gouts of water were flowing from the road over the cobbled hard into the sea. The Ram had never looked so welcoming, despite the pub sign swinging wildly in the wind. We burst through the door, gasping for breath.

A
wall of heat and light hit us, and we struggled to remove our wet coats. Baxter was wildly excited to see me, and I picked him up to give him a hug. He behaved almost like a normal dog for a minute of two, he waggled his tail and even licked my hands. He soon squirmed to be put down, making a bee line back to his cushion where he settled down with a grunt.

The
pub was quiet, the only people who were in there were Pritti and her two daughters. They sat huddled by the fireplace, with Nelson’s cage that was draped with a towel. They looked very glum.

“Pritti,
how are you? What happened?” I asked, sitting next to her and putting my arm around her shoulders.

“Floods,
we are used to those, the monsoons at home are terrible, but this, this wind, this thunder! I do not like it Fin, I do not like it at all. My roof, phhh!” she waved her hand over her head, “Gone! Just like that! No warning, nothing! Terrible, I tell you…” she wiped away a tear with one hand. Her two daughters tried to comfort her, but she brushed them aside.

“Where’s
Jace?” I asked.

“He
is struggling with Will to cover the roof with a tarpaulin, but I wish he would come in. It is too windy and dangerous out there…”

I
glanced at Oliver, who raised his eyebrows at me, and gestured with his head, offering to go and get him.

I
nodded.

I
heard the pub door close behind me.

“Right,
OK. Let me dump these bags, and let’s go in to the kitchen Pritti. That OK with you Sam?” I said.

He
nodded, going to the window and looking out at the ever rising stream of water pouring down the street.

“Got
any sandbags?” I asked.

“Yes.
Time to get ‘em, do you reckon?”

I
ushered Pritti into the kitchen, setting her and her daughters to work. I knew that everyone would be in The Ram tonight, and we had to feed them. I also knew that Pritti wanted to feel useful, and would be better off working than worrying.

I
went to help Sam build a small wall out of the exceedingly heavy sandbags that he’d got in his cellar.

I
was very soon out of breath, lugging the bags up the steep dark stairs of the pub. I placed a lit candle in the cellar, and the flickering flame lit up the dirty brick ceiling. I bet this place had seen some stories; it was a perfect smugglers den. We heaved the last bag into place, and went to peer outside at the weather. Dusk had given way to night, and the rain was still falling steadily.

I
saw three hooded figures splashing down the road towards us. Jace, Will and Oliver were heading back. Sam sighed, and pulled on his rainproof again.

“I’ll
do the rounds, reckon they’ll have to come with me,” he said.

“OK,
don’t forget Breadpudding, her bungalow is near the river, isn’t it?”

Sam
nodded, and went out to meet the others. I saw Oliver raise his hand to me in a wave, and I waved back, calling out that they should bring everyone back who didn’t have any food for a meal. Sam raised his hand in acknowledgement, and they went down the road. I stared up at the sky again, willing it to stop raining. Oh well, at least the wind had dropped.

I
lifted the corner of the towel that was slung over Nelsons cage and put my hand through the bars to ruffle his feathers. His yellow eyes opened momentarily.

“Hello
Nelson, are you alright then?”

True
to form, Baxter, who had been happily asleep, but could sense an opportunity for misplaced jealousy even when chasing rabbits in his dreams, trotted across the floor and barked.

“Oh
stop it Baxter,” I said reaching down to stroke him, which I know before you say anything is wrong as all the dog behaviour books say that you are merely re-enforcing bad behaviour with a reward. Which is all very well, but exhausting in the long run.
Nelson put his head on one side and opened his beak, ready to screech. I hurriedly replaced the towel, and shooed Baxter back to his cushion, and made my way behind the bar to the kitchen.

“Jace
is going to get married, Jace is going to get married,” Nelsons voice squawked for under his cover.

I
stopped in my tracks.

Was
he now? Well… I knew that Nelson would pick up anything that was repeated often enough. Maybe this was all that was being said in the Rampersauds quarters?

I
walked slowly into the kitchen, in a daze.

I
started to chop vast quantities of spinach for a vegetable curry that Pritti was making. She had ample time to scold her two daughters, Samina and Sunita into submission and was, as far as I could tell, thoroughly enjoying herself.

Rich
aromatic smells were wafting around, and it made me realise how hungry I was. I stole a taste of a lentil dish that Samina was making, and then a bit of chapatti from the every growing stack that Sunita was in charge of. Delicious. Pretty much all of Port Charles adored curry, I think it must a national trait, I really don’t know anyone who doesn’t. But just in case, I quickly peeled some potatoes to mash to go along with the now de-frosted venison casserole. It was hard to know how many we were catering for, but quite a few, I guessed.

Pritti
was chattering away, mostly about the terrible state of her roof, and what damage it would cause, and I wondered how I could pop the subject of Jace into the conversation without it seeming to be obvious. I then decided I was being completely ridiculous, after all, until a week or so ago I would quite naturally have asked after him – so what had changed? Well, quite a lot… but no-one else need know that, I reasoned.

All
my thoughts of asking about him ceased for a moment as we all stopped what we were doing at a sound that was familiar to us in Port Charles. A helicopter was flying very low overhead. It was an air ambulance, we all rushed to the door to see what direction it was going in. The rain made it hard to see, but from the sound of the chopper which had disappeared from view behind The Ram, I guessed it was near the farm.

We
stepped back inside and went to prod and stir various dishes in the kitchen. I put Samina and Sunita in charge of finding as many plates and cutlery as they could manage to lay out on the bar. I guided Pritti to a seat by the fire. She looked exhausted.

“Aiyee!”
she complained, as she sank down in her seat, “Oh my poor feet! How I wish that Jace would come back, I worry, you know-”

“Well,
do try not to, Pritti. I know he’s fine, he’s out helping everyone, same as Sam, and Oliver. It really could be worse, you know, at least it’s not winter and freezing cold, think how awful that would be!”

She
smiled at me, and we both wondered aloud who the helicopter was for.

“We’ll
know soon enough,” I said, praying that everyone was OK and the helicopter was picking up something minor like a sprained ankle or something.

When
the pub door opened, I expected to see the men back. I wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of Miranda and her children.

Baxter
made a low growling noise in his throat – he’s had experience of the two devil children before. Admittedly, they looked divine, but as we all know appearances can be deceiving. Sienna, who was about nine, and Willow (and people ask what’s in a name?) who was seven going on a very delinquent fifteen started to rampage around the pub.

“Oh
it was just, like, so dismal at home, we had to get out, didn’t we kids? And with no electricity or anything we didn’t know what to do – so here we are!”

I
noticed that Miranda who only ever put on some sort of homemade face cream made from crushed seaweed and rancid yoghurt was in full fig, including a dark red Dior lipstick. Her eyes were scanning the pub, looking, I assumed for Oliver or Jace. Or both.