The Returning Tide Read online

  She had spoken to both Demi and Sam at the wedding, where they had once again issued their invitation to visit; a quick bit of scheduling and they’d found a morning that suited all of them. Things were thankfully quiet today at the catering company as well – Cassie was still with her parents, and her mother was home and on medication. Life was going to have to radically change for all of them. Fortunately the business was quiet enough at the moment that Lara could safely keep an eye on things and still spare the time for today’s trip.

  Sunlight fell through the trees and fallen leaves covered the drive. In the distance Lara saw cattle heading to a gap in the hedge on the far side of a field. Their meat would taste of the grass and the fresh air. She imagined a dish made of bresaola and soft cheese like burrata. Her mouth watered, before she realised that maybe if she hadn’t missed out on breakfast, she wouldn’t be eyeing the livestock with such carnivorous intent.

  The drive opened up to reveal a mansion made of what she guessed was granite. It appeared like it had been there forever, rooted to the ground. It was vast, bigger than the word ‘boutique’ had implied to Lara. Lawns and flowerbeds surrounded it. Its history must be fascinating. She pulled up next to the smart cars in front and walked through the large wooden door. She could hear the hushed tones of conversation and then Demi appeared from out of the shadows beside a sweeping staircase.

  ‘Morning.’ Demi came forward. ‘Everyone’s just finishing their breakfast so this is a good time to slip away to the river.’

  ‘Great.’ Lara’s head swivelled around, noting the windows and paintings. It looked like something out of a PBS Masterpiece Theatre series except it was a bit more updated, though not modern.

  ‘It’s a bit overwhelming at first.’ Demi smiled as they walked through the grounds, past a walled garden onto a woodland path. ‘We have fixed the old lane down to the quay, but I really prefer walking through the wood.’

  Lara nodded, and studied the twisted shapes of the trees and the patches of blue sky visible between the uppermost branches. She couldn’t sense that there was water nearby except for the cry of a gull from above. ‘What made you think of opening a restaurant here in a remote building?’

  ‘Well, when we saw pictures of the old boathouse it seemed to fit.’

  Lara frowned, envisaging access issues and wondering how they would draw enough people to make it viable. She was thinking overheads and staffing problems, but then the path ended abruptly and the river flowed past her with the dense growth of trees on the opposite shore visible. A boat with red sails slipped past and Lara turned to see a wooden and glass structure sitting on a quay that jutted into the river.

  ‘It was used to take away the granite quarried from other parts of the estate at first, and then just for pleasure until it fell into disuse and basically disintegrated.’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ The building was deceptive. The structure certainly reflected its industrial roots. It used granite and oak and then lots of glass. Lara could imagine that when the wood had greyed with age it would look as if it had always been there watching the tides.

  ‘Yes, I worked with Mark Triggs. Did you meet him at the wedding?’

  Lara shook her head.

  ‘He’s a brilliant architect who understands the area, its uniqueness and its history. All of which I’m still learning.’

  Big doors were open at the back and light flooded into what Lara assumed was a large kitchen, which faced the woods. Plumbing and electrical bits stuck out from the walls made of rough stone.

  ‘Hey, Sam, Lara’s here.’

  A head appeared from below a ledge. ‘Hello.’ He placed the hammer in his hand down. ‘What do you think of the boathouse?’

  ‘Amazing.’ Lara walked through the large space to the walls of glass that were pushed back to the edges, leaving the sides of the dining room totally open to the river. The setting was fabulous even with the tide out and a stretch of mud flats exposed below. Mussels clung to the rocks at the base of the quay. The only things preventing her from clambering down and reaching them were steel safety wires. The sun hit the surface of the river and the reflected light played off the white ceiling. ‘What an incredible set-up.’

  ‘We thought so.’ Sam draped his arm loosely over Demi’s shoulders.

  ‘I googled you last night.’ Demi pulled out her phone. ‘And I couldn’t find a Lara Pearce.’

