The Returning Tide Page 11

  In the distance I heard a bus and hoped it was the number 9, which would take me to Kensington. A long bath might just make up for the missed meal, if there was enough hot water when I reached my aunt’s. I adjusted my hat and walked towards the bus stop, trying not to think about food.

  Sadly it was not the right bus, but the evening was mild so I strolled along, hoping I’d find a café where I could at least get a cup of tea. My mind raced through the possibilities of what could be so important that Father had to spend the evening talking to the major. Yes, doctors were important but I found it hard to believe that my father was organising things. It was Mother who had always kept our lives on course. But maybe the war had brought something out in him that he hadn’t needed before. It certainly had with so many others, including me.

  I stumbled when my shoe caught on a raised bit of pavement. Hands steadied me. ‘Sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Careful how you go, love,’ a man said.

  ‘I will.’ I moved forward, glancing between my feet and the darkness in front, telling myself to be extra careful how I proceeded. What had I been thinking accepting an invitation from a stranger? Was that me or had Amelia snuck into my head? Or for a mad moment had Lt Webster swept all logical thoughts from me? I stopped walking and smiled. It was certainly the latter.

  Eleven

  Windward, Mawnan Smith, Falmouth, Cornwall

  27 August 2015

  I cursed the confusion of the recycling pile. Instead of last Saturday’s papers, which I’d wanted, I’d picked up the one from two weeks ago and it was filled with nothing but the anniversary of VJ Day. First VE day, now VJ Day. I tossed the papers aside. My world had altered on both days. My memories of that time would remain mine and no one else’s. I picked up the letters from the old suitcase and brought them with me to the garden. The sun was warm and the breeze westerly.

  A slight haze hung above the sea, but on shore it was clear. I was sad for Peta that the roses were finished. Roses blooming for a wedding always spoke to me of happiness. However, she had collected the blooms earlier in the summer and saved them for throwing. On her dress she had sewn silk petals to the bottom half of the skirt. It glistened when she turned around. The clever girl had designed it herself. It was all so different from the wedding day seventy years ago. During rationing, a remade dress had had to do. It shouldn’t have mattered, but nothing had been how it ought to that day, including the bride and groom.

  With my cane I batted away a fly resting on the arm of the chair. The chair rocked with the force. Pain radiated up my arm. I took a deep breath, suddenly remembering Mother’s pearls, the ones with the diamond clasp. She had worn them when she’d been presented at court. Somewhere there was a picture. Those pearls, I wondered where they were. They suited young skin, not old. Maybe I should find them and give them to Peta.

  I sat down and fingered the strand of pearls around my own neck. South Sea, and very beautiful. They were from Andrew, a wedding present. I had been forty-two then, still young in many ways.

  ‘Gran?’ Peta waltzed out to me. ‘Are you hiding?’ She sat on the low wall that divided the garden from the vast expanse of lawn.

  ‘No. ’

  ‘I was looking for you and I tried everywhere,’ she said.

  ‘I often sit here.’

  ‘True, but not normally at this time of day.’

  I nodded. ‘Why were you looking for me?’

  She frowned. ‘I could feel you. You felt unhappy, angry even.’

  ‘Peta, please, please don’t use that mumbo jumbo on me.’

  ‘I have no control over it. I was working on the finishing touches of your outfit and I felt pain, so I downed tools and decided to find you.’

  ‘Well, you have, and I’m alive and enjoying the afternoon in the garden under the Monterey.’

  Peta’s hand reached out and touched the letters. I knew if I stopped her it would make her more curious so I let her stroke them and forced myself to think about the beautiful blue dress she had designed for me to wear for her wedding. She was talented and should do more with her skills than she was at the moment. All this falling in love had stopped her.

  ‘Gran, you are pleased about the wedding?’

  ‘Yes, dear.’ I turned to the sea. A gull rose on a thermal before diving down out of view.

  She looked up from the letters, straight at me. ‘Don’t lie.’

  ‘It’s the polite thing to do.’

