The Loner (7 page)

Passing her the torch, he closed the trap door then telescoped the ladder to half its length.

Jess dumped everything on the worktop, poured grape juice into two glasses, and topped them up with cold water.

Handing him one, she drained hers without pausing for breath. ‘I needed that.' Setting the glass down, she turned on the tap and picked up the soap, squirming as she washed her hands. He emptied his own glass, put it beside hers, and leaned against the worktop watching her.

She wriggled uncomfortably. ‘You were right, OK? It did get everywhere.' She glanced at the wall clock startled to see they'd been in the loft over two hours. ‘Doesn't time fly when you're having fun? I'll make us some lunch. But I'll have to have a shower first. You can have one as well if you like.'

‘Oh I like.' Sliding his arms around her waist he nuzzled her neck.

‘Tom, no!'

He didn't release her. ‘What's the problem, Jess?'

‘Insulation. I'm itching so much I must be covered in the stuff.'

‘I could wash your back.'

She turned off the tap and stood unmoving, self-conscious, panicky, wanting.

He kissed her neck lightly and let her go. ‘It's all right, my bird. Like you said, there's no rush.'

She turned. ‘It's not that I don't – I do – but –' She gave a breathless laugh and shrugged. ‘I'm out of practice.'

He tucked a damp curl behind her ear. ‘It isn't like we're strangers.'

Jess pulled a wry face. ‘No, but we never – and it's been –'

‘Nearly thirty years. We're older and have the scars to prove it. But you came back to Polvellan and I've got a second chance. I won't blow it this time, Jess. I think the world of you. I'm not just saying that to get you into bed, or into the shower.' He lifted her hand, pressed her palm to his chest. She could feel his rapid heartbeat. ‘You aren't the only one who's nervous. Look, it could be a disaster, OK? But it could be really special.' She saw his throat work as he swallowed. ‘I love you, Jess. I want to be with you.' Then he squirmed just as she had. ‘Sorry, girl. Want me or not, I got to get these clothes off.' He pulled a face. ‘Bloody itch is driving me mad.'

‘All right, let's do it,' she heard herself say.

‘Really?' His astonished delight touched her and made her laugh as she raced up the stairs. He caught her on the landing, kissed her long and hard, then drew her into the bathroom his mouth on hers as he peeled damp cotton from her moist skin and she reached blindly for the long zip on his overalls.

Early evening sunshine streamed in through the kitchen window as Jess, wearing a soft shirt over sweatpants with sheepskin moccasins on her feet, put away the last of the dishes from their delayed meal. The washing machine hummed quietly and Tom, in clean jeans, sweatshirt, and the thick socks he'd brought with him, was kneeling in front of the woodburner.

She glanced across and caught him studying her. ‘What?'

He sat back on his heels. ‘You. All rosy and glowing.'

‘You look pretty good yourself. A bit smug, but you're entitled.' She felt soothed, as if every nerve had been stroked with velvet. She was aware of aches but the attached memories made them pleasurable. Apart from her knees.

‘Not bad for a first effort, was it?' he grinned.

‘Now you're fishing.' She wiped down the worktops as he came to the sink to wash his hands. ‘Tea or coffee?'

‘Later.' He dropped the towel and placed his hands on her hips. ‘Unless there's something you ought to be doing?'

She wound her arms around his neck. ‘I expect there is, but I can't bring it to mind.'

Later, sprawled comfortably on the sofa with her head on his lap, he asked. ‘So what's next in all these investigations?'

‘I'll phone the Record Office in the morning and make an appointment to access the Chenhall family papers.'

‘What are you looking for?'

‘Anything I can find about Marigold Mitchell. The Chenhalls owned the property but she was the named tenant and the café had her name over the door. I'm hoping to find her connection – if there was one – to the Chenhall family.'

‘You found out anything more about John Preece?'

‘I think I may have. When I walked down to the churchyard the other evening, I found the Chamberlins' grave and their dates of birth and death. They didn't have any children. In the BMD index I found out that Ellen's maiden name was Kirby, and that she had a brother, George Edward Kirby, who married a Louise Denny. George and Louise had a son, Mark, born in 1954. That would make him the right age to be John Preece.'

‘But if his real name was Mark Kirby, why call himself John Preece?'

