The Cornish Guest House (12 page)

Rosie’s foot was dragging a bit more than usual as they strolled back to Bag End, so they had to take it very slowly. It was after seven and the streetlights were on, and they agreed it was a good job that they hadn’t anything planned because all they wanted was a hot shower and maybe a good film on TV.

‘What do you think they’ll do tonight?’ Rosie asked her mother. ‘Stay in?’

‘I expect they’ll go for a drink,’ Liz replied. She’d noticed that there was a karaoke night at The Victory Inn and was pretty certain they’d be at the front of the queue.

As they entered Fore Street, they saw Tony and Felipe just a few yards down, walking arm in arm, and they turned when Rosie cried, ‘Hello!’ and Tony’s face broke into a smile.

‘Hey, how’s my favourite girl?’ he said, approaching to give her a hug and ruffle her hair. He had a soft spot for Rosie.

Liz, who hadn’t seen the couple since the previous weekend, explained about the new flat and Tony clapped his hands in excitement.

‘We must get them a housewarming present. What do they need? Some glasses, perhaps? Or bed linen?’ He glanced at Felipe, who nodded enthusiastically. They both loved presents. ‘They’re having a party, I hope?’ They loved celebrations, too.

Liz laughed. ‘I should think so. I just hope Tremarnock can stand the noise. I don’t suppose it’ll be quite like the do at The Stables, not as tasteful.’

‘Much nicer, though,’ Tony replied, and Liz would have asked what he meant but Felipe got in first.

‘Tabitha has very bad manners,’ he said darkly, pulling a face. ‘She snub Tony when he offered to help with advertising. She made a stupid excuse, like he is not good enough for her. I think she can stick her guest house up her—’

‘All right, darling,’ Tony interrupted. He lowered his voice. ‘The husband’s charming but, if you ask me, there’s something the matter with her. She’s not
normal
.’

There was a pregnant pause while everyone reflected on the truth of this statement, then Felipe gave his partner a nudge.

‘We must go, we will be late.’ He checked the time on his phone and Tony explained that they were on their way to The Lobster Pot, where they were meeting up with Rick and his girlfriend, Sylvia.

‘She’s a bit of a goer, that one.’ He winked at Liz, who raised her eyebrows. ‘I hear she’s
very
demanding, if you know what I mean.’

‘Lord!’ Liz was conscious of Rosie, ears pricked, listening to every word. ‘I hope Rick can keep up!’

She took Robert’s hand as they said goodbye and rounded the corner with Rosie into Humble Hill, each lost in their own thoughts.

‘What a strange woman Tabitha is,’ Liz observed at last, while Robert rootled in his pocket for the key. ‘I can’t fathom her at all.’

‘Not everyone’s as friendly as you, Lizzie,’ he replied, opening the door and waiting while she and Rosie stepped inside. ‘But Luke’s great, so I guess they balance each other out.’

Liz almost said something more but changed her mind.

*

Thanks to the unusually mild weather, Rick was able to keep up his early morning swim all through October. Come rain or shine, for as long as anyone could remember, he’d been heading down to Tremarnock Beach two or three times a week before opening his shop. He only stopped when the water became too rough or the outside temperature dropped below freezing.

He was a peculiar sight, in a pair of flappy blue trunks, his hair pulled up in a white plastic swimming cap that covered his ears, his sideburns forcing their way out like an unruly thicket. His body was bulky and pale, and he had funny little bandy legs and a mass of grey chest hair that trailed down his tummy like seaweed when he left the water.

He didn’t believe in wetsuits, though he stocked a few in his shop, along with masks, snorkels, flip-flops, postcards and the Cornish fudge and fairing biscuits that were among the few items Liz had ever seen anyone actually buy. He claimed that the shock of plunging into the freezing ocean worked wonders for the heart and lungs and although so far Sylvia hadn’t joined him, she’d been spotted by Jenny Lambert watching adoringly from the sea wall. Jenny, who sometimes walked Sally on the beach first thing, said whatever was in Rick’s theory, it certainly seemed to be doing the trick as his girlfriend was clearly smitten.

On this particular Sunday Rick was joined by Audrey, who claimed that she needed to get in training for the annual Christmas Day swim, which, though some way hence, was a big event in the village. She and Tony had known each other since childhood, as their mothers were old friends, and Liz used to wonder why they’d never got together as in some ways it would have been ideal. The mystery had been solved one evening when Audrey had become a little tipsy in the pub and revealed that, as fond as she was of Rick, she couldn’t possibly cope with his lack of sartorial style.

