12. Theodora
12
THEODORA
CORNWALL
CINNABAR: Fluency of mind and speech, enhances change of image
T he next morning, I head off, refreshed and revitalised by the sea air. While Rosie fulfils her obligations at the gallery, I view idyllic St Michael’s Mount from the sands of a shingle beach cove. I imagine Amelia stood here too, looking out to sea. There’s a curious comfort in following in my ancestor’s footsteps.
I veer off the South West Coast Path towards the village of Perranuthnoe . From the crest of a hill, the Norman church of St Piran and St Michael presides over the village, with walls of thick granite covered in moss. Surrounded by the Celtic Sea and English Channel , it’s not hard to imagine bells ringing out to warn of impending attack when ships were sighted from the stone turret. Given Cornwall’s isolation on the southern-most tip of the country, I imagine these walls have witnessed countless surges of invaders.
Ancient headstones and battered statues litter the graveyard; the names Whalesborough , Trevelyan and Carrick are barely discernible in the carved stone. Inscribed beneath the tarnished patina of a brass plaque is a claim that Prince Albert once visited the village in the early days of Queen Victoria’s reign. Was Amelia’s miner husband present when the prince arrived to inspect the copper mines? Or perhaps her mother witnessed the royal visit?
Inside the church is airy and light. Its sober dignity is testament to faith in the presence of a higher being. Women’s industrious handiwork is visible in the quaint prayer cushions scattered on the pews. Thanks to their needlework, the congregation kneel and sit in comfort while in prayer. Did Amelia make one of her own?
The craftsmanship of the nave’s ceiling, with pointed arches and curved timber batons resembles a ship’s hull. I love the beach and watching the sea from a distance, but this nod to sailing makes me uncomfortable and I make a quick exit.
In the village I admire the melange of goods in galleries and boutiques before the scent of sugary cinnamon cake tempts me to stop at a cafe. Families pass me with children licking dripping ice creams while sand-swept dogs trail behind them, eager for scraps. I bask in the serenity with the sun on my face and the breeze combing fingers through my hair.
Suddenly , a palm burns on my naked arm. ‘ Theodora ? I thought it was you.’ Sunlight blinds me to his face, but the deep melodic voice is as familiar as if I have known it forever. ‘ What are you doing here?’
‘ I could ask you the same.’ My tone is sharp and cooler than intended: a nervous habit I’ve never managed to master. I bite my lip, wishing I could take it back.
‘ You look rather more refreshed today. I imagine you’ve recovered?’ He moves into the shade. His smile is wide and friendly enough, but with his eyes hidden behind sunglasses, it’s harder to detect sarcasm.
‘ I have, thank you. It wasn’t the drink, by the way. A good night’s sleep was what I needed,’ I reply cautiously.
‘ Do you mind if I join you?’
After last night, I’d prefer he steers clear of me. Instead , I acquiesce with a wave. He eases into the bench seat opposite and I brace as our knees touch.
‘ In answer to your question, I’m collecting a new guitar. It wasn’t quite ready when I called past earlier. The chap here custom makes them in the traditional method and is known for the quality of his workmanship.’
A bespoke guitar. He’s full of surprises.
‘ We have so many amazing artisans here now,’ he continues. ‘ It’s great to be home.’
‘ You’re from here? I had no idea.’
‘ Of course, how could you? But yes, my family have a long history in Perranuthnoe . I travel a great deal, and I’m afraid I don’t get back as often as I’d like.’
He seems more relaxed. More human today. His teeth are so white against his tan I’m temporarily blinded.
‘ What do you do?’ I ask as butterflies settle in my belly. He leans back with hands on the bench and his sleeves strain over the bulge of tanned biceps.
‘ I’m an architect, more by others’ design though than my choice.’
‘ How so?’ Tension pulls across my shoulders as I sense his withholding.
‘ To be honest, my preference was to study marine science.’ He smiles and holds up a hand to shade his eyes. ‘ The sea’s always been an important part of my life. Living here, it has to be to a certain extent. I even toyed with the idea of becoming a professional sailor. But coming from a family of architects, I took the path of least resistance and followed my father into the family business.’