  ‘You’re not polite.’ She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Actually you are, but you’re wicked sometimes too.’ She chuckled. ‘Oh Gran, you had a wonderful marriage to Grandad so why are you worried about me getting married? It’s not Fred, is it?’

  ‘No, Fred is kind.’

  ‘That sounds dismissive.’

  ‘It’s not meant to be.’ I paused, thinking. ‘You’re very young.’

  She took one of my hands in hers. ‘This is a problem?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Gran. Something obviously is a problem. And I’d rather you’d said it than silently disapprove.’

  I laughed. ‘What about your work?’

  ‘Ah, I see.’

  ‘Do you?’ I looked out to the bay and watched a yacht tack. ‘How will you live?’

  ‘Fred is about to become a partner in his father’s business. I will continue to design dresses for the bridal market.’

  ‘Will it be enough?’

  Peta smiled. ‘I can provide for myself.’

  ‘Can you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then don’t worry about the thoughts of an old woman.’

  Peta touched the pile of letters again. ‘But I do.’

  ‘No need.’

  She stood, then bent to kiss my cheek. She smelt of lily of the valley, a scent from another time.

  Falmouth Docks Train Station, Cornwall

  28 August 2015

  The small train pulled into the station and Lara could see Cassie talking on her mobile, standing by a white van with Cassandra’s Catering emblazoned on the side. Cassie waved to her and pointed at the phone, then the smile fell from her face as she continued her conversation.

  Lara disembarked from the train and made her way across to the van, arriving just as Cassie finished her call, flung out an arm and hugged her close. ‘I can’t begin to say how good it is to see you,’ she said.

  Lara grinned. ‘Same.’

  ‘Although I can see you’re jet-lagged.’ Cassie chuckled and took Lara’s bag, stowing it in the rear of the van. ‘Hope you don’t mind, but I have to stop at a client’s to drop off a cake.’

  ‘No problem.’ Lara had climbed into the van and sat down before she realised she was in the driver’s seat, the steering wheel in front of her. Being in England was going to take some getting used to.

  ‘You may want to try something a bit smaller for your first drive here,’ Cassie laughed.

  Lara grinned apologetically and went to the passenger’s side. Briefly, she wondered when she would begin to feel human again. Despite having slept a large portion of the train journey and consumed vast quantities of water, she felt worse than when she’d landed.

  ‘You’ll see what I mean as we head off.’ Cassie drove out of the parking lot and came to a small circle on the road. She hadn’t been joking: the roads seemed far too tiny for all but the most compact of cars.

  ‘Is this a rotary?’ Lara took a large swig from her water bottle.

  ‘Haven’t heard that word in years, but yes. This one is a mini roundabout.’ Cassie cast a glance in Lara’s direction as she navigated the car up a steep, narrow street. ‘Good flight?’

  ‘Good?’ Lara tried to focus on the scenery. ‘Well, we arrived.’

  Cassie laughed. ‘You always hated flying.’ She turned the van down a road that Lara was positive was far too small for the width of the van.

  ‘Give me a train any day.’ Lara frowned, then gasped as a large expanse of bright blue water appeared in front of her. ‘Wh
at’s that?’ She pointed.

  ‘Falmouth Bay.’ Cassie shifted down a gear. ‘Do you remember that trip to California with my parents?’

  Lara nodded. ‘I was sick on both flights.’

  Cassie laughed. ‘It was a great trip despite that.’

  Lara nodded, noticing the scenery becoming more breathtaking as the road grew narrower and more rural. ‘Now on to a different subject. Grandie and World War II.’

  Cassie slowed down as they came towards a beach. ‘If you pay attention, there are signs of the war everywhere around here.’

  Lara could see only a beautiful sweep of sand covered in families, but Cassie continued: ‘Look over your shoulder then up from the rocks and you’ll see two pillboxes.’ Lara squinted, but they were almost up the hill before she spotted what she assumed were the pillboxes, low-built concrete structures with small rectangular windows. ‘You’ll find more evidence on the Helford.’ Cassie reversed to let an oncoming vehicle pass. Lara held her breath, thinking that there was no way the car would be able to get by them. There was barely enough space for one vehicle let alone two.

