Betrayed in Cornwall (3 page)

They showered in turn then, refreshed, they sat in the sitting-room watching the changing shades of the sea as the light altered. The windows were open but the curtains remained motionless. Bees buzzed in the lavender bush, coming and going tirelessly. The outlook was unimpeded since Rose had hacked back the hydrangea which had threatened to block it. Her brutality had done no harm, within two weeks it had started sending forth buds.

Rose opened the Scotch she had bought for her father and the gin for her mother but stuck to wine herself. Shorts always gave her a headache.

‘That was delicious,’ Arthur said later, wiping his mouth on one of the linen serviettes Rose had got out especially. ‘You’ll have to tell your mother how to do them.’

Rose had given them monkfish and bacon kebabs. She made coffee which they took through to the sitting-room and was explaining how easy they were to prepare when the telephone rang. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, getting up to answer it. It sat on a small table not far from the window recess. Evelyn and Arthur were able to hear her end of the conversation.

‘I’m glad, Jack. The more the merrier.’

Evelyn frowned. Was Rose blushing? Unlikely, she decided –
she had never seen her do so before. It was probably the flush of the sun which had set and left the sky streaked with red.

‘That was Jack,’ Rose said unnecessarily. ‘He was just confirming that he’d be able to make it tomorrow night. There was some confusion over someone’s leave.’

Evelyn and Arthur were fully aware that their daughter had had an affair with him which had lasted a year. It was Rose who had broken it off because she had not been ready to commit herself in the way in which Jack had been.

At least they’re still friends, Evelyn thought, watching her daughter’s face for any signs to the contrary. ‘You go and sit down and we’ll wash up. Come on, Arthur, and in case you’ve forgotten, that cotton thing hanging up near the sink is a tea-towel.’

Rose felt unreasonably tired, although she had to admit it had been a busy day. Perhaps a touch of nerves was responsible. It’s ridiculous at my age, she thought, listening to the chink of crockery and the murmur of her parents’ voices. But who cares, I’ve waited long enough for this. Only then did Rose realise that although she had extended Etta’s invitation to include Sarah, she had not said that Joe would also be welcome. She rang Etta to tell her so, smiling when she learned that Joe was out with Sue and wondering if there would be a wedding before the end of the year.

They were all in bed by ten thirty; Rose in the front bedroom with the view which matched that from the sitting-room window, her parents at the back where the outlook was restricted by the granite face of a cliff some yards away and the branches of a tree, now in full leaf. Seagulls screeched as darkness finally descended and the occasional chugging of a boat’s engine could be heard. Rose closed her eyes knowing that she would sleep deeply and well. She smiled when she heard the low mutterings from the room across the narrow corridor whose boards would creak for a few more seconds before settling down again. It was comforting to have her parents there.

Trevor Penfold watched Laura pull off the yellow towelling band which held her dark curls high on her head and throw it on the dressing-table. Her hair was very long and he thought she looked rather wild with it loose. In fact, he thought as she began to pull off her clothes, his wife presented quite a ferocious figure at times, hair up or down. She was an inch taller than him but he was more muscled and appeared squat. His own wavy hair was collar-length. It was a shade lighter than Laura’s and grew to meet his beard. In his ear dangled a small gold cross, which he had not removed since it had been inserted when he was seventeen. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, sensing her agitation.

Laura, in bra and pants, her long thin legs gleaming in the light from the bedside lamp, was chewing her lip and frowning. ‘I was thinking about Rose, actually. Tomorrow, more than ever, she’ll wish David was alive. I know Barry and Jack’ll be there, but it’s not the same, is it?’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘Oh, honestly, Trevor, you’re the most infuriating man I know. You always answer my questions with one of your own.’

‘Come here and I’ll show you how infuriating I can be. Laura?’

‘I’m sorry. I’m worried about her, that’s all. This has been her lifetime’s dream, she’d have wanted to share it with David.’

‘I know.’ Trevor went to the window and closed it a little then he got into bed beside his wife. Both lay rigid, deep in their own thoughts until Trevor rolled over and pulled Laura to him. ‘Perhaps the exhibition will have the opposite effect, it might make her think of herself for a change. Achievement born out of hard work’s a great healer at times. At least her new enthusiasm has kept her out of trouble.’

Famous last words, Laura thought as she closed her eyes,
unprepared to discuss further the person she cared for more than anyone except her own family.

She and Trevor were so unalike in many ways yet their marriage mostly worked. There had been some rocky times when the only solution had seemed to be to split up, but when Trevor went to sea the rift was usually healed by the time he telephoned ship to shore, certainly by the time he landed again. He’s a tough man, Laura realised, and he’s seen death more than once. Men, young and old, had died fishing and there had been accidents on board which had maimed others. Laura’s nature was far softer and she had struggled not to let her four sons, now all adults, take advantage of her. What would I do if I lost one of mine? she asked herself. But she could not imagine what it would feel like, all she could do was to pray that it never happened before her own death. None of them had gone to sea, at least she had that to be thankful for even if Trevor had been disappointed.

