Devil and the Deep (The Ceruleans: Book 4) (8 page)

The first of July. It was a date that meant a lot to me, but
even more to Luke, and so we had a special day planned – a day of being in love
and being alive and celebrating those facts, rather than moping, as he put it.
Tomorrow, I was going away on a little trip, and we figured that separation
meant we could swing spending the whole day alone together today. Were it not
for the slight melancholy in the air, it would have been bliss. No, scrap that,
even with the sadness, a day – a whole day! – alone with Luke was bliss. Even
spending the time watching paint dry (actually an option in the cafe) would have
been heaven with him there. But as it was we had a much more fun day planned.
Albeit that fun would begin after our first port of call.

I called for Luke at the cafe, where he’d put in a few hours
since sunrise. The arrival earlier this week of William, groundskeeper at
Hollythwaite, had fuelled Luke to even more energetic heights. The pair had
struck up an instant friendship based on a mutual appreciation for hard graft,
and the result was that work on the premises had galloped forward. This weekend
William and Luke would have a final blitz, and then an electrician, plumber,
plasterer and carpenter would start work on Monday. With all the paperwork
already in place and the furniture and equipment set to deliver in three weeks,
Luke was aiming for an opening in early September.

I found the pair in what would be the kitchen, laying the
last of the new floorboards. I watched them for a moment, grey hair and black
curls side by side, Luke focused intently on hammering in a nail, William
looking on approvingly. The sight gave me a twinge of sadness, and I wondered
whether Luke felt the same – it had been so long since he had a father figure
in his life.

I waited until the nail was in before saying, ‘Morning, boys.’

Luke looked up at once, smiled, said, ‘Hey, don’t worry, I
am ready,’ and then jumped up and began dusting down his jeans.

‘Good morning… Scarlett,’ said William. He still had to
check himself to remember to call me that, after eighteen years of
Miss
Scarlett.

‘How’s it coming?’

‘Good. Very good. The core work’s all but done, thanks to
Luke. From here on it’s just prettying up. You know, you should get your mum to
advise on that, Scarlett. She’s done a wonderful job at Hollythwaite. Classic
but modern, she calls it. Got me to sell off a load of fusty old furniture and
paintings – which fetched a pretty penny, I can tell you – and then marched me
around auctions and art galleries and furniture design shops. Like I know a
thing about all that!’

He spoke with such affection that it was clear he’d grown
very fond of the woman he’d once called ma’am.

Luke had come over to me and taken my hand. I looked up at
him. He had a smear of dust on his cheek and I reached up and brushed it off.

‘You ready?’

He nodded. ‘You okay if I get off now, William?’

‘Happy as a pig in mud,’ said the old man, saluting us with
Luke’s hammer.

We walked hand in hand away from the cafe towards the
village square. The sky was overcast today, daubed in a deep grey that warned
of rain to come, and a cool sea wind made me shiver through my cardie. Usually,
Luke would have noticed and pulled me close to warm me up, but for now he was
lost in thought.

When we reached my car I took from the passenger seat two
simple posies of pink roses and handed them to Luke.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘They’re perfect.’

He took my hand again and we walked on, across the wet grass
of the village square, across the little deserted lane that ran alongside the
church of St Mary’s, and through the old wooden gate into the graveyard.

I’d come here several times since my return to Twycombe. I
took Chester sometimes to visit his late owner, Bert. But most often I came
alone and sat on the bench by the graves of Peter and Alice Jones, my
grandparents. Last time, the reverend of the church had spotted me there and
brought me out a cup of tea. He’d been so kind, patting my hand and asking me
gently how I was. I’d felt guilty for his sympathy, that he thought I was still
struggling with Sienna’s death. And then I’d felt angry all over again with my
lying, treacherous, perfectly alive and perfectly happy sister.

Today wasn’t a day for anger, though.

We didn’t follow my usual path around to the back of the
church. We stopped in the long shadow cast by the tower, from which a stained-glass
angel watched over us sadly. In the Cavendish family plot two headstones stood
out as gleaming white, the inscriptions black and stark against the granite.
The words ‘beloved mother’ and ‘beloved father’ jumped out at me, as did the
dates on each: first of July – four years ago today.

