A Cornish Stranger (10 page)

‘She saved me last night.'

‘You saved him?'

Gabe nodded.

‘Known him long?' Steve grinned knowingly at Gabe. She went pale. Surely Steve didn't think Fin was hers?

‘No, don't know him at all.' Then Gabe thought of the mole that sat just below Fin's navel. She shouldn't know about that at all. She might have seen him nearly naked, but despite that she knew nothing about Fin.

Steve tilted his head and winked. ‘Ought to be careful then. Save a stranger from the sea, and he'll turn your enemy.'

A shiver went down Gabe's spine as she looked at Fin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seven

 

 

 

 

L
ooking up from her desk, Jaunty watched the mist lift from the river. The sun hit the emerging shoreline at Groyne Point, where three herons walked the beach. She imagined the leaves were turning colour as she knew they did at this time of year, but she couldn't see it. It was lost.

Paris. I'd been there for a year studying with Pierre. I was improving. My parents, even my English grandmother, could see that. This was not what they wanted for me, but the more time I invested in my art, the deeper my determination went. It was also freedom. I knew the city well, and during my time there Jean and I would wander, painting. Nothing was beneath our notice, from the dustbins to the whores. The thought of the variety now makes my head swim.

I turn the corner and Jean is trying to hand a plate back to a waiter. I laugh. It's happened again.

‘Bonjour.' I come up to the table and smile at the waiter as I take a seat. I tell him I will take the salad covered in anchovies that sits in front of her and order Jean a plate of tomatoes, cucumber and lettuce instead.

‘Why do they never understand me?'

I chuckle. ‘Oh, but they do.'

She laughs and pushes a letter across the table to me, then looks down. I don't understand how she can still be embarrassed about this now. She is so clever in other ways. I skim the contents and realise that it is the assistant at the art gallery who has written, and he has used words that she would never be able to read, such as exquisite. He has also thrown in numbers, and that would flummox her all together. I look up and take Jean's hand.

‘It's all good. All your paintings have sold and they want to know if you have more.'

Her shoulders relax and she smiles. ‘What would I do without you?'

‘Well, learn to eat anchovies for one thing!'

I knew from the outset that I was in the presence of true ­genius. Jean was so gifted and while I had talent it was not on the scale of brilliance. I could have been jealous, but I was in awe. I excelled in portraiture and knew that after my years of study in Paris I would retreat to the acceptable position of painting society portraits. She, however, would become great.

We would roll into the studio after a morning painting and I could see the way Pierre regarded her. He too knew that she was special. Sometimes I wondered if it was the difference in our backgrounds that shaped our talent. Had mine been too soft, too loving? Had my years studying the great artists of the past held me back? She had limited exposure but so much drive.

I felt very protective towards Jean. I did all her correspondence and her accounts. They muddled her. I tried to teach her but her energy was reserved for her work. She even ignored the attentions of Pierre. Jean had a zest and an energy that glowed from within. She was all for art, while I was all for life.

The escalating cry of a curlew sounded across the water, and Jaunty raised her head. The tide was further out, exposing a tangled mess of seaweed, rock and silt. This was the noisy time, when the mud was exposed and the wading birds gathered to find food. She pushed the window further open. The fresh breeze swept through the pine needles, whistling in accom­pani­ment to the curlew and the gulls.

A sharp spasm ran up her arm and Jaunty dropped the pen. With her other hand she rubbed her knuckles and wrist. Gabriella and Fin were out. Gabriella was cautious with Fin, and she was probably right. There was something about him, aside from his looks. He was quiet but he missed nothing, and perhaps it was madness to give him free rein in her studio. Only Gabriella had had that. Jaunty could tell that she had looked through the stacked canvases but nothing more. Soon Gabriella would have no choice but to clear out the studio. Jaunty should have done it years ago and a bonfire would have worked nicely. Maybe it was not too late, but would it matter when she was dead? Everyone else had preceded her, no one could verify or deny what was there.

Dietrich.

No, it was too soon to talk of Dietrich. Jaunty looked at her sketch of Fin.
Alex.

