The Cornish Affair (30 page)

I
smiled gratefully at him.

“
Must
you go tomorrow?” Bea said to all of the group.

I
looked hopefully at Oliver, but he shook his head regretfully. Martha sighed, and Harry launched into his very, very important schedule.

We
all left the pub after a serious round of handshaking had been done by Oliver and Harry to everyone, and then we had to call in on Pritti and Mrs T to say goodbye. With every farewell, Oliver’s departure seemed more and more real. Pritti gave him her recipe for spiced aubergines, and kissed him on the cheek. Mrs Trevellyon insisted we all have a cup of tea, and was much taken with Martha’s outfit.

“I
used to see the grand folks ridin’ by in that,” she marvelled, stroking Martha’s skirt.

We
walked away from Port Charles laden with gifts. Bread, saffron buns, pickled vegetables and even scented candles that Miranda had pressed on us, running out from her house with no shoes on (to show what a free, careless child of nature she was).

That
evening, after supper, Oliver asked me to go for a walk with him. We sauntered up to the dolphin viewing spot, even though we’d missed their strict timing. It was a lovely summers evening, the lights of Port Charles were glimmering in the dusk, and the air was soft and scented with summer blossoms, tinged with the salt air. All the gulls were having a final night time swoop over the sea, and the sun streaked the sky scarlet and pink.

“God,
I’m going to miss this!” Oliver said.

I
squeezed his hand.

“And
you,” he laughed, kissing me.

It
felt good to be in Oliver’s arms on an evening as beautiful as this. We hadn’t talked much about the future, I think that we both felt that this was something that was meant to last, arrangements would happen in their own time. Even Nancy or Harry hadn’t commented on our relationship. I hoped that it was because they felt, as we did, that it was a natural conclusion. Martha couldn’t resist the ‘I told you so’ arch glance, now and again, but I could tell that she approved. I asked Oliver what he thought.

“Harry’s
probably calculating his percentages,” he laughed, “And Nancy’s bloody grateful that someone taken you off her hands!”

I
poked him in the ribs.

We
stayed on the cliff for a long time.

“Fin,”
Oliver said, as we finally made our way back down, “I want to ask you something. Could you, not that you will ever have to, I hope, but
could
you leave Penmorah?”

We
walked in silence for a bit, and I turned the question over in my mind. I knew every stone, every floorboard in Penmorah. The fabric of the house was soaked through to its very bones with my life. The woods had been my playground all my years, how could I possibly leave it?

Could
I leave?
Would
I leave? If the question was rhetorical why was I so nervous?

I
felt like an agoraphobic who suddenly finds herself in the middle of a field.

Where
would I live my life if not here?

“Why
do you want to know?” I asked abruptly.

Oliver
hugged me, and said, “Oh, you know me, constantly asking things…forget it. I know just how much this place means to you. Come on, let’s go and have some thunder and lightening ice cream that I know you’ve got in the freezer. Then I’m going to thrash Nancy at cards.”

The
night passed in comfortable chatter and laughter, but it was with a heavy heart that I wished everyone goodnight. I knew it was just the feeling that always happens on the last night of a holiday, but I felt sad. I reminded myself that I had much to look forward to, the Port Charles fish soup challenge for one, and I hoped that I could persuade Bea to stay on for longer, and Nelson and Baxter could come home – but…
but
it felt like the end of something.

Chapter Thirty

Oliver had wisely suggested that Bea drive them to the station.

“I’ve
seen you at waving people off, remember? Stay here and have a cup of tea with Nancy, and get cracking on the soup, I’ll call you tonight. OK?” he said.

I
looked at him, he was standing in the middle of my bedroom, searching for an elusive pair of socks, he’d packed everything else. His hair was still wet from his bath, and it looked darkened and sleek rather that his normal rough and curly style. He was a large man, but it wasn’t just his physical presence that filled the room.

“Yeah,
OK,” I said, grudgingly –
hating
myself for sounding like a sulky teenager being left behind. After all, what option was there? He had to go to work, and so did I. Even if my work consisted of a very unprofessional pottering in a kitchen and
his
work was going to be glamorous filming with exotic sounding women like Boo.

Oliver
laughed at my miserable face.

“You
know I’d rather be here,” he said coaxingly.

“Do
I?” I said truculently.

“Yes
you bloody well do, and if you don’t you should!” Oliver said, pouncing on the missing socks that had dropped under the bed. He looked at his watch, “Damn, we’ve got to go.” He looked at me, and said seriously, “And don’t forget what we talked about last night either, will you?”

I
shook my head and reluctantly walked out the door with him and found the rest of the group standing in the hallway, surrounded by luggage.