I nod, having taken a simpler path myself. ‘ Yes , sometimes it’s easier to cave in.’
‘ So , tell me about you, your family.’
I close my eyes, uncertain how and where to begin. ‘ My family are all gone. I was brought up by my grandmother. She died recently––’
He touches my hand. ‘ I’m terribly sorry, Theodora . That must have been difficult for you…’
I appreciate his gesture and draw in a deep breath. ‘ Gran was great. It was her ancestor’s connection to Cornwall that brought me here.’
‘ It sounds like you’re one to take up an adventure.’ His lips curl into a grin.
I almost spit out my drink. ‘ Not at all! When Rosie said she was coming to Marazion , I thought it was a good place to start. Ever since we left university she’s been the one with the wanderer’s spirit. Not me.’
‘ That surprises me. Wasn’t it you who took up Kit’s invitation without hesitating? And here you are again today, exploring alone.’ Behind his earnest smile, the flicker of his lips gives him away. He’s teasing.
I adjust my sunglasses as heat floods my cheeks, conscious of his gaze. Perhaps it does make me seem bolder than I am.
‘ So , where is Rosie today?’ Is he scouting info? I’m surprised by the surge of disappointment I feel and quickly push it aside.
‘ She’s giving a talk at the gallery: the influence of French boutis on seventeenth-century furnishings. It’s one of her fields of expertise.’
He offers to show Rosie and me around while he’s here. When I explain I’m alone for the next few days he searches the bottom of his glass, clearly disappointed.
‘ And are you meeting up with partners or friends while travelling?’
I sit back in my chair. Such intense questioning. ‘ No , no partners. I’m off to Italy alone and Rosie will return to London .’ Luke’s face flashes in my head, then disappears, as though I’ve flicked a light switch. ‘ I have a new role with the Opificio in Florence .’
‘ The Opificio delle Pietre Dure ?’ He sits back and folds his arms to listen. ‘ Do you know the translation— the workshop of semi-precious stones? The Medici family originally set it up to preserve mosaics and frescoes, stone, per se.’
‘ No , I didn’t realise that,’ I adjust my sunglasses, ‘but I’ll be working at the Fortezza da Basso in the textile conservation and restoration department, not with mosaics.’
‘ I know Florence well. I lived there for a time. It’s a great city.’ Tristan stands. ‘ Would you like another drink? I’m parched.’ With last night clear in my thoughts, I wave away his offer in place of water.
When he returns, we relax into a more focused conversation, and he explains that he’s back in the London office next week.
‘ It sounds like your work takes you everywhere.’
‘ It does. We still have ties with an Italian firm and are completing the final stages of a new restaurant in Syracuse ––’
‘ Syracuse in Sicily ?’
‘ Yes . The archaeology is amazing. Sicily is full of the history of the Normans and the Greeks , and the ruins in Agrigento are superb.’ He smiles and stretches with his hands looped behind his head.
‘ I’m hoping to get there one weekend.’ Especially knowing the coperta was made there. ‘ Do you have any more recommendations?’
‘ You’ll need more than a weekend. And Taormina is a must. It was popular during the time of the Grand Tour . In fact, it was quite the English ex-pats’ paradise.’
I’m intrigued to know more. ‘ Why is that?’
‘ It’s been a source of inspiration for writers, artists and poets for centuries. In recent years, filmmakers and cable TV networks have set several shows in the town, so it’s become a major highlight for tourists. Back in the early nineteen hundreds, a photographer of note was based there. Admittedly , taking photos of naked young men was probably his way of procuring male company. Taormina was known for its open and broad-minded lifestyle.’
I lean forwards with my face in my hands, elbows solidly in position on the table. ‘ Are you saying it’s where people who were different could find sanctuary or live more freely?’
‘ Yes , that’s true. Possibly to escape their lives and their pasts. It’s not always easy to accomplish.’ He looks wistful, as though reminded of a difficult memory.
