Glittering Fortunes (23 page)

‘Yes.’

‘The farmer—he’s not...?’

‘After Beatrice and Richmond disappeared, he came back to the cove. He’s been here for twelve years. How could he approach Cato, even when Cato bothered to return home—for what would he have said? The international film star, the untouchable icon—you couldn’t have made it up. This man didn’t stand a chance. He would have been laughed out of town.’

Olivia’s mouth was dry. ‘Who is he?’

As the question emerged, she realised she already knew.

She had known the instant she’d seen that photograph on the way to Norfolk, the one of Cato at the party. How he had reminded her of...

‘Ben Nancarrow,’ Fiona said for her. ‘He owns the land at the foot of Lustell Steep.’

The name drifted across Olivia’s tongue, light as snow.

‘Farmer Nancarrow.’ She thought of his broad shoulders, his coal-dark hair and his heavy brow. How afraid they had been of him as children. How he had danced with her mother that spring at the barn dance while Olivia had hidden by the stage, thinking how handsome and frightening he was.

‘Until Charlie’s fifth birthday,’ Fiona explained, ‘Richmond believed both boys were his. When he discovered that Cato wasn’t—the son he had raised in his own mould, the undisputed apple of his eye—well, naturally he started treating him differently. He shifted allegiances.’

‘Charlie always said that Cato hankered after Richmond’s attention.’ It was beginning to make sense, the knot loosening in her hands. ‘Cato was the fallen one. Suddenly all the affection he’d been lavished was going towards his brother.’

‘That’s right. And in my opinion that’s precisely why Cato behaves as he does. Even now he’s working to prove himself to the father who lost interest; who up until that point had been his best friend, his ally, the man who worshipped the ground he walked on, and then one day, just like that, he didn’t want to know.’

‘Cato’s jealous. He always has been.’

Fiona blew out a stream of air, and with it the burden of a lifetime.

‘And Charlie’s a Lomax,’ Olivia said quietly, as if speaking it too loud or too quick might frighten the truth away.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

C
HARLIE
OPENED
HIS
eyes and had no idea where he was. There was a dull thump in his head. A rope of pain skewered between his ears. His mouth was dry and the sheets at his waist were tangled and knotted with fever.

Memories of the previous evening trickled through the fog. He had left his hotel early and checked into the pub. A familiar routine, though it had been different to normal, not the usual taverns with their ships in bottles and their ales on draught: this one was neon-lit and had a Perspex bar from which a trail of students bought one-pound shots. Empty glasses lined up, the froth of beer and the stick of brandy. Loneliness. The barman asking if he’d had enough, and did he need a cab home—
home
—and then a female voice, enticing him to buy another.

He rolled over. The woman was asleep, blonde hair trailed over her shoulder. Shamefully he couldn’t remember her name. He caught flashes of the sex—hard, aching, essential—and her skin wrapped up in his, the needlessness and necessity of release. Quietly he slipped out of bed and hauled on his jeans.

From the bathroom window he was able to decipher his position. Drowsily he drew open the blinds and detected the line of grey water in the distant east—at a guess they were no more than half an hour from the cove. The sky was thick with clouds, a billowing cotton-wool bed that bulged like rising smoke. From it broke occasional shafts of uncertain light, to be swallowed seconds later. The rain had ceased and its aftermath was hauntingly quiet, the tentative first steps to recovery.

He went downstairs. His shoes were where he’d kicked them off by the kitchen door, his wallet thrown on the counter, two glasses on their sides in the sink. He found another and filled it with water, downing it thirstily.

‘Hello,’ came a voice from behind.

She was pink-cheeked and pretty—yes, he remembered her now—and the back of her hair was a sex-muddled nest. Late twenties, long legs, blue eyes that skimmed over his bare torso and down.

‘How did you sleep?’ The woman had a lilting American accent, and was wrapped in a sheet. ‘You sure wore me out... Breakfast?’

He wished he could remember her name. His eyes drifted to the stash of mail.

‘You weren’t thinking of running out on me, were you?’

‘Listen, Alex, last night was fun...’

‘It’s Natalie. I’m surprised you forgot—you were saying it enough times while you were fucking my brains out. Alex is my husband.’