‘He’s always had the most appalling dress sense,’ she’d explained. ‘You can change certain things about a man, but not that.’

Fortunately, the problem didn’t seem to bother Sylvia.

Audrey and Rick met on the shingle at 9.a.m, a little later than usual, Audrey in a white towelling robe that she soon discarded to reveal a daring pink and white spotted halter-neck swimsuit that showed off her statuesque figure. Sylvia stood watching from a safe distance in a black, fake-fur coat and dark trousers tucked into knee-length boots. Due to the brisk wind, she frequently had to push her white-blonde hair off her face to stop it sticking to her mauve lipstick.

‘They’re crazy,’ Tony said to Liz, who’d bumped into him in the General Stores, buying a newspaper, and had agreed to take the scenic route home. They slowed to a halt beside Sylvia. ‘I’ll force myself to go in at Christmas but only because I’d feel like a ninny if I didn’t.’

Rick, who had on rubber aqua shoes, like pixie boots, trotted down to the water’s edge and plunged in first, while Audrey picked her way more gingerly across the gritty shingle before entering the surf. Although the air wasn’t cold, the wind was whipping up choppy grey and white waves, and she squealed when a mini-breaker caught her unawares, splashing up her thighs and torso almost to waist level and covering her in foam and salty spray.

Realising that any further delay was pointless, she dived in herself and disappeared completely for a moment, but soon re-emerged and swam towards Rick in her ladylike breaststroke. He was some distance out now and trod water until she caught up, then led the way purposefully towards one of the orange buoys, bobbing gently on the slate-coloured sea.

As they moved further and further off, it became difficult to tell where the grey sky ended and the water began and Liz began to wonder if they’d ever come back. Then their pace slowed, Audrey caught hold of the buoy, looked back at the shore and waved. Liz, waving back, could just make out her high-pitched voice, punctuated by the odd laugh from Rick, mingling with the cries of seagulls and the swish, swish of the incoming tide.

‘They’ve gone a long way,’ Liz commented. ‘It can’t be that cold, or at least they must have got used to the temperature by now.’

‘Rick absolutely loves it,’ Sylvia purred. ‘He says it keeps him young and I think he must be on to something. He’s got the energy of twenty-year-old.’

Liz caught Tony’s eye and the corners of her mouth twitched. Remembering his comment last night about Sylvia’s ‘demands’, she feared that at any moment he’d make a rude innuendo and she wasn’t sure that she’d be able to cope.

‘Lucky him!’ she said, clearing her throat quickly. ‘You’re never tempted to go in yourself?’

‘Oh, no,’ Sylvia replied, patting her hair. ‘As I told Felipe in the pub last night, I far prefer indoor pursuits.’

Tony coughed and Liz felt her shoulders start to shake. Luckily, they were interrupted by a loud bang and turned to see John Lambert slamming shut the door of his fishing-tackle shop, clutching a heavy-looking shovel in one hand, a smaller spade in the other. The price tags were still on them.

‘Everything all right?’ Liz called, because he looked harassed.

‘Sally’s gone to ground. Stuck in a rabbit hole. Can’t get her out!’

‘Oh, dear.’ Sally was always getting lost; she wasn’t exactly well trained. After a frantic search involving most of the village, Liz had once discovered the little dog in the back garden of her old cottage, having slipped in unnoticed when she’d opened the door.

‘Are you planning to dig her out?’ Tony asked doubtfully, staring at the shovel. ‘With that?’

John nodded. ‘Nothing else for it. She’s been gone two hours and we can hear her yelping. Jenny’s frantic.’

Tony offered to help and Liz, who decided that Robert would have to wait for his newspaper, said that’d she’d come, too. Meanwhile, Sylvia announced that she and the swimmers would catch up as soon as they could.

‘I’ll tell Rick to bring his spade as well. He’ll be good at digging. He’s very strong.’

Tony elbowed Liz in the ribs and she pinched his side as they hurried up Fore Street. ‘Stop it!’

John was enormously grateful for their company, explaining as they went that Jenny had been out with the dog since 6 a.m. and they’d already tried coaxing her from the rabbit warren with her favourite squeaky toys and doggy snacks, to no avail.

‘She’s disappeared down a hole before, but never for this long. Normally food does the trick. Jenny thinks she’s stuck. I said she was getting too fat. Sally, I mean,’ he added quickly, ‘not Jenny.’

