Miranda's Mount (27 page)

‘Ready!’ Fred the harbourmaster, acting as adjudicator, raised his hand as the crowd simmered.

‘This is it then,’ Jago shouted across the line.

‘May the best man win,’ called Theo.

‘Shouldn’t that be best men?’

‘You know what I mean, mate.’

Miranda closed her eyes briefly.
Oh, bloody hell.

‘Testosterone is a mixed blessing,’ murmured Ronnie. ‘I think I might have to practise some restraining techniques after this.’

‘Pull!’

At Fred’s cry, the teams took up the strain. Their faces grew scarlet, veins stood out on their arms and their grunts became almost bestial. It might be only a game but the sixteen men at either end of that rope were treating it like all-out war. The lifeboat crew’s supporters yelled at the tops of their voices, the staff’s families bellowed even louder. First, Jago’s team, then Theo’s, inched close to the line. Reggie’s eyes bulged alarmingly and one of the rugby team had turned puce. Miranda wondered if the new defibrillator in the medical room was working. Just in case.

Theo
edged closer to the line, heels digging into the ground, as the Mount team had the upper hand. The Mount team were going to win! She held her breath and her hands flew to her mouth. Another few feet and Jago’s team would have dragged Theo over. Suddenly, Neem let out a great roar and, in seconds, Theo had shot backwards. Jago staggered forwards, stumbling over the line and falling flat on his face in a cloud of sawdust. Theo’s team had won and the air was filled with cheering and whistling and clapping.

Neem grinned, looking as cool as if he’d been for a walk in the park, until Ronnie hurtled into him and almost strangled him with her hug. Miranda had the distinct impression that Neem had been toying with them; he was barely out of breath. As Jago lay sprawled on the cobbles, she ran forwards to help him but Theo got there first.

He held out his hand to Jago. ‘Sorry, mate, but the best men won.’

Ignoring him, Jago pushed himself to his feet. Sweat poured off his forehead and he was red-faced with effort, anger and humiliation.

‘Are you OK? Both of you?’ asked Miranda.

‘Fine. Well done to your team,’ Jago squeezed out, finally extending a hand to Theo.

Ignoring it, Theo put his arm around Miranda’s shoulders and Jago’s expression turned stormy.

‘We thought it would make better entertainment for the crowds if we let you win the first round,’ said Theo.

In despair at both of them, she freed herself from Theo’s arm and stood apart.

Jago tried to smile but only managed to snarl, ‘Excuse me, I need a shower. Miranda’s promised to lock me in the stocks later.’

Theo’s response was a snort. ‘Really? Well, maybe that’s just what you need, a nice long sit-down, mate. See you later.’

Miranda almost gasped. They were pathetic, both of them.

‘Right. The tug-of-war is over,’ she said. ‘And if you two
gentlemen
don’t mind, I’ve got things to do.’

An hour
later, the crowds showed no sign of thinning. Some of the densest were over by the coconut shy where Lady St Merryn twirled her plaits like Rapunzel meets Ride of the Valkyries. ‘Roll up, roll up!’ Miranda heard her shout, then smiled and felt a pang of regret. She squashed it down, determined to enjoy every last moment, even though the day was racing faster than the tide.

Ronnie found her hiding behind a shed at the back of the offices, drinking a bottle of water and bolting down a rather squishy Mars bar.

‘How’s it going?’

Miranda
swallowed her mouthful of chocolate. ‘It’s crazy, but look at all the people. It’s going to be a record year. How are you doing? Any incidents I should know about?’

‘One heated argument over at the coconut shy; one attempt to dive off the terrace Acapulco style.’

Miranda groaned. ‘You are joking!’

‘No. Couple of kids from the village thought they’d move on from tomb stoning, but they’ve been shown the error of their ways. Look, I’m sorry to disturb your break but we need someone to supervise the stocks and take the money for half an hour. Do you have time to do it?’

Miranda threw the last part of her Mars bar into a rubbish bin. ‘Not really but I will. Who’s in there?’

‘One of the lifeboatmen but it’s Jago’s turn soon. Have you seen him?’

‘No. I’ll try and track him down.’

Maybe he’d backed out, thought Miranda, as she fought her way through the crowds to the stocks, licking chocolate off her fingers on the way. But she was wrong – Jago was already waiting.

‘Bet you thought I’d bottled it?’

‘Of course not,’ she lied, hoping he wouldn’t mention Theo.

‘When you didn’t come, I thought you might be otherwise engaged by now.’ Jago left her in no doubt of whom he was referring to.