I was home from Paris and forced to stay with my grandmother. Mother was performing in New York again and I loved my grandmother's house, but not her. Her home, well, really
our
home, since my grandfather and my father's older brother had died, sat on the banks of the Lynher. I loved the water and the time my father spent teaching me to sail. Those were the good memories, not the time spent with the sourpuss. I hated being left with her. I longed for the lazy Augusts normally enjoyed on Lake Garda with Mother's family and her artistic friends, but in 1939 that wasn't happening because of the American performances that my mother had lined up.

When Rebecca issued an invitation to join her family near Falmouth I leapt at the opportunity. It saved me, and the summer of 1939 is as fresh in my mind now as if it was yesterday. Grandmother was pleased to be relieved of me, and it was a time of madness and magic.

From the moment Rebecca and her brother Alex collected me from the station and took me to the rambling Victorian house in Flushing, I knew my life would change. Alex wasn't there the whole time. He had joined the army after university and was working at the war office in London. My schoolgirl crush on him hadn't abated at all, but what
had
changed was Alex's attitude to me. He couldn't take his eyes off me – and I was the same.

I was bereft when he disappeared back to London, and spent my time being the third wheel with Rebecca and the boy who lived next door. Her mother was keen to encourage this relationship and long days were spent on the beach, walking and messing about in boats. I counted the days until Alex would be back. No one expected us to fall in love, but we had and we grabbed moments alone on the pretext of Alex teaching me to sail. Those were ­precious hours spent on the water, although at first it was just the brush of a hand or the connection of a tanned leg against mine.

Thoughts of Alex distracted her from her task and Jaunty shook her head. She must write down only what Gabriella needed to know in order to make some sense of Jaunty's life.

 

Gabe wanted to do her vocal exercises, but thus far her shadow, Fin, was always with her. They had arrived back at the cabin and he asked to use the phone. As soon as he was on it Gabe walked out to the studio. Once inside she locked the door and began the exercises to open her chest. Every muscle in her body felt as if it was curled into a tight ball. She knew that standing under a hot stream of water would help, but that brought back memories of last night, which reminded her of the nightmare she'd woken up from. After that fateful final performance and hours in the police station, she had stood under the running water for ages, but it hadn't washed anything away except the scent of him. Although that had been a start.

The big window in the studio framed the sunlight playing on the river. Gabe sighed and then pushed a deep breath out and pulled her arms back, but they only went so far. She ­repeated the exercise and each time her arms moved a centi­­metre further. She bent slowly from the waist, letting her upper body hang. Rolling up one vertebra at a time, she raised her arms above her head, poised herself on one foot – and toppled over. Nothing worked. She went back to stretching her chest muscles and when they had reached half her normal expansion she began the scales. At first her voice was hollow but with each repetition it gained strength. Had she stayed the course she would only now be coming into her voice. But she hadn't.

She opened the piano and played the scales, but the piano was off and her hand ached. What day was today? When was the tuner due? She closed her eyes. Life had stepped out of line. Somewhere, since she had been here, it had gone off track and she needed to put it back to rights.

She moved on to singing arpeggios, but she was slipping and the notes were not clean. She slowed down. Everything about her at the moment wanted to race. She counted to ten, controlling her breathing before beginning again. The notes became clearer. Flipping through the sheet music, she came to
Tosca
. Her hand stilled. She hadn't been able to remove it from her thoughts since this morning.

Maria Lucia's haunting rendition of the Puccini floated in her head. She hadn't listened to
Tosca
in four years. He had stolen that from her as well as everything else. But she could claim this back at least; she was strong enough. Closing her eyes she began ‘Vissi d'arte'. The pain inside her flowed out into the lyrics and she visualised the words anger, despair and pain floating in the space around as she let the song fill her and the studio.

The last note left her and she collapsed on to the floor, tears slipping down her cheeks. What on earth had made her sing that? She wasn't as strong as she'd thought. Gabe rose from the floor and looked around. To regain control of her ­emotions she needed to focus on the practical things. Glancing about the studio, she saw she would need to find sheets and blankets for the bed. Hopefully Fin wouldn't be here too long, because he unsettled her. She didn't know why she felt that way, but she did. The grey painting sat on the easel, blocking the view from the bed. Gabe took the painting off and placed it carefully aside. The easel folded effortlessly and she put this on the floor near the window. Her piano was already standing to one side. Before closing the door behind her, she took one last look through the big window. Sunlight reflected off the water in bright diamonds. She sighed. With that view he'd never leave.