Trevor stirred then turned over and lay on his back with his hands linked behind his head.

‘I thought you were asleep. You’re usually flat out once you hit the pillow on landing days.’

‘I was thinking about giving up fishing.’

‘What?’ Laura sat upright in bed, the shock registering in her face. How would they cope if he was at home all the time? They’d be at each other’s throats in days. Then she saw him grin. ‘Oh, Trevor, you bastard.’

But it had worked, he had made his wife laugh and now she would be more amenable to making love. Trevor reached for her. It had been a good trip and their catch had reached a good price in the market. Billy and Jan were easy to work with, they took no risks, and Joe Chynoweth, who had only been with them a short time, was turning out to be an added bonus. From hints he had dropped he might be a married man before long; that would stabilise him further, make him even more one of the team for the rest of the crew were married. Yes, all in all a good day, he thought as he stroked Laura’s lean thighs.

Etta Chynoweth knew that Sarah spent too much time with her friends Amy and Roz. She did not like or trust them and she suspected they made her daughter deceitful. She blushed with shame at her hypocrisy. Was she being any less deceitful? However, on some pretext she had rung Amy’s mother that evening and was relieved to hear that Sarah was where she had said she would be, spending the night at their house.

The guests had gone to bed quite early. The combination of sunshine, sea air and long walks ensured they slept well. Many of them were unused to being out of doors all day. At eleven Etta went up. Joe had gone to meet Sue and did not know what time he would be home. It was nice of Rose to have included him in her invitation. Joe would certainly go, even if Sarah didn’t.

Etta locked the front door but left the back one unbolted so Joe could let himself in with his Yale key. Tired herself, she did not hear anything until her alarm went off at six thirty. Etta hated rushing. She liked to shower and make the bed before going down to prepare the breakfasts which she served from eight until nine.

That morning the house was unnaturally quiet. But Sarah was out and Joe, up in the attic, would be sleeping soundly if he had had a late night.

The early morning routine complete, Etta wished her guests a pleasant day as they set off to various destinations, one lot to St Ives, the other further afield to walk part of the South-West Way.

‘Damn,’ she swore. The doorbell had rung just as she sat down with a mug of tea.

Immediately she saw the dark shapes through the ridged glass of the front door Etta knew it meant trouble. She ought to have tried harder to discourage Sarah from seeing Amy and Roz. It was too late now. She knew she must have been right, her daughter was somehow involved with drugs. She might be excluded from school, the future she was working so hard towards ruined.

‘Mrs Chynoweth?’ the female WPC asked gently. Etta nodded. ‘May we come in? I’m afraid there’s bad news.’

Weak-kneed, she led them into the front room where her legs gave way completely. She sat on the edge of the settee with her hands resting loosely in her lap. She was numb: ashamed of her daughter, disgusted with herself for not having done anything about it.

When the male police officer coughed and told her that they were very sorry but there had been an accident, a fatal one, she took the news calmly, unable to accept that it was Joe who was dead. Even when they informed her of the probable cause of death she remained silent. The only words which ran through her head continuously were ‘Not Joe, not my Joe.’ How little she had known her son if this was the case. Her grief was so intense it paralysed her mind as well as her body. ‘A man walking his dog found him early this morning.’

Etta seemed not to hear. ‘Where’s Sue?’ she asked. ‘Susan Veal, his girlfriend? They were together last night.’ But were they? There were so many doubts now. But he had been smiling when he left her last night, smiling at the thought of seeing Sue. Etta had not even known that he had not returned, that his bed had not been slept in. What kind of a mother would they believe her to be?

‘Don’t worry, Mrs Chynoweth, we’ll send someone to see her. There’ll have to be a post-mortem.’ The WPC coughed nervously before continuing. ‘I think it’s only fair to warn you that your son was in possession of heroin. We believe that he slipped.’ She did not add that there were scuff marks and broken branches where Joe Chynoweth had desperately tried to save himself from falling.

‘Where did it happen?’ Etta was not sure why it mattered, but it was something to cling on to, to keep her temporarily sane.

‘Between Newlyn and Mousehole, near where the quarry used to be.’

‘I don’t understand. Why was he there? Sue lives in Penzance. Joe said they were going out for a meal. Has anyone told her?’

They made a note of Sue’s address and promised that the
news would be broken to her before she heard it via the media. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own, Mrs Chynoweth?’

‘Yes. My daughter will be home soon and I’ve got guests staying. I won’t be alone.’ But she would have liked to have been. More than anything she wanted to sit by herself and grieve. But no tears came, she was filled with a deadness which weighed her down. For the moment there was the problem of telling Sarah: despite her flippant attitude towards him, she had loved her half-brother deeply.

The police had already gone when Sarah arrived back from Amy’s house. It was left to Etta to break the news.

White-faced, Sarah stared at her mother. ‘You’re lying, I know you’re lying. Joe isn’t dead. He can’t be.’

