OF DREAMS AND CEREMONIES (15 page)

"Yes. And a rose … ?"

"Which is England's." They stared some more in silence before Nicholas observed, "That's you and me. I mean, okay, you wore eucalyptus flowers for the wedding, but otherwise - that's you and me."

"And the gold ribbons - " Dave said a bit faintly, remembering their wedding night. Which no one but Denise and possibly Vittorio could have any idea about. Surely.

"They're not exactly the same kind of ribbons," Nicholas cautiously offered. "Gauze rather than satin."

"It's still kind of creepy," said Dave. He looked about them, but the countryside seemed deserted, the coastal path was empty. "I suppose," he tried, "it could be meant nicely. Kind of … done in our honour. If you see what I mean."

"Could be," Nicholas agreed. "Do you think maybe … Bert?"

Dave laughed. "If it was Bert, he wouldn't have bothered with the wattle. It's you he fell for, Nicholas."

"Oh. Well, I guess that takes us back to creepy instead of nice."

"Maybe that's our imaginations working overtime again," Dave added, diplomatically going for
our
rather than
your
.

"Maybe."

"Well," said Dave at last. The sky was clear, but the wind was cold, and he was dressed in nothing warmer than a light sweater. "Let's have breakfast, anyway. No harm in breakfast, eh?"

"No harm at all," Nicholas agreed. And they walked back down to their snug, safe little cottage, hand still clasping hand.

twelve

Dave woke alone in the small hours again, and saw that the curtains were half open - again. He sighed, and waited in the blissfully comfortable bed for a moment or two, just in case Nicholas had got up for the bathroom. But of course that wasn't it. Eventually Dave sighed once more, and grumbled to himself about broken promises, before climbing out of bed and padding barefoot through to peer out of one of the front windows. Nicholas wasn't out at the cliff edge. Dave went back to the bedroom and looked out to check whether he could see anything happening up at the stone circle. Something seemed a bit off-kilter up there, but there was no Nicholas.

Right.

Dave quickly hauled his jeans on over his nightgear, then his boots, and shrugged on his coat. He picked up his mobile phone and - despite the fact it was a clear moonlit night - he collected the torch from the kitchen on his way out for good measure. It was one of the heftier Maglites.

The wind seemed to have blown itself out at last, and the night-shrouded countryside seemed quiet and still. There was no sign of Nicholas. Dave felt anxiety settle like a stone in his stomach.

He didn't have much of a clue about where to start looking, but he figured the standing stones were as good as anywhere. Also, there had seemed to be something a bit odd about them, though looking up at them now Dave still couldn't quite pin down exactly what or why.

As Dave walked away from the cottage towards the stones, however, he thought he heard something from beyond the cliff edge. A voice, perhaps, shouting out angrily. Certainly something, though he could be projecting human qualities onto a bird's cry or a wave's crash.

He headed towards the cliff, not too proud to lower himself to hands and knees once he got close, and cautiously shifted forward until he could at last poke his head over the edge just far enough to peer down.

One thing was immediately apparent, and that was the boat moored just off the little beach at the foot of the cliff, a boat that was of much the same shape and type as Bert's
Fortune Teller
and the other small fishing boats they'd seen at Cadgwith. There was also a dinghy drawn up on the sand. The beach seemed empty otherwise -

Until a figure stepped out from the cliff's foot, collected something from the dinghy, and cradling it in both arms took it back to where he'd come from - not breaking his stride even once as he neared the cliff, so Dave thought there must be some kind of cave down there, even if not an extensive one.

There was the sound of a voice again, and then an answering one. So that was at least two people involved. And Dave couldn't help but fear that Nicholas had got himself mixed up in this somehow. He had no idea what was going on - though it was hard not to think smugglers - but if Nicholas was down there, then Dave had to go fetch him back. That was all.

How Dave was supposed to get down there himself was another matter. He didn't have a boat, and it would take too long to try tracking down Bert in the middle of the night; Dave had no idea where he lived. The cliff was obviously impossible for him to scale; the rock face wasn't even, but all the ragged folds and edges ran vertically.

