A Safe Harbour (7 page)
Authors: Benita Brown
Tags: #Technology & Engineering, #Sagas, #Fisheries & Aquaculture, #Fiction
And then, when everybody had gone, they stood there alone, looking as if they weren’t quite sure what to do next. Kate approached them. All three of them looked at her but they didn’t speak.
‘I . . . I’ll come and see you, Mrs Linton . . . perhaps tomorrow,’ Kate said.
‘No. Don’t.’
Kate’s eyes widened. ‘But why not? I don’t understand.’
‘Every time I look at you I’ll remember. I’ll remember the wedding we planned. The happiness. I just couldn’t bear it.’
Mary Linton turned towards her husband and he put his arm round her and led her away. Matthew lingered. He looked at Kate helplessly. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘She’s taken it badly. Try to understand.’ He left her without a backward glance and the door swung shut behind him.
Aunt Meg moved quietly about the kitchen. Kate stood alone in the hall as the shadows lengthened. It seemed she had lost not only Jos but the affection and companionship of his mother, too. She couldn’t remember a time when she had ever felt so hurt and alone.
The high tide reached the mouth of the cave before retreating and Kate stepped over the usual jumble of seaweed tangled up with bits of driftwood. She rested her hands on the rough sandstone walls as she ventured further inside. The passage narrowed and the pale sand sloped upwards so that gradually there was less headroom. Eventually she came to the familiar outcrop of rock that formed a low platform wide enough to sit on. This had been their place.
When they’d been children they had gathered here, the four of them. Kate, Thomas, Jos and Jane. Even though the children of the village had to help their parents with tasks such as baiting the lines and spreading the nets to dry, there was sometimes a spare hour or two for play. They would gather here, bringing bread and cheese, a piece of cake (Jane usually brought that), a bottle of water or lemonade (Jane again), and candles and matches.
Jos had told them that the caves had once been used by smugglers and that, somewhere, there was a secret passage that led underground as far as the old priory where the monks had lived. But, although Kate and the two boys must have spent hours searching for it, scrambling over tumbled rocks and squeezing into narrow spaces until Jane called out to them in fright to come back, they had never found it.
It was years since the four of them had played here together but their names had remained, carved into the sandstone walls. As Kate’s eyes grew accustomed to the dimness she ran her fingers along the uneven surface until she found the deeply grooved markings. She stared at them.
There it was, the heart with the names inside. Jos and Kate. Jos had carved them into the sandstone with the help of a nail and piece of rock. He’d told her that the heart and the names would be there for ever; that people in centuries to come would know that Kate and Jos had been sweethearts.
‘Centuries?’ Kate had questioned.
‘Yes. Look.’ Jos held the flickering candle closer to the wall of the cave and moved it backwards and forwards until he found the other markings. They were very faint, and although she peered at them intently she couldn’t make them out.
‘It’s a list of names,’ Jos had asserted.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, old names. Names that aren’t used any more. Many years ago – oh, a long, long time ago – folk used to live in these caves.’
‘Live here?’
‘Yes. You can tell by those soot stains. They were made by the smoke from fires.’
‘Ugh! Fancy living here,’ Jane had interrupted. ‘How . . . how
primitive
!’ And they had all laughed at the way Jane had wrinkled her nose.
primitive
!’ And they had all laughed at the way Jane had wrinkled her nose.
The next time they had met in the cave Jane had found something else to make her curl her lip. Thomas had followed Jos’s example and carved a shaky heart shape, and inside he had put his name and Jane’s. He had not been so expert as Jos and the marks were mere scratches, but they were clear enough and Jane was cross.
‘You had no right to do that,’ she had told him. ‘I don’t want people to see my name along with yours.’ And she’d picked up a rough stone and scratched away vigorously until the words were almost obscured. Then she’d flung the stone down and flounced off.
Even then Kate knew why Jane didn’t favour Thomas. It was because she had set her young heart on Kate’s elder brother William, who, in those days, had not taken the younger child at all seriously. Poor Jane had always contrived to be there when William was around, looking up at him as though he were a hero in a romantic story book.
Eventually Jane’s devotion had been rewarded. One day William had looked at her and seen a beautiful young woman rather than a pretty child. He had fallen in love with her. Kate knew of their courtship although, for reasons best known to Jane, they had tried to be discreet.
But in those happy childhood days Thomas had never guessed that his elder brother was Jane’s favourite and Kate hadn’t had the heart to point out to him that he was wasting his young passion. Poor Thomas, how hurt and embarrassed he had been that day when Jane had spurned him by scratching out their names. Kate remembered how her twin had gone off in the sulks for the rest of the day, leaving her and Jos alone. They had looked at each other and laughed, then settled down to eat the bits of food they had brought. And talked. And talked.
An ache came to Kate’s throat when she remembered how she and Jos had always had so much to talk about, even when they’d been children. And how he respected her opinions, not like some of the lads who treated the girls as though they were a lesser form of human being.
So why hadn’t he told her what he and the other lads had been planning?
Kate remembered the disturbing snatches of conversation she had overheard at the funeral tea the day before. She had not yet had the chance to question Thomas about the incident. But she would. Anything that Jos had been involved in was important to her. Surely Thomas would understand that and put her mind at rest.
She realized that her head was aching. She had not been able to sleep last night. Her bed was a low truckle that during the day was pushed under the bed her mother and old Sarah shared. At night Kate pulled it out and eased it towards the hearth. Often she would stare into the flames and, on cold wintry nights, would be comforted by the glow and the warmth while the wind howled round the cottage and rattled the windows.
