Careless In Red (70 page)

Cadan was flummoxed. More, he was fast deflating, losing ground with her and with the moment. Still, he said, “Dell…Dellen…Babe,” to coax her. She’d spoken well of chances because if there was the slightest chance that he could still get her down to the beach huts, he was willing to go for it.

He took her hand. He lifted it to his mouth. He ran his tongue across her palm. He said huskily, “What d’you say, Dell? What about that key?”

Her reply was, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

WHEN KERRA AND HER FATHER WALKED INTO TOES ON THE Nose, the café was virtually empty. In part, this was due to the time of day, which was in between one meal and the next. In part, this was due to the conditions on the water. When the swells were good, no surfer in his right mind would be hanging about a café.

She’d invited Ben out for a cuppa. They could have more easily had one in the hotel, but she’d wanted to be away from Adventures Unlimited for their conversation. The hotel was redolent of Santo’s death and the recent row she’d had with her mother. For this chat with her father, she wanted to be in neutral territory, in a place that was fresh.

Not that Toes on the Nose was fresh in the true sense. It was instead an inadequate refashioning of what had once been the Green Table Café, a perfect example of if-you-can’t-beat-them-join-them, long ago taken over by surfers because of its proximity to St. Mevan Beach. The café had recent new owners who’d seen commercial possibilities in putting up posters of old surfing films and playing music by the Beach Boys and Jan and Dean. Their menu, however, remained what it had been when they’d bought the place: cheesy chips, lasagna with chips and garlic bread, jacket potatoes with a variety of fillings, chip butties…One’s arteries could clog just reading the menu.

Kerra ordered a Coke at the counter. Her father ordered coffee. Then they took a table as far from the music speakers as possible, beneath a poster for Endless Summer.

Ben looked at the Riding Giants poster across the room. His gaze went from it to Gidget, and he seemed to compare them. He smiled, perhaps nostalgically. Kerra saw this and said, “Why’d you give it up?”

He returned his gaze to her. She thought for a moment that he wouldn’t reply to so direct a question but he surprised her. “I left Pengelly Cove,” he said frankly. “There’s not much surf in Truro.”

“You could have gone back. How far is Truro from the sea, after all?”

“Not far,” he admitted. “I could have gone back once I had a car. That’s true enough.”

“But you didn’t. Why?”

He looked momentarily pensive and presently he said, “I was finished with it. I’d faced the fact that it had done me no good.”

“Ah.” She thought she knew the reason, which at the end of the day was the reason for everything Ben Kerne did. “Mum,” she said. “That’s how you met her.” And yet her reply was based solely on assumption, she realized, for they’d never once discussed how Ben and Dellen Kerne had actually met. It was the sort of question children asked their parents all the time once they became aware that their parents were people separate from themselves: How did you and Mummy meet? But she had never asked and she doubted whether Santo had either.

Ben was accepting his cup of coffee with thanks to the café’s owner. He didn’t reply until Kerra had her Coke. Then he said, “Not because of your mum, Kerra. There were other reasons. Surfing led me to a place I’d have been better off not going to.”

“Truro, you mean?”

He smiled. “I’m speaking metaphorically. A boy died in Pengelly Cove, and everything changed. That was down to surfing, more or less.”

“That’s what you meant: No good came of it.”

“That’s why I didn’t much like Santo surfing. I didn’t want him to fall into a situation that might cause him the sort of trouble I’d seen. So I did what I could to discourage him. It wasn’t right of me, but there you have it.” He blew across the top of his coffee and sipped. He said wryly, “Damn, though. It was daft to try. Santo didn’t need me interceding in his life, at least not about that. He took care of himself, didn’t he?”

“Not at the end of the day,” Kerra noted quietly.

“No. Not at the end of the day.” Ben turned his coffee cup in its saucer, his gaze on his hands. They were silent as the Beach Boys crooned “Surfer Girl.” After a verse, Ben said, “Is that why you’ve brought me here? To talk about Santo? We haven’t mentioned him yet, have we? I’m sorry for that. I haven’t wanted to talk about him and you’ve paid the price.”