 

Jaunty could just make out the sound of Gabriella singing in the studio. It was
Tosca
. The emotion caught her, making it difficult to swallow. How could the child know that much pain? Her voice ripped through the defences around Jaunty's heart and she could hear her mother. She blinked. At her age how could she still long for her? Long for the stroke of a hand, a sparkling laugh, a lullaby. All Jaunty had were the old records with their scratches and distortions, but Gabriella's voice touched her.

Jaunty pushed the tears away but couldn't stop them. She moved back from the desk and walked to the window. Sunlight glinted off the wake of a motorboat heading towards Gweek, but the view of the river offered no consolation this time. Despite her internal agony, the tide would continue to turn. Why was she crying now? Surely the time for tears had passed.

There was a slight cough. Fin stood just behind Jaunty. He placed a hand on her shoulder and the small action was too much: she sobbed and gasped, unable to speak. The cries wracked her frame and she couldn't stop them. He turned her around and pulled her into his arms. She collapsed against him, taking the comfort of a stranger. The more she wept, the less strength she had left and eventually he was supporting her completely.

Finally Jaunty lifted her head.

‘Better?' he asked.

‘No, that's impossible.' She forced her legs to work and pulled back. She wobbled and he was at her side, helping her to reach the bed. His shirt was soaked with her tears. She felt for the hankie in her pocket and blew her nose. ‘Thank you.'

‘No problem.' He studied her. ‘Was it Gabriella's singing?'

Jaunty loved the shadows created on his face from his cheekbones, so like Alex. ‘Yes, it broke the dam.'

‘A long time in the making?'

‘Yes.' She gave a short laugh, not quite a snort or a sigh.

‘She has an incredible voice.'

‘She does.' Jaunty paused to see if she could still hear Gabriella, but the there was only silence. ‘We are privileged to hear her.'

‘Surely that is how she earns her living?'

‘No, she composes ditties for commercials.' Jaunty pushed herself off the bed. ‘I need tea.'

‘Let me.'

‘Thank you, but I need to move.' She walked to the door and turned back to see him looking on her desk. She hesitated. ‘Actually, would you make the tea?'

He looked up. ‘Of course.' He smiled at her and she went to her desk after he'd left the room. She viewed what she'd left out, wondering if there was anything there that could expose her – but wasn't that what she wanted?

 

Gabe left the studio and walked away from the cabin, which was snug enough with two of them living there, but with three it would be far too small. And Fin altered the atmosphere. He was like the east wind, which cleared the skies but ruffled the waters. Was it his testosterone or was it just him? He was intense. He'd said very little about himself, certainly hadn't given enough information to give him a bed for more than a night. How did they know they could trust him? He could be a reporter, Gabe fretted. After all, a few had tried to get interviews with Jaunty over the years.

Gabe walked the lower path along the creek. She couldn't walk as quickly as she wanted to because the way was still treacherous with wet, fallen leaves, making it slippery. She should have taken a different route to where the hillside was filled with ripe damsons and blackberries.

Near the creek she climbed down the bank. Gabe picked up a stick and chucked it into the water. It swirled around before catching a current and making its way out towards the river. Right at this moment she felt like that stick, being pushed and pulled by the current, unable to stop the forward motion to the wider waters ahead. She was in control of her own fate, but she knew only too well that sometimes life took control. And when it did there was nothing she could do. That wasn't the case right now. She could tell Fin to leave. It was simple: take him aside and ask him to go. She turned and walked back to the cabin.

The problem was that he was too attractive. But she couldn't place just what it was about him that made him so appealing. His features on their own were handsome, but not extra­ordinary, except for the knowing eyes and the full mouth. Gabe blinked. No, she didn't want to think about him at all. Just this slight digression raised her temperature.