10. Theodora
10
THEODORA
CORNWALL
EMERALD: Clarity, protects from enchantment, promotes inner wisdom, friendship
T he last sliver of sunshine warms me through the window as the bus wends through the village and a glorious vista unfolds to the sea. Marazion appears lost in time—a car snaking a narrow lane and a couple wearing puffer vests are the only sign of the present. Sun bathes the whitewashed cottages in a golden glow, and window ledges are decorated with flower boxes and bright blooms bursting with life.
I take a moment to soak in the cobbled streets and thatched roofs that imbue the town with the charm of an old-time movie. I imagine the square looked much the same in Amelia’s day. Did she breathe in this salty air and feel its sting on her skin? I feel like another person as I stride to my hotel with the breeze rippling through my hair. After years of straightening and tying it back, I love the freedom of wild loose curls.
I reach out a hand to open the door, but a bear of man pushes past me. ‘ Orright , me lover?’ he all but bellows. ‘ Where you to?’
I balance my suitcase and raise my eyebrows, a little shocked by his familiarity. Without taking a breath he continues. ‘ An emmet, are yer? From up country? Up north?’
‘ I’m from a long way south, actually,’ I retort. The firebrand in dusty overalls towers over me, but strangely I feel quite at ease.
‘ Giss’on !’
‘ You must excuse my friend’s poor manners.’
The polished voice behind me is as smooth as butter. ‘ Allow me—’ He reaches for my suitcase and a frisson of heat charges through me when his hand dusts mine.
I turn and am aware of holding my breath at the shock of his brilliant blue eyes. He’s handsome; neatly dressed in jeans and a linen shirt. Both are wearing heavy tradesmen’s boots and have clearly come straight from a worksite.
His warm gaze flickers up and down until a small frown dents his forehead, and he ushers me inside. Embarrassed by the blatant attention, I look away. My new designer mac was half price at Harrods ; the flattering shade of plum a temptation I couldn’t resist. Stone cowboy boots and black opaques complete my outfit. Is that why he’s staring?
‘ Name’s Kit ,’ the bear interrupts, breaking my trance. ‘ Helluva band playing dreckly.’
I’m not sure of his meaning, but he nods at a poster on the wall.
‘ Oh , that’s tonight? Thanks for the heads up, Kit? —’
‘ Ah , you’re Australian .’ His mate grins. ‘ I visited Sydney once, loved it there?—’
‘ Guilty as charged.’ I avert my eyes, hoping I don’t resemble a beetroot.
‘ G’day , mate! Struth , come to me barbie.’ Kit’s impersonation is hilarious. ‘ I’ll buy you a cider, I will. Or a beer. Every Aussie drinks beer, don’t they?’ The rolling ‘r’s’ of his West Country accent remind me of Hagrid from Harry Potter .
A phone rings and his friend pulls out his mobile, then holds up his hand in apology to take the call outside.
My face is hot. ‘ Thanks , Kit . We’ll see.’
But his mate’s image stays in my thoughts.
That night, I point Kit out to Rosie , standing head and shoulders above his friends. I neglect to mention the man who had rattled the relative calm of my day.
Kit’s arms wave energetically as he regales the group. A man of similar ruddy colouring and an attractive blonde are laughing at his antics. But it’s the fourth who stops me in my tracks. He remains po-faced and stares into the distance when the woman seeks his attention with the nudge of a bare shoulder. I look away in case relief shows on my face.
‘ It appears your mate Kit’s been here a while.’ Rosie winks. ‘ Oh wow, and what a hottie!’ Her enthusiasm glows like a neon sign.
Suddenly , the expectation of meeting new people has my stomach roiling. I stop, hidden behind a thick oak post. ‘ Maybe we shouldn’t bother, Rose ….’
‘ Don’t be silly. We’re here now, and I’m ready for some action! It looks like the entire town is too. It might be fun. Come on.’ She darts a look over her shoulder, encouraging me to follow.
Kit spots us from his elevated vantage and cups his hands to his mouth. ‘ Cooee ! Wasson , Ms Australia ?’ He bounds forward like a golden retriever puppy. ‘ Brought some proper maid ’ere too!’
‘ This is Rosie .’ I smile. Kit is harmless. Just a little more boisterous than I’m accustomed to.
‘ An Aussie too, my bird? This be some lucky day.’
I can’t help rolling my eyes.
‘ I am, but I live in Clapham now.’ Rosie giggles.
‘ Giss on, proper job.’ He grins down at her. ‘ Come meet my brother and friends.’
Kit’s brother is chatting with a group on the next table, but the mate is as handsome as I first thought, with a chiselled jawline and fine linear nose. Waves of dark hair touch the collar of a crisp white shirt and frame his tanned face. The woman’s arm is casually draped across the back of his chair. Suddenly his stare locks onto mine. A shock pulses through my body and unnerves me so intensely that I trip into the path of a waiter carrying a loaded tray.
