A Cornish Stranger (16 page)

Gabe flinched slightly at the thought, but knew she was being ridiculous. It was good to have someone around to share her worries with. She should count Fin's help as a blessing not a curse. ‘Thanks.'

He packaged up the sandwiches and put hers on a plate, then went and grabbed his book, which he tucked under his arm.

‘Get the work done and then we can take Jaunty out if the rain stops.' He looked heavenward. Sunlight showed through the clouds and a rainbow crossed the river. Its end appeared to be in a yellow field surrounded green ones.

‘OK, but I'm not sure where we could take her.'

‘She wants to go on the river, so I thought we could row her down the creek this evening if the weather improves.'

‘Oh, OK.'

He dashed out the door and Gabe stood still, realising she was relying on him. But she mustn't. Who knew how long he would be here or even who he was.

 

Jaunty took a pencil off the table and a piece of paper. Each moment must be used.

I made my way to Truro where I stayed in a rooming house until Philip was born. When he was a year old, I went to Helford, where I had known such happiness, however briefly, and discovered the little cabin was for sale. The owner had died in the war. I bought it immediately despite it being too remote and totally impractical for raising a small child. There was no electricity, no running water and no near neighbours.

The local population knew me only as a slightly mad war widow. That was how I came to live a remote life and began painting again. During Philip's naps I painted, and all I could see in my head and around me was water. At night I dreamt of the sea and that was what came out on to the canvas
.

The rain had stopped and the clouds had parted to reveal patches of, what Jaunty knew, was ultra marine with a touch of cyan. The tide had turned and the herons made the most of the riverbank while they could access it.

I made a papoose, American Indian style, and would walk along the creek with Philip close to my heart. I loved him without reservation, although even after his birth I was no closer to knowing who was his father because he was the image of me. I prayed he was Alex's and that I had at least a part of him with me, and the rhythm of our days was long walks and me painting when he slept.

Oh, Gabriella, I was weary. It shames me now to think about it. I know I wasn't as loving as I should have been but at times there was nothing left in me. I had to survive, which meant that there was no time for self-pity or even to make friends. But I owed it to Jean to survive. She had lost her life because of me and I had stolen her identity. I had to make something of it, something she'd be proud of. Her voice was forever in my head, telling me to add that touch of cobalt, to lighten the brush stroke or to step back from my work and actually see.

When the colour left me months ago, Jean left me. I see that now. And I am hollow.

Jaunty looked at the river. It was her conscience. It was her love. It kept her focused. She owed it to Jean. To Alex.

These early canvases I sent to Paul, fully expecting that there would be no market for them. But I was wrong. The demand for Jean's work had grown. Apparently he had told collectors that I'd been so scarred by the war and what I'd seen that I could only paint the sea. Paul was always an excellent salesman.

So my paintings sold, and sold well.

A helicopter from
RNAS
Culdrose flew overhead and Jaunty stood to watch it. Soon it disappeared and a motorboat towing a yacht made its way towards Gweek, the sunlight catching the bright paintwork on the hull. Jaunty sighed and began again.

And so the lie grew and I accepted that I was Jean Blythe – or, rather, I was Jaunty. In Paris another English student had nicknamed her Jaunty because of her happy attitude. She had loved the idea of being a mystery so she called herself Jaunty, and when she was in a rush, the Jaunty became simply a J. So when I began painting again I signed
my
paintings with a J, mimicking her bold strokes.

Oh those carefree days in Paris!

It would have been impossible to imagine back then that I had to become the happy person that she had been. I had been very happy once but I had never had her exuberance, and now, with an empty future ahead of me, it was harder to hold on to what little I could conjure. Each day I woke and I thought of Alex and what I had lost and it was only Philip that kept me going. He was a joy and a trial and there was no one I could to turn to. I couldn't let anyone close.

Jaunty stopped. No one but her knew of the lie. Fin had guessed but he only knew that she hadn't painted those Parisian works.

It was, and is, just me who carries the truth and the lie. As each breath seems harder to take, the lie becomes heavier.

She stopped and stood. Her fingers ached. Canvases lay stacked in this, the perfect studio. When she had chosen the spot she knew the northern light would be superb, for she had lived in the cabin for two years by then. And of course, this spot held her memories of Alex.

Jaunty shifted through the paintings and sketches. There was so much. She looked up when Fin came back in.

‘How is she?' She straightened.

‘I've told her to finish her work so that we can take you down the creek when the weather clears and you've woken from your nap.'

Jaunty chuckled. ‘You're wicked.'

‘Possibly.' He handed her a sandwich. ‘Now, the price for my complicity is that you eat the whole sandwich and not just two bites, because I see how your lack of appetite worries her.'

‘I know. She has always been a worrier but it has become worse.'

‘Well, it's hard.'