Dave scrambled backwards, got up to his feet, and looked around. There was nothing. No clues or hints as to how to proceed.

But his attention was again caught by the stone circle. There had been something odd, he remembered … That would have to do as a starting place.

Dave headed up to the circle as fast as he could - and was gobsmacked for a moment by what he found.

The altar stone in the centre of the circle had been shifted by about half its width towards the sea, to reveal a hole in the ground with crudely-hewn stone steps leading down into the dark. Dave stared at it for a long moment, then switched on the torch to see what else he could make out.

There wasn't much. The steps - some man-made and some raw rock - continued down into what otherwise looked to be a natural fissure. There was also a rope running along just overhead, which reached the entrance and then doubled back. Dave's first guess was that this was to provide handholds, but changed his mind when he realised the rope seemed to follow its own route directly down into the darkness at a steep angle, while the steps twisted around out of sight just two or three metres down.

Right. If there was a cave behind the beach at the foot of the cliff, then Dave had to assume this led down to it. And if Nicholas was nowhere else to be found, then Dave figured he must have come up to the stone circle to investigate - despite Bert's warnings, or maybe because of them - and ended up stumbling into whoever had brought that boat to the beach. And he must be down there now.

Dave took a breath. Had another look around him at the surrounding countryside - which still seemed deserted. And then took the first step down into the tunnel.

At irregular intervals the steps and the bits of pathway - such as they were - rejoined the rope in its more direct descent. Dave made his way down through the cliff as quickly as he dared, hanging onto the rope where he could and otherwise keeping at least one hand in contact with solid rock. At some stage, however, the rope running over his head began to move. He'd had hold of it at the time, and was startled enough to almost lose his balance, but steadied himself with both hands against the rough rock walls.

The fissure wound down through the cliff almost vertically. At two points so far, the makeshift stairs had been replaced by wooden ladders fastened to the rock in a ramshackle way.

Dave continued on, no longer using the rope which kept moving fairly steadily. Eventually a package hanging off the loose length of rope loomed into the circle of light cast by his torch. It was startling, but by then he'd half-expected it, so he simply crouched down where he was until the package trundled on past him. It seemed to be a canvas bag holding a clumsy collection of objects that rattled together. Whether that meant smuggling or not, Dave didn't care very much at this point.

What he cared about was Nicholas.

Eventually the fissure opened out into a larger cave, and Dave followed a foot-worn path further down until at last he could hear the waves surging onto the beach, and under it a murmur of voices. He switched off the torch, and carefully made his way nearer. He figured it was worth his while remaining hidden until he could work out what was going on, so Dave crept towards the cave mouth staying low behind a ridge of rocks.

At last he could look out past the far edge - and the first thing his gaze swooped upon was Nicholas. Dave's heart thudded in relief as he took in the sight of his husband, alive, in one piece and apparently unhurt. He was sitting on a rock next to Bert. They both seemed anxious, and concerned for each other, and Nicholas's posture seemed a little cowed. Dave suddenly felt swamped with hatred for whoever had bowed Nicholas's head and rounded his shoulders.

The apparent object of his hatred strode into view. It was Vincent, of course - looking rather spectacular, even Dave had to admit, with his wetsuit peeled off down to the waist and his chest still alluringly wet. The man was gesturing angrily and demanding, "Well, what d'you think we're gonna do now?!"

Bert gazed back at Vincent with pathetic sorrow, but Nicholas set his jaw. "You're going to let us part ways without any more threats," Nicholas said. "That's what's going to happen."

Vincent sneered. "What, so you can run off to the cops and spoil my game?"

"I don't even know what your game is." Nicholas turned to consider his companion again. "I get the impression that Bert wants out, but if you let him go - if you quit using him and there are no other victims, then I actually don't care very much about you carrying on smuggling or whatever."

"Don't try to con a con."

"I'm not." Nicholas's posture suddenly straightened and his tones and demeanour became more aristocratic than Dave had ever witnessed in him before. "I'm sure
my
class cares as little as
yours
does for legal restraints on self-interest."