Luke took the roses from me and crouched down and carefully
laid a posy against each headstone. Then he straightened up and took my hand
once more, and we stood together in silence, gazing down at his parents’
graves.

I could only imagine what Luke was thinking – how the pain
that he kept so carefully in check was ravaging him now. For my part, I
couldn’t chase from my thoughts Jude’s account of the accident. Had Jude not
acted that night, Luke would lie here too, beneath the cool green grass, beside
his parents. Had Jude acted further, there would be no headstone here for Ryan,
nor one for Anne. It tore at me, that truth. It made me want to throw my head
back and yell at the heavens:
Why? Why couldn’t he save them? Why was it
their time? They were young. They were needed.

Tears were threatening and I clenched my teeth. This was
Luke’s pain, not mine. I had no right to stand here today and cry.

It was Jude’s choice that made the emotion hard to control.
I knew it was a choice that he and the other healing Ceruleans must make often
– in the sure and certain knowledge that a person was
not
meant to be
healed, they had to walk away. But I didn’t know how they could bear it, how
they handled the guilt of not doing all they could conceivably do to save
someone.

Almost a month had passed since Jude had set me on my own
healing path, and in that time I’d too often come across people who were so
much in need, and yet untouchable – destined to live with, or die from, their
disease. A father riddled with cancer, a teenager with a ticking time bomb for
a heart, a young girl with cerebral palsy, an old man with Parkinson’s… the
list went on and on. And I remembered them all, especially at night, before
sleep gave me a brief reprieve from the guilt. I remembered that I hadn’t
healed them – though I could have, if I’d broken the Cerulean rules. I could
have.

Now the tears were spilling down and I didn’t want Luke to
see, so I turned a little, towards the rear of the church. The weeping willow
by my grandparents’ grave was just in sight. And so was a man, standing beside
it.

I looked away. In a place like this, there is an unwritten
code that you leave people alone with their grief. You don’t stare when they
stand frozen. You don’t gawp when they fall to their knees and bury their hands
in the grass of a grave. You don’t so much as glance their way when you hear a
sob.

And yet... I looked again.

The man was walking towards us and his eyes were fixed right
on me. I started, and stared. I knew this man from somewhere.

In moments he was close enough that I could recognise him,
even without the tux, and he nodded at me and said, ‘Hello, Scarlett.’

Three things happened then in very quick succession:

I mumbled automatically, ‘Hello.’

The man, who hadn’t slowed his pace in the slightest, smiled
at me and walked past.

Luke looked around and said, ‘Who...? Not Jude…’

It wasn’t Jude, of course. There was no resemblance, even,
between the two. But I knew exactly what had led Luke to make the connection:
the stranger had disappeared mid-step, melting away into a blur of brilliant
blue.

Luke squeezed my hand. Tight. ‘Another Cerulean, Scarlett?
Who was he?’

‘I don’t know, Luke. I mean, I’ve met him before – he was at
the murder mystery fundraiser on the boat.’

‘That guy I rescued you from? The creep who started talking
to you out of nowhere?’

‘He wasn’t creepy. He was… nice. I just wasn’t sure why he
was talking to me. But I guess I know that now. How embarrassing – he must have
known me on the island, and I didn’t even remember him. There were so many male
Ceruleans, though, and I hardly saw most of them.’

‘So why’s he hanging about you?’

‘Oh, I’m sure he’s not. I mean, the dinner cruise was for
the Ceruleans’ Lux Beneficent Society. He probably works for it or something.’

‘And today?’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But he seems harmless enough.’

Luke’s jaw tightened but he said nothing, just looked down
at his parents’ graves. I glanced back at the willow tree and wondered why I’d
come so quickly to the man’s defence. Because he was a Cerulean, perhaps, and I
felt bound to defend them. But Luke had a point. It was a little odd, but not
unthinkable, to meet a fellow Cerulean on the dinner cruise. Yet here, in the
graveyard? The only Cerulean I’d ever seen here was Jude, lurking about in
order to meet me on my first day in Twycombe. The stranger had no reason to be
here. Unless... He was over by my grandfather’s grave. Had he known him?
Perhaps they were friends. But he was so much younger than Peter.