Martha
had the most of course – an eclectic mix of vintage Louis Vuitton and very tatty plastic bags that were sprouting odd bits of vegetation that she’d picked from the ruined garden and nearby fields.

“Martha,
please don’t poison anyone with that lot,” I begged her, pointing to the leaves sticking out of a bag.

“Have
I ever?” she smiled.

Harry
and Oliver exchanged glances, and I changed the subject.

“Oh,
I do so wish you weren’t going!” I said, giving them all a hug.

“So
do we, but we must darling. Come on everyone, we don’t want to miss the train,” Harry said, picking up one of Martha’s cases and finding it much heavier than he expected it to be, left it for Oliver to carry out to the waiting car.

Nancy
appeared at the top of the stairs in her kimono, “Goodbye, darlings! Safe journey. Harry, as soon as I’ve finished the last chapter I’ll e-mail you. Angelique! Bye, it’s been so lovely to have you all down here, do come back soon, won’t you?” She blew kisses to all and sundry and I heard Bea give a little toot on the horn.

“Come
on,” Harry cried, ever worried about punctuality.

Oliver
gave me a lingering kiss till Harry complained about the time
again
and then they eventually all scrambled into the car and finally they were off. I waved till I couldn’t see the car any more. I followed it with my eye down the lane and I just saw the top of it over the hedge as it turned into the road.

They’d
gone.

I
sat on the doorstep at the front of the house and stared around me. It was still a mess, but, the sun was out, and as Nancy had promised, nature was beginning to do her work again, covering the raw, bare earth with green.

Bea
had promised to pick up Nelson and Baxter on her way back from the station, and I was looking forward to having them back. They’d been shoved and shunted around a lot at the moment – perhaps they’d develop behaviour difficulties and become anorexic or take up smoking?

It
was good to sit in the sun, doing nothing, but I knew that the nagging feeling of guilt would soon get to me, but not yet. I leaned against the open heavy oak door of Penmorah and half closed my eyes, breathing in the early morning air.

A
small bird, a finch, I think, landed not far from my feet. I kept very still and watched it for a moment. It’s bright eyes and small jerky movements were a joy to watch, it came quite close to me, but I must have moved for it took wing quickly, fluttering away from me.

Oliver
and I had spent most of the night talking, inconclusively really, about everything under the sun. I had explained my complicated feelings I had about my parents, and Nancy and even Bea now, and he had understood.

“Look
at it this way, you’ve now got a great half sister instead of a cousin you never really knew,” Oliver had said, adding, “I can understand why Dorothea and Nancy did what they did in Paris you know, I would find it very hard indeed bringing up another man’s child as my own – even if you were totally besotted with love with your wife.”

I
mused on it, maybe he was right, it would be a hard thing to do. My feelings for my mother had changed imperceptibly with the revelation. I thought I knew everything about her, but now, I wasn’t so sure. Maybe there were more skeletons waiting to jump out at us.

I
heard Nancy calling me, and I let her know where I was. She came out to me, still in her kimono carrying two mugs of tea.

She
settled herself next to me and we sat in a comfortable silence in the early morning sun.

“Fin,
are you alright?”

“Yes,
I’m fine Nancy. I mean, I know that it’s been a bit of whirl round here recently, but on the whole you know, I’m glad about Bea… I really like her, and Oliver, well, you can guess how I feel about him. I just think everything’s going to be alright. Well, it won’t be unless I shift myself and start making some soup, but you know I think Oliver’s idea is great, we could make some serious money for Port Charles with this, if I get it right. Do you know how many cartons of soup the supermarket is willing to go into production with?”

I
told her, and she whistled in approval.

“And
how much of that goes to the Port Charles fund?” Nancy asked.

I
laughed, “I don’t know yet because we haven’t worked out the costings… it’s quite complicated, but it
should
be a real money maker.”

We
sat a while longer in the sunshine, unwilling to start the day’s activities.

Nancy
tapped me on the knee, “Come on then darling, Bea’ll be back soon. I’m going to make some breakfast, then I’ll call Mr Harris and see how far he’s got with our report. Are you working on the soup?”

I
nodded. Oliver had arranged for Kev the Beard to bring me up a tray of mixed Cornish fish and shellfish. I was going to spend the morning with my trusty recipe books, reading for inspiration. But it all depended on the fish really, as to what we ended up with.

I
wasn’t as convinced as I sounded about the fish soup. It was all so tricky, the quantities were so vast and fishing wasn’t like picking spuds, if the fish weren’t there, they simply weren’t there. Then there was the worry that no matter what I did, or where I sourced our materials from the end product would be beyond the stretch of people’s purses.

I
sighed, and got to my feet.

I’d
give it my best shot. I wanted to make it work, but I knew just how difficult it was persuading the English to buy fish. Unless the divine Delia made a fish pie, stating that unsmoked haddock had to be used, then and only then could you guarantee that the stocks of that fish would run out the following day.