“We all have things we’re sorry about when it comes to Santo,” Kerra said. “But that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.” She felt suddenly shy about her subject. Any discussion of Santo made her look upon herself and her motives and deem them selfish. On the other hand, what she had to say was likely going to lift her father’s spirits, and the look of him told her his spirits needed lifting.

“What is it, then?” he asked. “Not bad news, I hope. You’re not leaving us, are you?”

“No. I mean, yes. After a fashion. Alan and I are marrying.”

He took this in, a slow smile beginning to brighten his face. “Are you, now? That’s excellent news. He’s a fine man. When?”

They hadn’t set a date, she told him. Sometime this year. There was no ring yet, but that was to come. “Alan insists,” she said. “He wants to have what he calls ‘a proper engagement.’ You know Alan. And—” She put her hands round her glass. “He wants to ask your permission, Dad.”

“Does he indeed?”

“He said he wants to do things right, from beginning to end. I know it’s silly. No one asks for permission to marry any longer. But it’s what he wants to do. Anyway, I hope you’ll give it. Your permission, I mean.”

“Whyever would I not?”

“Well…” Kerra looked away. How to put it? “You may have gone a bit off on the whole idea of marriage. You know what I mean.”

“Because of your mother.”

“It can’t have been a pleasant journey for you. I could see how you mightn’t want me to take it.”

Ben took his turn at avoiding Kerra’s gaze. He said, “Marriage is difficult no matter the situation the couple finds themselves in. Think otherwise, and you’ll be in for a surprise.”

“But there’s difficult and there’s difficult,” Kerra said. “Truly difficult. Impossible to accept.”

“Ah. Yes. I know you’ve thought that: the why of it all. I’ve been reading that question on your face since you were twelve years old.”

He looked so regretful as he spoke that Kerra felt pained. She said, “Did you never think…Did you never want to…”

He covered her hand with his. “Your mum has had her trying times. There’s no question about that. But her trying times have made her own path rockier than they’ve made mine, and that’s the truth of it. Beyond that, she gave me you. And I have to thank her for that, whatever her faults may be.”

At this, Kerra saw that the moment had arrived when she’d least expected it. She looked down at her Coke, but something of what she needed to say to her father must have shown in her features because he said, “What is it, Kerra?”

“How do you know?” she asked him.

“Whether to take the leap with another person? You don’t know. There’s never any certainty about the kind of life you’ll have with someone else, is there, but at some point—”

“No, no. That’s not what I mean.” She felt the colour come into her face. It burned her cheeks and she could imagine it spreading out like a fan towards her ears. She said, “How do you know about us? About me? For sure. Because…”

He frowned for a moment, but then his eyes widened a little as he took in her meaning.

She added miserably, “Because of what she’s like. I’ve wondered, you see, from time to time.”

He stood abruptly, and she thought he might stride out of the café altogether since he looked towards the door. But instead he said to her, “Come with me, girl. No no. Leave your things where they are,” and he took her to a coat rack, where a small mirror hung within a seashell frame. He stood her in front of that mirror, himself behind her, his hands on her shoulders. “Look at your face,” he said, “and look at mine. Good God, Kerra, who would you be if not my daughter?”

Her eyes burned. She blinked the smarting away. “What about Santo?” she asked.

His hands tightened on her shoulders reassuringly. “You favour me,” he replied, “and Santo always favoured your mum.”

BY THE TIME LYNLEY walked into the incident room in Casvelyn, he’d been gone most of the day, traversing Cornwall from Exeter to Boscastle. He found DI Hannaford and Barbara Havers acting the part of audience for Constable McNulty, who was expatiating on a topic that seemed dear to his heart. This consisted of a set of photos that he’d laid out on a table. Havers looked interested. Hannaford listened, wearing an unmistakable expression of sufferance.