‘Exactly. No one does that, or lives like a hermit, without a good reason. I'm going to try and find out what it was. What will you be doing?'

‘Thinking about you.'

She smiled up at him. ‘Apart from that.'

‘The early-season rush is over but we've got plenty to keep us busy. Will I see you this week?'

‘I certainly hope so. Come for a meal? Or will that be difficult?'

‘Why should it be?'

‘Chris?'

He shook his head. ‘Doug's taking him sailing Wednesday soon as they finish work. They'll pick up fish and chips after.'

She reached up and touched his face. ‘It's a long time till Wednesday.'

‘Dear life, woman. What are you like?' He pulled her close.

Chapter Eight

By 8.30 the following morning Jess had eaten breakfast, washed up, emptied the ashes, and re-laid the fire. As she folded dry clothes for ironing later, she mentally planned her day. Before she could phone the Record Office to book an appointment she had to look up the reference numbers of the documents she wanted to access. She had intended doing it last evening. Her heart lifted and memories made her smile.

She picked up the stack of towels and had one foot on the stairs when a knock on the front door stopped her. Turning back she opened it.

‘Rob! What a lovely surprise. Come in.' Studying her son, Jess saw dark shadows under his eyes and tension in his shoulders. Sympathy vied with concern. But knowing how he hated ‘fuss' she kept her tone light. ‘Busy weekend?'

‘Busy week, and the last two days have been hellish. Drunks, drug overdoses, and a three-car pile-up on the bypass.'

‘Sit down, love.' Jess dropped the clean towels on the sofa. ‘I'll put the kettle on.'

‘I won't stop. I just wanted to tell you that Helen won't be over for a couple of weeks.'

The groove between his brows and strain bracketing his mouth could be due to the demands of the A&E department in Cornwall's largest hospital.

‘She's not poorly, is she?'

‘No, she's fine. Growing like a weed.' He sank onto a chair and, resting his elbows on the table, rubbed his face. ‘I'm sorry, Ma.'

‘It's OK, Rob. Really. Coffee or tea?'

‘I really shouldn't stay.'

‘Tea it is. And a bacon sarnie.' Switching on the kettle, Jess took bread from the bin and a pack of bacon from the fridge. ‘You could have phoned me about Helen. So I'm guessing there's more.' The Record Office would have to wait. She turned on the grill, slotted two slices of bread into the toaster, and opened a drawer to take out scissors and a knife. ‘You're not ill, are you?'

‘No, just bloody tired. Stop fretting.'

‘I'm your mother. I'm allowed to fret. It's in the job description. How's Fiona?' As a shadow crossed his face, Jess knew this was why he had come. Her heart ached for him.

‘She's having a hard time at work.'

Jess laid bacon slices on the wire tray and slid the pan under the grill. As the toast popped up she lifted it out and propped the two slices against each other on the breadboard to cool, reaching into the fridge for the spread.

‘Why? What's happened?'

‘The person who stood in for her while she was on maternity leave doesn't want to go back to her old job. She's being obstructive, making it difficult for Fiona to catch up with changes that happened while she was away.'

‘Oh Rob. I'm so sorry.'

‘That's only part of it. We tried the hospital crèche. But the nurse in charge said Helen wouldn't settle and cried a lot. That stressed Fiona out even more.'

Jess nodded. Her daughter-in-law had worked hard to reach her present position. Fiona had told her they needed both salaries so taking time out to be with Helen until she started school wasn't an option. To suggest it again would only alienate him and she didn't want that. Turning the bacon, she chose her words carefully.

‘Did you come in the hope that I might have had second thoughts?'

He looked up. ‘Have you?'

‘No. Actually I'm busier now than the last time we spoke.'

He nodded. ‘I guessed as much. So we decided the best thing was to have a live-in nanny. We interviewed several. That was … interesting. Then we struck gold with Shelley Veale. She's twenty-four, went to Truro High School, and is a qualified nursery nurse.'

Jess laid the crisp bacon on one slice of toast, spread brown sauce on the other, cut the sandwich in half, and handed the plate to her son. ‘Does Helen like her?'

Rob's thin haggard face softened in a smile. ‘They took to each other at once. Shelley is calm and easy-going.'