‘Oh, Sarah.’ Etta reached out and stroked her head. It was that gesture which told Sarah it was the truth. She started to scream, her hands over her ears. Etta did not know whether this was to shut out the reality or the sound of her own hysterical voice.

Somehow they had to pass the time until their guests came back to change for the evening. Etta did not provide an evening meal. She would have to explain to four comparative strangers that her son had died and that it was impossible for them to continue their holiday with her. Naturally, she would refund all of their money and ring around to find alternative accommodation for them.

She and Sarah sat side by side, holding hands but rarely speaking. It was Sarah who made the tea that neither of them bothered to drink. After this evening there would be no one in the house except herself and her daughter. The next guests were not due to arrive for another eight days, the day following the end of what should have been her present guests’ two-week holiday. It was time enough in which to cancel those bookings.

It was hot outside. The scent of the flowers in the tubs at the back wafted in through the kitchen door. They smelt sickly and made Etta nauseous. ‘Sarah, I need to talk to you. There’s just us now and I have to know, did you have any idea Joe was taking drugs?’ Sarah shook her head and mumbled something
unintelligible. ‘Please talk to me. I have to know. Was he unhappy or worried about anything?’

‘No. Don’t ask me all these questions, I can’t bear it,’ Sarah sobbed. ‘He was my brother and he’s dead. He’d never take drugs, he hated them. What does it matter any more? What does anything matter any more?’

In a way she’s right, Etta thought. Nothing would bring him back. ‘It’s all right, love. I didn’t mean to upset you. Shall I make us some coffee?’ The idea of food sickened her but she supposed she would eventually have to eat if only to encourage Sarah to do so. As she cut bread for a sandwich she wondered if her daughter would be questioned and, if so, how she would stand up to it. Etta swayed dizzily.

‘Mum?’

‘It’s all right, love. I’m all right.’ But she wasn’t. The room kept spinning wildly. The knife slipped and nicked her finger. Only when a drop of blood welled up and formed a perfect oval did her tears follow suit as they rolled down her face. Etta rested her hands on the table-top and cried as though she would never stop.

‘Now, what shall we do until this evening?’ Rose said as she placed hot toast in front of her parents.

‘What would you normally be doing?’ Arthur asked, planting a kiss on her cheek.

‘Working. Either painting or sketching or planning.’

‘Then I’ll take your mother out somewhere and we’ll meet you later.’

‘Good God, what for? You asked what I’d normally be doing. This is different, I want to enjoy every minute of your company. And I’m entitled to a holiday as well, you know.’

Arthur Forbes grinned widely. ‘I’d hoped you’d say that. But your mother primed me. She knows how dedicated you are and insisted that we didn’t interfere with your time.’

‘Then she doesn’t know me that well because it’s all too easy to distract me.’ Other people’s problems especially distracted
her, she realised, such as whatever it was that was troubling Sarah.

Arthur decided he would dead-head the roses whilst the women washed up.

‘That’s just so typical of your father. If I asked him to do that he’d have something more important to do. He’s only volunteered in case he was asked to dry up.’

But he redeemed himself by offering to take them over to Carbis Bay. There they spent the day doing all the things that tourists did. They lay on towels on the powdery white sand which was hot enough to burn the soles of their feet. When Evelyn’s shoulders began to turn pink they packed up and went to buy ice-creams which they ate sitting on the car-park wall. Then they sipped cold beer on the terrace of the hotel which sat proudly overlooking the sea before they returned to Newlyn.

‘That was a lovely day,’ Evelyn said as they were getting out of the car. ‘I love the smell of the sun on my skin.’

Rose smiled because so did she, although there was no way in which to describe that salty, fleshy warm aroma. ‘Who wants the bathroom first?’ she asked, glancing at her watch. They had arrived back far later than she had anticipated.

‘You do. You’re the star tonight,’ her mother insisted. ‘Take as long as you want. We can be ready in a moment.’

‘My God!’ Arthur said when Rose reappeared half an hour later. ‘This surely isn’t my daughter? You look wonderful.’

Rose giggled. Knowing what he meant, she was not offended. The outfit she was wearing she had bought on the day Geoff Carter told her that he was willing to show her work. She had worn it only once before, on that same night when she had taken Barry Rowe out to dinner to celebrate. She had promised herself not to wear it again until the evening of the exhibition itself. It was by far the most expensive outfit in her wardrobe. Over a shimmering calf-length cream dress she wore a cream lace jacket. Her shoes were satin with ankle straps and she carried a matching handbag. She joined her parents in the kitchen where the radio was playing but being ignored.

‘You look stunning,’ Evelyn said, stroking Rose’s hair which hung damply round her shoulders but had already started to dry.

‘Who’ll want to look at your paintings when they can look at you?’ Arthur said wistfully.

‘Honestly, Dad. You do exaggerate at times. But thank you. Shh. Listen a minute.’ Something the newscaster was saying caught her attention.

‘The body of a man was found this morning above the shoreline between Newlyn and Mousehole. The police have not yet issued a statement but it is believed that he fell to his death,’ the voice continued.