Chapter 21
I walk back to the inn, feeling soggy and miserable.
Although Ollie was there to rescue me in my hour of need and wants to see me again, I can’t get over how dismissive he was of my concerns.
Am I really making a mountain out of a molehill (or in this case a mole’s tunnel), or do I have genuine cause for worry?
Either way, I forget my dilemma when I reach the top of the path and see a tall man coming in my direction. My stomach churns with undefined emotions. It’s Will Penhelion.
‘Juno,’ he says. ‘I was worried. Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine…’ As the words come out, I stumble, overcome by the stress of it all. He catches me before I fall and the next thing I know, he’s holding me to his chest and I’m sobbing.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ is all I can say, embarrassed, mortified, and yet, somehow safe.
He rubs my back muttering, ‘There, there,’ like he’s comforting a child. In the distance, a boat motor revs. I sense him stiffen, and that makes me pull away.
‘I’m fine,’ I repeat, the wind drying tears that have appeared from nowhere like a freak rainstorm. ‘I’m sorry I called – I was trying 999 but I hit your number instead.’
‘I came as soon as I could,’ he says. ‘But I didn’t know where you were.’
‘Ollie came by in his boat,’ I say. ‘He rescued me.’
I don’t mean it to sound accusing, but somehow, it comes out that way.
‘Ollie has a way of being in the right place at the right time,’ Will says. ‘I suppose it was lucky he was nearby.’
There’s something in his tone but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Is he implying that my rescue was a little too convenient?
‘Yes, very lucky,’ I say.
‘Anyway,’ he says, ‘let’s get you back up to the inn. You can have a shower and put on some dry clothes while I make you a cup of tea.’
I open my mouth to protest, but he shakes his head.
‘Doctor’s orders,’ he says with the hint of a smile. That smile… it lights up something inside me.
‘OK.’ I shrug. ‘I can’t argue with that.’
* * *
We enter the inn through the front door. He seems to know his way around, and goes to the kitchen to make tea while I go upstairs and get changed. To my relief, Connor has returned. When I check his room, I find him lying in his bed, fast asleep. I kiss his forehead and leave him to rest.
When I go back downstairs, Will is standing at the door to the bar, seemingly lost in a world of his own.
I follow him into the room. He looks around with reverence, running his hand over the polished wood of the bar; he studies the horse brasses and pulls the handle of one of the antique taps.
I know we have serious business to discuss, but I stay silent.
There’s a quiet gravitas about him, and I can’t deny that with his dark hair and light eyes, he’s very attractive.
But he’s also been rude and unwelcoming to me.
I’m not going to forget that any time soon.
Eventually, he turns back to me.
‘You’ve worked a minor miracle getting this place cleared out and stripped back to its bare bones. It’s truly like stepping into the past.’
Of all the things I thought he would say, it’s not that. Ollie is exactly what he says on the tin, but I sense that this man has hidden depths. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I’m going to be doing some further renovations.
’ The plans are spread across a table I’ve made from an old crate.
Taking advantage of his interest, I show him what I’m intending.
‘I won’t be changing the structure,’ I say.
‘But I’ll add some movable partitions made out of old ship’s timbers.
It will transform the space into something much more cosy and welcoming.
I’ll keep the old, but also add a few modern touches such as linen window and table coverings.
Similar to what you’ve done at Polgothley. ’
‘It sounds great.’ He looks genuinely impressed. ‘You came up with all of it yourself?’
I explain that I had a past life as an architect and interior designer, and I sense that he’s seeing me with a new respect.
Which I expect to fade when I continue with a very brief overview of how and why I no longer share a practice with my ex-husband.
But as I speak and he listens, if he’s judging me negatively, he doesn’t let on.
‘It sounds like a new start is exactly what you need,’ he says.
‘Yes, well. I still don’t know what that looks like.’
He nods. ‘I understand.’
I have the odd feeling that he does. My dislike of him wavers, which puts me off balance.
I leave the room and go towards the kitchen, no longer certain what this cup of tea will entail. He follows behind me slowly, stopping to look at the painting below the stairs.
‘You and your daughter resemble her – but I’m sure you’ve heard that already.’
‘It’s a coincidence,’ I say. ‘We’re not related.’
‘It must be just one of those things,’ he says. ‘I suppose it’s because I see her face nearly every day – the mind projects her features on you.’
‘What do you mean?’ I frown.
‘There’s another painting of her. It’s called The Arrival. It hangs above the fireplace in the library at Polgothley. I should have pointed it out last time you were there, but with Connor’s injury, I forgot about it. But I’ve got a photo of it that I took for the insurance. If you’re interested.’