I’d ask Jude about the Cerulean, I decided, and until then
I’d push the matter from my mind. After all, it either meant something, in
which case I’d no doubt know about that in due course, or it didn’t, in which
case there was no point wasting time thinking about it. There were more
important considerations today.

‘I’m ready to go now,’ said Luke.

I turned to him. He looked paler than usual, but calm.

‘Are you sure?’ I said. ‘Because I don’t mind…’

‘… hanging about in a graveyard all day being morose and
wondering “what if”?’

‘Well, if it would help.’

‘No, it really, really wouldn’t.’

He began leading me along the path, out of the graveyard,
and explaining:

‘After Cara was born, my parents gave an envelope to my
grandparents, just in case. Inside was a list of instructions for their
funerals. You know what reading they wanted, the only reading, for the service?
“Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep.” And do you know what song Mum insisted was
played at the end, when we threw flowers and earth into their graves? “What a
Wonderful World.”’

He flung his arm around me and pulled me close. ‘And it is,’
he said. ‘This isn’t a day for moping. Not any more.’

*

Luke and I had dreamed up our date today weeks ago, though
in fact it required little imagination, because we were going back in time and re-creating
our first date.

Lunch at the River Cottage Canteen was just as good as it
had been last year, though this time Luke scribbled down ideas inspired by the
menu for his own cafe. Across the water in Cornwall, after a short ferry ride,
the Edgcumbe Arms pub had all the charm I remembered, and though it wasn’t
sitting-out weather, I insisted we perch on the same picnic bench as before to
watch the boats go by. I even drank a pint of beer again, as I had that day, which
was disgustingly stomach-turning but brilliantly nostalgic.

After our drink, we set out on our walk across the grounds
of the country park – deserted on this gloomy Friday afternoon – and up the steep
hillside to the folly, that crumbling old tower set terrifyingly close to a
cliff edge. This time, we didn’t hesitate before climbing the steps, and when
we reached the top Luke stood behind me, his arms wrapped around me, and I
leaned against him, giddy with vertigo and memories.

It began to rain. The roofless folly provided no shelter,
but we didn’t head for cover.

‘Happy anniversary,’ said Luke.

The first of July. The anniversary of his parents’ deaths.
And the anniversary of our first meeting.

He’d only told me the full story recently: how he’d got up
early that day a year ago to lay flowers on his parents’ graves and then surf
and surf until he was too numb to grieve, but there I was, thrashing about in
the deep water. And after he grabbed me and took me back to shore and dumped me
on the beach, he didn’t feel numb at all: he felt anger, and then concern, and
then compassion, and then... connection.

The thought of that morning made my heart lurch. If he
hadn’t spotted me in the water. If he hadn’t seen past how broken I was. If he
hadn’t fallen for me.

A song was playing in my head at deafening volume: the Stereophonics,
‘If I Haven’t Got You.’ Without Luke, nothing had meaning.

‘I wonder where we’ll be this time next year,’ he said.

‘Here,’ I said. ‘We’ll be right here.’

‘In the cold and the rain?’

‘In a hurricane, even.’

He turned me then so that I was facing him and he cupped my
face in his hands and I pushed up onto tiptoes and I slid my hand up his back
and he bent his head down and our lips collided and we kissed

we kissed

we kissed

until everything fell away from us – the folly, the park,
the rain, the tears, the fears, what he was, what I was, what the future would
hold. There was only now, and it was ours.

‘Scarlett.’

‘Mnpf.’

‘Scarlett.’

‘G’wy.’

‘Scarlett, do you want me to just Travel you to the island
right now, half-asleep, and leave you in a drooling pile at Evangeline’s feet?’

That got my attention.

I sat up quickly, realised I was wearing nothing more than a
t-shirt, pulled the bedclothes up to my chin and then turned to glare at the
intruder.

From his nonchalant leaning-on-the-doorframe position, Jude
frowned back at me. ‘You seem wiped out. You been doing things you shouldn’t
have?’

