The Shell Seekers (54 page)

"Enjoyed meeting that young man. Enjoyed talking to him. Haven't talked like that for a long tune. A long tune. We will have him here for a meal, won't we? I'd like to see him again."

"Yes, of course."

"We'll get Ernie to shoot some pigeon. He'd like pigeon. . . ." His eyes closed again. She left him.

By the end of August, the harvest had been gathered in, the United States Rangers had taken possession of the new camp at the top of the hill, and the weather had broken.

The harvest was a good one, and the farmers were well satisfied. Doubtless, in the fulness of time, they would be given a pat on the head by the Ministry of Agriculture. As for the American troops, they made less impact on Porthkerris than had been feared. Gloomy forebodings by staunch chapel-goers proved un-founded, and there were no drunks, brawls, or rapes. On the contrary, they seemed exceptionally well-behaved and well-mannered. Young, rangy, and crew-cut, wearing camouflage jackets and red berets, they padded the streets in their rubber-soled boots and, apart from a few statutory wolf whistles and friendly overtures to the children, whose pockets soon bulged with chocolate and chewing-gum, their presence made little difference to the day-to-day life of the little town. Under orders, perhaps for security reasons, they kept a low profile, and made the journey between the camp and the harbour sardined into the backs of trucks or driving Jeeps with trailers piled with ropes, crampons, and grappling irons. On these occasions, they would whistle dutifully at any lady who happened to pass, as though anxious to live up to the wild reputation that had preceded them. But as the days went by and their exhaustive training proceeded, it became clear that General Watson-Grant had been right, and men who spent their waking hours enduring wild sea journeys and the chilling face of the Boscarben Cliffs had no thought in mind, at the end of the day, but a hot shower, food, and sleep.

To add to their discomfort, the weather, after weeks of sunshine, had become appalling. The wind swung around to the north-west, the barometer dropped, and the rain came in squalls, low grey clouds of it, pouring in from the ocean. Down in the town, the wet cobbles of narrow streets shone like fish scales, and gutters ran with rogue water and sodden scraps of rubbish. At Cam Cottage, the flower borders were blown to wet ribbons, an old tree lost a branch, and the kitchen was festooned with wet washing, because there was no other place to dry it.

It was enough, as Lawrence remarked, gazing from the window, to damp any person's ardour.

The sea was grey and angry. Stormy rollers thundered in onto the North Beach, depositing a fresh scouring of flotsam far beyond the usual high-water line. But, as well as flotsam, other and more interesting objects were washed up. The sad remains of a merchant ship, torpedoed and sunk out in the Atlantic months or weeks before, and finally carried ashore by the tides and the prevailing wind: a lifebelt or two, some shattered decking, and a number of wooden crates.

Ernie Penberth's father, out in the early morning with his horse and vegetable cart, was the first to spy them. At eleven o'clock on the same day, Ernie appeared at the back door of Cam Cottage. Penelope was peeling apples, and looked up from this task to see him there, his black oilskin dripping with water and a saturated cap pulled down over his nose. But he was grinning.

"Like some tinned peaches, would you?"

"Tinned peaches? You're pulling my leg."

"My dad's got two crates of them down at the shop. Picked them up off the North Beach. Got them back and opened them up. Californian tinned peaches. Good as fresh."

"What a windfall! Can I really have some?"

"He's put aside six for you. Thought the children would like them. Says if you like, to go down; you can get them any time."

"He is a saint! Oh, Ernie, thank you. I'll go this afternoon, before he changes his mind."

"He won't do that."

"Do you want to eat with us?"

"No, better get back. Thanks all the same."

As soon as lunch was over, Penelope duly set out, booted, buttoned into an old yellow oilskin, and with a woollen hat pulled down over her ears. She carried two sturdy shopping baskets, and once she had become accustomed to the force of the wind—which threatened, from time to time, to hurl her off her feet—and gusts of rain, driving, needle-sharp, into her face, the wild weather became exhilarating and she began to enjoy herself. Dropping down into the town, she found it strangely deserted. The storm had driven everyone indoors, but the feeling of isolation, of having the place to herself, served only to increase her satisfaction. She was made to feel intrepid, like an explorer.

