The Cornish Affair (25 page)

Chapter Twenty Five

Nancy and I had baked beans on toast for supper, sitting in the kitchen with the battered silver tea pot in front of us.

“How
very
glamorous,” I commented on our student meal.

“We
could always sneak a slice of that delicious looking ham from the back, so that no one could see that we’ve attacked it,” Nancy said, pouring tea into mugs.

I
was beginning to come round to her view point when there was the unmistakable sound of a taxi drawing up.

We
looked blankly at one another, and Baxter did his half hearted guard dog impersonation.

“Oh
god, I hope it isn’t some pissed up artist who’s got the date wrong for the party,” I said.

We
heard women’s voices at the back door, and I got up to open it.

A
dark haired woman wearing jeans and a leather jacket, toting an enormous suitcase stood next to a small brown haired younger woman looking very anxious.

“Fin!”
cried the woman with dark hair, moving forward to hug me.

My
god… It was my cousin, Beatrice.

I
stumbled out a few words of welcome, and turned to the other woman. Who was she? A friend of Beas?

Nancy
and Bea were hugging and chattering, and I heard snatches of conversation that involved plane times, delays, and complicated journey timetables.

“But
darling, you should have phoned!” Nancy kept saying.

“I
did…” Bea said, smiling.

Had
she? Well, yes, but when I spoke to her I’d been tiddly and I was damn sure she hadn’t mentioned that she was coming over here.

The
small brown haired woman was looking nervously around her, clutching, of all things a copy of Oliver Dean’s cookery book. I gestured towards her and said to Bea, “Is this a friend of yours?”

“No,
sorry, I should have said, we just sort of met in the taxi really, I gather you’re expecting her. This is Olga.”

Who?
I wracked my brains, and glanced at Nancy for some confirmation. I think it both dawned on us at the same time. Olga. Richard’s internet friend. Oh god.

Nancy
pulled her into the room and she sat down stiffly on one of the chairs round the table. Bea joined us, and I poured some tea for us all, giving myself time to think. I gave Bea a mug of tea, and she thanked me. I took a good look at her, and saw that she looked very different to how I remembered her. This was a looser, more confident, happier person than I remembered. She looked good, no, she looked great, in fact. Gone was the stiffly coiffed, business suited woman of the past. Her long black hair was smooth to her head, and drawn away from her face in a long braid. Gold hoped earrings dangled on her dark, smooth skin, and her caramel leather jacket was slung carelessly round her shoulders. She was smiling and chatting, and full of praise for what Nancy and I had been through with the storm.

I
glanced quickly at Nancy, to see how she was taking the surprise visit of her daughter. We’d only been talking about her today, and I wished like anything that Nancy had told me whatever it was she had been going to tell me before Bea had turned up so unexpectedly. What
could
it be?

That
would have to wait.

I
settled my gaze on Olga, and was not re-assured by what I saw. She was looking so worried, yet determined that I felt a stab of anger with Richard. How could he let this woman travel so far without telling her the truth?

Nancy
was asking Olga about her journey, and she replied in the perfect stilted English of someone who has learnt the language from books.

Mind
you, I suppose that was a bit of a relief. Imagine if she spoke no English at all. Just between ourselves, my Russian isn’t all it could be.

Olga
clutched her book to her chest, and said, “Is Richard to be here soon? I think he will be very pleased I am here, no?”

“No,”
Nancy and I both said together.

Oh
god, how were we going to explain this one? Bea looked curiously at us, and I offered to take her case upstairs so that I could explain the situation to her.

“Sure,”
she said cheerfully, “Where do you want me, the yellow room?”

I
looked guiltily at Nancy. That’s where Bea usually stayed, in the most uncomfortable room in the house.

“No,
umm, let’s put you in the Spanish room,” I said. (So called because it had once housed a collection of fans, long since vanished, but the name had stuck.)

Bea
looked surprised, but followed me up the hall. As soon as we were out of earshot, I explained about Richard and the computer girl from Russia.

“Oh
Lordy,” she said, rolling her eyes at me.

This
was unusual, where was the cross Bea? The one who would disapprove of anything out of the ordinary, and would make comments on how dusty everything was?

“I
hope I’m not putting you guys out, or anything?” Bea inquired, hauling her case up the stairs with me.

“No,
umm, no not at all. I fact you’re in time for the party we’re going to have tomorrow,” I said, knowing that she’d simply hate that. Bea’s idea of a party would be having two couples to dinner where they could safely boast about the price of their houses.

“Great…
I must say Fin, Penmorah’s looking great! I always forget how homey it is here.”

I
searched her voice for any hint of criticism, but couldn’t find any. What the hell had happened to her? It didn’t take me long to find out. She started to tell me as soon as we got upstairs.

“I
know this is kinda sudden, but, well, I wanted to touch base, you know?”

Well,
sort of. But I nodded encouragingly.

“Matt
and I have split. The boys are at camp, we’ll have to deal with them later on, and I needed some time to myself…I needed to see mummy again, and you too. Is that OK?” Bea asked diffidently.

I
could only nod again. If I wasn’t careful I’d soon resemble one of those nodding dogs seen in the back of cars.

“Are
you alright?” I asked, “I mean, it’s very traumatic breaking up with someone, and-”

“Oh
hell yes! I feel great!” Bea laughed, heaving her bag onto the bed, and unzipping it. She withdrew from it a bag of duty free booze and handed it to me.

