The Returning Tide Read online

  In the fridge Lara pulled out a bottle of Margaret River wine she’d found in the shop in Constantine when she’d grabbed some groceries for dinner tonight. She had been stunned by the excellent collection of wines available, including many from the Stuart Vineyard. These had been stocked at the restaurant where she’d worked in Manhattan. It had been one of her favourites, and finding it in a rural shop so far away was a complete surprise. Opening the bottle, she took a sniff and could smell the eucalyptus that grew around the vineyard. While chopping a few radishes for salad and tomatoes for an omelette, Lara studied the blurry wedding photograph, searching for something that was distinctive. It was the only clue she had, a bay window.

  There was a loud meow and the cat brushed against her legs. Cassie had made enquiries about the cat but thus far hadn’t found an owner. They had both agreed that he should be called Snowy, and he had already made himself right at home, spending plenty of time on the sofa.

  Lara turned as a gust of wind blew all the photos, scattering them across the kitchen floor. She picked them up and stared at the wedding photo again. Just out of focus, it haunted her. She saw herself in her great-grandmother’s outline, but she couldn’t see much more. The woman’s features were blurred and it was more Lara’s understanding of the fashion of the day that filled in the details. The veil and gown would have been white and she knew from films what the colour of Grandie’s uniform was. It was clearer in her head than on the glossy paper.

  Outside, a van with ‘Boscawen Cyder’ written on the side pulled into the drive. A man and a woman emerged together and headed to the barn. Cassie was working late and Lara had almost finished making their meal but she would wait until these new arrivals had gone before serving up. She switched on her computer and searched for the national archives to see what she could discover now that she was pretty certain the marriage of her great-grandparents had taken place in Cornwall. This led her to another site where she typed in the details that she already had but came up with nothing. Maybe if she knew the district she would find a better result? She stood and stretched. Out the window she could see Cassie and the couple talking as they headed towards the house.

  ‘Lara, come and meet Sam and Demi,’ Cassie called from the hall as she walked towards the kitchen. ‘I see you’ve found Sam’s wine.’

  Lara frowned.

  ‘My family’s vineyard in Margaret River.’ He smiled. ‘Sam Stuart.’ He held out his hand and Lara took it.

  ‘Lara Pearce.’ She liked the look of the tall, strongly built Australian.

  ‘Hi, I’m Demi Williams, Sam’s business partner,’ said Demi.

  ‘Wines?’ Lara asked, noting how beautiful the petite blonde was.

  ‘No, a boutique hotel not far from here, in Boscawen. Plus a cider business,’ Demi said. ‘Cassie tells me you’re a chef. And she’s also told me you’ve worked in some of the best kitchens on the east coast of the States.’

  Lara nodded, and gave Cassie a look.

  Demi smiled. ‘Well, I’d love your input on a restaurant we’re building.’

  ‘Happy to have a look. Not sure what I can add. Surely you’d want the chef who will be working there to advise?’

  Sam coughed. ‘That’s the problem. Thus far we’ve had no luck finding a chef who’s willing to come to the wilds of Cornwall to an unknown restaurant – especially one of the calibre we’re hoping to find.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’

  ‘Cassie has our number, so give us a ring when it suits you.’ Demi pulled her keys out of her pocket.

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘See you at the wedding, Cassie. And I’ll look forward to showing you around, Lara.’ Demi waved and they disappeared out the door, back towards their van.

  ‘Interesting couple.’ Lara poured Cassie a glass of wine and began the omelettes.

  ‘Very, bright and clever too.’ Cassie rubbed her lower back. ‘They’re providing the wine for the wedding. Demi is also great friends with the bride and groom.’

  ‘Sounds like this is a big wedding.’

  ‘It is, in a way.’ Cassie took a sip of wine. ‘It’s a linking of the north and the south sides of the river.’ She laughed. ‘In fact I think that’s why they’ve bought a house in Gweek, so they sort of straddle both sides.’

  Lara frowned at this.

  ‘Gweek sits at the end of the Helford,’ explained Cassie.

