Plotted in Cornwall (11 page)

‘Just the one, then we’ll eat or it’ll be a bit of a rush,’ Barry said.

In the short time they were in the upstairs bar the sea fret had thickened. Droplets of moisture hung in the air beneath the occasional lamp affixed to the buildings and muffled their footsteps as they crossed the road. There were no streetlights to illuminate the partially cobbled winding street.

‘So you’re match-making now,’ Barry commented when Rose described Miranda’s visit and Joel’s reaction that evening.

‘No.’ Rose studied the menu. ‘They’re very fond of each other, but not in that way.’

‘What if her mother or his father finds out?’

‘I haven’t done anything illegal Barry.’

‘No, but the girl could easily have picked up the phone. Why all the secrecy? And why are you in collusion with them?’

‘Whose side are you on?’

‘Yours, Rose. Always yours, you know that. But you may have overstepped the mark this time.’

‘God, you men are all the same. I’m only trying to help.’

Barry thumbed his glasses into place. ‘No,
you’re not. You want to find out what’s going on. Maybe we should pick up a couple of shovels and see if we can dig up the body.’

‘Don’t be facetious.’

The waiter approached their table and they gave their order. ‘Have you heard from Jack?’ Barry asked, hoping he had managed to sound conversational.

‘Yes. He’s coming on Christmas Eve and he’s bringing Anna.’

‘Oh?’ Barry’s grin was wry.

Rose blushed. He had guessed her motives for the invitation. ‘There are no hard feelings. I couldn’t not ask him. You’re still going to act as my host, I hope.’

‘Naturally.’

‘Good.’

The meal arrived and they ate their baltis in silence for a few minutes. Tomorrow Joel would be reunited with his cousin. Rose would have loved to be present. Unfortunately there would be no opportunity to speak to him until after the break when classes resumed, unless he contacted her, or Miranda did.

‘This Frank Jordan, have you heard any more?’ Barry might have been reading her mind.

‘No.’

‘Then maybe he’s turned up, collected his inheritance or whatever, and gone back to wherever he came from.’

It was a possibility but seemed unlikely.

‘What do you think they did with the body. Rose? What would you have done?’

‘Oh, drop it, you’ll give me indigestion.’

‘I’m serious. Come on, give me your views.’

She put down her fork and leaned forward, her forearms resting on the table. ‘All right, here’s what I think happened.’

As she explained, Barry’s jaw dropped. ‘You’d have made as good a criminal as an artist,’ he said when she had finished. ‘Bloody ingenious if you’re right.’

Rose sipped her wine, pleased that Barry hadn’t laughed at her. And how it would teach Jack Pearce a lesson if indeed she was right.

Dressed in jeans, sweatshirt and a short woollen jacket Miranda felt more like her old self as she waited for Joel. As children, the churchyard with its crumbling tombstones had fascinated them. They used to make up stories about the people who occupied the ancient vaults. Now, on a grey
December day with a fine drizzle dampening her clothes, the place seemed very ordinary to Miranda.

They saw each other simultaneously Miranda jumped up from the marble surround of the grave upon which she had been sitting and walked towards Joel. How quickly all those months fell away. It was as if she had never left. And how little I’ve thought of Michael since my return, she realised. She had spoken to him twice but there had seemed little to say. Maybe she had seen him as her salvation in London but no longer needed him now that she was home.

‘How are you?’ Joel asked quietly, noticing the change in Miranda. Once he would have hugged her without thinking, now he held back. She seemed more mature and fashionable although she was thinner and her face was pinched. Beside her he felt ridiculous in his sixth form uniform which served to accentuate the difference in their ages.

‘I’m fine. You?’

Joel shrugged. ‘Okay. Why didn’t you write?’

They both sat on the edge of the grave, their hands in their pockets. Moisture clung
to their hair and their clothes but neither of them noticed. ‘I don’t know. There were things going on that I didn’t understand and no one would talk to me about them.’

‘You could’ve talked to me.’

‘I didn’t want to involve you.’

‘We were all worried sick.’

‘I know that now. Maybe what I did seems wrong, but I meant it for the best.’

‘You know about your father, I take it?’

‘What about him?’ There was a hint of panic in her voice.

‘Take it easy. I only meant someone wants to find him.’