Vincent's devilish eyes seemed to fire with fellow feeling. "You understand, then," he said, stepping forward to plead his case. "There's this old frigate down there. Not burdened with treasure, but enough to set a man up nicely. Finders keepers: that's fair, isn't it?"

"It seems fair to me," Nicholas said with convincing sincerity. "But the less you tell me, the less I know, if push ever comes to shove."

Vincent was too stirred up to quit, though. "It's three months in the clink and a five-grand fine just for not
telling
them about a treasure trove. Not to mention having to hand it over."

Nicholas dared to raise a sceptical brow. "They pay you for it, don't they?"

"Yeah, but as little as they can get away with. Anyway: finders keepers. Fair's fair."

"Agreed," Nicholas crisply replied. Then he turned to Bert, and said in a quietly encouraging voice, "Was there something you wanted to say to Vincent, Bert?"

A silence dragged while Bert gathered himself. He seemed oddly bashful for such a potentially dangerous situation. Eventually he said - to Nicholas - "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You must always ask your friends for help when you need it. Now, what did you want to say to Vincent … ?"

Bert finally brought himself to echo Nicholas's words in a small voice: "I want out, Vincent."

"Oh,
do
you?" Vincent retorted. "
Why
?"

"Don't wanna go to jail - nor pay such a fine!"

"Chances are we'll get away with this. No one knew until you got this fellow curious." Vincent gestured angrily at Nicholas.

"Feels as if everyone knows - and no one likes me for it - and it frets me - when all I want to worry about is fishing and taking a few people out on boat trips, and making them happy. I'm such a simple man, Vincent."

"Oh come on, Bert," Vincent said in increasing frustration. "It's almost winter, anyway. It's not like we'll have more than another one or two trips this season."

Bert sat there quite woebegone.

"See this season out with me, and then we take a break. We don't have to decide about next season - not for months yet."

Bert was upset, though he managed to repeat quite firmly, "I want out."

"And the cash?"

"Don't want it. Haven't used it." He gazed up at Vincent as if eager to please. "You can have it all back, Vincent, if you want. Well, almost all," he added with scrupulous honesty. "You know I had the
Teller's
engine overhauled … You can have the rest!"

Vincent growled in annoyance, and turned away. "Where am I gonna find another boat? Who's gonna crew for me?"

Nicholas replied rather crisply, "I'm sure that's your own concern, and not Bert's. Not any more. Although,"

Nicholas added with a glint of humour, "if you try walking around town dressed like that I'm sure you'll find a man soon enough who's willing to do your bidding."

A finger stabbed through the air towards Nicholas. "Don't you
dare
count me in with your queer lot!"

"Well," Nicholas retorted, "quit taking advantage of a good man's affections, and I won't!"

A silence seemed to indicate that Vincent acknowledged the hits and was stuck for further arguments. Bert had apparently achieved his goal. Which would have felt better if it wasn't partly due to Vincent not wanting to be seen as Bert's partner in life as well as crime.

More importantly than that, though, Dave felt so bloody proud of Nicholas for having handled this with such firm tact. The only question that remained was how they could all withdraw from the current situation with good grace.

"Well," Nicholas eventually continued, apparently thinking along the same lines. "What usually happens now? Vincent follows his treasure up to the surface, and drives away in his suspiciously expensive car - "

Vincent swung back around to glare at him. Nicholas didn't even falter. Dave just loved him to the stars and back.

" - and Bert, you take the boat back to Cadgwith, do you?"

"I spend the night out on the boat, and go ashore at dawn."

"Oh … because of the boat having to be hauled out of the sea? There isn't anyone to do that for you at this time of night?"

"That's right. It's not that there isn't, but it draws attention we don't want."

Nicholas nodded. "All right. So there's no reason why we three can't go our own separate ways, then, is there? You two just do as you usually do, and I'll climb up to the stones with Vincent and then head back to the cottage."

Bert gasped a little, and grasped Nicholas's closest hand. "No, you'd better come with me on the boat."

"If I don't show up until morning, David will be worried. He might already be wondering where I am. I can't do that to him - and you don't want him raising hell trying to find me."