Jaunty looked at him closely. ‘Why did your wife leave you?'

‘Just because you are sharing your secrets doesn't mean I have to reveal mine.'

‘True.' She took a bite of her sandwich and waited.

‘Patricia left me because she was in love with someone else and had been for a long time.' He walked to the window. ‘I should have seen it. I should have seen it before we were married but we were business partners and lovers and it all seemed to work.' He laughed, but with no pleasure. A self-deprecating smile remained on his lips. ‘It's funny how we see only what we want to.'

‘How long were you married?'

‘Ten years.' He turned around. ‘I should have noticed something was wrong.' He stopped.

‘You don't need to say more. I can fill in the blanks.'

His full mouth twisted into a grimace. ‘Yes, the less said the better. Now, what do you want me to do about all these paintings?'

Jaunty watched his glance rest on the second-to-last portrait she had painted of Gabriella. Although she could no longer see the colour, in her mind she knew that the glory of Gabriella's hair was displayed against the backdrop of the dense woodland on the opposite side of the creek. The myriad of greens balanced the burnished glory of that hair but the light in her granddaughter's eyes had vanished now. No longer did hope visit them. They were now focused but not happy.

‘She's beautiful.' He picked up the canvas and put it on the easel.

‘Yes, she is such a mix of the past, but the most startling feature is her eyes. They are special.'

‘Incredibly. I've never seen any eyes like them and with her hair it is such a striking mix.'

Jaunty sighed. Dietrich had been blond and Gabe's eyes were almost identical to his, but the addition of her red hair brought out the depth of their colour.

Fin finished his sandwich and washed his hands in the sink. ‘I think I had better put these paintings away if you really don't want her to see them now.'

Jaunty nodded. There was so much there. She had forgotten how much she had painted. ‘Will these have any value when the truth is out?'

Fin carefully picked up some watercolours. ‘Yes, I think quite a bit, but it's hard to say.' He looked at her. ‘You have only told me part of the story and the rest of it might be the part that impacts the value of your work, as you know.'

Jaunty nodded, and knew she was right to trust him.

 

 

 

 

 

Thirteen

 

 

 

 

W
ith the composition safely on its way, Gabe took out Max's opera. He expected some sort of response from her and she had dreamt of the lovers and their plight last night. The imagery was so clear in her mind. The tale was perfect for an opera, love thwarted, an old crone, magic and myth entwined. Max had enlarged the story with the baritone, the parentally approved suitor, trying his utmost to woo the maiden with comic results.

The call of an egret broke into her thoughts. That was what was missing from the score! He'd captured so much of Cornwall in the music, but he had neglected the birdsong that was the soundtrack of everyday life. Now a stonechat was singing.

Her fingers ran over the keyboard before she began picking out notes that mimicked the birds. Then she introduced them to the beach scenes where the maiden looks out to sea, longing for her lover. Yes, it definitely added a layer of resonance to the music. She played it again and recorded it, and then, standing up, she sang the new arrangement. It was better, but she longed for feedback from the great soprano, Georgina Piper, whom she had last worked with. Gabe knew that she wasn't using her voice fully, that it lacked depth. She paced the room. The only way to improve was to train and to perform so she should expect nothing else. She couldn't do it alone and she wouldn't perform because if she moved into that world again
he
would be there.

Why was she worried about her singing anyway? What did it matter if she reached her potential or not? There was no point in striving to be the best if you had an audience of one. She put the score and her notes away.

 

‘Hello.' There was a tap at the studio door before it opened and Max stepped inside, talking. ‘Fin, I wanted to let you know I figured out where I'd seen Gabriella before. It was at the World Opera competition. She sang “Vissi d'arte” in the final and she was spellbinding. She won. But I did a little digging and it appears she hasn't sung since.' He stopped chatting when he didn't see Fin.

‘Did your digging say why?' Jaunty noted the surprise on his face.

‘I'm so sorry. I thought Fin was here.'

‘I am.' Fin rose from his knees.

‘Oh.' Max looked between them. ‘I'm sorry about investigating your granddaughter's career.'

‘No need to apologise; I'd like to know what you've found out.' Now Jaunty remembered. There had been an excellent write-up in the
Telegraph
regarding the win.

Fin pointed to the kettle. Max nodded and perched opposite Jaunty on the stool. ‘Unfortunately I found nothing else. The competition should have been the start to her career, but . . .' He shrugged.

‘So there was nothing you found out?' Jaunty studied Max. He was what she would call a snazzy dresser with his brocade waistcoats and polished brogues.

Max looked at Fin and Fin nodded. ‘There were rumours about something happening after the performance.'

‘What?'

‘Well, one of the judges was known to prey on women.'

‘And?' Jaunty could see he knew more than he was saying.

Max looked to Fin again.

‘What happened?' Jaunty clenched the arms of the chair.

