A Cornish Stranger (5 page)

The girl shook her head back and forth energetically, sending her plaits flying. ‘No.'

Gabe smiled at her. ‘Thanks. Will you tell me your name?'

‘Emily.'

‘OK, Emily, you know what's happening but why aren't you up on the stage?'

‘I don't sing but I can read music and I know when to turn the pages.'

‘You don't sing?' Gabe looked into the serious brown eyes.

‘Well, I can sing but it's awful.'

Gabe shrugged. ‘I doubt that's true but we had better get started – at the beginning.'

The girl nodded and straightened the score.

Gabe flexed her fingers. She remembered singing this in school herself. ‘Do you need any direction or should I just accompany?'

Emily turned to her. ‘They can do it.'

‘I'm sure you're right.'

The group arranged themselves and the sounds of sheet music being shuffled filled the hall. She waited a moment then played the opening bars, but almost stopped when they began, they sounded so lovely. Whoever had been working with them was doing an excellent job.

‘How was that, miss?' Emily asked after the second run-through.

‘Excellent. Is there anything you want to go over again?' Gabe asked them, amazed at how quickly the time had gone.

‘Um, no,' said Hannah, who had turned out to be the soloist singing ‘Pie Jesu'. Gabe smiled at her. She had sung well but Gabe felt she could do with some more practice. Most of the kids took Hannah's words as a cue to leave and were grabbing the bags. One by one they headed out the door, waving thanks. Emily straightened all the music and left ‘Pie Jesu'
on the top before scooting out of the door.

Hannah walked slowly to the piano. ‘I just wanted to say thanks again for stepping in.'

‘I enjoyed it and you all sang so well. Who knew there was so much talent locally?'

Hannah looked up from under her fringe, which had fallen across her eyes.

‘Shall we go through this?' Gabe ran her finger across the ‘Pie Jesu' sheet.

Everything that had been relaxed about Hannah dis­appeared.

‘No, it's fine. I'll manage without running through it again.'

‘It's always been one of my favourite pieces.' Gabe smiled at
Hannah. She could see her nerves. ‘We could just do a quick run through. Wouldn't take a moment.'

Hannah bit her lower lip.

‘Why don't you try an ascending arpeggio to loosen up a bit?' Gabe hit the F above middle C and gave Hannah an encouraging glance. But Hannah stood straight as an arrow by the piano, not opening her mouth. Gabe swallowed as Hannah's fear infected her. But she wasn't performing.
No
. This wasn't the same. Images of standing by a piano, voiceless, circled in Gabe's mind.
No
. This wasn't performing, this was teaching. Gabe coughed, then hit the note again, and when Hannah didn't begin, Gabe sang. Her voice faltered, but by the time she followed with a descending scale, her tone rounded and began to open.

‘Wow!' Hannah's eyes were wide.

‘Well, yes. Now let's see you try it.' Gabe hit the note and Hannah wriggled her arms before she began. Gabe waved her hand for Hannah to continue while she played the accompanying chords and Hannah's shoulders opened. Gabe stilled her hands but Hannah continued to go one tone higher.

‘Now it's my turn to say wow.'

Hannah grinned.

‘Good, now shall we run through “Pie Jesu”?'

‘Sure.'

Gabe glanced at Hannah, who began. When the short piece finished, Hannah kicked her toes against the piano. ‘I fu— messed up.'

Gabe's mouth twitched. ‘Only here.' She played the section and Hannah nodded. ‘Try it again and this time relax more when you sing Pie, pie Jesu.'

‘Relax?'

‘Yes, like this.' Gabe played the notes then sang part of the closing segment. ‘Did you notice what I did?'

‘Yes.' Hannah frowned. ‘You finished the previous note a little early, then you took in all the air you needed.'

‘Now it's your turn to try it – and remember, cheat the breath.'

Hannah smiled and this time she sang it fluently.

‘That's much better, and I bet it was easier to sing when you weren't worrying about having enough breath.'

Hannah nodded.