And
stock – I should be making fish stock. But I needed the fish first… I went into the kitchen and pulled down from the groaning shelves a few books. I took them into the garden, and sat at the table flicking through them.

I
glanced up and frowned at the ugly rolled wire at the top of the cliff. I hoped that we could get rid of it soon, it was such an eyesore.

I
poured over the books, thanking Nancy as she plonked a plate of toast down in front of me.

Thinking
about and creating food plays havoc with the appetite. I remember once I had to make a lentil and chestnut soup, and delicious as it was, I had an unreasonable desire to make roast chicken, I have no idea why… maybe the chestnuts just pinged a brain synapse in me that screamed Christmas stuffing, but truly, it was all I could think about. That particular soup took a long time to evolve properly. I just didn’t have the luxury of that now. I concentrated and made a list of all the Cornish produce that I could cram into it, all from reliable producers that I could trust. Oliver and I both agreed that it should be organic (and I’ll stop any discussion right here and now by stating that it tastes better, is good for you, and is the future way on any farming in any civilised country that can afford it. Got it? Good. Enough said.) It had to be honest. I knew that somewhere along the line we would have to compromise integrity with the needs of packaging and distribution, but the original version had to be as good as I could make it.

I
hope you know what I mean by that. It means that the food is not a poor relation to some European idea of what it should be, but that it remains true to itself. For instance, if you have to use a pre-bottled tomato sauce for pasta. Ask yourself why. I mean what could be simpler? Why buy one that is made in Nottingham with added gunk in it: flour, additives, colouring and loaded with e numbers? Just grab yourself a tin of Italian tomatoes, sweat some finely chopped celery, onions and garlic in some good olive oil, add a pinch of sugar and whatever herbs you fancy, maybe a splash of wine of you’ve got a bottle open and simmer the whole lot together for ages. Hey presto, just like mamma used to make!

I
chewed on my pen for a while and started to write in my disgraceful little notebook. A car noise made me look up and I saw Bea arrive with the animals. Baxter seemed happy enough to be home, although you couldn’t really tell, and as for Nelson, well, parrots aren’t really renowned for their animated features, although he did screech out a swear word by means of greeting.

Bea
disappeared inside, calling out that Kev would be up here in about an hour.

There
was the sound of another car coming, it was Jace in his 2CV van, I didn’t hesitate, I gathered my books and papers together and stuffing the toast in my mouth I walked round the side of Penmorah to another table, one that was conveniently placed in a shady part of the wall that was covered by a vine. Jace didn’t have to pass me here, and I told myself that it was because I was busy, but really it was more than that.

Soon
I heard his van go back down the hill again, and I relaxed. I bent my head over my books and worked till lunch time.

Nelson
was back in his usual place when I entered the kitchen, and tricked me completely by mimicking Pritti, calling her daughters. “Samina, Sunita, Samina, Sunita!”

Bea
came into the kitchen and saw that it was Nelson, “Jeez… he’s good, isn’t he?”

“Yes,
he’s probably got his own agent,” I said, throwing Nelson an affectionate glance.

“You
missed Jace… he brought up the fish for you, to save Kev the trip. I put it in the fridge if that’s OK? Oh, and Doris sent you something as well.” Bea said.

“Thanks,
yes that’s fine. I’m going to make some coffee, do you want some?” I asked.

Bea
looked horrified at the idea of the caffeine poison entering her body and opened a bottle of mineral water, taking a swig from it. She perched herself on the edge of the kitchen table, swinging her legs.

“Do
you really think I look like him?” she asked.

“You
know you do!” I laughed, “Can’t you see it, or are you having an attack of false modesty?”

Bea
chewed her bottom lip, “The thing is… I wonder if he knows, or Pritti does, and I still wonder if I, or we, should tell them, what do you think?”

We’d
talked about this before, amongst ourselves and with Nancy and hadn’t reached a conclusion.

I
was itching to open the fridge door and see what Kev had sent me, but Bea wanted to talk, so I let it wait.

We
were discussing this, and just going round and round the same old arguments, when Nancy came in, her arms full of washing which she stuffed into the machine. “There you both are!” she said fondly, as it was obviously still a delight to her that Bea and I were not only here together but actually talking and getting on so well. “Well, I’m going to have an afternoon of Angelique, the poor woman has just painted a portrait by commission of the Duc de Orleans and the swine won’t pay her unless she sleeps with him, but as she’s got the pox at the moment…” Nancy swept into the office and Bea and I were left hooting with laughter.

“She’s
amazing, isn’t she?” Bea said fondly.

I
whole heartedly agreed with her.

“What
are you up to this afternoon?” I asked.