‘I don't know.'

Jaunty sat forward. ‘Was she attacked?'

Max shrugged again.

Fin walked to the window and looked out. Jaunty thrust herself out of the chair. Fin came to help her but she pushed him away. The river was still, or appeared so, yet Jaunty knew the changes were always happening below the surface. She didn't know why Gabriella had never told her about what had happened, why she'd buried whatever it was.

‘You know it's not too late for Gabriella to sing again.' Max spoke softly.

Jaunty saw her own reflection in the glass. ‘I know that with work it could happen. But she has lost years of training.' She shook her head. ‘She sings every day but it's not the same, and who knows if she could or would ever step on a stage again.' Jaunty had held the secret too long. She had left it too late to help her granddaughter.

 

Fin carried Jaunty down to the quay. The sun was low in the sky and a gentle breeze stirred the water. Gabe steadied the boat as Fin helped Jaunty to get in. Despite careful handling, Jaunty nearly fell and Gabe wondered why they were doing this. However, the smile on Jaunty's face spoke of happiness, so Gabe didn't say anything, just settled her grandmother on to the cushion she had brought for that purpose.

Fin untied the boat and began to row. The tide was high and the low-slung branches that lined the creek rested in the calm waters. Jaunty was alert, watching everything, then suddenly she stilled and stayed looking at the right-hand side. Gabe couldn't read her expression and she stared in the direction of Jaunty's glance, but saw nothing apart from the trees. The creek was quiet except for the plashing of the oars and the calm surface mirrored the evening sky above.

Gabe turned and looked in front of the boat. A thin mist shrouded the surface of the water ahead and a shiver ran up Gabe's spine as the banks reached towards each other and trees almost touched. The character of the creek transformed. Any sense of civilisation had disappeared with the thickening mist.
Jaunty's expression altered and years seemed to disappear from her face.

Fin stopped rowing and let the momentum take them along. He pulled out a basket from under his seat and produced a bottle of champagne and some plastic flutes. The pop echoed around them and Gabe frowned.

He handed the first glass to Jaunty. ‘Happy Birthday.' Gabe couldn't see his face, but his deep voice carried clearly on the dense air. He turned and handed a glass to her, then smiled. How had she forgotten it was Jaunty's birthday? She had been too wrapped up in her own thoughts.

‘Thanks.' Gabe raised her glass. ‘Here's to you, Jaunty.' Fin placed a leg over the seat so that he could see both of them. He took a sip and then pulled a loaf cake out of the basket. ‘Lemon drizzle seems appropriate considering the changeable weather conditions.' He glanced towards the river. A bolster fog had moved in and erased the view. They were alone and the world felt very far away. Even the birds had stopped and an odd silence filled the air.

‘Thank you. Birthdays at my age are not something you ­really want to remember, but if you are going to, this is perfect.' Jaunty smiled and lifted her glass. As she waved her empty hand, Gabe noted how bent the fingers were, as though she was holding a brush.

‘I love this creek.' Jaunty's eyes filled with tears. Gabe watched her compose her face, trying not to show emotion, but it wasn't working. Her grandmother reached for the necklace she always wore. It was a long chain that held a ring by her heart. Gabe assumed it was her wedding ring. She'd once asked but Jaunty had never really answered her. Gabe couldn't remember now what she'd said, something like ‘It was a promise.' Yes, those were her words.

‘Shall we sing?' Fin looked to Gabe and held a knife above the cake.

Gabe could hear a different question in his voice. It was
more, will
you
sing? Of course she would sing happy birthday to her grandmother. She had not become that precious.

Gabe began and Fin's solid baritone followed her lead. The tears that had been pooling in Jaunty's eyes fell down her face. She clapped her hand as best as she could with her cupped fingers. ‘May I ask for you to sing the song your father loved, the Scottish ballad “Ailein Duinn”?'

Gabe looked at her grandmother and could see the longing on her face. How could she refuse? She nodded and took a sip of the champagne. She closed her eyes and sang.

 

How sorrowful I am

Early in the morning rising

Ò hì, I would go with thee

Hì ri bhò hò ru bhi

Hì ri bhò hò rinn o ho

Brown-haired Alan, ò hì, I would go with thee

 

If it is thy pillow the sand

If it is thy bed the seaweed

Ò hì, I would go with thee

Hì ri bhò hò ru bhi

Hì ri bhò hò rinn o ho

Brown-haired Alan, ò hì, I would go with thee

 

If it is the fish thy candles bright

If it the seals thy watchmen

Ò hì, I would go with thee

Hì ri bhò hò ru bhi

Hì ri bhò hò rinn o ho

Brown-haired Alan, ò hì, I would go with thee

 

I would drink, though all would abhor it

Of thy heart's blood after thy drowning

Ò hì, I would go with thee

Hì ri bhò hò ru bhi

Hì ri bhò hò rinn o ho

Brown-haired Alan, ò hì, I would go with thee

 

The last note hung on the mist and in the distance the sound of farm machinery carried from the shore. Jaunty sighed and shivered at the same time. A soft rain had begun to fall. Fin looked directly into Gabe's eyes before she could put away the emotion the song had stirred. A look of understanding flashed across his face and then, without a word, Fin began to row back to the quay.