‘OK, let's run through the whole piece again.' Gabe played and Hannah sang the motet without fault.

‘Wonderful.'

‘Thank you so much.' Hannah looked down and then to Gabe. ‘Would you sing it for me so I can hear how it really should sound?'

‘You already sing it how it should sound.' Gabe glanced out of the window. Afternoon sunlight caught the dust motes, bringing back memories. Like Hannah, she had been a student once, wanting to learn, and she had been helped by so many people. How unfair of her not to help this talented girl. She could do this. Gabe's glance darted to the door. ‘OK.'

Gabe closed her eyes for a moment then straightened her back. She played the opening note on the piano and began to sing, forcing everything, including where she was, out of her head and thinking only of music. As the last note ended she heard a slow clapping coming from behind her. Her throat closed.

‘Hello.' A man's voice said.

‘Max.' Hannah beamed.

‘Sorry, I couldn't make it earlier but it was worth it to hear you sing.' He walked up to the piano and extended his hand. ‘Mrs Bates tells me that you are Gabriella Blythe. It was a real pleasure to hear you.'

‘She's amazing, isn't she?' Hannah said.

‘Yes.' Max nodded. ‘We don't often hear sopranos of your calibre here.' He paused. ‘Actually, not just here.'

‘Um, well . . .' Gabe stood up from the piano and tidied the music. ‘I'm off.'

‘Thank you so much for taking the rehearsal – I really appreciate it.' The overhead light made his auburn hair seem brighter and it picked out the jewel colours in his brocade waistcoat. His dress sense was . . . unique. Gabe smiled as she looked down at his jeans and Converse high tops.

‘They all sang well. You should be fine for the concert next week.' Gabe picked up her bag.

‘Will you be coming?' Hannah hovered by the door watching the two of them.

‘I don't know.' Gabe turned to Hannah. The air of fear around her had disappeared. She now leaned against the piano, projecting confidence.

‘Does that mean you live around here?' Max asked.

Gabe nodded. ‘I've just moved in with my grandmother.'

‘Wonderful news.'

Gabe walked towards the door.

‘Hannah, shall we buy Miss Blythe a drink at the pub to say thanks?' Max stood a few steps behind.

‘Brilliant idea.' Hannah grinned and, linking her arm through Gabe's, led her out of the door and down the hill towards the pub.

 

A lone yacht with a French ensign motored out of the river, the tide helping it on its way. Jaunty recalled those precious summer days mucking about in a boat before everything changed. The task of fighting – no, working with the wind and tide filled her. The feel of the sea spray and the pounding of the blood in her veins were distant but pleasant memories and she missed the thrill. Now a snail could overtake her as she hobbled back inside the cabin. Gabriella had gone out so Jaunty had space to write. She needed space.

Removing the notebook from under the mattress, Jaunty picked up the pen.

My thoughts are rambling, but I don't think it matters in what order I tell the story, just that it is told. Today, France.

Jaunty sat back. She could see the flat she shared with Jean but it was hard to remember how they had met. She rubbed her temples. It had to be there in her mind. These things didn't go away, they were just pushed to the back.

Paris 1938.

Jaunty took her pen from the page. She closed her eyes, running through things she did remember about 1938. Her mind strayed to Alex but she opened her eyes again, erasing him with the view of the river in front of her. Of course! It had been Pierre who had introduced them. It had been the first day of her training.

I walk into the big studio and immediately feel at home with the smell of paint and dust. A woman, nude, sits in the centre of the room on a stool. Light falls on her from the window in the ceiling, creating marvellous shadows. My fingers twitch. I want to paint immediately but Pierre comes to greet me and kisses me three times. He smells of tobacco and wine although it is only ten in the morning. When he releases me I see this elegant woman dressed like a man sitting quietly in the corner. I wonder who she is and if she is painting the nude. I am jealous for so many reasons, but mostly it is her confidence. I love her hair. It is cut in a short bob and is sleek, black and glossy. I touch my own and feel out of date, although I know it suits me.