“He’s catching the wave here, and it’s a good shot of him. You can see his face and the colours of his board, right? He’s got good position and he’s got experience. He mostly surfs Hawaii and the water’s cold as the dickens in Half Moon Bay, so he’s not used to it, but what he is used to is the size of the wave. He’s scared, but who wouldn’t be? If you’re not scared, then you’re mad. Tonnes and tonnes of water and unless you’ve caught the last wave in the set, it’s not exactly as if another wave isn’t going to come along, right after the one you might very well wipe out on. And that’s going to hold you down and suck you into the trench. So you better be scared and you better show some respect.” He moved to the next picture. “Look at the angle. He’s losing it here. He knows he’s going to wipe out and he’s wondering how bad it’s going to be, which is what you see here, in this next shot.” He pointed at it. “A full body slap right into the face of the wave. He’s moving God only knows how fast and so’s the water, so what happens when he hits? Break a few ribs? Get the breath knocked out of him? It doesn’t matter which because now he’s going the last place anyone would ever want to go at Maverick’s and that’s over the falls. Here. You can just make him out.”

Lynley joined them at the table. He saw that the constable was talking about a single surfer on a wave the size of a moving hillside the colour of jade. In the photo he was referring to, the breaking wave had entirely swallowed up the surfer whose ghostly figure could be made out behind the crashing white water, a rag doll in a washing machine.

“Some of these blokes live to get their pictures taken riding monster waves,” McNulty said in conclusion to his remarks. “And some of them die for just the same reason. That’s what happened to him.”

“Who is he?” Lynley asked.

“Mark Foo,” McNulty said.

“Thank you, Constable,” Bea Hannaford said. “Very dramatic, very grim, always illuminating. Now get back to work. Mr. Priestley’s fingers await your ministrations.” And to Lynley, “I’m going to want a word with you. With you as well, Sergeant Havers.” She jerked her head in the direction of the door.

She took them to a badly appointed interview room, which seemed to have been used mostly as storage for more paper products until the present investigation. She didn’t sit. Nor did they. She said, “Tell me about Falmouth, Thomas.”

Taken up by the events of the day, Lynley was genuinely confused. “I was in Exeter,” he told her. “Not Falmouth.”

“Don’t be coy. I’m not talking about today. What do you know about Daidre Trahair and Falmouth that you haven’t been revealing to me? And don’t either of you lie to me again. One of you went there, and if it’s you, Sergeant Havers, as Dr. Trahair apparently suspects, then I reckon there’s only one reason you took yourself on that little side trip and it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with taking orders from me. Am I correct?”

Lynley intervened. “I asked Barbara to look into—”

“As amazing as it sounds,” Bea cut in, “I’d already worked that out. But the problem is that you’re not directing this investigation. I am.”

“That’s not what it was,” Havers said. “He didn’t ask me to go there. He didn’t even know I was on my way here when he asked me to look into her background.”

“Oh, is that the case, is it?”

“It is. Yeah. He got me on my mobile. In my car. I expect he knew that bit of it, that I was in my car, but he didn’t know where I was or where I was going and he had no idea I was going to be able to go to Falmouth at all. He just asked if I would look into a few details concerning her background. As it was, I could go to Falmouth. And as it wasn’t far out of the way from where I was heading—which was here, of course—I thought I could go there before—”

“Are you mad? It’s miles and miles out of the God damn way. What is it with you two?” Bea demanded. “Do you always go your own way in an investigation or am I the first of your colleagues to be so honoured?”

“With due respect, ma’am,” Lynley began.

“Do not call me ma’am.”

“With due respect, Inspector,” Lynley said, “I’m not part of the investigation. Not officially. I’m not even an”—he sought a term—“an official official.”

“Are you trying to be amusing, Superintendent Lynley?”

“Not at all. I’m merely trying to point out that once you informed me I’d be assisting you despite my own wishes in the matter—”

“You’re a bloody material witness. No one cares about your wishes. What did you expect? To go merrily on your way?”

“Which makes it even more irregular,” he said.

“He’s right,” Havers added, “if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Of course I mind. I bloody well mind. We’re not playing fast and loose with the chain of command. Despite your rank,” she said to Lynley, “I’m running this investigation, not you. You are not in the position to assign activities to anyone, including Sergeant Havers, and if you think you are—”

“He didn’t know,” Havers said. “I could have told him I was on my way here when he rang me, but I didn’t. I could have told him I was under orders—”

“What orders?” Lynley asked.

“—but I didn’t. You knew I’d be here eventually—”

“Whose orders?” Lynley asked.

“—so when he rang, it didn’t seem that irregular—”

“Whose orders?” Lynley asked.

“You know whose orders,” Havers told him.

“Has Hillier sent you down here?”