‘ I’m so sorry.’ I kneel to help the waiter retrieve the mess of glasses strewn across the floor. ‘ Let me help you.’
‘ Oh no! There’s red wine on your pretty top! It will stain—’ Rosie points to the spray of spatter marks on the broderie anglaise.
‘ Damn !’ I spring to my feet, brushing away the excess droplets before they bleed into the fabric. ‘ I’ll deal with it straight away.’
‘ Hurry back, me lover—’ Kit winks with a grin. ‘ I’ll look after Rosie ’ere while you go. Be quick about it, mind.’
While rinsing my top in the hand basin in my room, I take my time. I’m strangely nervous and can’t shake the sensation. Surely it’s nothing to do with Kit ?
Then I picture his mate. If not for Rosie , I’d stay here and avoid him. I’m on edge, floating, but like I’m stuck inside a bubble that’s about to burst. I work the soap gently into the stain with my fingers, watching the colour dissipate as my face grows warm. Those eyes pierced my shell like an arrow fired into a bullseye. So why do I feel the need to prove I’m not some maladroit moron?
By the time I re-join them, Rosie is playing queen bee with the group gathered around her. ‘ This is Stephanie .’ She turns to Kit’s female friend. ‘ She’s a friend of my cousin’s, can you believe it? You can’t go anywhere without bumping into someone who knows someone.’
‘ So , you’re Australian , like that Crocodile Dundee geezer?’ Stephanie’s grey eyes check me up and down pointedly. I fidget with the tassel ties on my replacement top.
‘ I am, but I can’t say I’ve met anyone quite like him…’
‘ And ’ere’s Rhys , my brother.’ Kit takes over the introductions, and Rhys extends his hand and then offers up his seat at the end of the bench. ‘ And you met Tristan ’ere this morning. Sad by name, sad by nature, he is.’
I let out a snort and cover it with a cough. Tristan nods and looks away. Minutes pass as he studies the bottom of his glass with a puzzled look on his face.
While Stephanie and Rosie chat with their backs to me, Kit and Rhys head to the bar. After a few minutes, I can’t ignore the uncomfortable silence and clear my throat. ‘ So , Tristan , is this a regular haunt for you?’
‘ A first and possibly the last.’
He sips his drink and stares at me. My skin prickles and the hairs on my arms stand on end. I could try to make an effort, but it’s been a while since I made small talk with a guy. I smooth my hands down my thighs to disguise my discomfort. This is definitely a mistake.
‘ I love this song!’ Rosie claps her hands. ‘ Come on, you lot. Does anyone want to dance?’ I’m embarrassed enough without putting my moves on show and shake my head. Stephanie makes a beeline for the dancefloor.
‘ Not for you either?’ Tristan’s deep voice is warmer. Disconcertingly familiar. When his gaze meets mine he makes no secret of his study. His lazy smile makes my insides curl.
‘ No . A little short of practice.’ Did that sound needy? What am I thinking? Embarrassment heats my face.
‘ Is that so? Is there a shortage of dance partners in Australia without left feet? Or perhaps you’re limited to boorish cricketers and beer-swilling cavemen.’
Defensive of my fellow countrymen, I answer to the contrary. ‘ We have some lovely men, as it happens. Hugh Jackman . Chris Hemsworth .’ Polite at least. More than I can say for you….
Tristan chuckles, and the heat from his body hits me like a wave. ‘ Well , you have me there….’
I inch down the bench seat and sip my gin and tonic. I’m lost for words.
Minutes alone at the table feel like hours. The crowd bounces around the dancefloor and gives in to the joy of the music, encouraged by the band. I’ve never been one for nightclubs and pubs or letting my hair down, but I sway along, almost envious of their freedom. To my surprise, Tristan taps his fingers on the table’s edge, keeping the beat in perfect time.
‘ I thought you’d never ask.’ There’s humour in the quirk of his lips. ‘ Why , thank you, I’d love to.’ Disturbingly , I notice their fullness when he grins.
His words barely sink in before he grabs my hands and drags me to my feet. My palms itch, and I avoid eye contact, looking anywhere but at him. Tristan ignores my feeble protests and weaves us through the revellers, leading me to a space before the bar. He nods at his friends, and I glare at Rosie , hoping she reads my silent plea. But she’s having too much fun. With a sigh, I give in, lean into the rhythm and dance.
A minute later the song fades out and is replaced by a slower tune. With a cavalier shrug of his shoulders, Tristan takes my hands and draws me to his chest.
‘ Oh no, it’s okay.’ I pull away, stumbling over my words as if my mouth is full of chalk, ‘ We can go back now. I’m not sure I like this one.’
‘ Really ?’ He lowers his head to look at me. His eyes are the most unusual blue, or possibly teal, like magpie eggs. I suck in a breath.
‘ Let’s give it a go, shall we? Faint heart never won fair maiden. I promise not to stand on your toes, Theodora .’ His voice holds a smirk.