Pierre takes my hand. ‘Come and meet Jean. I know you will love her. She is English, like you.'

Jean looks up from her work and smiles. Her face is alight with mischief and instantly I am happy. I know we will be friends.

Jaunty touched the pen to the paper again, everything now clear in her mind. She only needed to write what Gabriella needed to know.

I moved to Paris in September. I was there to study art with Pierre François. A month after I arrived I moved in with my fellow student, Jean. We were already good friends, seeing each other every day, but living in a small flat bonded us closer than I could ever have imagined. We were so different but shared the same passion – art.

Jaunty smiled, remembering. She rubbed her knuckles to ease the stiffness. She needed some coffee so she walked to the kitchen and boiled the kettle. Opening the coffee canister, the scent filled her nostrils. It was almost better than the drink itself.

‘You will learn to like coffee.' I sip mine.

‘Never. Give me decent strong tea with milk and sugar.' Jean frowns at the tea in her cup. ‘Not this stuff.'

‘It's good tea.'

‘Never! When we are back in England I will treat you to a decent cup. It's your foreign roots that have ruined your taste buds.'

I laugh and flick my newly cut hair. It is not as short as Jean's – I didn't let her take that much off. But I feel freer and lighter and slightly mad.

Jaunty touched her hair. No longer black but white, it was now very short and much coarser than those days. So much had changed.

 

The pub was busy and Gabe wasn't sure about this, but she hadn't been able to think of a way of refusing without being rude. Still, she would make it quick because she needed to get back to Jaunty.

‘What can I get you?' Max asked.

‘A glass of white wine would be lovely, thanks.' Gabe looked around the pub and recognised a few faces from her past. One of them left the bar and headed straight for her with arms open.

‘Hey, Gabe! I hear you're home for good.' She hadn't seen Mike Gear in years. Her recent visits had been too short and totally focused on time with Jaunty.

‘That's right.' Gabe smiled as he stepped back.

‘Change in job?' He raised an eyebrow.

‘Same job, which I can do anywhere – and Jaunty needed me.'

‘Good thinking.' Max came up and handed her the wine.

‘I see you've met our resident musical genius.' Mike raised his glass towards Max.

Gabe nodded.

‘You two should have a lot in common. People still talk about your rendition of “Once in Royal David's City”.'

‘Mike, that was years ago,' she protested, laughing

‘Yeah, but it blew us all away. We didn't know you could sing. You never opened your mouth half of the time, then, bam! All I can say is the Christmas crib service has never been the same again.'

Gabe looked into her wine glass. It wasn't until sixth form that she'd been willing to sing in public. She hadn't wanted to stand out in any way, which was hard enough with red hair and unusual eyes. As an orphan away at school, and with a grandmother who was more than something of an individual, she was already different enough from everyone

‘Max, you have to hear her sing.' Mike was warming to his subject and Gabe needed to do something to move him away from it.

‘Mike, are you still fishing?' Gabe asked.

He smiled. ‘Yes, thanks to Jaunty. She gave me the seed money to buy my own boat. If it weren't for her I'd still be working for someone.' He took a sip of his beer. ‘Didn't she tell you?'

Gabe shook her head and then smiled. ‘I'm so glad she did.'

‘Me too. You have to come around, and bring Jaunty if she's up to it. She hasn't met the kids yet.'

‘Love too.' Gabe couldn't see Jaunty leaving the cabin at the moment. Her mobility had reduced so much this year.

Hannah, who'd been talking to friends, walked back to them. ‘Thanks again for your help today. It was really cool singing with you.'

‘No problem.' Gabe rubbed her palms against her jeans. She shouldn't have sung. But it wouldn't happen again.

 

 

 

 

 

Three

 

 

 

 

J
aunty looked up from the page. Sunlight no longer hit the desk. It wasn't too hard to think back in time and to write it down. She only wished her thoughts would follow chronologically, but she had no control over them. She sighed and considered the river. It changed, yet it didn't. Each minute the water level altered, making the landscape appear transformed but it remained a sunken valley flooded by the sea and marked by the tides. The river was with her, but Alex was not. Was he ever? Had she imagined it all? What was real and what was a lie?