 

Jaunty was up and dressed when Gabe came out of her room at seven. Gabe blinked when she saw her grandmother putting yoghurt into a bowl.

‘Good morning.'

‘Indeed it is.' Jaunty smiled. ‘Can I do one for you?'

‘Not awake enough to eat yet.' Gabe yawned.

Jaunty sat down. ‘Ah, but I heard you singing.'

‘Just exercises.'

‘Thank you for yesterday.'

‘No problem.' But of course it was. Her heart had opened up and she'd looked at Fin before she closed it. That was the difficulty. She could not sing without making herself vulnerable. Well, that wasn't quite true. She could sing ‘Happy Birthday' or ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas', but not truly sing. For that she had to open her heart, and he had seen. He had touched her arm but didn't say anything as he left last night and she could still feel his hand.

She opened the back door and came face to face with him.

‘Morning.' His hair was askew as if he'd just run his fingers through it and there was a shadow of stubble across his face, which just served to highlight the good bone structure. She must not have closed her heart again totally last night, for it raced inside her.

‘Yes.'

‘May I use your shower?' He looked at the towel thrown over his arm. His shirt wasn't buttoned and she stared at his chest before blushing and turning away.

‘Sure.' Two large steps took her to the fridge where she dug inside to find the grapefruit juice. When she stood up he had disappeared, but she could hear him singing in the shower. It was ‘O Sole Mio' and Jaunty caught her glance. They both laughed.

‘It's best he never seeks a career on the stage.'

‘Quite.' She took a sip of the juice and frowned when the sour taste hit the sides of her tongue. ‘I'll just dash out and pick up my music on the piano while he's here.'

The dew was heavy and the rising sun caught the beads of moisture. The wind came from the north, bringing a distinct chill but also clearer skies. There was a little fog lingering on the river which would quickly burn off as the sun rose. Gabe's mood lifted.

Inside the studio she stood in front of the piano. Her fingers reached out to the keys. Her hand had healed almost totally now. Checking that she was still alone, she sat down and played Max's music and then began to sing, this time letting the emotion of the piece build fully in her. Her voice opened as it hadn't in years, and when the song finished she found she had stood at some point, knocking back the stool.

Fin stood in the doorway wrapped in nothing but a towel. ‘I didn't want to disturb you.'

‘Sorry.' Gabe righted the stool and collected the sheets of music.

‘Apology not required. In fact, I'd love to ask for more.' He stepped fully into the studio, close enough to her that she could see the goosebumps on his arms. She didn't dare look at anything but his arms. Even letting her eyes stray to his throat was playing havoc with her equilibrium. She felt raw and exposed from singing and yet high at the same time. Seeing a near-naked Fin wasn't helping.

She glanced down and saw a large expanse of thigh. Colour rushed to her face, which was ridiculous. She was a grown woman. As she walked past him, she looked up and caught his glance. Her feet refused to go any further and Fin didn't move. She could see flecks of green in his blue eyes and a damp curl fell on his forehead. His mouth formed a half smile.

Gabe finally managed to find her voice. ‘I'd better go and check on Jaunty.'

‘Yes, she was finishing her breakfast and enjoying listening to you in the distance,' he said. ‘She loves hearing you sing.'

‘She has always loved music.'

‘You can tell. Have you thought about singing her Max's work? Maybe take her to Manaccan.'

Gabe chewed her lip. Jaunty might really enjoy the outing. She'd coped well with last night's trip and seemed so much brighter for it this morning. ‘It's worth considering.'

‘Good.' His glance met hers and she couldn't move. ‘I'm full of good ideas.' His mouth lifted into an enigmatic smile. Gabe tore her glance away from his mouth and it fell on to his bare chest, then down to where the towel sat very low on his hips. She swallowed then fled down the path, thinking she must find him a larger towel.

 

Jaunty looked at the Fin and at Gabe. Something had changed and the atmosphere around the table almost sizzled.

‘I've spoken to Max and he says to come at any time.' Fin passed Gabriella the salad.

Gabriella turned to her grandmother. ‘Jaunty, would you like to come to Manaccan to Max's to hear me sing?'

Jaunty dropped her fork, then quickly picked it up, hoping her mouth wasn't hanging open. Leave Bosworgy? It had been so long since she had even gone as far as the supermarket. She looked around the room knowing she would be leaving it for ever soon.