  Lara sighed. ‘Try Lara McNulty.’

  Demi frowned. ‘Oh.’

  ‘That’s me pre-divorce.’

  ‘Ah.’ Demi was still frowning as Lara smiled, pulled her hair back tightly then put her most serious face on.

  ‘I see the resemblance now.’ Sam smiled, glancing at his phone. ‘Would you take a look at the kitchen plans?’ He rolled out architect drawings on a table.

  Lara studied them, reacting almost instantly. ‘It looks good but I think you’d need a larger prep table.’ She looked into the kitchen space. ‘It might mean shaving a little out of the dining area, but not much.’ She frowned. ‘But other than that it looks ideal.’ She ran a fingertip over the plans, feeling a longing to be back in a kitchen, working, playing with flavours and simply being useful.

  ‘So would a chef of your calibre consider working in the back of beyond … or know someone who would?’

  Lara took a look at the river then back at the plans. A restaurant of her own. ‘It’s a tempting idea.’

  The tyre was flat. Lara knew the stone she had driven over must have been the cause. Above her a canopy of trees covered the road and the sunlight made patterns on the surface of the tarmac. It was the worst possible place for this to happen – in a dip that was also a blind corner. She opened the trunk and looked for a spare but all she found was a small repair kit. The car was as far to the side of the lane as it could be and she hoped any vehicle that came along could pass, but looking at it again she wasn’t too sure. At the least, she didn’t think this road had much in the way of traffic. She was lost. Somewhere leaving Boscawen she must have taken a wrong turn.

  Checking to make sure her hazard lights were functioning, she moved to the side of the car and went to work. As the canister pumped air into the tyre, she tried to listen out for oncoming vehicles over the noise of the mechanism. Comparing one front tyre with the other, she decided it looked right and was worth a try.

  With everything stowed and her fingers crossed, she drove a short distance along the narrow road, finally reaching a wider section that was also the entrance to a field. By then the same thumping sound that had alerted her to the flat in the first place was back, so she pulled in next to the large metal gate across the entrance. At least she was off the road.

  She took out her phone and found it dead. Not helpful. With no other option, she locked the car and began walking with the map, hoping to figure out where she was. She had an idea but wasn’t certain.

  Coming to the end of the lane, she recognised the gates to Windward, and realised she could ask to use their phone. The September sun was warm and the air sweet with the scent of apples. The trees were laden and the wasps were busy with the windfall as she walked down the drive. She paused at the open kitchen door, peering into the darkness inside. ‘Hello?’

  Out of the shadows a figure emerged, walking towards her. It was Jack. ‘If it isn’t the cake dropper,’ he said.

  Lara flinched. He was a fine one with words. ‘Um, yes.’ She looked around hoping someone else was with him.

  He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. ‘You remade the wedding cake.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It was delicious. I liked how it was different from the normal ones.’ He paused. ‘You used apples.’

  ‘It is the season.’ She hoped she’d hidden her surprise that he’d noticed. ‘Look, sorry to trouble you, but my car has a flat and my mobile is dead. May I use your phone?’

  ‘Of course.’ He gave her a handset.

  ‘Thanks.’ She dialled and placed the map on the kitchen counter. Jack
looked over her shoulder. She explained the situation to the person at the roadside assistance call centre, and when it came to directions she fumbled until Jack indicated to hand the phone to him. She did so, and he explained the situation swiftly before giving them the number for Windward and ending the call.

  ‘Their nearest van is in St Agnes,’ he said, ‘so it will be a while. You’re welcome to stay here.’

  ‘Thank you.’ That was the rest of her day gone. She wouldn’t be able to investigate any further into Grandie’s footsteps. She’d picked up a local history book from Falmouth Booksellers and was slowly piecing together what had happened in the area during WWII – the short answer was a very great deal. Now she wanted to find out what role Lt Robert Webster had played. He had always maintained he was just a messenger. Also, Leo had been in touch giving her the names and numbers of someone called General Tucker and three West Point classmates who were still alive. He’d even spoken to one of them, who confirmed that Grandie had embarked for D-Day from Trebah. Whether the other two were still compos mentis was yet to be discovered, but she’d already written to them.