Glancing across the room Jaunty saw the lunch plate that Gabriella had made up for her before she'd left. Dearest Gabriella – she always thought ahead. In fact, sometimes she was far too practical for someone so artistic. She was an odd mix of her parents.

Why couldn't Jaunty remember Gabriella's age? Jaunty hated that some things were slipping away, but other things remained as if branded on her skin. Yes, she wanted to hold on to Alex, but there was so much she wanted to forget about that time and those things had never left her.

I met Alex through his sister, Rebecca. I was at Cheltenham with her and once, when my parents were in New York, I spent a holiday with her family. I remember little of the week except for Alex. He was in his final year at Oxford and was home only for the weekend. We were beneath his notice, or so I thought until my shy glances met his knowing look. With hindsight, I realise that, in truth, he was actually far more innocent than I. My breath still catches when I think of the first time he held me. It was months later at a ball. We waltzed but I can't recall which one, or even the music, and yet I can taste the frustration of being close, but not nearly close enough. His eyes hinted at desire and I knew then that my future lay with him.

It was another year before I saw him again. It was on the King's Road in London and I was very distracted. The talk of war was everywhere and so were uniforms, and I wasn't looking where I was going when I bumped into a man in one. Alex.

Jaunty stretched. Gabriella doesn't need to know this, she thought. She leaned back into the chair, feeling the wooden uprights press into the thin skin of her back.
Alex.
Everything changed that day.

‘Well, hello.' Alex steadies me with both hands.

‘Alex!' I blink, noting how the uniform hugs his broad shoulders and that his hands have remained on my arms.

‘How wonderful to see you.' He steps back and I feel myself flush as he takes in my crazy apparel. ‘I'm on my way to meet Rebecca for tea. You must come.'

I open my mouth to say no, but he grabs my hand and I know I would follow him anywhere. Grandmother Penrose will be furious when I don't appear for tea but I don't care. Alex is holding my hand.

The phone rang. Jaunty put the pen down and stretched. Who would be calling? Probably Gabriella, to check on her. It was on the fifth ring by the time Jaunty reached it, and the line was dead. It was so infuriating. The newspaper sat on the kitchen table. Gabriella must have walked to the shop this morning. Jaunty read the headlines. The news was not good, but then it never was. The names changed but the content didn't. At least now there wasn't a war in Europe. That had dominated too much of her life and altered its course – and she was following it until the bitter end.

She walked back to the sitting room, which was filled with a soft golden light. The lugger she'd seen a day ago was becalmed in the creek and Jaunty could see the sailor's dark curls and
expanse of shoulders. Her breath caught. She could almost be eighteen again, the way her body yearned. It was funny how the mind played tricks. Alex was fair and he had been dead since June 1943. But there was something about the boat and the sailor . . .

 

‘Jaunty, I'm back.' Gabe put the shopping on the table and looked around. Her grandmother wasn't in her usual spot on the terrace or in the sitting room. Gabe dashed to the bedroom, hoping to find her napping, but the bed was empty. Jaunty's mobility was limited, so where could she be? Running out of the cabin to the studio, Gabe nearly fell in her haste. She had been gone hours by the time she'd picked up the things she needed from Helston. The studio was empty. Where could her grandmother have gone? She rushed along the path and found the gate was open. ‘Jaunty?' she called. No answer.

Gabe moved forward, peering through the trees towards the creek. Some walkers stood aside. ‘Have you seen an old woman about?' she asked, but they shook their heads and Gabe raced on, leaping over exposed tree roots and avoiding the worst of the brambles covered with nearly ripe fruit. Where on earth could her grandmother be? She couldn't go far but she wasn't in any of the likely spots. Taking a deep breath and trying to think logically, Gabe walked down the small path to the creek's edge and stepped on to the mud. The tide was on its way back into the creek but the foreshore was still exposed. The mud was treacherous in places, but she knew she was safe close to the trees. Her grandmother wouldn't be here, she told herself, and yet so often in the past she had found Jaunty down by the water's edge.

