Chapter Twenty-Four
Sing, Choirs of Locals,
Sing in Contradiction,
Sing, All Ye Visitors to Polkerran Point
Matt fastened one of the microphones so it was of a height to catch the sounds of the guitar. He’d stuck his sunglasses on top of his head and Gemma watched as he dropped his coat into the open guitar case, then searched for something on his phone before placing it on the music stand he’d appropriated.
Tilly, who clearly channelled her mother’s down-to-earth manner, assumed a team leader demeanour, glancing over her shoulder at Matt, who sent her a reassuring smile, then began to strum the melody of Wham’s much-loved Christmas hit.
Those watching began to clap along, with a few breaking into song to provide the words, as Tilly and friends skipped, dipped and spun round. Little arms above their heads, they hopped to Tilly’s not-so-quiet counting, two of the girls going entirely the wrong way as they all turned in a circle, but no one seemed to care.
Gemma felt tears pricking her eyes as she watched Matt, who occasionally glanced at the phone on the stand, nodding encouragingly at the little girls every time one of them looked over at him.
‘Damn him, I’m genuinely falling for him,’ Gemma whispered. ‘What am I going to do? I can’t bear the thought of leaving after Christmas.’
She drew in a shuddering breath, dashing a glove across her eyes, and turned away, emotion tearing at her senses.
A nearby couple with two young children were taking a video. ‘I’m sure that’s Matt… what was his name?’ the woman hissed to her partner. ‘You know, from that band I used to love?’
Brushing past them, Gemma walked away, unsure what to do or where to go, the ache in her breast intensifying. How could she hide this from Matt, when all she wished was to wait for him to finish and throw herself at him and give him a damn good snog? She needed a friend, someone she could—
‘There you are!’
Anna’s kind face appeared before her, Oliver at her side, and, unable to help herself, Gemma hugged her.
‘I’m thinking of renaming you the cavalry,’ Gemma whispered, giving Anna a final squeeze and stepping back.
Anna eyed her with concern, putting an arm round her. ‘Problems?’
Gemma gave a watery sniff. ‘Not really. You have a knack for turning up at the right time.’
‘I’m here too,’ Oliver added plaintively, and Gemma couldn’t help but laugh, despite her heavy heart.
‘Did we miss Matty?’ Anna peered over the nearby hats towards the pergola, where Matt was being persuaded by Tilly and her friends to hold their hands and take a bow for the extremely appreciative audience. ‘What on earth has he been doing?’
‘Helping out when a backing track wouldn’t play,’ Gemma said tremulously, trying to ignore Oliver’s keen blue eyes on her.
Matt had restored his guitar to its case and bent to pick up his coat as the woman who’d been standing by Gemma earlier approached him, gesturing between herself and her partner, who held up a phone. Matt reluctantly obliged with a photo.
It was in marked contrast to how Gemma had first seen him, seemingly posing happily for selfies at Paddington station.
The stage, such as it was, had already been taken by some carol singers. Anna led the way over to where Matt now stood, Gemma following at the rear, wondering how she could make an escape.
‘We missed you!’
‘I didn’t sing.’
Anna smiled. ‘Then we didn’t miss you!’
Matt picked up his guitar. ‘I’ll drop this back at the Lugger, collect it later.’
‘We’ll come with you.’ Oliver fell into step with him, and Anna turned to Gemma.
‘Let’s go and get a drink. It’s so raw out here now.’
‘Do you mind if I join you later… maybe? There are so many stalls I haven’t yet looked at.’
‘Of course not. Enjoy!’
Anna followed the men into the crowd, and Gemma eased her way through the happy shoppers, unheeding of the beautiful carols drifting up into the cold afternoon air. Head down, she kept going, her feelings under tight regulation, until she was free of the crush and heading along the front further away from the fayre.
‘Come on, Gemma. You have to get over this. Over him. A few more weeks and you’ll be able to walk away from the job, Cornwall, everything.’
Gemma kept walking, her stride lengthening, becoming so warm she tugged off her hat and gloves, stuffing them into her carrier and running a hand through her crumpled curls.
Thankful for the cool air on her neck, she drew in a breath, then looked across the water. She’d almost reached Harbourwatch, perched on its rocky outcrop opposite Westerleigh.
She passed the high wall screening Harbourwatch from sight and scooted down the lane towards the tidal beach. Eschewing a coffee from the little beach shop, she sank onto a bench and watched the waves rolling onto the wet sand, dissipating as though they’d never existed, only to be replaced a few seconds later by another, and another.
That would be Gemma, wouldn’t it? One of many Matt had employed in his life, staffers, team members, whatever it was bands had. A brief interlude to serve a purpose and then gone forever. And it had served. But the thought of it ending now hurt .
‘How did I not see this coming?’ Gemma asked of the distant horizon.
‘A question I once asked myself, sat in this exact spot.’
With a start, Gemma looked to her right.
‘Ryther. What are you doing here?’
The elderly gentleman sported his usual double-breasted long coat, this time complemented by a scarf tucked round his throat. There was no sign of the fedora, but he clasped a plain hat in one hand, the fine smooth knit of which revealed it not to be handmade like Gemma’s – unless he had connections to a family called Burberry.
‘May I join you?’ He indicated the bench.