‘Huh?’

I flushed guiltily as I thought of the not-so-innocent
things Luke and I had done yesterday evening before he left. Then anger rose as
I reflected that really it was none of Jude’s business what I did with my
boyfriend. Then calm descended once more as I realised what Jude meant.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘No, not overdoing it on the healing. I’m just
fine and dandy.’

‘And late.’

‘What?’

‘You were expected on the island’ – he checked his watch – ‘half
an hour ago. And Nathaniel told me to tell you that lunch is at one sharp.
That’s in twenty minutes.’

‘Oh.’

‘Leap out of bed and rush about getting ready, why don’t
you.’

Ignoring his sarcasm and the churning feeling in my stomach,
I fired back, ‘Scoot, then, and I will. Go make yourself a coffee.’

‘By which you mean caffeinated pond sludge.’

I threw a pillow at him. He laughed and sloped out of sight,
and I heard the stair treads creaking under his weight.

After a quick shower, I rifled through my wardrobe. What did
a girl wear to return to an island she’d turned her back on? To sit at lunch
with people who’d no doubt been hurt by her decision to reject their way of
life? To introduce herself to an intimidating lady for the first time as her
great-granddaughter?

Suddenly, I was clinging on to the wardrobe door. I couldn’t
do this. I couldn’t go back there. The strange little world I’d run from – to
go back was to confront everything it was head on. It meant seeing again all
the parts I detested: the control, the restrictions, the separation of parent
and child. But it also meant seeing again the parts I respected: the sacrifice,
the compassion, the heartfelt desire to be good.

Good.

Those on the island were good Ceruleans. All of them.
Compared to the Fallen, they were saints. And now, for me to go back there and
be among them…

I wasn’t a good Cerulean. I wasn’t furthering the Cerulean
line, helping to securing a future in which there were enough Ceruleans to meet
the need for healing.

I wasn’t a good Cerulean. I wasn’t out there saving the
world, changing lives.

I wasn’t a good Cerulean. I’d put my love for Luke, my need
to be with him, above a life of dutiful service.

Why on earth had I agreed to this lunch?

In the aftermath of Mum’s visit, it had seemed like a good
idea: confront Evangeline and find out about my grandfather. I had a fool’s
hope that Evangeline may know something that could strengthen my relationship
with Luke. Yesterday we’d been so solid, but still I worried that the constant
separation would wear us down. I worried that –

‘Five minutes, Scarlett!’ yelled Jude from the kitchen beneath.

‘Coming!’ I hollered back.

Too late now. What was the saying? ‘Screw your courage to
the sticking-place.’ No, hang on, it was Lady Macbeth who said that when
goading her husband into murder; not quite what I had in mind for today.

‘Scarlett! I don’t hear you getting ready!’

‘I’m on it!’

I did a noisy little tap dance to reassure him, then reached
out and grabbed the nearest item of clothing: a clingy pink dress that Cara had
talked me into buying on a recent shopping trip. It was short, a little too short,
so I added a pair of black leggings underneath and then simple ballet shoes.
Twisting my hair up, I secured it in place with a jaw clip, then stroked on a
touch of mascara and a quick slick of lip balm. I stood back and surveyed my
reflection in the mirror. Well, at least I
looked
confident.

‘One minute!’ shouted Jude. He was at the bottom of the
stairs now, judging by the volume of his voice.

‘Coming!’

I heard him mutter ‘Heard that before’ and I couldn’t resist
a bit of payback for all the cajoling. I thought of the foot of the stairs in
the hall, I closed my eyes and I –

‘Woah!’ said Jude as he collapsed onto the hall floor,
having been shoved there by my sudden arrival in his personal space. ‘Scarlett
Blake,’ he grumbled, struggling up, ‘I hope you haven’t been abusing your
ability to Travel. It’s tiring, you know, and I told you to use it only for –’

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ I said, offering him a hand. ‘FYI,
that’s only the second Travel I’ve done since coming back.’

‘Good.’ He took my hand and stood, but didn’t let me go.
Swapping the chastising tone for a gentle one, he said, ‘Ready?’