He was glad of the get-out. ‘Right,’ he set down the glass, ‘OK.’

‘He’s in Paris this weekend!’ Natalie trailed him upstairs, where he pulled on his trainers, and a T-shirt that smelled of cigarette smoke.

‘He won’t be back for ages...’ The sheet dropped to the floor.

Charlie turned away. He opened the door.

‘Neither will I,’ he told her.

His flight left tonight.

* * *

I
N
THE
EVENT
the return to town took him longer than thirty minutes, but it was a welcome invigoration. In the storm’s wake the fresh air was bitingly chill and crisp. Lustell air. He would miss it.

Charlie entered the cove from above, taking a path over the cliffs so that the sea spread out before him in all her glory. The waves were no longer spitting and thrashing; the beat they drove now was deeper, a steady, serious roll, the tide rising and falling and the crests metres high. Of the many faces of the ocean this was the one that seduced him most. It was a reminder of the sheer and supreme power of the sea, its mighty drumroll as it heaved and sank, its rhythm launched from miles down and miles out, and its fatal currents a warning to stay clear.

It surprised him, therefore, to see a crowd of surfers gathered on the beach in their wetsuits, tiny as ants against its daunting sweep. A gazebo had been set up, near levelled when the wind picked up, and a canvas banner danced against the sky. Trickling down the path to the sand was a bigger crowd, spectators to the event about to unfold, and a couple stopped to glance uneasily at the sea.

‘Charlie?’

Sackville Grey was coming over the hill. He smiled and held out his hand, which Charlie shook. ‘I was hoping I might bump into you. Are you heading down?’

‘To what?’

‘The surf tournament.’ Sackville was sceptical. ‘Beth’s in the running so I said I’d go. They were ready to call the whole thing off what with the weather; seems like a death wish to me. I’m only showing up so I can talk her out of it.’

‘I can’t,’ said Charlie. ‘Sorry.’

‘Is it true you’re leaving the cove?’

‘That can’t be much of a surprise.’

‘Even so I’m sad to hear it.’ Sackville put his hands in his pockets. ‘Especially as I’ve got an opening coming up at the Round House. I thought you might be interested.’

‘Thanks, but no.’

‘Why? You’re good, Charlie. Scratch that, you’re excellent. This is a fantastic opportunity—I’d want you to adopt the entire exhibition space as your own. The work you did with us before was outstanding; everyone said so.’

‘That was a long time ago.’

‘Not so long.’

‘It is for me.’

‘I never understood why you didn’t pursue it. You could have really started something.’

‘I had my reasons.’

‘And do they still stand?’

Charlie could honestly say, for the very first time, that he had no other commitments, nothing else that warranted his time or attention.

‘At least consider it,’ Sackville persisted. ‘Come on, you’re bloody talented. Don’t let it go to waste. Do it for me, and if you won’t do it for me then do it for yourself.’ There was a shiver of a pause. ‘And if you won’t do it for yourself... Well, then do it for Olivia Lark.’

Her name did something to him, deep inside, a rusted-shut window swinging open on a summer’s day.

‘She thinks a lot of you,’ said Sackville. ‘We all do.’

‘I’m not a charity case.’

‘I didn’t think for a second you were.’

‘I don’t need your pity—or hers.’

‘That’s lucky,’ Sackville didn’t miss a beat, ‘because you don’t have it.’

Charlie held a hand up. ‘I said no. Excuse me, I’ve got a flight to make.’

Sackville watched him go.

‘We’ve got some faces from London coming down,’ he yelled, as Charlie made off across the grassy bluff. ‘It’s high time you showcased!’

A hand was raised to bid him farewell.

‘When you’re back, then?’

The distant figure didn’t stop. It carried on walking, and the wind continued to blow.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

I
T
WAS
WITH
a feeling of dread that Olivia surveyed the pitching Atlantic. Above, the sky was just as choppy, cauliflower clouds breaking to white and grey and casting at speed across the glowering sky. She had never seen the sea so unpredictable.

