What Happens In Cornwall... Read online

  They had a most enjoyable time in the Smugglers Arms. It was a very old inn with a low ceiling, supported by massive dark oak tree trunks. Between the beams, the plaster had probably once been white, but centuries of open fires and tobacco smoke had turned it a mustard yellow colour. The bar was so festooned with an amazing selection of objects plucked from the sea that the bar staff seemed in imminent danger of being submerged by them all. There were star fish, seashells, glass floats to hold nets, and huge chunks of the nets themselves, hung with an eclectic mixture of driftwood, stuffed fish and topped off with some unconvincing plastic lobsters. Casks of real ale with names like Old Thumper or The Pirate’s Revenge stood on a bench behind the counter, and more modern beers, wines and spirits lined the bar. Although most of the other customers were tourists like themselves, there was a fair sprinkling of locals, mainly bewhiskered fishermen types in heavy woollen jumpers or cotton smocks, like something out of a sepia photo.

  The other girls returned from their surfing expedition in the course of the evening and regaled Sam and Becky, as well as half a dozen hopeful young men who had collected on the sidelines, with the tales of their day. By agreement, Becky and Sam made no mention of her exploits on the water. This was for two reasons; firstly because she felt rather ashamed at her foolhardiness and, secondly because she had got the distinct impression the woman over there had been trying to maintain a low profile. After her hospitality and kindness, the least Sam could do was to respect that. It was a pleasant evening but by about ten, she began to feel very tired and she left the others to it. On her way back to the house, she tried Neil again. This time he answered.

  ‘Yes, hi Sam. What is it?’ There was music in the background. It wasn’t heavy-duty disco music; more background lounge bar music. No doubt he had a pint in his hand. Sam was on the point of telling him all about her escape from disaster when she thought to herself, why bother? Instead, she just kept it to a few generalities.

  ‘I thought I’d just check in. Tell you I’m still alive. Having a good time. All that sort of thing.’

  ‘Yeah, well I’m alive too.’

  ‘What’re you doing?’

  ‘Down the pub with the boys. We’re going for a curry in a bit.’

  ‘Sounds like fun.’ In fact it sounded like what he had been doing every Saturday night for the last year. ‘Don’t overdo the beer.’

  ‘Me, overdo the beer? Bye.’ And that was that.

  Next morning Sam didn’t get up early and, unusually, she didn’t feel like going for a run. When she awoke, she found she was aching all over and decided to go back to sleep until mid-morning. In the next bed, Becky showed no signs of life after presumably coming in late. Sam hadn’t heard a thing. She must have gone out like a light.

  When she finally dragged herself out of bed it was almost eleven o’clock. Her hair felt stiff and unresponsive, now even lighter than its normal colour after all the salt. She searched her washbag for a bottle of shampoo and tottered into the shower. The good news, she reflected, was that she wasn’t suffering from the flu. It was just the muscles she had used to paddle with all her might that were complaining. By the time she emerged from a hot shower she was feeling more human. By the time she had let Becky persuade her to have a plate of bacon and eggs at the nearby café, she was back in the land of the living.

  ‘So what’s the plan for today?’ Becky was peering out of the window apprehensively. The mist had cleared, but it had been replaced by a persistent and uninviting drizzle. Sam’s eyes followed hers. Rock Island was just visible through the grey shroud and it looked a lot further out than she remembered. She reflected, as she had been doing for hours now, just how silly she had been and how lucky to find shelter over there.

  ‘I’ve got to do something to thank the people over there on the island; not just for the welcome and the clothes, but for saving my life.’ She caught Becky’s eye. ‘They really did, you know. I could be dead.’ Put like that, it would be almost impossible to find a thank you present that represented the gravity of the situation. Somehow, a box of chocolates wouldn’t do justice to what had happened. She mulled it over as she finished her breakfast, finally arriving at a conclusion. ‘They’ve got pots of money, so whatever present I buy won’t mean a thing to them. No, it’s got to be something more personal.’