Mr. Penberth's greengrocery store was Downalong, half-way along the harbour road. It was possible to reach by a maze of back lanes, but instead she chose the way that led by the sea and, turning the corner by the Lifeboat House, stepped out into the teeth of the gale. The tide was high, the harbour a-brim with raging grey water. Screaming gulls were blown in all directions, fishing boats rocked and swayed at anchor, and at the far end of the North Pier, she saw the landing craft bobbing and dancing at their moorings. The weather was obviously too wild even for the Commandos to venture out.

It was with some relief that she came at last to the greengrocer's, a tiny triangular building at the junction of two narrow lanes. As she opened the door and stepped inside, a bell jangled overhead. The shop was empty, smelling pleasantly of parsnips and apples and earth, but when she shut the door, a curtain in the back wall was raised and Mr. Penberth appeared, wearing his usual garb of navy-blue guernsey and mushroom-shaped cap.

"It's me," she said unnecessarily, dripping water all over his floor.

"Thought it might be." He had his son's dark eyes and the same grin, though fewer teeth. "Walk down, did you? That's some bugger of a day. But the gale's blown itself out, it'll be fair by evening. Just heard the shipping forecast on the wireless. Get my message, did you? Ernie tell you about the tinned peaches?"

"Why else do you think I'm here? Nancy hasn't tasted a peach in her life."

"Better come through to the back. Keeping them hidden, I am. People find out I've got tinned peaches, and my life won't be worth living." He held aside the curtain and she carried her baskets through into the cramped and cluttered space at the back of the shop, which did duty as store-room and office. Here simmered a black stove, which was never allowed to go out, and here Mr. Penberth did his telephoning, and made himself cups of tea when business was quiet. Today it smelt strongly of fish, but Penelope scarcely noticed this, her attention being wholly taken up by the piles of cans that were stacked on every available hori-zontal surface . . . Mr. Penberth's loot of the morning.

"What a find! Ernie said they were on the North Beach. How did you get the crates back here?"

"Fetched my neighbour. He gave me a hand. Humped them home in the cart. Six be enough for you, will it?"

"More than enough."

He loaded three into each of her baskets. "How are you off for fish?" he asked.

"Why?"

Mr. Penberth disappeared beneath the knee-hole of his desk and emerged with the source of the fishy smell. Penelope, looking into the bucket, saw it was nearly filled with blue-and-silver mackerel. "One of the boys was out this morning, swapped me these for some of the peaches. Mrs. Penberth won't eat mackerel, says they're dirty fish. Thought you could use them. Fresh, they are."

"If I could have half a dozen, they'd do us for supper."

"Lovely," said Mr. Penberth. Rummaging, he unearthed an old newspaper, bundled the fish into clumsy parcels, and laid them on top of the peach tins. "There." Penelope picked up the baskets. They were extremely heavy. Mr. Penberth frowned. "Going to manage, are you? Not too weighty for you? I could bring them up, mind, next time I'm your way in the cart, but the mackerel won't stay fresh for another day."

"I'll manage."

"Well, I hope you'll all enjoy them. . . ." He saw her to the door. "How's Nancy?"

"Blooming."

"Tell her and Doris to come and see us soon. Haven't set eyes on them for a month or more."

"I'll tell them. And thank you, Mr. Penberth, so much."

He opened the door to the chinkle of the bell. "It's a pleasure, my dear."