  At the top of the incline she glimpsed the bright expanse of sea in the gaps between some houses. ‘These properties have a spectacular setting.’

  ‘They do. We’ll be heading to one of them in a minute to drop off a wedding cake.’

  ‘You do wedding cakes?’

  ‘I make them when asked but I don’t ice them – I mean, frost them.’ She smiled and Lara knew she was thinking of the time they’d tried making frosting with chocolate spread.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘you remember how our last attempt came out.’

  ‘I do, but it did taste good.’

  ‘True.’

  They pulled between granite gateposts. Lara read the sign – Windward – and thought it was a good name for a house in this position. The drive wound through large rhododendrons until it opened out into what looked like a small orchard.

  ‘I’m catering a wedding here in just over two weeks’ time.’ Cassie smiled as she pulled up by the house. ‘It’s for a mate, Peta, and should be fabulous.’

  She turned off the engine and her phone rang. ‘Sorry, I need to take this. It’s about the event tomorrow night. Can you grab the large box at the back and take it to the side door? It’s normally open. Just walk in and drop it off.’ With that, she turned and answered the phone. ‘Hello, Cassie here.’

  Lara took a deep breath as she walked to the rear of the van. She could smell cut grass and the scent of the sea. The cake box was large and carefully secured at the back. It was also heavier than she had expected, but then she remembered the preference in the UK for fruit cakes.

  As she rounded the side of the imposing grey building, Cassie’s voice faded away. Lara’s glance travelled up the stone walls to a tower that topped the house, reminding her of a fort. The room in the tower had windows on all sides and she thought it must have the most amazing view. All the windows had stone surrounds that made the building look older than she guessed it was.

  She tried to watch her step on the slate-covered path. The surface was uneven and the box blocked her view. As Cassie had said, the door to the kitchen was open. Lara paused on the threshold. She may have been told to just walk in, but it wasn’t how she’d been raised.

  ‘Hello?’ She leaned through the doorway, blinking. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a large open fireplace filled with a massive range cooker and a table big enough to seat eight or more at a pinch. ‘Hello?’

  When she still didn’t get a response, she hesitated with one foot on the step and the other one out.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’

  Lara jumped backwards, missing the step and bashing her hand against the doorframe. ‘Shit.’ The cake box fell, and she tried in vain to stop it from hitting the ground. The lid popped open, revealing several layers of cake broken in half. When she looked up, piercing blue eyes and a scowl were inches from her. She swallowed.

  The man picked up the box, swearing under his breath. After he put it on the counter, he turned to her. She’d seen that aggressive look before. More than a few chefs along the way had bawled her out, and a key skill was learning how to take it and not fight back. Unlike what she had done when she quit her job a month ago.

  He lifted his gaze from the broken cake and stared at her. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘I’m Lara … Pearce.’ She knew it had been a mistake to hesitate. His eyes narrowed as if he thought she was lying. She should be practised at saying Lara Pearce by now, but her instincts kept trying to make her say McNulty, her married name.

  ‘Are you sure?’ He placed a hand into his jeans pocket and leant against the counter. Lean and tense, he was about Leo’s six foot two, and she felt small in his presence. The dropped cake couldn’t be the source of his hostility.

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry about dropping the cake.’

  ‘I bet you are.’ He stepped closer. Lara didn’t budge. She knew it wasn’t all her fault, but in dealing with customers it always was. They would ask for medium rare and yet would complain about too much blood. There’d been many times she’d wanted to head into the dining room and give a lecture on how to cook meat.

  ‘I’ll replace it.’ She smiled despite the pain in her hand where she had hit it.

  ‘Where’s Cassie?’ His voice was deep and now sounded less angry.

  ‘On her cell.’

  He shook his head. ‘Bloody Americans think they can fix everything.’

  Lara bit her lip to stop herself answering back. She was more than capable of making a cake.

  He lifted half of the top layer of the broken fruit cake. ‘Just don’t bother, alright? No one will notice when it’s iced. The marriage is going to end up like this anyway.’