No,
I thought.

‘Yes,’ I said.

I just had time to hear him say ‘It’ll be fine’ before the
cottage melted away around us.

*

We arrived on a lawn fringed with carefully tended
flowerbeds. It was like stepping from a low-budget, poorly lit movie into
glorious HD Technicolour. Everything was a little brighter, a little more
colourful; even the bees in the lavender seemed buzzier. Without a word, Jude
led the way up the path towards the large white building that dominated the
island – Cerulean HQ – and I followed along, taking in deep breaths of fresh
air.

The doors to the conservatory were flung open and we headed
directly to them. I got a glimpse of a group of people inside, watching our
approach, and promptly stumbled over the doorstep. Jude reached out and
steadied me, and before my fear could plunge me into some further embarrassing
act – face-planting on the tiled floor, say, or shouting out, ‘Hey, Great-Gran,
how goes it?’ – I was being greeted by my fellow Ceruleans:

‘Welcome back, Scarlett.’

‘You’re looking well.’

‘Lovely day for it.’

‘So good to see you.’

‘Missed you.’

This last from Estelle, from the depths of a bone-crunching
hug.

Nathaniel ushered us all into the dining room, to sit at a
long table he’d set for lunch. I was seated between Adam, Estelle’s partner,
and Michael. The other chairs were occupied by the older vanguard of the
island: Nathanial, James, Paul, Tobias and, presiding over us all from the head
of the table, Evangeline. Once we’d bowed our heads obediently as she said
grace, Nathaniel urged us to tuck into his chicken parmigiana, created entirely
from island-grown ingredients, he told us proudly (I tried not to think of the
happy little chickens I’d once fed in the yard).

As we ate, Evangeline carefully steered the conversation
along safe lines: a recent sports day at the boys’ school, Kikorangi; the
purchase of a new milking cow, which Estelle had named Madonna; the plans for
the Lux Beneficent Society’s next fundraiser. We were all polite, we were all
friendly, we were all model dinner party guests, and yet a single word echoed
in my head:

Awkward.

First, there was Estelle and Adam. He was quieter than I
remembered, a little withdrawn, while she was more vocal, and there was an edge
to her that I didn’t recognise.

Michael, meanwhile, was no doubt there on Evangeline’s
instruction; she must have thought that he’d put me at ease given that we were
friends. And we were friends, I thought, but there was little sense of it at
lunch. If I caught his eye, he looked away. If I asked him a question, he
answered concisely. It would have been easy to assume that he felt guilty, here
in the company of both me and Evangeline, for the way he’d covertly helped me
in the past weeks. But guilt wasn’t an emotion I associated with Michael. He
was aloof, yes, but he seemed certain in himself and his choices.

Nathaniel, at least, was his usual calm and cheery self, but
there was no doubting that Evangeline was far from either of those moods. Jude
was right: she was different. She put on a good performance of being the
Mother, but she looked older and thinner, and her fingers wouldn’t be still,
constantly smoothing invisible creases in the tablecloth or fiddling with her
napkin ring.

I didn’t know what to make of her. I’d never been able to
fathom this woman. At times, she’d seemed like the ultimate mother indeed –
warm, loving, understanding, generous. But there were cracks in her façade. She
lied to me. She couldn’t be trusted. And yet here I was, hoping to get the
truth from her today, which suggested I had some degree of faith in her. Why?

Because she’s family,
said a quiet voice inside.

It was an unsettling reason. Because since that dark
alleyway in Newquay, when I’d disowned my own sister, I’d fought against the
pull of family. My father, who’d left. My sister, who’d left. They were nothing
to me.

It was easier to believe that blood didn’t matter. Easier,
but not entirely truthful.

*

After lunch, Evangeline suggested we ‘youngsters’ take a
walk around the island. The eager agreement by all betrayed that it wasn’t only
me who’d found the atmosphere at the table stifling. Only Michael declined,
explaining that he had work to be getting on with and then excusing himself
swiftly.

‘Perhaps you could come and find me when you’re back,
Scarlett, and we can catch up over a pot of tea?’ suggested Evangeline.