  ‘Why are you over here?’ Jack asked as he put the kettle on. ‘It’s clear that you don’t normally work for Cassie because Peta would know you.’

  She started. ‘Oh, well …’ Right then the phone rang and Jack gave the person on the line a stream of instructions.

  Once finished, he looked over at her. ‘That was the van driver. According to him, he’s going to be at least another three hours.’ He picked up two mugs. ‘So you were telling me why you were here?’

  ‘I’m here researching my great-grandfather.’ Lara looked at her hands, thinking of how little she had actually done since she’d arrived.

  ‘Your roots? A very American thing to do, but I think it’s spreading here.’

  ‘Genealogy is not a disease.’

  He laughed. ‘I’m not so sure about that. But in my experience families can behave like one.’ His jaw clenched.

  She frowned. ‘I happen to like mine.’

  He looked away. ‘Your great-grandfather came from Cornwall, then?’

  ‘No, he was American, of English and Irish stock.’

  ‘Sounds to me like you already know your family history.’ He leaned against the counter. ‘So what are you researching then?’

  ‘He died in August and there was a picture of him as a soldier in the Second World War. On the back it said “Helford River”.’

  ‘Ah, so he was one of the Yanks that left for D-Day from Trebah.’

  ‘I believe so. The other thing is he clearly fell in love with an English woman whom he married.’

  ‘You think she was local?’ He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Possibly. It’s hard to know because all I have to go on is one faded black and white photograph taken on their wedding day. The scenery looks familiar, though – in fact, the house looks like Windward.’

  ‘Odd. But then, there’s nothing special about Windward’s architecture, or location for that matter.’

  ‘I did think that might be the case. The photo is out of focus so it’s hard to tell.’ Lara took the mug he offered. ‘The only sections that are sharp are the edge of the building and a bit of the bay window.’

  ‘Strange. You would think the couple would be.’ He led her out into the garden.

  ‘Maybe the photographer sneezed or something.’

  He laughed. ‘Possibly, although with the rationing of paper at the time they wouldn’t have taken too many pictures.’ He bent to pull a weed from the path. ‘So you know nothing about your great-grandmother?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you have all your great-grandfather’s details?’

  ‘I do.’ She looked to the bay. The view was mesmerising, with yachts sailing about and the orange hulk of an anchored tanker.

  ‘Surely the wedding information should be easy enough to track down.’

  ‘That’s what I thought, but thus far, nothing.’

  ‘Have you checked the records here?’

  She nodded.

  He indicated to a bench facing the view. ‘What was her name?’

  ‘Amelia.’

  ‘Amelia what?’

  ‘That’s the problem. We don’t know.’

  He frowned. ‘Your grandparents don’t know?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘This sounds odd to me.’

  ‘Agreed.’ She sighed. ‘Amelia died tragically young, only a few years after they were married. My grandmother was four. My great-grandfather loved her. It’s clear they had a great love affair.’ Lara tried not to blush. ‘I have some of her letters to him during the war.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘That good?’

  ‘Umm, yes.’ She glanced at her tea. Jack cast her a sidelong glance. He’d made his views on love very clear at the wedding.

  ‘So, you’re tracking down an American GI who may have been in the area.’

  ‘In short, yes.’

  ‘Don’t you have a job?’

  Lara flexed her hand. ‘Garden leave.’

  ‘But you’re covering for Cassie.’

  ‘Not officially working.’

  ‘This is just a research trip, then.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Have you been to Trebah?’

  ‘I visited just before Peta’s wedding. It’s hard to imagine the boarding craft for D-Day heading off from that beach. It was so peaceful and serene.’