  Lara gasped at his comment. Was he the groom?

  He looked up from the cake. ‘Don’t worry Cassie about it. She’s a perfectionist and I don’t want you to lose your job.’

  Lara opened her mouth then shut it. There was no point in correcting him. It would just prolong the encounter. He watched her, expecting her to say something. ‘Thanks.’ She turned and strolled back to the van, thinking what a strange man he was. Good luck to this Peta in dealing with him.

  Lara climbed into the van and waited for Cassie to finish her call. Once she was finished and had clambered back behind the steering wheel, Lara expelled a long breath. ‘I have a confession to make. Also, that’s one interesting groom.’

  ‘So Fred was there?’ Cassie beamed as she started the van and headed back down the drive. ‘He’s the nicest guy you’d want to meet. He and his father, Anthony, renovated the barn for me.’

  Lara frowned, studying the view down the drive to the fields glimpsed over the top of the hedges. ‘I wouldn’t say nice at all. Bitter seems closer to the truth.’ Out of the window, the scenery changed as they moved away from the coast through a village. ‘Surprised he’s getting married at all, considering he thinks it’ll fail.’

  Cassie laughed. ‘That wasn’t Fred.’

  Lara turned to her, frowning.

  ‘Was he tall, moody, beautiful eyes and a body to die for?’ asked Cassie.

  Lara nodded. Despite her anger, she couldn’t dispute any of those things.

  ‘That’s Jack, Peta’s brother.’

  ‘Really?’ said Lara. ‘Well, he’s got one hell of an attitude and he hates Americans.’

  Cassie frowned. ‘Didn’t know about the dislike of Americans, but he’s …’ She shifted gear and picked up speed as they left the village behind and drove through impossibly contorted lanes.

  ‘Yes, he’s …?’ Lara knew it would take some time for her to find her way around. The lanes twisted so much, if it weren’t for the position of the sun above, she’d have no idea which direction they were heading.

  ‘I was trying to think of the right word.’

  ‘And?’ They stopped at an intersection of sorts and turned almost back on themselves. Lara tried to rea
d the quaint signpost painted in white with black lettering.

  ‘“Broken” is probably best.’

  Lara turned away from the scenery towards Cassie. ‘That tells me nothing.’

  ‘He lost his mum and his aunt in a tragic boating accident, and his dad later that year.’

  ‘That’s awful. What happened to his father?’

  ‘I heard it said it was a broken heart but I don’t really know what happened.’

  ‘So he was …’ Lara squinted, looking out the window again.

  ‘About seventeen, I think.’ Cassie manoeuvred the van down an even smaller track with tree branches meeting each other above. ‘Awful, really.’ The track ended and an open yard appeared. ‘Welcome to my domain.’

  Cassie shut the engine off and grabbed Lara’s bag from the back. Lara stepped from the van and stood looking at a small white bungalow with beautiful blue agapanthus lining the whitewashed walls. To her left was a massive barn, twice the size of the bungalow. Through the vast glass doors Lara saw a spotless commercial kitchen.

  ‘Impressive.’

  ‘I know.’ Cassie linked her arm through Lara’s. ‘I was going to offer you a cup of tea, but I think you need something a bit stronger. Then you can tell me what you have to confess.’

  Lara winced.

  Windward, Mawnan Smith, Falmouth, Cornwall

  28 August 2015

  I studied the thin sheet of paper in front of me. The writing was compact, to fit the maximum amount on the smallest sheet. Rationing had touched everything. The spikes and the curves moved swiftly across the paper. Looking at the writing alone, it would be impossible to know which one of us had written the letter. Only the content was a clue.

  Dearest,

  My heart is aching. Eddie’s letters and calls aren’t enough. I can only say this to you. Grandmother frowns at me so and Mother is no use, but she is pleased about the relationship. I heard her say to Grandmother that it is a good match and Grandmother agreed, although you know she would have preferred it if it had been Tom. He has the title, but he doesn’t have Eddie’s heart. I don’t need to tell you that or of my misery.