The Cornish Affair (6 page)

Her
poor arthritic hands were in a claw like position on her lap, and as I squatted down beside her, she patted me on my arm with one of them, the rings on her fingers cutting into her swollen flesh.

“Fair
remind me of your mother, you do, I thought it was her from a distance,” she said.

Whenever
this comment was made (and believe me, it wasn’t made
that
often) I felt a ridiculous glow of pride. I was much taller that my mother, but had the same colour hair. If I’d had half her grace or charm I would be happy.

The
mouth-watering smell of cooking was in the air, I passed the barbeque on my way to Sam for a glass of beer. The boys were doing the manly thing of prodding the cooking food with long forks whilst swigging booze. I breezily passed them, avoiding Jace’s eye.

“I’ll
do the prawns,” I called out to them.

Nancy
volunteered to go and give Mrs Trevellyon her drink, and Sam winked heavily at her as she went, following her progress in the heavy sand with a wistful eye.

Was
all of Port Charles on the pull?

I
decided to have a walk along the water’s edge, I slipped my shoes off so that the cold wet sand pulled at the soles of my feet. I walked briskly along the bay. Baxter trotted after me, nosing the drifts of seaweed that had piled up along the beach, and stopping every now and then to gaze out to sea with his ears pricked, looking like a rear admiral reviewing his fleet.

I
walked fast and covered enough distance that soon the sound of revelry was fading, and I could hear the relentless pounding of the sea and the birds more clearly than the happy sounds of the picnickers.

I
stopped and looked backwards. If I craned my head I could just see the top chimney and slate roof of Penmorah. I felt lonely, which was absurd, but then I reminded myself that the beach often had this effect on me. The waves always seemed to make me restless. I felt like crying out to the sea, just stop for a moment, stop this relentless movement and pounding onto the beleaguered land. I slowed my pace down and tried to shake off this slight feeling of melancholy I had. There was a great picnic going on, and, well, and I was part of it, damn it.

There
was a sudden sharp, loud cry from the beach, and then it seemed the whole population of Port Charles was jumping around and shouting. I started to run towards them, trying to understand what it was they were shouting about. I saw them pointing out to sea, and waving, some were even hugging each other, and I wondered what the hell it was that had got them so excited.

Then
I saw them. They made me catch my breath with delight.

The
dolphins were back.

A
whole school of those joyous creatures were back in the bay. They were leaping high from the glassy green sea, sparkling in the sun. Weaving and diving in and out of the tumultuous ocean they crashed back into the water, creating white plumes of spray behind them. Those elegant, intelligent creatures of the deep had played such a part in mans history from the ancient Cretans to the Cornish were back where they belonged. It was impossible to watch these creatures at play without a lift of the heart.

I
could hear whoops of delight from the beach as I hurried to join them, suddenly feeling very much part of Port Charles again. I ran as fast as I could, with my heart racing inside my chest, my legs aching and my feet splashing the unfurling waves on the cold sand. My hair blew across my face and I couldn’t resist holding my arms wide open, as if to embrace the whole of Port Charles.

“They’re
back, they’re back,” I called happily to Baxter who was running, barking at my side.

I
threw my head back and shouted up to Penmorah, “We’ll all be fine now, you’ll see, they’re back!”

Penmorah
waved to me it seemed in my happiness, delighted that its namesake was back for us all.

In
Cornish, you see, Penmorah means House of the Dolphins.

Chapter
Six

I don’t know if it was the dolphins, or a visitation from the gods of misrule, maybe Bacchus or Jack in the Green, but the picnic exploded with energy after that.

It
was as if we were all touched with a hint of mischief and magic.

The
afternoon flew by in a positive orgy of drink and food. Sam had to make another run to The Ram for more supplies of beer and wine, Pritti and Nancy caused a near riot with an improvised dance in the sands to the strains of some drums and everyone clapping, which soon had all of Port Charles gyrating madly as if we were taking place in a Cornish version of Monsoon Wedding. Will was clasped firmly to the bosom of Breadpudding, who was clapping wildly with her hair blowing across Will’s face, whilst her husband nervously smiled on them keeping time by clicking his fingers. Richard and Jace were showing off with a series of very cool moves, learnt from the local club in St Ives, even Mrs T was jigging in her chair. The noise level was deafening, we were all whooping and shouting and clapping our hands till they were sore.

We
all danced and danced till we were out of breath, and then it seemed as one, we all collapsed, laughing and panting onto the sand.

The
wine and beer was passed round, and in my tipsy, dizzy state the whole beach had an air of a Roman feast day about it.

The
debris of the barbeque was being picked at by dogs and gulls alike, the children were sated with fresh air and excitement and had collapsed, looking like small mermaids or dryads onto blankets and towels for a snooze. Some of the adults were crowded round the huge pile of driftwood, lighting the bonfire, and the sky had a turned a pale pink. The moon was visible in the still clear sky, and I felt a huge rush of energy.