They took a right turn in the direction of Cardew Heights and the Catholic church, and as they passed the car park Luke sauntered towards them, swinging a key from his forefinger. He drove an enormous black four by four, very shiny and new, unlike most of the muddy old vehicles round here.

They stopped for a moment to say hello and when he found out what had happened, he, too, insisted on accompanying them. It was turning into quite a party.

‘It’s my pleasure,’ he said when John tried to dissuade him. ‘I love dogs and Sally was one of the first villagers I met!’

Halfway up the steep, winding lane Tony had to stop to catch his breath, and John produced a hip flask from his back pocket and passed it round.

‘Jenny will be so grateful. She’ll be amazed when she sees I’ve brought the whole cavalry.’

Luke took a large swig of brandy and Liz couldn’t help thinking that he wasn’t exactly dressed for a country walk, let alone digging, in pale chinos, tan leather loafers and a smart navy pea coat, but of course he hadn’t been in Cornwall long. It had taken her a while to work out that her old, city wardrobe simply wasn’t suitable for Tremarnock and little by little she’d replaced it with more suitable garments.

Now she barely ever wore heels and her waterproof mac and walking boots were among her most prized possessions. Luke would learn, she thought, especially when he returned home with sticky reddish mud caked up his trouser legs and all over those nice clean shoes.

The Catholic church, founded on the site of a sixth-century monastery, stood on its own, perched on the top of the hill and surrounded on all sides by fields. Liz had been inside many times with Rosie, who loved to light a candle before gawping at the old wooden village stocks in the south-west corner, and examining the names on the crumbling tombstones in the overgrown graveyard.

‘Jenny’s over there!’ John said, pointing towards a wooded area to the right of the chapel. ‘I expect she’s on her hands and knees, that’s why we can’t see her.’

They tramped over damp grass, keeping their eyes peeled, until they heard a shout: ‘John!’ And his wife stood up in front of a stubby old oak, waving frantically.

She had on a green quilted gilet and Wellington boots, and her blonde hair had largely escaped from the black Alice band that was meant to be holding it in place. As they approached, Liz could see dirty streaks across her cheeks and noticed that her eyes were red. She’d been crying.

‘I’m so glad you’re here!’ Jenny said, grabbing the spade off her husband as soon as he was close enough. ‘She’s stopped barking. I hope she’s all right.’

She started to stab her spade in the earth, sending clumps of sticky mud flying, until Luke stepped forward and suggested that they’d have to be careful that the hole didn’t collapse, suffocating poor Sally.

‘Wouldn’t it be better to widen the entrance?’ He scratched his chin. ‘Whereabouts do you think she is? There’s no point making a hole if she’s in a completely different section of the warren.’

He bent down and shone the torch on his mobile phone into the cave, before shaking his head. ‘Can’t see anything.’

Jenny’s face crumpled. ‘It’s hopeless. She might be three feet underground.’ She turned to John. ‘What are we going to do?’

He put an arm round her shoulder and frowned. ‘Let’s think about this for a moment. We must be logical.’

Jenny squeaked Sally’s toy mouse at the entrance again and called her name, but there was no response, so she plonked onto her backside disconsolately. ‘It’s all my fault. If only I’d kept her on the lead.’

‘We could call the fire brigade or the RSPCA,’ Tony piped up. ‘They might have better tools. Heat-seeking equipment or a JCB or something.’

‘Not easy to get one up here,’ replied Luke, ‘and it might take ages. I reckon our best bet is to dig round the mouth of the hole and try to open it up.’

He threw off his coat, took the shovel from John and pushed it into the soil around the narrow entrance of the warren, groaning as he did so and using his right foot for maximum leverage. Every now and then he’d stop and shine his torch again, but as his spade got further into the tunnel it became clear that Sally must, indeed, be a long way beneath, because there was absolutely no sight or sound of her.

‘Here, let me take over,’ said John, when Luke paused for a moment to roll up the sleeves of his pale blue shirt, but he was having none of it. ‘I’ll do it. You stay with Jenny; she needs you.’

‘He’s marvellous, isn’t he?’ Tony commented to Liz, who nodded, though she wasn’t entirely convinced that Luke’s was the right strategy. She couldn’t help thinking that he was putting in a lot of effort for dubious gain and his attempts seemed as much about show as anything, but perhaps she was being uncharitable.