‘Oh, that.’ She sighed and when she looked up there were tears in her eyes. ‘I missed you all so much, Joel. You mightn’t believe me, but it’s true.’

‘We missed you, too. Do you want to tell me about it, about the real reason you disappeared like that?’

She nodded. ‘But this is between ourselves. You must swear to me that it goes no further.’

‘I give you my word.’

But when she had finished talking Joel doubted if he would be able to keep to that promise for ever.

‘An’ Cyril, he says to me, he says, “Make sure you take Rose some of my carrots. She can do some of they flower-shaped garnishes like they do in fancy restaurants.” Not that Cyril would know, bless ’un, but he do like to look at them cookery programmes because of the veg.’

Laura, head tilted, winked at Rose. Doreen Clarke, a stiff white apron secured around her sturdy body, was in her element and had not stopped talking since her arrival an hour earlier. She liked both Rose and Laura and to be spending Sunday morning in Rose’s kitchen helping to prepare the food for the Christmas Eve buffet was a pleasure she would not have missed. All that they were preparing that day could be frozen. Rose and Laura were concentrating on flans and pastry, Doreen’s contribution would be two large gateaux. She was a self-taught cook. Having learned basic skills from her mother she had finally surpassed her in talent.

‘Course, I said to Cyril ’tweren’t no good bringing ’un over yet. They’ve got to be fresh and cut up on the day. But don’t you worry none, I’ll see to them myself and bring them over on the night. I’ll drop ’un in a bowl of iced water and they’ll keep lovely.’

Rose shook her head imperceptibly, keeping her eyes on the mixer in which the pastry dough was turning. If she even glanced at Laura they would both start laughing.

There was barely room for the three of them to work but they’d organised themselves well; Rose one side of the kitchen, Laura on the other where she was slicing steak and vegetables for the pasties. Doreen, at the table in the middle of the room, was surrounded by various icing nozzles and food colourings. She had insisted upon mixing everything by hand. The sponges were already in the oven and could be smelled as they cooked.

‘Your man at sea, then?’ she asked Laura, unable to bear a lull in the conversation.

‘Yes. He’s landing on Tuesday. This is his last trip until the New Year.’

‘You’ll be pleased to see ’en, then, maid. It’s always a worry when they’re out there.’ Doreen no longer considered the danger Cyril had been in when he had worked
down the mine. Those days were long over and she had forgotten what it was like to wait for the siren to herald the change of shift when he would rise to the surface and safety. That was in the days before they had moved to Hayle.

‘I think we deserve a break,’ Rose said, wiping her hands on the dishcloth. On the worktop were pastry circles cut from around the edge of a saucer. Full-size pasties were out of the question as there was other food. All that would be left to do on the day was to mix the salads and lay out the bread, cold meats and cheeses.

Rose filled the kettle to make coffee as the filter machine had been moved to make room for the baking. Doreen and Laura cleared a space at one end of the table and sat down. ‘I’ve bought a new frock, specially,’ Doreen announced, her smile immediately changing to a frown.

Rose, with her back to the kitchen door, turned to see what had caught her attention. Beyond the glass panes Wendy Penhaligon had raised her hand, about to knock.

Rose opened the door. Wendy’s face was grim. Maybe the sisters now regretted paying her account in full and she had come to ask for a refund.

‘I’m sorry. I should’ve telephoned. I didn’t realise you’d have company.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Come in, we’re about to have coffee.’ Odd, Rose thought, having driven a fair distance both Wendy and Miranda had arrived on the off-chance she would be at home and alone.

‘Not for me, thank you. I can’t stop.’ She remained in the doorway, her pose rigid. Beneath a winter coat she wore a smart suit and blouse, a costume she might have worn to church. This was likely as congregations were larger in Cornwall than in many other places and Methodism was still strong.

‘I just came to ask a favour.’ She glanced at the two women seated at the table. ‘I’d like you to leave my family alone. You had no business arranging a meeting between my nephew and niece.’

Doreen and Laura were gaping at the unknown woman. When Rose spoke they turned to look at her. ‘Miranda is an adult and quite capable of making her own decisions. She wanted to see Joel, I simply passed on a message. I did not arrange a meeting and I don’t know if they even met.’

‘They did. It has upset Miranda tremendously and it has upset her mother even more.’