  ‘Ah.’ Lara put the salad bowl on the table and served the omelettes.

  ‘You should go and see Boscawen.’

  Lara nodded, thinking she was here not to look at hotels and kitchens but to try and track down her great-grandmother.

  ‘Seriously, it’s wonderful and the restaurant is going to overlook the river.’ Cassie looked up from her glass. ‘I’d say it’s right up your street.’

  Lara sighed. ‘I can’t work for months.’

  Cassie laughed. ‘It won’t be open for months.’

  Lara made a face.

  ‘Just saying.’ Cassie picked up her fork. ‘Anyway, when the wedding’s over we must head up to my parents in north Cornwall.’

  ‘That would be brilliant. I’d love to see them.’ Lara grinned but again wondered when she’d track down Amelia if she kept being distracted. ‘By the way, what district of Cornwall is this?’

  Cassie looked up. ‘This is Carrick. Does this relate to your great-grandmother?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Also worth checking Kerrier too.’

  ‘Will do that.’ Lara closed her eyes and once again wished she had more to go on.

  11 September 2015

  A paw hit Lara’s face. She opened one eye. Light flooded the room. Snowy sat staring at her. Lesson one in living with Snowy would be to close the window at night but the weather had been so mild she would have been too hot. Why the English didn’t have screens on their windows she didn’t know. They were useful for keeping out insects and lonely animals. Lara stroked Snowy’s head and stretched. Today she was heading to Trebah and would be back on the research path. All of Cassie’s team had returned to full health.

  After a quick coffee and piece of toast Lara drove carefully along the lanes. Coping with the tiny Cornish roads was getting easier, but not by much. Yesterday she’d taken a wrong turn along narrow, winding lanes and ended up near Port Navas, terrified she’d meet a car coming the other way and have to reverse for miles. This morning the roads were clear and she arrived at the Trebah Garden parking lot before it was open. Standing by the entrance gate, she studied the pictures displayed of the 29th Infantry Division preparing for D-Day. It seemed hard to believe that this peaceful place had played a key part.

  The cool air was scented with eucalyptus and pine as she walked under a tree fern into the reception of Trebah Garden. She bought her ticket then stopped to read the wall plaques about the 29th Division. 7500 men had embarked on ten 150-foot flat-bottomed boats on 1 June 1944, and then onto Omaha beach on 6 June. Lara scanned the few pictures looking for Grandie but didn’t see him. These men had been busy preparing for D-Day by widening the road from Penryn to here, which she had appreciated when she drove it a few days ago. It seemed unnaturally wide compared to the others she’d driven on. The disruption to this remote part of Britain must have been huge but there would have been no way to get their big vehicles to the river without doing it.

  The garden, full of beautiful hydrangeas, occupied the sloping valley. The array of colour and varieties distracted her from her thoughts of Grandie, yet she could feel him here. What would have been in bloom in the garden then? Not hydrangeas. The plaque had said they had dug trenches and stored ammunition, so maybe nothing had bloomed except fear. Years ago Leo had felt Grandie was just being grumpy not talking about the war, but now, considering it, it might have been so traumatic he may not have wanted to remember, let alone discuss it. She walked on, enjoying the plantings, but thoughts of what her great-grandfather and all the other soldiers had experienced seemed so far from the tranquillity surrounding her.
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  Crossing from the tree-covered valley onto the beach, Lara was almost blinded by the light. She stepped down expecting to sink into sand but instead found the resistance of concrete. It covered the beach to where the water rolled in with the on-shore breeze. Standing in the middle of the concrete, she looked down the river trying to imagine it covered in GIs full of nerves and possibly excitement. This would have been the first action many of them had ever been in, including Grandie. Despite his military training it had all been theory and no practice, and bashing squares at West Point wouldn’t have prepared them for what these men were about to face. Even the training they had done here was scant preparation for Omaha Beach.