I nod to encourage him.
‘ One lady had a soft spot for outcasts and the underrepresented; she paid particular attention to the poorest girls of the village by providing their dowries. She was a gentlewoman of the upper class and considered it her obligation to assist the peasants and those less fortunate. Noblesse oblige .’
I’m aware of the term. The obligation of nobility—or those who can afford it—to be generous and philanthropic. So many people need assistance now. Charity is an important fact of life in every community. Even Mrs van der Meyer’s offerings make a difference in their own way.
It was Star’s idea to donate a portion of our sales towards the health and education of disadvantaged children in the local community. Her mother works at the local primary school and often relates stories of children from impoverished homes that arrive at school dishevelled and hungry. You can’t learn on an empty stomach. Helping fund the breakfast program has become a passion project for us.
My thoughts wander, and I bite my lip, wondering how Star is faring at home. Her last text suggested Luke was making frequent visits to the boutique.
‘ Am I boring you? You’re very quiet all of a sudden.’ Tristan’s voice lowers.
‘ Sorry . I was thinking about my boutique. We deal in second-hand and upcycled fashion and have a huge variety of customers. Some believe in ethical and sustainable fashion. Others merely want cheaper clothing or are so hard up it’s all they can afford. Then there are those looking for an original look or a uniquely remodelled piece. But we have terrific supporters…’
I clamp my lips together. There’s nothing exciting about my boutique. He doesn’t need to hear about it. ‘ Didn’t you say you were picking up a guitar?’
‘ Why don’t you come with me? You must see the workspace; the craftsman is extremely talented.’
Dozens of guitars in various shapes and sizes decorate the entrance of the workshop. While Tristan finishes his business at the rear, I wait in the front, admiring the craftsmanship and quality of the beautiful pieces. There’s a mixture of scents—woody shavings of freshly carved timber contrast with the sharpness of glue, and tobacco lurks like a base note beneath it all. The space is open and serene, but there’s an air of excitement too. The essence of creativity.
In the background, the hum of voices fades, and the melodic strains of a solo guitar float through the air. The timbre is incongruously rich and hollow, and I recognise a lullaby as the mellow strumming continues. The beautiful resonance lingers like a haunting echo. Suddenly the piece finishes, and a more complicated tune follows. The tempo increases; a hand beats the timber and then fingers strum, faster and faster. I’m drawn towards the sound of hands clapping in time with the beat. Tristan is on a stool with his head bowed low and eyes closed in meditation—his hair falls in soft waves across his face as long tapered fingers pluck and strum the strings. The tune is mesmerising.
What an extraordinary man. Last night I felt awkward in his presence and judged him to be blunt and prickly. But he’s a deep thinker; his combination of knowledge and creativity is fascinating. I hug my arms across my body. Inside me, a tingle of promise stirs. It unsettles and intrigues me to admit I’d like to know him better.
Caught up in my pondering, it takes a few seconds to realise my phone is ringing. The spell is broken when Tristan abruptly stops playing, and the men turn to me. With a nod in my direction, he heads to the counter with the guitar to complete the paperwork.
‘ Theo ! Theo , how are you?’ Luke’s voice prompts a jab of guilt in my chest. I haven’t called him back. Again . I rush outside, squinting into the sunlight. ‘ Are you enjoying your trip? How’s everything going? I haven’t heard from you for days.’
The weight of his questions bears down on me as heavily as though he’s standing in front of me. Uncertain how to reply, I’m guarded with my answer, what is said and what is not. I’ve told him about Rosie and our session at the V his smile is little more than veneer. When he suggests politely that we share numbers to keep in touch, I hold my breath like a teenager, hoping it means more. I sound like Star . But what am I expecting? Soon I’ll be leaving for Florence . This is goodbye.
He farewells me with a brusque wave, and the car wends down the lane and out of sight. Dread runs through my body. Hope is fading in the shadows, like the sinking sun on the horizon.