A Safe Harbour (28 page)
Authors: Benita Brown
Tags: #Technology & Engineering, #Sagas, #Fisheries & Aquaculture, #Fiction
‘And I think you’ve already met my cousin, Richard Adamson,’ Howard said.
Kate nodded and Caroline Travers turned towards Richard in surprise. ‘When did you meet Miss Lawson?’ she asked.
Before Richard could answer, Kate, no doubt prompted by her own particular devil, said, ‘I sell fish from door to door. Mr Adamson likes to choose his own.’
Caroline wasn’t at all put out. She smiled at Richard. ‘I didn’t know that,’ she said. ‘How interesting.’ Then she looked at Kate. ‘Of course, you’re a fish lass, that’s why Howard is painting you, isn’t it?’ Without waiting for an answer she turned to Howard and said, ‘Richard has told me that you’re making many studies of the village and its people and I persuaded him to bring me here. I may want to buy one.’
‘I’m very flattered,’ Howard said.
‘I’ll be honest with you. I’m told that you’re going to be famous; that you’re already sought after. It would please me to say that I had bought one of Howard Munro’s paintings – from the artist himself.’
Kate wondered how Howard would take that. To this young woman, it seemed that buying a painting was merely a matter of wanting to own something valuable rather than seeing the value in the painting. But Howard was smiling.
‘Please look around.’ He gestured towards the door and across the landing to an area which had once served as the only bedroom for four growing boys. ‘That’s my gallery through there, although nobody has visited it yet. You must be the first.’
Kate turned away from them and walked over to the window. Caroline Travers had made it clear that she, Kate, was not to be included in the conversation. Why should she be? She was only a fish lass, after all. She rested her forehead against the cool window pane and looked down into the bay. The conversation continued behind her.
‘Will you come with me and help me choose?’ she heard Caroline Travers say.
‘Certainly.’
And then she heard their footsteps on the bare wooden floorboards as they walked into the room, little larger than a decent-sized cupboard, that Howard called his ‘gallery’.
It was draughty by the window and Kate was aware that the tip of her nose was cold. She was tempted to pull her shawl up over her head but that would mean combing her hair again and, with her wild curls, that always took some time. Instead she pulled the shawl more tightly round her shoulders and tucked her hands into its folds.
‘It’s plain to see why the village has such a fascination for Howard, isn’t it?’ Richard Adamson spoke from just behind her, making her gasp with fright. ‘I’m sorry. Did I startle you?’
‘Yes, you did. I thought you’d gone with the others.’
‘There’s hardly room for three in there and, besides, I’ve seen most of the paintings already.’
Kate glanced at him curiously. ‘And do you like them?’
‘Very much.’ He came to stand beside her. ‘And, as I said, I can see why he is so inspired. Look down there – the steep cliffs, the harbour, the two old breakwaters. A group of fishermen talking on the beach. A coble or two bobbing on the swell. The gulls circling over the bay.’
‘It’s beautiful. But there’s tragedy there too,’ Kate said.
‘I know that. My father lost three brothers to the sea. One storm took them all.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I didn’t know them. But my father never forgot. It was that tragedy that drove my grandfather and then my father to make a better life for themselves.’
‘But men still die in your trawlers, don’t they?’
‘I try to make sure that they don’t. My crews are not exposed to so much danger as they would be in a small coble. Many inshore fishermen have realized this and come to work for me. Kate . . .’
‘What is it?’
‘My business is expanding. I could find work for others . . . your father . . . your brothers . . .’
‘You would find work for Thomas? Even after what happened?’
‘Yes.’
Kate shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t work for you. And I doubt if my father would either.’ She didn’t mention William because there was no need. It seemed Jane had already plotted the course that William’s future would take.
‘They wouldn’t have to work for me,’ Richard Adamson said. ‘There are other trawler owners, or other work on the quay – carters, labourers. There are the smoking sheds. I could find work for most of the men in the village.’
‘What if they don’t want to leave a way of life that’s familiar to them?’
‘Then I can’t help them. You can’t force men to change.’
They were silent, not looking at each other, but simply staring down at the tranquil scene below. A scene that gave no hint of the turbulence that lay under the surface.
They could hear Howard and Caroline talking about the paintings. They sounded animated.
‘Do you enjoy posing for Howard?’ Richard asked.
‘I suppose I do, although standing still is harder work than you might imagine.’
‘You will have to tell me how you manage it. I’ve agreed to sit for Howard. Silly, isn’t it to call it “sitting” when I shall probably be standing the whole time.’
‘He wants to paint you?’ Kate moved away a little and turned to look at him.
‘He does. I can’t think why. I’m not exactly a maiden’s dream.’
‘Oh, but . . .’
‘But what?’
‘You’re certainly not ugly.’
‘Thank you.’ He grinned and Kate felt herself flushing.
‘I’m sorry. Have I been impertinent?’
‘No, of course not. You must say what you think. Go on, tell me more.’
‘Are you sure?’ He nodded. ‘You have such an interesting face,’ she said. ‘Strong features . . . compelling . . .’
Richard raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s almost what my cousin said. Almost his very words.’
‘Well, then, it must be true.’
Kate smiled and was relieved to see that Richard Adamson smiled, too. The tension that had existed earlier when they had been talking about the situation in the village had eased. But her sense of relief was momentary. Kate realized that another sort of tension was beginning to grow and coil inside her. It was something to do with the way Richard Adamson was looking at her.
And also something to do with the way she was looking at him – and what she saw. The way a lock of hair always looked as if it were ready to flop forward, the slightly lopsided smile, even the scar on his cheek – why did these imperfections add up to make him so much more attractive than Howard who was conventionally good looking?
‘Richard, do come and tell your cousin that he must allow me to pay for this painting!’