‘Yes,’ I say, ‘I am.’
He takes out his phone and flips through the photos, then hands it to me. I peer closely at what’s on the screen.
It’s another painting of Bess. But instead of staring out of a window at the sea, she’s in a small boat headed out from the cove to a tall ship in the distance. The ship seems to be not in the water, but floating above it.
‘The Halcyon!’ I say.
‘Yes,’ Will says. ‘That’s right. The inn had fallen on hard times between the wars, and my grandfather bought the painting from Cliff’s father. He wanted to buy the other picture too, but Cliff’s father wouldn’t sell. “She died at the inn,” he apparently said, “and here she’ll stay”.’
I stare at the picture on the screen, trying to make sense of this new information. A second painting.
‘Why is the ship floating in the sky?’ I say.
‘It’s the old legend,’ he says. ‘Bess believed her lover would sail to the ends of the earth to come for her. But the Halcyon was taken by pirates, her cargo stolen and the crew done away with. The empty vessel was wrecked on the rocks, and Bess was murdered that very same night. One version of the story says that the Halcyon still haunts these waters because the lovers were never reunited. She’s doomed to sail the sky until a Penhelion is united with a Trevelyn.
Which, of course, can never happen. Bess was the last of the Trevelyns. ’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘That version sounds… far-fetched.’
He shrugs. ‘Maybe it’s because I’m a distant relation of Robert – and James too – but once or twice, when a storm has blown in from the south, I thought I caught a glimpse of… something. A ship in the sky.’ He cocks his head, looking mischievous. ‘As daft as that sounds.’
I stare into his blue eyes. Not cold, I realise, just guarded. And… quite stunning. I look away.
‘I’ve seen it too,’ I mutter.
He takes a step back. ‘You have?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well,’ he says, ‘I suppose that’s another thing we have in common.’
‘Another thing?’
‘Shall we have that cup of tea?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Good idea.’
We go to the kitchen where Will has already prepared the mugs and boiled the water. If my feelings were in turmoil before, they are now swirling like a whirlpool. And yet, there’s a calmness too. Almost an inevitability.
I pour water from the kettle and bring the mugs to the table, along with milk, sugar, and a plate of chocolate digestives. Will sits down opposite me. I watch as he pours a splash of milk into his cup. I shouldn’t be interested in how Will Penhelion takes his tea, but somehow, I am.
He looks up as I prepare my tea: black with a teaspoon of sugar. I feel self-conscious, like he’s appraising me.
‘You said we had something else in common,’ I say to fill the silence. ‘What did you mean?’
He begins to lift his cup, then sets it down again in front of him. ‘I told you I have a son. He’s about Connor’s age.’
‘Really? I… just assumed…’ I feel oddly deflated, almost… disappointed. Because if he has a son, he must be… ‘I haven’t met him – or your wife.’
‘Nor are you likely to.’
‘Oh?’
He stares at the cup in front of him. The steam swirls up like tendrils of spirit… or memory.
‘We’re divorced,’ he says. ‘And although we share custody, Noah goes to a special school. So as a practical matter, I only see him one weekend a month.’
I take a sip of my tea, trying to take this all in.
‘That sounds… difficult.’
‘It is.’ He stares out of the window, squinting at the horizon as if he half-expects the ghost ship to appear. The hazy space between sea and sky is empty but for a few distant sailing boats.
‘Well,’ I say, with forced brightness, ‘I guess we have the divorce thing in common too.’
‘True.’ He nods. ‘As Shakespeare put it, “The course of true love never did run smooth”.’
‘That’s for sure.’
‘But you seem to have landed on your feet.’ His face hardens into a frown.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, don’t you have something going on with Ollie?’
I take a breath, ready to tell him that it’s none of his business. But he looks so silent, so reflective, that I swallow my annoyance.
‘No… not really.’
‘It’s none of my business of course,’ he says, as if reading my thoughts. ‘And I don’t mean to meddle. But I like Connor – he’s a good kid. I don’t want him to get hurt.’
I narrow my eyes. ‘Is that a threat?’
‘What?’ He looks surprised. ‘Of course not. Not from me.’
‘From who, then?’
‘I think you can guess.’
‘Funny,’ I say. ‘Your cousin gave me exactly the same warning about you. History tells us that even a lord of the manor can be involved in nefarious deeds. Your ancestor, Lord Robert, for one.’
‘That is true.’ He laughs but the mirth doesn’t reach his eyes. Sitting back, he stares at the steam rising from his cup. ‘Let me tell you a story, and then you can decide for yourself.’