“More
wine!” I called out to no-one in particular, and soon was in possession of a plastic pint mug of it.

The
talk around me was still of the dolphins.

“It
be, what, ten years since they’m be seen here?”

“More
like eleven, I reckon.”

“Right
proper sighting, weren’t it?”

“Global
warmin’ done ‘em in.”

“Nah,
‘twas the fisher nets… poor souls.”

“When
I was a boy, my father swam with ‘em. Powerful, he said.”

“They
save drownin’ men, you know.”

A
wonderful carefree feeling engulfed me, and I recklessly drunk most of my wine. The bonfire had caught fire, and soon sparks were flying into the dusk.

Soon
we were all gathered in groups round the fire. Jace came to sit next to me, and I felt an undeniable ripple of desire course through me. I leant back and looked up at the darkening sky. So what, I thought to myself, so what if he was an old mate and too young? We all deserve one night of madness, don’t we?

“Feelin’
cold, Fin?” Jace said, leaning towards me.

A
log cracked in the flames, shooting out molten gold sparks, and I jumped.

“A
bit,” I admitted, feeling like a teenager.

Jace
moved closer and draped and arm around me. Thank God it was getting dark, and the glow of the bonfire made everyone look as though they were blushing.

I
heard Sam and Isaac start shouting for the race to begin, and soon people were milling around, calling to one another.

“’Ere,
Rich, come on then, get yer kit off!”

“Come
on Sam, you know you want to!”

Jace
pulled me to my feet, and I made my slightly unsteady way down to the water’s edge. I felt a wonderful calm euphoria enfold me. Normally, I was scared witless of the race, but tonight it felt that nothing could go wrong.

I
counted up the contestants, nine, in all, and shouted the count.

“Ready?
On your marks, get set, go!”

Nine
hulking Cornish men, stripped down to their underpants crashed, shouting and joking into the dark, cold swirling foam. We all stood on the shore, shouting out encouragement to them. The giants thumb loomed out of the dusk, and I could just make out the outline of the rock against the sky. I seemed to have lost my shoes somewhere along the way, and I gingerly stepped forwards to test the water.

“My
God, they’re far braver than me!” I called out.

Nancy
and Pritti were clutching towels to their bosoms, ready to throw over the returning swimmers. I peered out to sea and saw the light bobbing on a tiny rowing boat that belonged to Fat Harry. He was out on the water, by the thumb to make sure nobody cheated (and to pick up any one who couldn’t make it back).

Jace
nudged me and said, “More wine, Fin?”

I
nodded gratefully at him and he poured some into my beaker. Everyone was yelling now, and straining to see who had made it to the rock. My eyesight wasn’t that good, but I heard a cry from the sea, and guessed that someone had reached the rock and was now heading back.

“Poor
sod’s balls’ll be the size of peas, by the time they get back,” Jace said in my ear.

I
giggled. “Petit pois?” I said, snorting with laughter.

We
leant against one another, laughing, watching the rolling water.

“Fin,”
Nancy called, “Have you got the prize darling?”

Oh
God. I ran up the beach and scrabbled under the trestle table where I had dumped my basket. I pulled out a bottle of champagne, and then went through my purse till I found the carefully folded new fifty pound note. As I reached the water’s edge again, I could hear the shouts go up.

“It’s
Rich!”

“No,
I reckon it’s Will!”

“Come
on, faster, faster!”

The
two boys were in the shallows now and had found their feet, a roller caught them from behind, pulling them back, but Will scrambled to his feet and raised his hands above his head in the classic victors salute. He was helped out by admirers (Breadpudding amongst them, I noted,) and pulled towards me.

“Congratulations,”
I said, kissing his dripping wet, salty cheek.

He
grinned and took the bottle from my hand. He gave it a good shake and unpopped it, showering all the other swimmers who were scrambling out of the sea with the liquid. The noise was deafening as the entire population of Port Charles shouted and cheered.

Nancy
and Pritti threw towels over them all and we hurried them back to the bonfire. There were many backslaps, hugs and shouts of congratulations on the way.

Will
and I had the traditional dodgy flashlit photo taken by Doris (later to be framed and hung amongst all the others on the stone wall of The Ram) by the light of the bonfire. I handed Will the note, and he grinned his thanks at me.

The
swimmers were strolling around with towels draped over their shoulders, shaking their wet hair at us all. All the girls from Port Charles were making ineffectual dabs at them to help them dry, and I saw that although they were shivering, it took them a long time to get their clothes back on.

Nancy
walked towards me with Baxter clipped on his lead. “I’m going back with Sam, he’s going to drop me and Pritti off. I don’t fancy the cliff path after dark, are you coming?”

I
glanced at Jace who was lounging on the sand in front of the fire, seemingly oblivious to all the girls parading in front of him hoping for a smile from him. He was smiling at me, and holding a bottle of wine.