As she made her way past the old wreck that had been there for ever, she was even more certain that Jaunty couldn't have made it down the path to the water, beautiful though it was there and so peaceful. Seaweed dried on the rocks and hung from the low branches, and in the distance she could see the
quay. With the tide out it was obvious where it needed to be repaired but it appeared mostly sound.

 

‘What on earth are you doing knee-deep in mud, Gabriella?' Jaunty read the mixed emotions displayed across Gabriella's face. She worried about so much. Jaunty could see the questions that Gabriella wanted to ask but didn't. She was so like her father and her grandfather in the way that she wouldn't pry. So unlike Jaunty herself, who would have dug and persisted until she found out what she wanted to know. Gabriella was too careful. She risked nothing, but she hadn't always been that way. When did it change? Even Philip, her cautious father, had never been that bad. Yes, he had married late, but at least he had found true love, however fleetingly.

‘How on earth did you get down here?' Gabriella pulled herself out of the mud and climbed the rusty ladder on to the quay.

‘On my bottom.' Jaunty shifted. It hadn't been dignified but it had worked, and the peace of listening to the water in the creek had been glorious.

‘Jaunty!'

‘Don't Jaunty me. I can do as I like.' Jaunty knew she sounded like a toddler. This whole regression was awful. She uncrossed her arms and looked at her granddaughter, then turned from her intense stare. In the distance Jaunty could see Groyne Point and Merthen Wood, a beautiful and mystical ancient wood that had to be filled with fairies. It was, she believed, the only place left in the county where they could be safe. Once, many years ago, she'd ventured on to the shore at low tide and tried to find a way through the cluster of trees, but she hadn't been able to penetrate more than a foot of the dense scrub and the tree cover was so thick the temperature dropped immediately. Goosebumps had covered her skin and she'd felt a thousand eyes watching her. She wondered if they watched her still from this distance. Could fairies see that far?

‘Jaunty, where are you?' her granddaughter asked.

She smiled. ‘Away with the fairies, dear.'

Gabriella shook her head, smiling in turn. She couldn't hide her love, and Jaunty didn't believe she deserved it. If – when – Gabriella knew the truth, would she feel the same?

‘When you came down did you consider how you would get back up?'

‘No.' Jaunty shook her head. ‘I don't suppose you found some muscled handsome young man on your travels today?'

‘No such luck.'

Jaunty shook her head. She doubted Gabriella would know what to do with one if she did. It was such a waste of beauty and youth. Her granddaughter stood with her jeans splattered in mud. Did Jaunty have a washing machine? She couldn't remember, but she must. She frowned. Her memory was disappearing. Was this how it happened? Information departing in random haphazardness?

‘I suppose it's a good thing you're so slight these days,' Gabriella said, looking Jaunty up and down.

‘Before you pick me up like a piece of luggage, let me tell you that I don't want to go yet.' Jaunty crossed her arms again.

‘Just when would you like to go?'

‘Shall we have a picnic supper here like we used to?'

Gabriella smiled and her eyes twinkled. Jaunty was reminded again of the girl's beauty.

‘OK.'

Jaunty was content. Now that Gabriella was onside, her granddaughter would do all in her power to make it a magical evening. Jaunty looked to the sky. It promised to be a beautiful sunset – and the fairies would approve.

 

Digging through the shed, Gabe found the barbecue and some charcoal. She wasn't sure why she was doing this, because it would require a fair bit of work, but it was a beautiful evening and a simple meal of sausages and salad should be manageable if the charcoal wasn't too damp. Seventeen years ago she had done this with her father. He was on leave and he'd spent a magical six weeks in summer with her here. It had been the last time she'd seen him, and it was a fun and happy memory, a memory to repeat with Jaunty.