The beach had been decked out as in previous years, a ballooning marquee under which bystanders huddled against the cold, clutching cups of tea and placing their bets on which contender had it bagged. Music thumped from speakers, the hip-hop playlist of one of Addy’s wannabe-ghetto buddies, and a thread of bunting marked the start range. In minutes the surfers would line up and wait for the whistle.

Olivia craned to see Beth, and instead landed on Addy. Draped off him was Thomasina Feeny, who was shivering in a pair of sherbet-coloured cut-offs.

‘How’s the acting shaping up?’ Olivia asked, going over. ‘I’d say you deserve an Oscar for all that crap you recited in Norfolk.’

‘Do you mind not distracting him?’ Thomasina snipped, as if Addy were a four-year-old who needed his nose wiped. ‘He’s trying to get in the zone.’

‘He tried to get in my zone as well. Without success.’

‘Oh, go away, Chopped Liver. Everyone knows you’re refrigerated.’

‘Everyone knows you’re a slut.’

Thomasina’s mouth dropped open. ‘If you must stick your fat nose in,’ she hissed, ‘Addy’s set for amazing things, no thanks to you. We’ve arranged for him to meet one of Daddy’s producer friends in LA.’

‘Sell your soul to the Feeny clan,’ she told Addy, ‘that’s a great idea.’

‘Try not to be
quite
so bitter.’ Thomasina sneered. ‘Just because the Lomaxes ditched you and now your life’s gone back to the dung heap it was before.’

‘Like you’d know the first thing about the Lomaxes.’

‘I bet you thought you had it made. Turns out you were just a flash in the pan.’

‘I think you’re confusing me with someone else. I never exploited that connection. I never would.’

‘And now it’s over, and you’re rank old gypsy Chopped Liver, just like you always were. Serves you right for stringing Addy along.’

‘Me stringing him along?’ Olivia laughed. ‘That’s funny.’

Lavender joined them. In devotion to the matching principles of her twinhood she had attached herself to Dax Riley, another of the Blue Paradise boys.

‘You guys are so
brave
,’ she sighed, swathing herself across him.

‘Sexy, isn’t it, Lav?’ Thomasina tossed a satisfied glance at Olivia.

‘You ready for this?’ Dax asked Addy, over the girls’ heads.

‘Of course he is,’ chirruped Thomasina. ‘It’s going to be fun, isn’t it, bunny?’

Addy appraised the water with a queasy expression. Strange to think that once Olivia had found him so perfect, everything about him god-like, and now he was just a regular guy. He was smaller than she’d made him in her mind, only a fraction taller than she was. His shoulders beneath his wetsuit were not as broad as she remembered.

‘Sure is,’ he said, with absolutely no conviction.

Thomasina stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Olivia noticed the way he didn’t quite angle to receive it, his eyes flitting instead across her.

‘You look nervous,’ she commented.

‘Ha!’ Thomasina couldn’t resist. ‘Says the girl who calls herself a surfer but chickens out of the only serious competition there is.’

‘Yeah,’ Lavender agreed, ‘you always were a cow—I mean
coward
.’

The twins snickered.

Finally Addy spoke up. ‘Leave it out, Tom,’ he said.

‘Defending her now, are you?’

‘Just don’t see why you have to be such a bitch the whole time.’

Thomasina’s face turned puce.

‘Today’s a stupid idea,’ said Olivia. ‘The water’s crazy. Addy knows it; that’s why he’s busy shitting himself.’

‘I am not.’

‘Bets on for Beth Merrill flaking at the last minute,’ Thomasina trilled.

‘Everyone knows she’ll bail; she’s only doing it to impress her new boyfriend.’

Behind them, Beth was sitting at the marquee. She was kitted out in her gear, bent forward with a hand on her ankle. Crouching next to her was Sackville Grey. ‘Good luck,’ Olivia told Addy. She couldn’t resist throwing a dirty glance Thomasina’s way. ‘I think you’re going to need it.’

As she got nearer to Beth, it was clear her friend was nursing a serious injury.

‘What happened?’ Olivia asked worriedly, kneeling on the sand.

‘You won’t believe it,’ Beth groaned. ‘Bloody twisted my ankle, didn’t I, getting down to the beach.’

‘There’s no way she can do the challenge,’ said Sackville, relieved.