“Let’s
break this open downstairs and deal with poor old Olga, shall we?”

I
nodded dumbly again. I could see that this new Bea was someone I was beginning to
like
.

As
we went back down the stairs, it felt suddenly right. I know that sounds silly, but there was an undeniable air of pleased familiarity about Penmorah. A member of the family had come, it seemed to be saying. I found myself agreeing with it.

Nancy
was struggling to talk to Olga, who was sitting bolt upright in her chair, still clutching her book.

“But
what I do not understand is why would Richard write with another name? Perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me, please?” Olga said insistently.

The
three of us looked at one another, not knowing what to say.

“I
know,” I said brightly, “I’ll phone him and get him to come up here and he can explain it all to you himself.”

That
should serve him bloody well right. I thought, my fingers stabbing the numbers quite viciously. Of course, dame fortune, who I’ve noticed favours young men rather a lot, made it so that he wasn’t in. Damn. I tried The Ram, but Sam said he wasn’t there either.

“But
why would Richard not be here, this is home after all, no?” Olga said, becoming more and more bewildered.

This
was getting worse by the minute. I saw that Bea was in danger of getting the giggles. “It’s all getting a bit Chekov, isn’t it?” she whispered.

This
took me aback too. Bea was in serious danger of acquiring a sense of humour.

“I
know what you mean, we’re all going to be yearning to go to Moscow soon,” I whispered back.

Nancy
frowned at us, and I went to the cupboard for some glasses. I thought Bea’s idea of cracking open the duty free was a very good one.

“I
have some small thing I wish to confess to you all,” Olga said, taking a deep breath and looking down at her hands.

I
felt very sorry for her. It must have taken a huge amount of courage to fly here from Russia, god knows how she actually managed to get here from Heathrow, and she surely must be exhausted. She was a small, fragile looking creature, not the sort of Russian Amazon that we all might expect. She had very light brown hair cut to her shoulders, she was hunched up in a long pale brown coat that had seen better days. A scuffed brown plastic handbag and a small airline travel bag were her only luggage. She had pale skin that had never seen make up, and hazel eyes. She probably was good looking, but with all that beige and brown around her it was difficult to tell. She was definitely not anybody’s idea of a brazen Russian adventuress looking for a passport and a husband.

“What
is it, Olga?” Nancy asked kindly.

The
story started to pour out of her. We all listened, horrified that we had giggled at her predicament. But she spoke in such a matter of fact voice, and told such a terrible tale of woe, it was hard to take in.

“But
this is not what I mean to say. My history is not uncommon in my country now, But the matter to confess – it is this. I have lied to Richard. I am not who I said I am. I send picture of my sister, Sonia. She is the beauty of my family, so I think Richard will be displeased, no? How will I tell him? He will see me and not want me, and then what will I do?”

What
indeed?

To
my surprise it was Bea who spoke first, and with great kindness and authority.

“You
got a photo of your sister honey?” she asked.

Olga
nodded and took out a battered photo from her cracked handbag. I guessed it was her best handbag, because she stroked it lovingly and very carefully replaced it on the floor. Baxter, of course went immediately to it and started to sniff and paw at it. I called him away, but Olga smiled, “No he is alright. I miss animals, I grow up with them they were my life. When we have to move from our farm to the city, my heart breaks to lose the animals!” She brushed a tear from her eyes, and we all of us had a collective sniff.

Olga
handed the photo of her sister to Bea and I went to stand behind her to study it with her.

A
luridly coloured snapshot of a girl smiling into the summer’s sky stared out at us. She had a gash of red lipstick on, and wavy fair hair curled on her shoulders. She looked flirtatiously at the camera, with bold eyes and a come hither look. I could quite see why Richard had fallen for her, she looked just the type to hitch a ride to England on the off chance of hitting it off with him.

I
glanced over at Olga. The difference between the two sisters was vast. Olga was definitely mousy, but this girl gazing out so brazenly from the photo was a tiger.

Bea
took a deep breath, “OK, no problem! We can have you looking like this real quick! No, I know what you’re going to say – like, why should you? Well, I don’t know about you, but all this hogwash about looking’ good for your man went out with the ark. But, and I do say but, men are damn fool creatures and they look first and fall in love later… besides Richard doesn’t exactly look like
that
, you know!” she said, pointing to the picture of Oliver on the book.

We
were all caught up with the idea of making Olga over, I could see. Perhaps we can blame too much daytime TV shows? Anyway, whatever it was, the idea caught fire.

“Look,
first thing tomorrow we go and buy a colour hair wash, and some clothes…”

“No
need, I brought so many with me from Canada, honest, you’d be doing me a favour…”

“I’ve
got loads of make up,” Nancy added helpfully.

Well,
that was certainly true. She’d brought back from London with her the whole counter from Harvey Nicks.

“But,
you know, it’s
attitude
that’s going to count here, do you think you can do it?” Bea asked her.

I
could see that Olga was struggling with this, I had a pang of guilt, after all, why
should
she go to all these lengths? After all, Richard had lied, too… Before Olga had a chance to answer I thought I’d better break it to her that Richard didn’t actually
live
here. I mean, maybe that would influence her? I would imagine that coming from a flimsy, crap apartment block where she had to share a bathroom with nine other people, it would. Well, it certainly would me.