Miranda bit her lip and pointed to the stocks. ‘Get yourself in there, villain.’

‘Whatever you say, Miss Whiplash.’ After he’d positioned himself on the wooden block, worn shiny by hundreds of unfortunate bottoms, Miranda slotted the wood on top of his ankles and locked it, pocketing the key. Already a new crowd had gathered, all eager to have a turn at soaking and taunting someone fresh. The fact that the someone was the owner of the castle had not escaped a few of the visitors.

‘I can see I’m going to be popular,’ said Jago as Miranda filled a bucket with water to soak the sponges.

‘One
thing you can rely on is that a thirst for public humiliation never goes out of fashion.’ She held up a dripping sponge and shouted to the eager-eyed crowd, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I’m here to tell you that this pathetic-looking miscreant has been sentenced to half an hour in the stocks.’

Jago’s jaw dropped. ‘Half an hour? I thought you said ten minutes!’

‘Oh, you’ve been far too wicked for that, you dirty, wicked, horrible pirate scum.’

‘That’s going too far,’ he growled.

‘Be thankful it’s only wet sponges, not rotten fruit and veg.’

‘What’s a miscreant?’ asked a small boy.

Miranda wrung out a sponge. ‘It’s a very naughty person. So, who will help this terrible pirate get what he deserves?’

A chorus of ‘me’s’ filled the air and a dozen arms shot up in unison. Miranda handed the bucket to a teenage girl in exchange for a pound coin.

‘Do ye worst, varlet,’ Jago snarled. ‘I’m Cap’n Jago and I … bloody he–’

His words were
cut off as a wet sponge hit him smack on the nose. Miranda clamped a hand over his mouth. ‘Sorry for Pirate Jago’s language, ladies and gentlemen, but I did warn you he was
very
wicked.’

Umpteen sponges later, Jago’s hair was plastered to his head. He licked water from around his lips and snarled, ‘I’ll have you keelhauled, boy!’

The little boy shrieked in delight, wound up his arm and launched his final sponge. It flew through the air and knocked off Jago’s eye patch as the crowd cheered.

‘Yay! I got him again! Mum, can I have another go?’

Jago shook his head like a dog, sending droplets of water spraying into the air.

‘Mum, can I smack him again?’ The boy hopped up and down like Tigger.

‘Not now, Jake. I want to go round the craft stalls.’

‘But, Mum!’

Taking his hand, his mother dragged him away from the bucket. Jago sighed in relief.

A man rolled his sleeves up and grinned. ‘It’s my turn, now. I think Pirate Jago needs a good going over. I used to bowl for my school, you know.’

Shit. Miranda was getting worried. She’d wanted Jago to suffer but he’d taken over twenty minutes of punishment from children, teenagers, grannies, mums and dads. Three times she’d had to ask some of the fathers in football shirts to show a little restraint but Jago had ruined any of her efforts by growling pirate oaths and insulting their chosen teams. One man, with a huge belly and barbed wire for hair, had spent six pounds on sponges and would have carried on if Miranda hadn’t put a limit on the number of goes.

‘Do
you have a death wish or something?’ she hissed as she switched on the tap and thrust the hose in the bucket to fill it. Her ballet shoes and clothes were soaked, but she was more worried about Jago.

‘I just want to make as much money for Theo’s good cause as possible.’

She shook her head. ‘The tug-of-war is over, you know. This isn’t a battle.’

‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, wench.’

Miranda turned off the tap and stood up. Six rounds of sponges later and there was still a queue lining up. Jago shook away water droplets from his hair and growled menacingly. He reached his arms into the air, laced his fingers together and stretched. The sodden shirt clung to his chest and stomach. His breeches were soaking. He must be freezing because his nipples were showing through the white cotton. Jago caught her staring at him and she rolled her eyes and mouthed ‘You’re crazy.’

A teenage girl jingled coins. ‘Me next!’

Miranda shook her head. ‘I’m sorry but think Pirate Jago has taken enough punishment for now.’

The crowd groaned in disappointment.

A little girl said plaintively. ‘I want to throw a sponge at the pirate, Mummy!’

Miranda smiled. ‘We’ll put someone else in the stocks later. There are lots of other attractions and they’re all in a good cause for the lifeboats.’

A large woman huffed. ‘I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes to do him.’

‘I am
sorry, madam, but he’s had enough for now. Please, come back later. I’ll allow three more turns but for under threes only.’