Weighed down with peaches and fish, Penelope set off for home. Now, well into the afternoon, there were a few more people around, emerging to shop or go about their business. And Mr. Penberth had been right about the weather forecast. The tide had turned, the wind already was beginning to drop, the rain to ease off. She looked up and saw, high in the sky beyond the racing black clouds, a ragged scrap of blue sky. Enough to make a cat a pair of trousers. She walked briskly, feeling relatively cheerful, for once not having to worry over what she was going to give everyone for supper. But after a bit the laden baskets began to take their toll, her hands ached and her arms felt as though they were being tugged out of their sockets. It crossed her mind that perhaps she had been wrong in refusing Mr. Penberth's offer of delivery, but almost at once this thought was chased from her mind by the sound of a fast-approaching vehicle, coming from behind her, from the direction of the North Pier.

The road was narrow and the puddles deep. Not wishing to be drenched in a wave of dirty water, she stepped aside to wait until the oncoming car was safely past. It shot by, and then, a few yards on and with a screech of brakes, almost immediately halted. She saw the open Jeep, the two familiar uniformed occupants. Major Lomax and his Sergeant. The Jeep stayed where it was, its engine running, but from it Major Lomax, unfolding his long legs, stepped out into the road and walked back to where she stood.

Without preliminaries, he said, "You look overburdened."

Grateful for an excuse to be shed of her baskets, Penelope set them down on the pavement and straightened to face him. "I

am.

"We met the other day."

"I remember."

"Have you been shopping?"

"No. Collecting a present. Six tins of peaches. They were blown up this morning on the North Beach. And some mack-erel."

"How far have you got to carry them?"

"Home."

"Where's that?"

"At the top of the hill."

"Can't they be delivered?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I want to eat them tonight."

Amused, he smiled. The smile did something extraordinary to his face and caused her to look at, and really see him, for the first time. "Unremarkable" had been her own private verdict, that day he had ambled in on them at the Gallery, but now she saw that, on the contrary, he was not unremarkable in the very least, for his well-ordered features, his strangely brilliant blue eyes, and that unexpected smile assembled themselves into a pattern of quite extraordinary charm.

He said, "Perhaps we can help."

"How?"

"We can't give you a ride, but I can see no reason why Sergeant Burton shouldn't drive your peaches home."

"He'd never find the way."

"You underestimate him." With that, he stooped and picked up the baskets. He said, quite crossly, "You shouldn't be carrying these. You'll hurt yourself."

"I carry shopping all the time. Everybody has to. . . ."

She was ignored. Major Lomax was already on his way back to the Jeep. Penelope, still feebly protesting, went after him. "I can manage. . . ."

"Sergeant Burton."

The Sergeant switched off the engine. "Sir?"

"These are to be delivered." He stowed the baskets firmly onto the back seat of the Jeep. "The young lady will give you directions."

The Sergeant turned to her, waiting politely. With no apparent alternative, Penelope did as she was told. ". . . up the hill, and then right at Grabney's Garage, and then follow the road till you get to the top. There's a high wall and it's called Cam Cottage. You'll have to leave the Jeep on the road and walk through the garden."

"Anyone at home, miss?"

"Yes. My father."

"What's his name, miss?"

"Mr. Stern. If he doesn't hear you ... if nobody answers the bell, just leave the baskets on the doorstep."

"Right, miss." He waited.

Major Lomax said, "That's settled, then. Carry on, Ser-geant. I'll walk the rest of the way. See you back at HQ."

"Sir."

He saluted, started up his engine, and was off, with his cargo looking strangely domestic on the back seat of the Jeep. It rounded the corner by the Lifeboat House and was gone. Penelope was left with the Major. She felt ill at ease, disconcerted by this unexpected turn of events. She also felt unsatisfied with her appearance, which normally troubled her not in the very least. There was, however, nothing to be done about it, except pull off the unbecoming woollen hat and shake loose her hair. She did this, stuffing the hat into the pocket of her oilskin.

He said, "Shall we go?"

Her hands were cold, so she put them into her pockets as well.

"Do you really want to walk?" she asked him doubtfully.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"Haven't you anything else you should be doing?"