Olivia was, too. ‘Thank God for that.’ She held her friend’s ankle, apologising when Beth winced in pain. ‘You need to get this looked at. It’s sprained.’

‘The whole town sponsored me; there’s no way I can drop! Everyone’s here!’

‘So? They’ll understand. Return the donations if you’re that fussed, it’s not like you need them any more.’

A shrill whistle sliced through the air. Olivia saw Dax bound towards the start, board under his arm, his sandy hair ruffled by the wind. Addy was disentangling himself from Thomasina. Finally breaking free of her clinging arms, and leaving her upturned lips waiting in limbo for a kiss, he straggled down after him.

Checking self-consciously that no one had seen, Thomasina’s reptilian scowl fell on Olivia.

‘Not joining in, after all, wimp?’ she taunted. ‘There’s a surprise.’

Olivia thought:
Fuck it.

She bottled the look on Thomasina’s face for later enjoyment.

‘As a matter of fact, we are,’ she replied. ‘Because I’m doing it.’

* * *

S
EAWATER
SPLASHED
INTO
her lungs, harsh and salty. The water was foamy and hostile, khaki-green, and in deeper pockets toe-numbingly cold.

The boys paddled out at double her speed, boards clipping the waves, their arms scooping through the breakers as they hollered and shook their heads against the exploding spray. Addy sailed past and she saw the soles of his feet, wrinkled and pale as cabbage leaves. Cries of encouragement blew in from the shore, fainter and fainter the further they paddled. Olivia concentrated on the bobbing horizon, appearing and vanishing with each crest and descent, the blood burning in her arms.

At last the train of boards levelled out. They turned back to face the beach, now reduced to a faint, remote strip, and waited. Olivia tuned into that private, addictive beat. It was a subtle shift in the senses, the tingling approach of the frightening unseen: the same as she felt when she was out on her own but different somehow in the collective, heightened, honed, becoming its own force, like the wired, suspicious energy at a séance at the end of a dinner party. This was the ultimate ocean ride—and she had her ticket. There was no going back.

The wind dropped. Everything was quiet and still. In the distance she could make out Beth in the shallows, her arm in the air, waving encouragement.

At the other end of the beach, a man was standing apart. Against the powdery cliffs he was little more than a black thumbprint.

She held her breath.

And waited.

The wave approached like thunder. From the outset Olivia knew that she wouldn’t be able to ride it, the surge was too great; chasing her, tipping her forwards, the breath whipped from her chest. In her peripheral she saw one of the guys topple, tipped before he’d begun the pursuit; a second attempted to get to his feet and went somersaulting into the deep; a third crouched before he was tossed. The swell was boundless, pushing and pushing with unerring, unending strength, and she counted down to the moment to jump but it never came. Dax leapt on to the board too soon and plunged off. Addy’s was flipped before he was swallowed in an angry froth: a brief flash of a panicking pale face swallowed by the rolling rush.

Cast out ahead of the line, she braced herself for the hurdle.

Not yet
,
not yet
...

As far as she dared she hung back, and when the instant clicked she sprang to her feet, taller than the heavens, wider than the sun. The surf moved with her in perfect synergy, this unrivalled force of nature, carrying her, pulling her home.

I’ve done it
, Olivia thought.
I’m flying.

Too quickly, the rhythm changed.

She hadn’t time to think about it, just felt it and in a whoosh the dome above her cartwheeled, the green below slipped away and she was under. Gurgling ocean churned in her ears. The sky folded into the sea. She kicked out to right herself and the board slammed against her head. Dizzily she groped for the surface, grappling for a wheeling arc of daylight as it foamed and heaved and the world turned to liquid. Momentarily it broke and she snatched at air before a briny wash engulfed her once more. She reached a hand to feel for something solid.

Oxygen was running out. Her lungs contracted.

The rush kept coming. She tried to touch down, had no idea how deep she was or even in what direction she had been thrown. She fought back panic, but with every thwarted gasp it flared, constricting her breath and filling her brain with fury. Salt and grit flooded her mouth, her nose, branding her eyes and scorching down her chest. The struggle became too much. She let go. Her limbs stopped flailing.

You have to go back in now
...

She felt herself sinking, down, down, down into absolute darkness.