‘Of course,’ I said at once.

I returned her smile, and then followed Jude and Estelle and
Adam outside. I was glad that Evangeline was framing our chat in such relaxed
terms. But most of all I was glad, right now, to escape her company and the
confusion she stirred up in me.

Shell Beach was quickly decided on as the destination for
our walk, and Adam and Jude strode off, leaving Estelle and me to catch up.
Estelle slipped her arm through mine and touched her head briefly to my
shoulder.

‘Missed you,’ she said.

‘Missed you too,’ I told her.

‘You left without saying goodbye.’

‘I know. I’m sorry. There was no time.’

‘But you wouldn’t have told me the truth anyway, would you?
That you weren’t in love with Jude and you weren’t staying on this island.’
Before I could answer she added, ‘I don’t blame you. I was very loyal to this
place.’

‘Was?’

She glanced ahead, at Adam and Jude, then back at me. ‘There
are changes afoot,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Evangeline doesn’t talk of your
leaving. She wants everything to carry on as it was, before you came. But it’s
not that simple. You changed things.’

‘I did?’

‘You did. For one thing, you exposed the lie that women
can’t Travel.’

‘How do you know I can Travel? Surely Evangeline let it be
known that it was Jude who took me away?’

‘Yes, she did. But I cornered Jude once he was back and wheedled
the whole story out of him.’ Estelle grinned. ‘I can be very persuasive, you
know. Poor bloke didn’t know what had hit him.’

‘And he calls
me
manipulative...’

‘Well, we girls have to play to our strengths. But it’s Adam
I have to work on now. To get him onside.’

‘Onside with what?’

She evaded the question. ‘Leaving like that and not coming
back – it was brave, Scarlett, really brave. It made me think long and hard
about who I’ve become on this island. How the relief at being in a safe place
has made me willing to bow my head and do as I’m told.’

‘But Estelle, you like it here,’ I reminded her. ‘You love
Adam, you love having babies – you get Cerulea in a way I never did.’

‘That’s true,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to walk away, like
you did – though I understand why you have, and I respect that. But I do want
more freedom.’

‘And how are you going to achieve that?’

‘Let’s just say I’m working on it. And that, Scarlett Blake,
escapee Cerulean, is all I’m saying for now.’

I stopped and stared at her. There was so much I wanted to
ask her, gripped as I was by excitement (changes in Cerulea?) and fear (would
Estelle and Adam end up Outcast?). But she tugged me onwards and said brightly,
‘So, Ms Dark Horse, tell me all about this luscious
Luke
of yours.’

*

We left the big house sensible, mature. We were Ceruleans
after all – bearing weighty, life-changing responsibility. But somewhere
between the cliff top overlooking Shell Beach and the vast, pale expanse of
sand, we shed all the shoulds and musts and leapt into the fantasy that as well
as being young we were free.

We kicked off our shoes and raced each other across sand so
soft it sucked at every footfall. We threw seaweed at each other and whooped
when we scored a hit. We rolled up our jeans and paddled in the surf, and then
kicked in it, and then splashed in it. We played a riotous game of football
with a ball Estelle produced from a nearby rock pool. We held a ‘most
interesting thing found on the beach’ competition, and Jude won for his
discovery of a lesser spotted dogfish washed up on the eastern rocks.

Finally, we collapsed, giddy and giggly, on the beach.

‘There,’ said Adam. ‘See it? There – on that wave. Dorsal
fin. Has to be. I’m telling you, Jude’s dogfish pales in comparison.’

‘Not. A. Shark,’ Estelle and I repeated in unison.

‘Seriously, mate,’ said Jude. ‘Would I ever have taken
Scarlett out surfing off this beach if the waters were shark-infested?’

‘It
is
a shark!’ protested Adam. ‘I’m sure of it! A
basking shark – the gentle giant of the sea. Second largest fish in the
ocean...’

Adam was animated and firmly in teacher mode; I’d seen him
like this when he looked after the children on the island. The kids loved it,
but judging by the grimace on her face, Estelle was less enthralled.