  Aside from the gentle sound of the waves crashing against the concrete it was peaceful. A few sailboats tacked across the river but the quiet was astounding. In spite of the few visible houses, the place appeared timeless. How had people reacted to seeing large landing craft filling this area? Despite the pictures in the ticket hall it was hard to imagine. Right now it was postcard-perfect with whitewashed cottages above a beach in the distance. The contrast of what she saw here with what those men had faced days later after being tossed about in boats was unthinkable. Her stomach turned. Those boats had not been made for high seas or comfort.

  She slipped off her shoes and rolled up her jeans. The water was startlingly clear and equally cold – colder than that of the inner Cape. She stood ankle deep, letting her feet numb while she pulled her sweater closer. She looked out to the mouth of the river. Somewhere towards the bay was the spot where the photo of her great-grandfather had been taken. She could see the coastal path that she could take along the river.

  Her phone rang, and she answered it right away. ‘Cassie?’

  ‘Lara, I need you.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘It’s Mum. She’s in hospital and Dad’s a wreck.’

  ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry.’ Lara realised what Cassie needed right then, and didn’t hesitate. ‘Go now. I’m just on the beach at Trebah. It won’t be long before I’m back.’

  ‘But Peta’s wedding – it’s tomorrow, and there’s so much to––’

  ‘I can handle it. I’ll handle it all. Don’t worry. Just get to your parents now and call me later.’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  ‘What are friends for? Now go, and drive carefully.’ Lara took one last look down the river then headed back into the garden. A sadness followed her despite the beauty on view. She wondered how many of the men who’d been here had survived and were able to return home.

  Mawnan Church, Mawnan Smith, Falmouth, Cornwall

  11 September 2015

  The scent of lilies filled the church. I looked at the handiwork of Victoria Lake – no, I had to remind myself, Victoria Roberts now since she had married the lovely Sebastian. She was with stalwart of the community Jane Penrose who always knew everything. They had done a marvellous job using lilies from the florist and what was in bloom in the garden – fuchsias, sedum, late roses, goldenrod, hydrangeas and Japanese anemones. The effect was warm and rich and I knew would go with Peta’s dress and that of the bridesmaids. Peta’s hair, now its normal blonde, would be threaded with soft pink rosebuds. She had included me in all the planning although I told her she knew best. I was interested but it all cut too close to the bone. Bar the lilies, these were the same flowers that had adorned this church in 1945 and this was almost like reliving it again. How could I want to be a part of it? As much as I loved Peta she had no idea what she was asking me to do, even with her second sight. She stood by the altar with Victoria who was clutching a bunch of laurel shoots in her hand. Peta was so like Jack yet so different. Eight years separated them and a lifetime of experience.

  Jane came up to me. ‘I wasn’t sure about Peta’s plan but I have to say the church looks stunning.’

  ‘It does. But with so many people coming will anyone even notice the flowers?’

  She laughed. ‘I always do but then I would.’ She adjusted one of the posies on the end of the nearest pew. ‘Your mother had a way with flowers.’

  I nodded. Of course she would remember that. Mother had done the flowers for the church until it was physically impossible for her, not that she was infirm in that way. I had often wondered if that would have been easier to deal with rather than mental infirmity. Her talent with flowers was the last thing to disappear, and it had been a solace to her when nothing else could reach her. God knows I had tried.

  ‘Did you hear my question?’ Jane touched my arm.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t.’

  ‘I was just saying I remembered your sister’s wedding. Of course, not much of it, as I was so young at the time. The goldenrod with the hydrangeas brought the memory back.’ She paused. ‘But there was also honeysuckle as well.’ She looked about. ‘Your mother had woven tendrils around the pillars. The scent was heavenly.’

  I nodded and moved away, remembering that the wedding dress had been remade from Aunt Margaret’s. The baby bump was mostly disguised but if you looked closely it was visible. My legs wobbled and I sat when I reached the front pew, as I had all those years ago. Except then the wobble had been caused by grief; now it was old age and sadness. My chest tightened and it was hard to breathe. I looked at Peta who suddenly turned away from Victoria and rushed the few steps to my side.