  He laughed. ‘Yes, this place feels very far away from everywhere, especially from things like World War II. Yet during the war it was a hive of activity.’ He stood up. ‘My grandmother is of the right age to be able to tell you something about the war in the area.’

  ‘Yes?’ Lara’s breath caught. Maybe she would finally make some progress.

  ‘She hasn’t been well.’ He put his mug down on the ground. ‘She caught a chill after the wedding and that turned to pneumonia.’

  ‘Oh no.’

  ‘Yes. If you don’t mind, I’ll just go and check on her.’

  Lara watched him walk away and tried not to notice just how attractive he was. Instead she focused on the roses that lined the path. The blooms were finished and had produced big, beautiful hips. She thought of the rosehip syrup recipe in the back of the old Tante Marie cookbook. There were enough hips here to make a huge batch.

  Jack returned holding the teapot. ‘She’s sleeping.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s like she’s given up.’

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Ninety.’ He refilled her cup and put the teapot down on the ground.

  ‘Maybe she has.’

  He nodded. ‘I just wish she’d eat. I’ve tried tempting her with food but it hasn’t worked.’ He touched one of the rosehips. ‘I know she won’t be around for ever but she was in good health right up to the wedding. That seems to have pushed her over the edge.’

  ‘Always a time fraught with emotion.’ She kicked herself as she said that.

  ‘True.’ His eyes met hers. They held humour and a touch of remorse, she thought.

  She turned to look at the rosehips again. ‘Have you tried old-fashioned food with your grandmother? I believe you call it nursery food here?’

  He gave her a questioning look.

  ‘I’m thinking something like tapioca …’ She turned to the rose bushes. ‘Maybe flavoured with a bit of rosehip syrup.’ She smiled. ‘She may have had it during the war.’

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I could help you cook some nourishing things which might build her up. Then maybe when she feels better I could ask her about the war?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘I can cook.’

  ‘I’m sure you can but it’s what I do for a living.’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’ His whole face lit up as he smiled. He stared at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. Something stirred in her.

  Twenty-Seven

  Windward, Mawnan Smith, Falmouth, Cornwall

  15 May 1944 />
  The morning sun found the gaps in the blackout protection and the squeal of a gull announced it was later in the day then I’d planned. I stretched in bed, remembering the taste of Bobby’s kisses and the feel of his hands on my body. My cheeks warmed and I knew that wasn’t just a blush from my memory but the after-effects of Bobby’s stubble. We’d come so close to making love last night and I’d wanted him so much, but as before, he had stopped.

  Desire still filled me but I pushed it from my mind and went to the window, flinging back the fabric. The sky was cloudless and the bay calm, too still to sail – not that we could. However, to bathe in it would be bliss. There might be a chance of a dip, especially if the day remained this fine. The carriage clock on my dressing table said read ten o’clock. I needed to move quickly.

  Downstairs I found Bobby in the kitchen in conversation with Mrs Tonks, which surprised me, but then I suspected Grandmother might have asked her to pop in. No doubt she would expect a full report on her return from London.

  It was apparent Bobby was charming Mrs Tonks, and from the aroma, he’d brought real coffee with him. All these little luxuries he slipped into my life, but none of them truly mattered, only him. He turned and his glance met mine. My world stopped and began at the same time.

  ‘Miss Delly,’ said Mrs Tonks. ‘How lovely to see you and how kind of you to show this charming man our part of the world.’ She looked between us and I steadied my features. I had no desire to share my love with the world yet, and simply wanted to hold it close to my heart. Telling people would take it from me. I was only ever good at sharing with Amelia, but things were different now. She was holding Eddie close, and I knew they wouldn’t be social in these few days before he shipped out. They would cling to each other, making the most of every moment, and I intended to do the same.

  I wasn’t here in Cornwall to show him around, although I might have been given leave with such short notice for just that reason. Commander Rowse and First Officer Smith knew where I lived and knew I was Bobby’s girlfriend. It wouldn’t have taken much to put two and two together.