It’s upset you, Rose thought, not the others. And why not telephone? Because Wendy Penhaligon wanted to say more than she felt free to do in front of strangers. ‘I meant no harm, and I cannot believe any has been done. Two cousins who are fond of each other have been reunited, that’s all.’

‘That isn’t all, Mrs Trevelyan, not by a long way. You have no idea what trouble this has caused us all.’ Her face reddened as she took a step forward. ‘You can’t possibly understand.’

Rose understood one thing: the sisters certainly had something to hide. ‘May I ask you something? Was Miranda’s homecoming the reason you changed your minds about the portrait? You see, it was purely by chance that I discovered your relationship with Joel and his family, there was nothing more sinister than that. He attends my classes and I had to speak to his parents on one occasion. I believed we were getting on quite well, you asked me to come to you, yet now I’m made to feel as if I was an intruder, as if I’ve done something wrong by meeting you in the first place.

‘I didn’t invite you here and you could quite easily have telephoned. Neither did I invite Miranda, she, too, came of her own
accord. My class has now broken up until the New Year so I have no reason to see Joel until then. Miss Penhaligon, whatever your family secrets, they are no concern of mine. I merely wanted to help an unhappy young woman.’ She, too, had reverted to a more formal mode of address.

Rose did not see it coming. The colour drained from Wendy’s face. White with rage she took another step forward and struck Rose on the side of the face.

‘Well I never,’ Doreen said, her hand to her mouth in shock.

Laura remained motionless. Rose had been in scrapes before but she had no idea what this one involved or why it had provoked such a violent reaction.

Wendy gasped, ashamed of her outburst. ‘I apologise, Rose. I don’t know what came over me, I don’t usually lose my temper. I’ll go now, but I would be grateful if you’d respect our privacy in future.’ Whatever happened she did not want Louisa to be reunited with the rest of the family.

Rose watched her leave, one hand to her cheek which was stinging. Wendy had a violent streak, one which, despite what she had said, required little to arouse it.

‘Good job they’ve already paid your bill,’
Laura commented philosophically, allowing Rose a few seconds in which to compose herself. ‘I thought perhaps she’d changed her mind and come to ask for a refund.’

‘So did I.’

‘That must be Louisa’s sister, if I’m not mistaken. And her reckoning on being a lady. Just wait till I tell my Cyril.’

‘Let’s have another coffee,’ Laura said, getting to her feet. ‘And a fag. I need one even if you don’t,’ she added to Rose. ‘And then you’d better tell your Aunty Laura what you’ve got yourself involved in now.’

‘It’s about Frank Jordan, that’s what it’s about, you mark my words,’ Doreen interrupted. ‘They were advertising for ’un in the paper and her, that Wendy, always had her eye on him, or so I’ve heard. Course, he married the younger, better-looking sister, and who can blame ’un. Not that it did Louisa much good in the end, she was never enough for that man. It wouldn’t surprise me if Wendy knew where Frank was as we speak.’

Laura looked from one to the other. She still had no idea what her friends were talking about.

Rose accepted the coffee gratefully then explained the whole situation, apart from
her suspicions concerning Frank’s disappearance, uncaring that Doreen would probably repeat the tale to anyone who was prepared to listen.

‘Does Jack know?’ Laura saw no reason not to bring up his name.

‘Yes, but there’s nothing he can do. You know what I’m like, always imagining there’s more to something than there really is.’

‘But mostly you’re right. What do you think’s happened to Frank?’

Rose shook her head. She would discuss it with Laura later when Doreen had gone. To suggest someone had killed him, which had now crossed her mind, one of his family at that, would leave her open to a charge of slander if any of them ever found out. ‘He’s probably gone off with another woman and hasn’t seen the advert.’

‘Yes, well, men like that always come to a bad end. It’s the law of nature, my girl, you mark my words.’

It was Laura who left first as she was expecting a phone call from one of her sons. Doreen followed soon after. ‘Put some witch hazel on that cheek,’ she advised as she pulled on her teacosy hat. ‘’Twill stop any bruising.’

Rose took the last of the flans out of the oven and set it to cool. She thought over what Doreen had said about Wendy’s feelings for Frank. Miranda claimed Wendy had disliked her father, which may have been an act to disguise what she really felt, or it may have been genuine dislike caused by resentment and jealousy, a woman spurned. It must have been painful for Wendy, seeing the man she wanted married to another woman, and that woman her sister which meant they would come into regular contact. Was that reason enough for wishing him dead?