  ‘You could try serenading them from the harbour side, but I’ve heard you sing, Sam, and it wasn’t pretty.’ Becky was doing her best to help. ‘You could try sex with the steward chap, but then you’ve still got the problem of the woman, unless she’s…’

  ‘I very much doubt it, Becs. Anyway, that’s not exactly what I meant when I said I wanted to do something personal. Forget sex, forget singing. What else have I got to offer?’

  ‘Sports coaching?’

  Sam thought about it. ‘Well, they both looked very fit, but she’s most probably already got a personal trainer.’ They sat there for a few minutes before the same thought occurred to both of them at the same time.

  ‘Archaeology!’ Becky got there first.

  ‘Archaeology. Becs, that’s right. The island’s an amazingly historic place and she said she loved history. I could offer to come over with a team and do an archaeological survey for them.’ Sam was sounding more animated. ‘That’s what I’ll do. I’ll send them a card and make the offer. You’d be up for it, if they say yes, wouldn’t you?’

  Becky nodded emphatically. ‘Helipad, luxurious furnishings, designer clothes… just try and stop me, Sam.’ She grinned across the table. ‘To be honest, the way I’ve been feeling lately, I would probably be prepared to take a stab at sex with the steward as well, if it helps.’

  Sam grinned back at her. ‘I don’t think that’ll be necessary, thanks. Now, where do you think I can buy a card in a little place like this on a Sunday morning?’

  Becky reached into her bag. ‘Here, I bought these yesterday afternoon while you were being fished out of the sea. There’s only the little shop down by the bus stop, but I bet it’s closed today.’ She slid a paper bag across the table. ‘As you can see, I haven’t got round to writing any of them yet. Take whichever you like.’

  ‘That’s brilliant. Thanks, Becs.’ Sam flicked through the cards and chose one with a photo of ducks flying across the sunset. She pulled out a pen and started writing. As she was composing her message, another thought occurred to her. ‘How in the hell do I get the card to them? Do I just address it to “The Occupier, Rock Island”?’

  ‘What about the boatman? He must come across to the mainland from time to time to pick up supplies. In fact, I bet he picks up the mail.’

  Sam looked up. ‘That’s an idea. Keep your eyes peeled. You can’t miss the boat. It’s a gorgeous polished wooden launch, like the one in Some Like it Hot.’ They had recently watched the classic black and white movie so Becky was familiar with the vessel.

  ‘Sort of like that one out there?’ Sam’s eyes followed Becky’s pointing finger. Sure enough, the launch was just visible, nosing out of the little harbour on the island, headed for the jetty at Tregossick.

  ‘That’s it all right. Keep your eyes on it and let me know when he’s getting near land.’ Sam returned to her writing, occasionally looking up to check the progress of the launch. She managed to finish the message and scribble her name before the boat reached the jetty. She added her address and phone number and sealed the envelope. ‘Becs, will you settle up for breakfast and I’ll pay you back?’ Becky nodded and waved her away. Sam picked up her jacket and made a run for the jetty, arriving just as the launch got there.

  ‘Hello, good morning. Remember me?’ Sam looked down into the boat and saw that there was only the boatman in there.

  ‘I certainly do, Miss. And I’m delighted to see you fit and well after your adventures yesterday.’ With an experienced hand, he looped a mooring rope around a bollard and tied it off. After securing a second rope, he climbed onto the quayside. ‘I’ll tell everybody on the island the good news that you’re all right a
gain.’

  Samantha held out the card. ‘Please could you give this to the lady. It’s just a thank you note.’

  He took it from her and smiled. ‘Of course I will. Now, you take it easy, you hear?’

  That evening, after a far less exciting day than the previous one, Sam and Becky returned to the pub with the rest of their party of girls. In spite of the traditional surroundings, the place offered a surprisingly varied menu. Sam reflected that the days of Cornish pubs only selling Cornish pasties were long gone. Apart from anything else, the pasties here came with a choice of filling, not just the classic potato, onion, swede and mince. On the Smugglers Arms menu there were smoked fish and scallop pasties, and even vegetarian gluten free pasties. Times had definitely changed. And, apart from pasties, there was everything from tagliatelle alla carbonara to a selection of curries. Curry reminded her briefly of Neil, but the thought didn’t last long. After her dice with death the previous day, relationship problems seemed so much less important.