With a nod of resignation, I try to relax. He draws me closer, and with one hand resting on my back, we sway in time to a folk song. Tristan hums the tune, and I’m conscious of the vibration in his chest, the firmness of his body brushing against my breasts. A shock of heat runs through me, with sparks that lick from my toes to my lips. I inhale deeply to steady myself, but instead my focus moves to trying to place his scent. It’s fresh and crisp with a delicious undertone of cloves and spices, like freshly baked gingerbread. It’s delicious. I banish the thought immediately.
I’ve never experienced such a strong physical reaction. I’m aware of the maleness of him, the strength of his arms and the heat when his hand moves to the small of my back and burns the bare skin above my waistband. Our movements feel intensely sensual, and I’m uncomfortable with the array of thoughts in my head. My eyes strain to the opening of his shirt. I have the strangest urge to run my fingers over his skin. Does it feel as smooth as it looks?
‘ Tell me, Theodora . What brings you here, to Cornwall ?’
For a moment I cannot think at all. I have no answer. All I can think is how tempting it is to nestle my head into the curve of his shoulder and lay my cheek against his skin. I blink my eyes rapidly. What on earth is wrong with me? I’ve just met the man.
‘ I’m visiting where my ancestors were from.’ Time seems to stand still.
‘ Is that so? How long for?’ His voice is soothing, melodious.
‘ Me or my ancestors?’
‘ You , I mean. How long are you staying?’
‘ Not long enough, I’m afraid. I’m off to Italy soon, to work on the conservation of a medieval quilt in Florence ….’
‘ Ah , that’s it! You’re something of a creative. It explains your garish command of colour.’ He raises an eyebrow in the direction of my change of outfit.
The frill on my peasant-style top is edged with classic 1970s trim resurrected from one of Gran’s dresses. The abstract design has hot pink and violet triangular shapes, and dots of mustard. I’ve paired it with tan boots and flowing tawny culottes. Glancing at the girls around me, I notice the lack of colour—the majority are wearing jeans and monotone tops. I’m immediately aware that I stand out.
‘ I work with vintage clothing,’ I answer curtly. He disturbs me. I’m struggling between wanting him to leave me alone and longing to stay close to him.
‘ How fascinating. With your interest in art and the past, Cornwall has much to commend it.’
My senses are in overload. Heat radiates from the merging crowd and envelops me. The space between us shrinks and a strong briny smell makes me gasp. Wavering under the lights, I stagger. Suddenly , my legs slide out from under me.
‘ Whoa , there. Let me help you?—’
‘ I’m fine. If I can just sit down….’
Tristan supports me by the elbow and helps me back to the table. I take slow deep breaths. This is ridiculous. What’s the matter with me?
‘ I don’t know what came over me.’ My head feels fuzzy, and I’m trapped in a visceral fog I can’t break through.
Tristan slides a glass of water across to me. ‘ Here you are. I didn’t realise you’d had so much to drink…’
‘ I haven’t.’ I frown. One drink. Surely that isn’t the problem?
‘ Must be normal for Aussies .’ Stephanie looks down her nose as she leans over Tristan’s shoulder. ‘ Has this ever happened before?’
‘ No , it hasn’t.’ I press my lips together, willing Rosie to return. My voice breaks and words fail me. My immediate reaction is to add, never. But I have felt this before. In fact, I recall several experiences.
I fainted once as a child and remember my mother asking questions that seemed strange at the time. Did you hear voices? Was there a light or a shape that frightened you? It made no sense at all.
Each time I cajoled and reasoned it away, convinced it meant nothing. But what if there is something wrong with me?
Slowly my breathing stabilises, and my strength returns. I sip my water in silence.
Within minutes, Tristan lets out raucous laughter when Stephanie whispers in his ear, and a curtain of blonde hair falls to hide his face. I hope they’re not talking about me. She leans closer, and her black top’s plunging neckline barely contains the two boulders from spilling out of their halter. I get the message. They make a great-looking couple.
Kit bounces back to the table with Rosie . His florid complexion matches his hair. Then he sculls his cider and darts off again. Full of energy he paces the room, clapping his hands in the air, moving from table to table and whipping up a storm like a court jester. His banter and laughter carry across the room until he claims the microphone and calls to Rhys . The crowd clap and cheer, joining the brothers in a rousing rendition of what I gather is a local favourite.
I signal to Rosie , and she nods. Time to get out of here.
‘ Lovely to meet you,’ we shout over our shoulders and wave goodbye. Stephanie and Tristan barely notice, both frowning, still deep in conversation.
I’m embarrassed by my awkward reaction and figure a good night’s sleep is what I need. But when we reach the stairs I feel someone watching me. Tristan . Why does he unnerve me? No . I really don’t care.
But the memory of his body against mine stays with me all the way back to my room. And the heat continues to disturb my thoughts until my eyelids shutter the evening from sight, and dreams take over once more.