“Umm,
no. No I’ll stay for a bit,” I said.

Nancy
kissed me on the cheek, “Night then darling, have a nice time.”

I
watched her go.

Then
I turned to Jace, but he was standing up and walking towards me with a blanket and the bottle of wine.

“We’ll
have a private picnic, shall we?” he said, in a low voice.

If
I hadn’t been slightly drunk, I think I would have laughed. But then I just thought, oh, why not?

“Hang
on a minute, lets ‘ave one of Rich’s cakes, shall we?” Jace said, popping a chocolate cookie in my mouth. It tasted rather odd. It was only when I had eaten it, I realised what that implied. One of Rich’s cakes, were dope cakes. Oh damn. I was going to be stoned.

The
younger set of Port Charles were the only ones left on the beach now, and they had settled down to some serious partying. Jace took my hand, and picking up yet another bottle, led me away into the darkness.

It
should have felt wrong. It should have felt like something out of The Graduate with me taking the Mrs Robinson role. But it didn’t.

Jace
spread the scuzzy blanket on the sand, and as we sat down, and as if on cue, a firework went off further down the beach. A burst of brilliant green in the sky was reflected in the dark sea and a drunken chorus of admiration echoed down the beach.

I
threw myself on my back, better to admire the rockets that were whizzing now overhead, but had to sit up again quickly as I felt dizzy.

“You
alright, Fin?” Jace asked, gently stroking my back.

“Bit
too wuch mine, I mean, wine,” I giggled.

It
felt as though a laughter sprite had settled somewhere in my solar plexus, and I started laughing. The more I laughed, the more I realised how ridiculous the whole situation was, and then I laughed even more. I simply couldn’t stop. If I tell you that it was impossible to stop laughing, it doesn’t really give you a fair idea of how hard it would be to cease the strange noise that was being pushed unwillingly from my mouth.

“
You’m off yer face,” Jace said in an amused voice.

“Who
isn’t?” I spluttered.

“What
a wonderful, wonderful night,” I enthused, falling back on the blanket again, “The dolphins, the race, and now fireworks! I think I love Port Charles when it’s like this, don’t you?”

“There
be quite a few things in Port Charles that I feel that way about,” Jace agreed, stroking my hair away from my face.

He
stopped my sniggering by kissing me.

Well,
that was one way of shutting me up, I reasoned. And, he was a great kisser. Not too wet, or sloppy, or hard, or rough, but definitely passionate. Our tongues were gently exploring each others’ mouths, and as I closed my eyes I could feel my head start spinning. This was probably due to excess alcohol intake, not to mention a dope cake, but the kiss had a little something to do with it too.

Jace
propped himself up on one elbow, whilst stroking my head with his other hand.

“Fin,
you up for this, then?”

I
nodded drunkenly.

What
happened on that rough blanket in the sand was not what I had expected. It was wonderful. No, it was more than that, it was fanbloodytastic.

Of
course all the elements were there to make it so, it was forbidden, it was wild, it was almost pagan in its ferocity. It certainly helped that I was, as Jace so charmingly put it, off my face, oh yes, and let’s not forget that he was thirteen years younger than me and very, very well practiced in the art of pleasure.

Afterwards,
despite the chill night air, we were both covered in a film of sweat, and Jace dragged me down to the sea.

“No,
Jace, stop it. Someone will see us,” I said, trying to cover my nakedness with his tee shirt.

“Like
who?” he said, gesturing towards a near empty, dark beach and tearing the shirt away from my hands. He pulled me down in the wet sand near the lapping waves and kissed me again, so that I felt like Deborah Kerr in From Here to Eternity, although I knew I couldn’t possibly look like her. The sand was sticking to my body, and I was shivering.

“You’ll
have to go in now, just to wash it off,” Jace laughed.

He
stood up, and pulled me towards him. I reluctantly stood in the shallows with my arms around me, whilst trying to acclimatise myself to the iciness of the sea. Jace scooped some sea water up in his cupped hands and dribbled it down my back. The yell I made would have awoken the dead.

“Shh,
we don’t want people to think you’m being murdered!”

“Jesus,
it’s so cold!” I shouted, hopping from one foot to the other.

“Come
on, a quick dip, we’ll feel great after,” Jace said persuasively, dragging me into deeper water.

I
counted and promised myself that on the count of three I would plunge into the cold depths. I have never been wild about swimming (let alone swimming naked, at midnight, not sober) in the sea. I mean, there are things that live in there. Things that bite, sting, are slimy, are dangerous and move like greased lightening. Then there are the treacherous currents and rip tides, sharp things that you could tread on, jelly fish – oh God, the list is endless… I waded with clenched fists, shrieking every time a wave hit me, up to my thighs and then as quickly as I could plunged into the sea. I swam in quick, jerky strokes a few yards, swearing at every opportunity.