Richard Adamson turned as Caroline and Howard came into the room. Howard was carrying a small painting, a watercolour. It was of three children standing at the end of one of the breakwaters. They were looking out to sea. But they were smiling. Kate imagined that what they were seeing was their father’s boat coming home.
‘I don’t want payment,’ Howard said. ‘This must be a gift. A wed—’ He stopped and looked awkward. ‘A gift from me to Caroline,’ he ended.
‘I think you had better agree, Caroline,’ Richard said. And did she imagine it, or did he sound embarrassed?
‘Very well. And thank you,’ Caroline said. And she too had lost her poise.
Howard meant it to be a wedding present, Kate thought. That’s what he was going to say. So why did he stop himself ? And why do both Richard and Caroline look so ill at ease?
‘Would you like to go down, now, and I’ll ask Betsy to make tea?’ Howard said.
‘That would be charming. Tea in an artist’s studio.’ Caroline’s smile was forced. ‘But before we do, may we have a look at your work in progress?’ She moved towards the easel.
‘I’d rather you didn’t.’ But Howard’s words came too late. Caroline Travers was already standing looking at the half-finished portrait of Kate. Richard went to stand behind her. They were both silent.
‘Well?’ Howard asked eventually.
‘I’m sure it’s going to be very nice,’ Caroline said and turned as if to leave the room.
‘Nice?’ Richard said. ‘It’s magnificent.’
Howard laughed. ‘You know nothing about painting, Richard. But I must say I’m pleased with it so far and I’m glad you like it’.
Caroline had already left the room and they could hear her going down the stairs. Then her voice echoed up from the room at the bottom. ‘Oh, there you are, child. Mr Munro wants you to make us a pot of tea.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Richard said to Howard.
‘Sorry? Why?’
‘Caroline does rather take charge of things, doesn’t she?’
The cousins smiled at each other.
‘Am I allowed to say she’ll make a marvellous wife for an important businessman? No? Am I speaking out of turn?’
Richard remained tight-lipped.
‘Well, if you don’t mind,’ Howard said when it became obvious there was going to be no reply, ‘I’d better go down ahead of you and make sure that Caroline hasn’t ruffled Betsy’s feelings.’
Kate and Richard were left alone in the upper room. After an awkward moment or two he asked, ‘Are you coming down? My mother sent along another cake, Madeira this time, I believe, and some cheese tartlets, too. She has promised my aunt that she will not allow Howard to go hungry.’
‘Does your mother bake the cakes herself?’
‘Not any longer. She has had to agree that she just gets in the way in the kitchen. But she used to enjoy baking and the cook uses her recipes.’
‘Those I’ve tasted are very good.’
‘Then shall we go down and enjoy today’s offerings?’
His smile was easy again and somehow the awkwardness had eased away. So much so that Kate felt able to say, ‘Miss Travers ought not to have compared Betsy to Cerberus, you know.’
Richard frowned. ‘Why not?’
‘There was a book on the classroom shelves at school. It was called
The Children’s Book of Gods and Heroes
. It retold the ancient Greek legends—’
The Children’s Book of Gods and Heroes
. It retold the ancient Greek legends—’
‘I had that book when I was a child,’ Richard interrupted with a smile. ‘My mother bought it for me. Have you read it?’
‘From cover to cover. Anyway, you’ll know that Cerberus was a monstrous dog with three heads. Betsy doesn’t look a bit like that.’
‘No, she doesn’t. But I have noted her devotion to Howard and I suspect that if anyone was to harm him – or anyone that she loved – she could be just as fierce.’
‘Are you two coming down for your tea and cake?’ Betsy stood in the doorway. They had not heard her coming up the stairs and they glanced at each other self-consciously, wondering how much of their conversation the girl had heard.
‘Yes, Betsy, we’re coming.’
Betsy glared at them, nodded, and descended the stairs again. Kate and Richard looked at each other and tried hard not to laugh out loud at the girl’s ferocity. When they entered the downstairs room, still smiling and at ease in each other’s company, Kate noticed that both Caroline and Howard looked up at them in surprise. And neither of them smiled.
Kate and Betsy had hardly left the artist’s cottage when Thomas appeared before them. He stopped directly in their path. His eyes were blazing and his face was contorted just like their father’s when he was in one of his rages.
‘What the hell’s your game?’ he snarled.
Kate backed away. She was aware of Betsy moving in close behind her and clinging on to her skirt. ‘What are you talking about?’ she asked her brother.
‘Don’t play the innocent with me. You know well enough what I’m talking about. Where have you just been?’
‘I’ve been to Mr Munro’s house. You already know that because you must have watched me leave.’
‘And what exactly have you been doing there?’
‘I don’t have to stand here and answer these questions. If you really want to know ask our mother.’
Kate tried to step sideways but Thomas moved too. Her answer had obviously puzzled him and he frowned. ‘What does Ma know about it?’
He looked so angry that Kate could imagine him storming home and bellowing at their mother, who already had enough to deal with. She decided she’d better explain.
‘Mr Munro is an artist – a painter,’ she began.
‘I know that.’
‘Well then, you probably know that he’s been painting scenes of the village. Not just the cottages and the harbour but the people, too.’
Other books
Archangel's Shadows by Nalini Singh
The Rake's Ruined Lady by Mary Brendan
Betting Game by Heather M. O'Connor
The Bad Boy Billionaire's Wicked Arrangement by Maya Rodale
Delta Ghost by Tim Stevens
Travels with Penny: True Tales of a Gay Guy and His Mother by David Alan Morrison
Season of Strangers by Kat Martin
Nobody's Child (Georgia Davis Series) by Libby Fischer Hellmann
Unquenchable Desire by Lynde Lakes
Obit Delayed by Nielsen, Helen