With a bag full of equipment and a bottle of rosé wine, she made her way carefully down to the quay, telling herself that she must remember a torch on the next trip. Jaunty should be light enough to carry as she was so small now, but Gabe had the feeling that they wouldn't be leaving until the sun had long set and the tide was fully in. The path was tricky enough in daylight but in darkness it could be hazardous.

‘There you are.'

Gabe felt Jaunty's scrutiny.

‘Good, you brought wine. Did you remember the corkscrew?'

Gabe placed her burdens down and looked at her grandmother. ‘Don't need it. It has a screw top.'

‘Will the wine be drinkable?' Jaunty squinted doubtfully at the bottle.

Gabe shook her head. ‘Yes, many good winemakers now prefer screw tops to corks.'

Jaunty folded her arms across her chest and Gabe laughed. She supposed that at ninety-two you had a right to be stuck in your ways and Jaunty had always been particular about her wines, although she had never explained how she knew so much about them.

Before setting up the barbecue, Gabe opened the wine and handed Jaunty a glass. Her grandmother's glance was fixed on the river as if she was expecting someone. This, of course, was ridiculous because Jaunty had always kept to herself. She communicated with the world only as necessary: the shop, the postmistress, the doctor, the bank, the gallery and Mrs Bates, who knew everyone and everything. And Jaunty never left Cornwall. She hadn't done so even for Gabe's graduation. Gabe had been the only one without any family there to cele­brate their achievement.

Gabe poked the charcoal. After the fourth attempt it took and she climbed back up to the cabin to gather the rest of the supplies and the essential torch. Already the sky was turning pink. It never ceased to amaze Gabe how quickly the night closed in at this time of year. A few wispy clouds divided the horizon, making it look like sheet music without the notes.

Today was the second day that Gabe hadn't composed in a long time. She stretched her fingers. Tomorrow she would set up the keyboard in the studio. At the moment it was still wrapped in cardboard and propped in the sitting room. She needed to call a piano tuner as well. God knows what had happened to the instrument on its journey. She sighed and grabbed a cushion off a chair for Jaunty. The quay couldn't be too comfortable for Jaunty's small bottom, although of course she hadn't complained; she never did.

 

The boat, with what Jaunty assumed were scarlet sails, came into view again. She pictured where it might have been up-river. The sailor was fighting the incoming tide, trying to make it past Merthen Wood, but he wouldn't get far with so little wind. The boat was so similar to Alex's . . . If she closed her eyes, it was all so clear, her first love and the sea. She could see it, feel it and taste it. For her, salt was the taste of love. She shook her head. Did everyone remember their first love so precisely? She wouldn't know, for she had kept the world so far, so very far, away.

‘The sausages shouldn't take too long.' Gabriella poked them.

‘Chipolatas never do,' Jaunty said, watching the dark head in the boat. The sailor didn't seem perturbed by his lack of progress, just content to be on the river, Jaunty supposed. How she envied him his freedom . . .

‘Jaunty, I asked if you wanted more wine?'

‘Of course.' She smiled at her granddaughter. Had she had a first love – or any love for that matter? Jaunty had never asked, which was wrong. Without her mother Gabriella must have needed to confide in someone, but Jaunty had never encouraged it. Confidences could lead to questions, and that was a risk that she couldn't take. Gabriella's father had been very independent and bright, winning a scholarship to Eton. In fact, Jaunty's father had attended but she had never told Philip of the connection, depriving him of what so many of his friends had – that sense of belonging.

Had Jaunty been distant with him? No, it had been different. Philip had been affectionate physically, but hadn't required conversation other than the normal whys. He hadn't been one for words, just building things. Gabriella had been different. She loved Gabriella, but had that been enough?

The sailing boat was closer to the mouth of the creek. It welcomed him and Jaunty's heart reached out, calling to Alex.

‘Please eat . . .' Gabriella spoke softly, but it was a plea nonetheless.

Jaunty looked at the sausages and salad in front of her. Despite the inviting smell, she had no hunger for food. ‘I'll just be heavier to carry later.'