‘Of course, sorry.’ Gemma shuffled quickly aside to make room for him. ‘Would you like a coffee?’
‘No, my dear, but I thank you kindly for the offer. I had one in town just now, when I was watching some of the performers.’
‘I didn’t see you there.’
‘It is quite a crush, isn’t it?’ Ryther rested against the bench, his gaze on Westerleigh across the water. ‘I saw that young man – Matt. What he did was extremely kind, and he has an exceptional musical talent. I understand he is no longer part of his former band.’
It wasn’t a question, but Gemma nodded, her mind returning instantly to those minutes watching Matt, and her heart picked up its skirts and did a clumsy twirl. ‘Getting to know him has been a bit of a revelation.’
Understatement.
‘Life loves to spring its surprises, does it not?’ Ryther’s voice had become wistful, his gaze once again fixed on Westerleigh, his usual vibrancy strangely muted.
Assailed by an urge to offer comfort, Gemma rested a hand on his arm, and he turned his clear gaze on her.
‘What was it you didn’t see coming, Ryther? On this very spot.’
Slowly, a twinkle returned to his eyes as he placed a hand briefly over hers.
‘Le grand amour, ma chère Gemma. A love the like of which I had never known, nor ever did again.’ His gaze returned to Westerleigh, but then he rose from the bench and held out his hand.
‘Come, let us return to the merriment and our friends. Today is not one for sadness or reflection. It is for celebrating the season and all that is good in life.’
Despite the leaden weight in her breast, Gemma’s spirits lifted at his words, and she sent him a grateful smile as she allowed him to raise her to her feet. Being a gentleman seemed ingrained in Ryther, and who was she to shun it?
‘What brought you out here?’ she asked, as they passed the tall, wrought-iron gates across the driveway to Harbourwatch.
‘My grandson, Dev, lives here.’ He indicated the house. ‘I’m visiting for a few days and came back to fetch this.’ He touched his scarf. ‘And I saw you down on the beach. Ah, excuse me.’ Ryther withdrew his phone from a pocket, and Gemma walked on as he took a call, waiting a bit further on, where the lane levelled out.
‘Sorry about that.’
Ryther fell into step beside Gemma, tugging the hat into place. It looked rather incongruous on him. ‘Dev, wondering what had become of me. What could possibly become of me in a place like the cove, I asked? Then, I admitted I had been enticed down to the shore by a lost maiden with tumbling curls of amber rain. My grandson is of a less poetic disposition. He told me the temperature is dropping and to put a damn hat on!’
Gemma burst out laughing and tucked her hand through Ryther’s proffered arm. ‘Well, there are few of us who can claim to have been rescued by a knight in a woolly helmet!’
Despite his years, Ryther had a brisk step on him, and they were soon back in the joyous mayhem lining the streets along the harbour. There was quite a noise coming from the crowd gathered around the performance marquee, and they paused on their way through to see what was happening.
‘Oh, Lord! What’s Auntie Dee up to now?’
The trio under the pergola had clearly finished a rendition of some sort, judging by the clapping and laughter, and Gemma turned to Ryther, wondering who was manning the stall.
‘My great-aunt and two of her besties – though you wouldn’t believe it if you’d heard them earlier.’
Amusement filled Ryther’s face. ‘Pat and I were at the village school together, along with Arthur Clegg. Pat used to work for me, many many years ago. I’d like to hear this.’
There appeared to be some shuffling going on. Mrs Clegg, who’d been centre stage in her wheelchair, and Great-Aunt Dee, clutching a tambourine, moved aside as Old Patrick stepped forward to the microphone.
There didn’t appear to be any music to accompany him, and some people were leaving and joining the general crowd still pressing to and fro up and down the street.
Then, the skin on the back of Gemma’s neck prickled as notes so pure began to float across the air, they cast a spell over those around.
All the chatter ceased, children were shushed, and the few vacated bales of hay were soon filled by those being drawn to listen to Old Patrick’s incredible voice as he sang, unaccompanied, ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’. Even those passing by slowed their steps as they came near the pergola, and, as he held the last note, everyone broke into rapturous applause, some whistled and others called for ‘more, more’.
‘We called him Gabriel at school. He was in the church choir for many years.’
Ryther and Gemma resumed their walk, but as they reached Karma three men came out, and Gemma’s stomach went into freefall.
‘Ah, there’s my Dev.’ Ryther raised a hand to a tall man with reddish-brown hair. He was pretty much the same height as – though a few years younger than – Oliver, who was currently shaking his hand.
Gemma’s attention, however, was on Matt, who had seen her and stilled. Then he nodded towards Oliver’s back and rolled his eyes.
‘Here we must part ways. We’re booked in for early dining at the hotel.’ Ryther took Gemma’s gloved hand and placed a kiss on it. Quashing her inner turmoil, Gemma smiled warmly at him, then leaned up to place a kiss on his cheek.
‘Thank you for rescuing me from my thoughts.’
‘A pleasure, my dear.’
He joined his grandson and they began to walk up the lane to the grand hotel at the top of the village, while Gemma hovered in uncertainty. The men had looked like they had a purpose; it would be a good excuse to avoid joining them.
Oliver was saying something to Matt, so she edged back a few paces, intent on visiting Jean at the stall outside the ice cream shop, but then Oliver saw her, and she felt obliged to at least go and speak to them.