Jess heard what loyalty wouldn't allow him to say, that Fiona's tension and stress were upsetting their daughter.

‘I'm so glad, Rob. It must be such a relief. Knowing Helen is happy will make life so much easier for all of you.' Jess rinsed the teapot, added two teabags, and poured in boiling water.

Rob chewed and swallowed. ‘The reason Helen won't be over for a couple of weeks is that we thought it best to let her get thoroughly settled with Shelley.'

Pouring tea into two mugs, Jess wondered if she was being punished for refusing to take on Helen's childcare, but dismissed the thought as petty and ridiculous.

‘That's very sensible. I'll look forward to seeing her again once she's used to her new routine.' She handed him a mug and sat down.

‘Thanks, Ma.'

‘What for?'

‘Taking it so well. I really appreciate it.' He pushed the remainder of the sandwich into his mouth.

Jess knew then that the decision to keep Helen away wasn't his.

‘Helen's happiness is what matters. Perhaps you can bring her over on Shelley's day off?'

‘Sounds like a plan.' He gulped a couple of mouthfuls of tea then set his mug on the low table. ‘I'd better get back.'

It was nearly noon by the time Jess had looked up the reference numbers in the online catalogue and booked her appointment. Returning to the BMD index and going back further, she found that George Kirby's father, William, had married a Susan Preece. They had had a son, John. A hunch took her back to the deaths register. John Preece had died in France in 1943.

Jess's stomach rumbled. Glancing at the clock, she got up and stretched. She was just finishing making her cheese sandwich when the door opened and Tom looked in.

The sensation in her chest was like fluttering wings. She was reacting like a teenager. It was ridiculous. And lovely.

‘All right, girl? Not interrupting, am I?'

‘No. I've just stopped for something to eat.'

‘How about that for good timing.'

‘Want a sandwich?'

He closed the door and kicked off his working boots. ‘Best offer I've had all day.' Padding across in his socks he slid his arms around her waist and nuzzled the back of her neck. ‘I love the smell of you.'

She leaned against him, stirred by their closeness and the muscular solidity of his body as he held her. Reluctantly she moved away. ‘Switch the kettle on, will you? I want to soak the saffron.'

‘I was wondering if you'd forgotten,' he teased.

‘As if you'd let me.'

‘No chance.'

While he washed his hands she quickly crumbled the dried saffron strands into a cup and poured on boiling water. As it turned a deep burnt orange she made another sandwich. He hung the towel on the rail and leaned against the worktop. ‘What's wrong, my lover?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Hey, this is me. Something's bugging you.'

‘I was thinking about the post mortem. I know it sounds daft, and you can laugh, but he spent every daylight hour working outside in his garden. The thought of him lying in a fridge –' She stopped as tears threatened.

‘I aren't laughing, bird. Here,' he put his arms around her again. ‘Just think, the new cemetery have got a lovely view down to the river and across to the woods on the other side. He'll like it there.'

Turning, Jess hugged him hard. ‘You're special, Tom Peters.'

Grinning, he licked the tip of his index finger and smoothed one eyebrow. ‘Well, I aren't one to brag –'

She grinned. ‘Yes you are.' She set the plates on the table. ‘Don't wait. I know you need to get back. I'll just make the tea.'

‘Don't take me wrong, Jess,' he chewed and swallowed, ‘but I'll bet you've been sat at that laptop all morning. How don't you go for a walk before you start again? You'll get on better after a blow of fresh air. Now you can tell me to mind me own business.'

‘I won't, because you're right. I'll call in the shop and see if Gill knows whether anyone has spoken to the vicar. I should have said something at the fête but I never thought.'

‘That wasn't the time or place. If you're going to the vicarage after you been in the shop, I can take you as far as the yard. You'll still have a nice walk back.' He swallowed the last of his sandwich then reached across and laid his large callused hand gently on her arm. ‘You're doing all right, my lover. But go easy on yourself.'

The phone rang. Jess lifted the receiver. ‘Hello?' She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. ‘It's the coroner's office.' She listened. ‘No, sorry, I don't. PC Davey and I have both been looking but we haven't found anyone.' She listened again. ‘Me? I – Could you hold on a moment?' She covered the mouthpiece again.