‘Stop it,’ she muttered as she turned off the oven. ‘Why do you persist in thinking he’s dead?’

She needed to clear her head. It was some time since anyone had attacked her physically and she was more shaken than she had allowed Doreen and Laura to see. She pulled on a coat, checked the sky for non-existent rain clouds and walked down the hill and turned right towards Penzance. Half-way along the Promenade she began to feel better. Fresh air and exercise always had that effect. Later she would have a bath, make something to eat and maybe watch some television instead of reading. For ten
minutes or more she leant on the railings and watched the turnstones at work as they scrabbled among the pebbles. They were so well camouflaged that they were only distinguishable at first by the sound of skittering stones as they pushed them over with their beaks to search for food. Once Rose spotted one she looked more closely and realised there must be almost twenty working their way systematically along the beach.

The sky remained blue and the sea was now aquamarine with purplish patches where it covered Larrigan rocks. Black-headed gulls, now with their winter plumage of twin spots of black on each side of their heads, competed with the frill of water on the shoreline for whiteness. As it lapped against the granite slabs at the edge of the sand, the sun shot rainbow colours through the droplets of spray.

A dog raced along the beach, barking madly. It flushed the turnstones who flew off as one, their white undersides now visible, their thin cries clearly heard. Rose decided it was time to go home.

There was one message on the answering-machine. Roger Penhaligon asked her to ring back. Rose sighed. After her encounter with his sister that morning she felt
disinclined to do so. It might be that he, too, was furious. Coward, she thought, as she picked up the phone. It was nearly three on a bright Sunday afternoon. The chances were he would be out and she, in turn, could also leave a message.

Petra Penhaligon answered on the fourth ring. ‘I’m pleased you called, Rose.’ There was friendship, not animosity in her voice. ‘We’re having a bit of a drinks party on Wednesday and we’d very much like you to come. I know it’s short notice but we only decided this morning. We’re off to Madeira for Christmas but Roger said we ought to at least invite a few people around before we leave.’

Wednesday. But her classes had finished. ‘Thank you, I’d love to come. Shall I bring a bottle?’

‘Certainly not. Just yourself and a guest if you like. Come any time after six thirty.’

There had been no reference to Miranda or Joel. Presumably their meeting was still a secret in that household. If Joel hadn’t mentioned it, why had Miranda?

Rose’s hand was still on the receiver. She would make two calls then have that bath. In an hour or so it would be dark. The sun was already lower in the sky and the
blueness had faded to the colour of pearls.

‘We’ll go by cab,’ Barry Rowe said when she invited him to accompany her to the Penhaligons’.

‘You order one from Stone’s and pick me up. I’ll pay for it.’

Her second call was more difficult. Rose had lost track of Jack’s working pattern but decided to try him at home first. If he was there with Anna he might resent the interruption. She would not allow herself to think of what she might be interrupting. He’d almost certainly refuse her request anyway. Jack was at home but whether or not Anna was with him Rose didn’t find out.

She began by telling him about Roger’s party and although she had had no intention of mentioning his sister’s behaviour she found herself talking about it quite naturally, just as she would have done in the days before Anna.

‘Do you want me to arrest her for ABH?’ He was only partly joking.

‘Of course not. But doesn’t it prove there’s something going on? What difference does it make otherwise if Miranda and Joel see each other?’

‘Oh, there’s something going on, all right, Rose. You’ve stepped in again where you’ve no business to be. Now, why did you really
ring me?’

He’s seen through me again, she thought, not allowing his penultimate remark to anger her. ‘I know you’ll say no, but I wanted to ask you a favour.’

‘Go on. Ask away.’

‘Well, I don’t suppose there’s any chance of you contacting that firm of solicitors to see if Frank Jordan has been in touch.’ It was more of a statement than a question.

‘Already done, my flower.’ After Penhaligon’s telephone call and what he had learned from Rose, Jack had felt obliged to at least make some simple inquiries.

‘What?’ And you didn’t tell me, you sod, she thought, wondering just how far they had drifted apart. More reasonably she saw that, as a policeman, there was no reason at all for him to have told her.

‘No news yet so they’re advertising nationally.’

‘I see.’

‘You’re determined to make a mystery out of this, aren’t you? How many people do you know who bother to read the personal columns?’