Last night she hadn’t been able to find comfort in the pictures formed by the burning coals. She had finally stopped crying but she couldn’t ease the ache of sorrow from her throat. She thought of the years to come. Would she be like Aunt Meg and never marry? Kate had believed her aunt when she’d told her that she’d had more than one chance to wed someone else but she’d never been able to give her heart again. Aunt Meg had remained single by choice. But Kate knew that she herself might not have any choice. There was a reason why no other man might ever want her now.
Kate sank down on to the rocky ledge and leaned back to rest against the wall of the cave. She remembered the day that Jane had flounced off and Thomas had skulked away not long after. He’d waited awhile to make it quite clear he wasn’t running after Jane. And, after he’d gone, although Jos had smiled he hadn’t made fun of Thomas, as many another lad might have done. He’d said, ‘He doesn’t stand a chance with pretty little Jane, does he?’
She knew what he meant but, prickling a little at his description of Jane, Kate had asked, ‘Why not?’
‘Because she’s in love with William.’
Kate had been surprised. ‘In love? But she’s only a bairn, not yet twelve years old.’
‘Makes no difference. She’s given him her heart – not that he’s noticed.’ Jos had grinned. ‘And, anyway, we’re just bairns, too, and you’re in love with me, aren’t you?’
‘Jos, don’t!’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Talk like that.’
‘Why not? It’s true. You and me are sweethearts, Kate. Always will be. And when we grow up we’ll be married. That’s why I carved our names in this heart.’ He’d turned to the wall of the cave and run his fingers over the carving. ‘This will last for ever. Even after we’re dead and gone people will see our names carved here and know that we were sweethearts.’
Kate could hear his voice now, whispering through the dimness. And her own voice answering him, ‘I don’t like to think about that, Jos. Us being dead and gone.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he’d said, ‘that won’t be for a very long time yet.’
But Jos had been wrong – at least as far as he was concerned. He had gone and left her and she would have to face the years alone. Kate closed her eyes as sorrow and weariness overcame her. She could hear the distant cries of the gulls and the never-ending rhythm of the waves advancing and retreating. It was a sound that she’d grown up with. The sound of the sea. Today it was calm and the song it sang was almost like a lullaby. She leaned back and was about to close her eyes when she became aware of a shadow moving on the wall of the cave.
She sat up quickly and turned towards the entrance. A man was standing there. With his back to the light she could not see his face clearly, but from the shape of the silhouette she knew he was not a fisherman. His clothes were well cut and seemed to hug his slender frame. He was tall enough to have to duck his head almost as soon as he stepped inside the cave.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, and his speech revealed him to be a stranger.
‘Yes, thank you, but why do you ask?’
Kate rose to her feet and immediately felt at a disadvantage because she had to stoop. She moved forward until she could stand upright and found herself closer to the stranger than she would have liked. He must have sensed her unease because he moved back into the sunlight.
‘I beg your pardon. I did not mean to pry,’ he said. ‘But I saw you enter the cave some time ago and . . . you did not come out, so—’
‘You were watching me?’ Kate asked sharply.
‘Only because I was concerned. I mean, I know what happened.’
‘What happened?’
‘Your sweetheart . . . the funeral . . . I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I mean, I am sorry for your loss.’
During this exchange Kate had realized who he was. This must be Howard Munro, the American artist, who had taken the two-storeyed cottage overlooking the bay. He called the upper room his ‘studio’, apparently, and, although he bought provisions at the village shop, he was often invited to the Adamsons’ grand house for his meals. It was said he was a relative of theirs.
‘That’s . . . that’s kind of you.’ She was not sure how to respond to such formal speech but she was encouraged by the gentleness of his tone and his concerned expression.
And then he suddenly seemed to be as unsure as she was. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘if you are sure that you are all right, I should go.’
‘Yes. No. Wait!’
The American had already taken a few steps away but he stopped and turned to look at her. ‘What is it?’
‘Thank you. If you hadn’t come when you did I might have fallen asleep.’
He looked at her questioningly.
‘The tide’s coming in.’
‘I know that,’ he said.
‘But you needn’t have worried,’ Kate said. ‘At this time of year the water rarely reaches more than halfway into the cave. The worst that could have happened was that I would have been trapped here for a while. I would have been cold and wet and hungry.’ She paused. ‘But nothing worse.’
‘If you say so.’ His expression was unreadable.
Kate smiled and then continued softly, ‘When we were children we used to play here, and once Jos—’
‘Your sweetheart?’
‘Yes. Jos dared my brother Thomas to stay there with him,’ she turned to point to the rocky outcrop, ‘there on the ledge, while the tide came in. He said they wouldn’t be there long until it turned and he had food and candles. He said it would be an adventure. But Thomas wouldn’t.’
‘And Jos?’
‘Oh, yes.’ Kate laughed. ‘Jos stayed. And got a hiding from his father for his trouble. But he didn’t care. He’d had his adventure.’ She was quiet for a moment and then she smiled sadly at the American. ‘So you see, Mr Munro—’
‘Howard, please.’
‘So you see, if I had woken up and found the tide had come in I would have been uncomfortable but safe.’
‘But how was I to know that? I might have thought it necessary to wade in and rescue you – like a hero in a story book. And then we both would have been cold and wet – and miserable as well, no doubt.’
He was smiling broadly and Kate realized how attractive he was.
If this had been any other young man – any lad from the village – she might have thought he was flirting with her. But she had never met anyone quite like Howard Munro before. Perhaps people behaved like this where he came from. She found herself intrigued.
Other books
Tiny Dancer by Hickman, Patricia
God Save the Child by Robert B. Parker
Caution to the Wind by Mary Jean Adams
Goodlow's Ghosts by Wright, T.M.
Practice Makes Perfect by Julie James
Leon Uris by Topaz
David Mitchell: Back Story by David Mitchell
Twiggy by Andrew Burrell
Lullaby for the Rain Girl by Christopher Conlon
Soldier on Her Doorstep by Soraya Lane