  It was around eight o’clock and they were just finishing two monster portions of cod and chips when Sam’s phone rang. She checked the caller ID, but didn’t recognise it. The group of men who had been circling around their group the previous night had now doubled in size, and the noise of the chatter all around was deafening. Sam took the phone outside.

  ‘Yes, hello.’

  ‘Samantha?’ It was a woman’s voice.

  ‘Yes. Who’s that?’ Something in the woman’s voice was familiar.

  ‘It’s Ann, from the island.’ There was a slight pause. ‘We met yesterday.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course. Thanks a lot for calling. I hope you got my note. I really don’t know how to begin to thank you for what you did.’

  ‘Yes, thanks. Ronnie gave me your card. That was very sweet of you. That’s what I’m ringing about. Are you still in Tregossick, or have you returned home?’

  ‘I’m still here. We go home tomorrow. In fact I’ve been in the pub having fish and chips. Would you like to come and join us? It would be lovely to see you again and the least I can do is buy you a few drinks.’

  There was a pause before the woman, Ann, answered. The regret in her tone was clear. ‘I would really love to, Samantha, but I can’t.’ She didn’t go on to offer an explanation, but Sam had already worked out that she valued her privacy and anonymity above all else. ‘Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for the offer of the archaeological survey. That sounds really fantastic, but it just isn’t feasible at present. But I’ll keep your contact details and I promise to be in touch if I ever decide to go for it.’

  Sam thanked her once more for her kindness the previous day and they both hung up. On impulse, she saved the phone number under the name ‘Ann Island’. As she walked back into the crowded pub, Sam found herself wondering just who Ann was and whether she lived all alone over there.

  Chapter 5

  ‘England, Giancarlo, that’s where we’re going.’

  ‘But, I thought they said New England.’ His tone was that of a petulant teenager. His pouting expression supported the illusion, although he would be twenty-four that October. ‘I like the States. I want to live in the States. I don’t want to go to England. It’s cold and wet and the people are arrogant and horrible.’

  Beppe grunted sympathetically. ‘I know, I know. That’s what I told them, but what can you do? The boss says go to England, so we go to England.’

  ‘But I don’t want to.’ Giancarlo hammered his fist down on the tabletop. It landed with a heavy thud that drew the attention of the other customers around them. In so doing, his knuckles caught the teaspoon lying beside his cup and sent it spinning across the terrace. The thwack as it caught the elbow of the matronly Dutch lady on the end table drew even more attention, as did her squeal of protest. Beppe screwed up his face in silent rage.

  ‘Giancarlo, would you please stop behaving like a little child. We’ve had our orders and that’s that.’ He waved apologetically at the Dutch lady who was huffing and puffing indignantly. ‘Now, I want you to book the tickets and rent us a car. Can you do that? There are flights from Fiumicino to a place called Bristol. That should only be a few hours’ drive from the island. Book us on a flight before the end of the month. I want to be settled in there when the target gets there, if she isn’t already there.’

  Giancarlo sipped his espresso and nodded. ‘Yes, I can do that, if I must.’ He was still fuming. ‘I’m still going to speak to my dad about this.’

  ‘You do that, sunshine. You won’t get far, I can tell you.’ Beppe drained his glass of wine and beckoned to the waitress. She came over, but Beppe saw that her attention was on the boy, not him. His eyes followed hers across the table towards Giancarlo. ‘You want another coffee? No? OK,’ He looked up. ‘Just another glass of red.’

  Giancarlo watched the waitress walk away, an expression of aesthetic appreciation on his face. He turned back to Beppe. ‘So what’s so special about this island? Rock Island?’

  Beppe went on to tell him about the target. Giancarlo’s eyes widened as he heard the name of Ann Cartwright. ‘Now there’s one exceptionally beautiful woman.’

  ‘She’s English, Giancarlo. I thought you just said they were all horrible.’