  ‘Come on, Gran, a few proper breaths, please. You’re not allowed to kick the bucket a day before I marry.’ Her hand made slow circles on my back and slowly the tightness passed as air filled my lungs. ‘Let’s get you home.’ She helped me to my feet and escorted me outside to her little red car. ‘I need to grab my phone. I left it on the altar. I’ll be right back.’ She walked ten feet and turned. ‘Think about now, Gran. Not the past.’

  I watched her slip into the church and wondered how much she knew.

  Eighteen

  Weymouth, Dorset

  11 March 1944

  When the lights dimmed and the news reel began, Bobby took my hand in his. With his fingers encircling mine the world felt safe despite the images on the screen. I looked forward to seeing Casablanca. He slipped his arm around me as the opening credits began and I rested my head against his shoulder, feeling his strength. But before long I was caught up in the plight of Rick and Ilsa.

  At the end of the film, he gave me his handkerchief as I watched Rick walk away with Captain Renault. I knew it was the right thing, but my heart would never be the same again. Bobby leaned down and kissed me before the house lights came on. I was still crying as we walked out into the darkness. He stopped and wiped the tears from my face. ‘It was just a film.’

  ‘I know, but it was …’ My words were swallowed in tears. ‘Love,’ I finally mumbled.

  ‘Yes, he loved her and he did the right thing.’

  ‘But––’

  ‘No buts. It was the right thing.’

  I nodded. Rick and Ilsa would never have a future but they would have Paris. Would that ever be enough?

  Soon, we arrived at the Golden Lion, the pub frequented by the Navy and the Americans. But my mind wasn’t in Weymouth but Casablanca. The pub was so crowded I couldn’t see much, but eventually I found a seat while Bobby went to the bar. I gazed through the smoke, wishing Sam was at the piano, but instead I saw a mass of uniforms and heard the sound of laughter.

  Bobby smiled as he walked back to me. ‘I’m slowly coming to enjoy this warm beer.’

  I laughed and shook my head. ‘I can’t imagine cold beer.’ I made a face.

  ‘One day I’ll show you the delights of an ice-cold beer on a hot summer’s day and you’ll look back to this moment and wonder why you ever thought this tasted good.’

  ‘Is that a promise?’ My mouth twitched, fighting a smile.

  He looked me in the eyes and raised his glass. ‘Most definitely.’

  Just then another American approached us. ‘You know you can’t trust these West Point boys.’ He winked. ‘They’re all full of themselves and far too smart for their own good.’r />
  ‘You should know,’ Bobby laughed.

  ‘Indeed. Now introduce me to this English beauty.’

  ‘Adele Seaton, this is Captain James Tucker of Houston, Texas, just in case you couldn’t place the accent.’

  Commander Rowse entered the pub and walked towards us. I shifted in my seat. Although many times I’d seen our officers in the pub, this was the first time I’d seen Commander Rowse.

  Captain Tucker turned. ‘Here’s my date. I’ll leave you two in peace.’ He grinned. ‘I have to say, Webster, you have wonderful taste.’ He looked at me. ‘If you get tired of him, I’m free.’ He winked as he joined Commander Rowse, and together they drifted off to the far end of the bar.

  ‘Pay no attention to him.’ Bobby put his pint down.

  ‘Why not?’ I tilted my head, trying to see the two men.

  ‘Because I’m jealous.’

  I laughed, still watching Tucker and Rowse in deep conversation over their pints. ‘Why?’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to lose you.’ He touched my hand and I looked up to see the sincerity on his face.

  ‘He wears the same ring that you do.’

  ‘Yes, it a US Military Academy class ring.’ He turned the large ring on his finger and I pulled his hand across the table. It was gold and onyx with West Point and 1943 embossed with a seal.

  ‘Were you there together?’

  ‘He was two years ahead of me.’

  ‘Sir.’ A soldier came up to Bobby and stood rigidly avoiding my glance. ‘Are we playing tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, Army versus Navy at 0900.’

  ‘See you then, sir.’ He saluted and left the pub.

  I glanced at Bobby, frowning.

  ‘Football,’ he said.