The teenagers thumped off in disgust but the little girl hopped up and down so Miranda took the money from the girl’s father.

‘I make children walk the plank!’ Jago bellowed.

Not ten, but at least a dozen turns later, Jago finally gave in and allowed Miranda to unlock the wooden plank that held him in the stocks.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked as the crowd dispersed, muttering.

He straightened up, wincing. ‘Yes, but I’m not sure I have a coccyx any more. Jesus. Some of those kids could be in the England first XI.’

‘It was the fathers I worried about. Why on earth did you have to taunt them?’

Jago put his hands on his hips and circled his pelvis. Miranda knew he was only stretching his back but she wished he wouldn’t. ‘It got more money for Theo’s boat fund didn’t it?’

‘You’re acting like a spoiled boy,’ said Miranda.

He grabbed her arm. ‘Am I?’

The silence hung between them for a moment. ‘Jago, what happens between me and Theo is none of your business.’

‘No. Of course not. I just don’t want you to get hurt.’

‘Isn’t it a bit late for that?’ She could have bitten out her tongue.

‘What the hell has he done to you?’

So, Jago thought
Theo
had hurt her. ‘He hasn’t done anything to me.’

‘Then what did you mean, that it’s a bit late?’

‘Nothing.
I meant nothing. No, no, I do mean something,’ she said, exasperated beyond the limit. ‘I hate it when you two act like dogs scrapping over an old bone!’

Jago’s startled expression was quickly replaced with a bitter smile. ‘An old bone? That’s brilliant, Miranda. Now I know what you’ve always reminded me of.’

‘It’s not funny! You and Theo are like stroppy teenagers when I’m around. It’s as if you’ve never grown up past fifteen. It’s ridiculous.’

The smile disappeared from his face as quickly as it had appeared. ‘You’re absolutely right. I am behaving like a teenager but I promise to stop from now on. I can’t answer for Theo; you’ll have to ask him why he seems to hate the sight of me though I can hazard a guess. I expect he thinks I’ve come home to claim my
droit de seigneur
over you.’

This was so close to Miranda’s one-time fantasy that she felt her face grow red. ‘I can’t stand here arguing. I’ve got enough to do.’ She picked up the bucket and shoved it at him. She saw Ronnie in the distance, pushing her way through the crowds, waving frantically at her. She didn’t want to get caught arguing with Jago. ‘Please, leave me alone and find something useful to do.’

Jago, with a face like thunder, ignored the bucket and stalked off towards the castle path.

‘Security coming through, folks. Thank you very much!’ Visitors parted like the Red Sea as Ronnie shouldered her way through. Red-faced and panting, she reached Miranda. ‘Bloody hell, where have you been? We’ve been looking everywhere for you. You don’t have your radio.’

Miranda
patted her skirt pocket, still reeling from her confrontation with Jago. ‘Haven’t I? I must have left it in the office. What’s up?’

‘South West TV want an interview with his lordship, or failing that, they said someone in charge will do. Have you seen him?’

‘Um. Not since we finished the stocks. He should be back soon.’ Or maybe not if he found out the TV wanted an interview with him, she guessed.

‘Tough. We can’t wait for him. The telly people are getting pissed off and I think they’ll leave if someone doesn’t speak to them soon. Can you do it?’

She glanced down at her damp clothes. ‘Looking like this?’

‘I expect the ratings will go through the roof. And our visitor numbers. Shit, that’s them, coming over now.’

The cameraman, a sound recordist and a presenter, who Miranda recognised from the evening news programme, headed straight for them.

‘Oh no.’

‘Smile,’ hissed Ronnie.

The reporter thrust a microphone in Miranda’s face and beamed. ‘Well, you look as if you’ve been enjoying yourself! Miranda Marshall is the property manager of St Merryn’s Mount, where the annual Festival of Fools is in full swing. Miranda, we’re live on South West Television’s afternoon bulletin. How’s the day gone so far?’

Live? Oh no! Miranda didn’t have time to think. ‘Um. Fantastic. We’ve got even more visitors than we’d expected and everyone seems to be having a great time.’

Ronnie
hovered by, almost bursting with glee, as Miranda did her duty. She’d given interviews and presentations before, but never wearing a wet wench’s outfit. She felt her hair tickling her face and her neck where it had long ago escaped its ponytail.

But the way she looked was the least of her worries. Her blood went cold as a sudden dread struck her. What if any rumours about the sale had reached the press? She didn’t see how they could have done, as none of the staff knew, but it was always possible. That would be an absolute disaster.