  ‘The exception that proves the rule. Maybe she’s got Italian blood in her.’ Giancarlo grinned across at him. ‘Or maybe she needs a bit of Italian in her. Now I could think of…’

  His musings were interrupted as the waitress returned with the glass of red wine for Beppe. As she set it down Beppe noticed that her attention was still quite clearly directed at Giancarlo. He picked the drink up and swallowed half, then set it down and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. ‘You smoke?’

  Giancarlo shook his head. ‘No, and you shouldn’t either. They’re bad for your health.’

  ‘So’s spending the summer in England, but what can you do?’ He lit the cigarette, breathed in deeply and took a closer look at his companion-to-be for the next month. The boy was tall and slim, quite good-looking in a juvenile way. His clothes were expensive, but with his old man’s money, he could afford to dress in style. From the way he was studying the waitress’s bottom, he clearly wasn’t gay. ‘You got a girlfriend at the moment?’

  ‘Yes, have you?’

  ‘No, my wife might object.’ In fact, Beppe thought to himself, she would probably die of surprise. He reached down, undid the top button of his trousers then took another pull at the red wine. The boy was grinning as he leant forward in conspiratorial fashion.

  ‘To tell the truth, I’ve got a couple of girls on the go at the moment.’ Beppe looked at him with new respect. Giancarlo returned his attention to the waitress until she disappeared back inside the café. He was thinking about the forthcoming trip to England. This made him a bit more reflective. ‘I wonder what English girls are like. I’ve never met any. You’ve been there often enough. You must know.’

  ‘As far as I remember, you pour drink into them, turn on the charm and they’re anybody’s.’

  Giancarlo studied the older man pityingly. ‘You really do have a very cynical attitude towards the opposite sex, you know.’

  ‘And you think their attitude towards me is any better?’

  Giancarlo wasn’t listening. He was watching the waitress. Without taking his eyes off her, he returned to their conversation.

  ‘So, you ever have an English girlfriend?’

  The waitress had realised by this time that Giancarlo’s eyes had zeroed in on her. To Beppe’s surprise, she didn’t seem to mind. She flashed the boy a smile that signalled interest and availability. Beppe was impressed. He glanced across at Giancarlo.

  ‘You ever have a waitress?’

  ‘Not until today.’

  Chapter 6

  ‘Have you ever heard of Rock Island, Sam?’

  Samantha looked up in surprise. Virginia had been away at a conference for a few days so Sam hadn’t had a chance to tell her about the trip to Tregossick with Becky yet. It was quite a co
incidence that she was asking about the island. Intrigued, Sam adopted a neutral tone. ‘Yes, only quite recently, actually. Why do you ask? What do you know about it?’

  ‘Not nearly enough. In fact, next to nothing.’ Professor Greenway looked across the table with a little grimace of frustration. ‘The Abbey of Saint Bernard on Rock Island is a mystery. In spite of it being just down the road from here, I’m afraid we know so little about it. So how come you know it?’

  Samantha had decided not to mention that she had been rescued by the inhabitants of the abbey. She had made Becky promise not to reveal any details of her moment of peril on the high seas, so she searched for a suitable answer and found it in the book she had been reading since returning to Exeter. ‘Becky and I went to Tregossick last weekend, and you can’t miss the island, stuck right slap bang out there in the bay. Anyway, I was reading Delahaye’s History of the Cistercian Order the other night and I came across a reference to the place. It’s supposed to be one of the best-preserved medieval abbeys left in the country. And the abbey church is virtually unexplored. In fact, I couldn’t find a single photo of the inside.’ She glanced across the lunch table. ‘So why the sudden interest in Rock Island?’

  ‘I’ve never managed to set foot in the place. It’s not just us from Archaeology. Nobody from the university’s been allowed to see it, not even from Medieval Studies. It’s privately owned and they’ve steadfastly refused to let anybody in, even just to take a casual look.’ Virginia paused and looked up, a sparkle in her eye. ‘But things have changed. I did an internet search and found that it’s been sold.’