A Cornish Stranger (26 page)

The camera moved to a close-up of Fin's face and his eyes seemed to be looking directly at Gabe.

‘Jeanette managed to buy French identity papers and find herself a job in Brittany. Because of her background she was fluent in German as well as French and soon realised that some of the things she overheard could be useful and she took the enormous risk of seeking out the resistance.'

Gabe held her breath as she listened. Was he going to reveal Jaunty's relationship with Dietrich? That would complete the betrayal.

‘So she was a spy?'

‘Yes. For two years she passed on information to the allies.'

‘Then what happened?'

‘She fell pregnant and it was imperative that she return to England. On her return, the boat carrying her was hit just off the coast of Cornwall and everyone but her had drowned. Back in England she discovered that both her parents were dead and she had no one to turn to because she had spent very little time in England and everyone believed she had died on the
Lancastria
.'

‘But it was Jean Blythe who died?'

‘Yes. Look, Jeanette Penrose had little choice but to take on her friend's identity and we can't judge her by today's morals. She was single mother with a child to support. Society was not as forgiving then.'

Gabe stood up and wanted to walk away from the computer but she couldn't stop watching
.

‘She borrowed enough of Jean's money from the sale of her work to buy a car and the cabin. What the fuss is about is that she then painted using the letter J to sign her paintings and people bought them believing that they were buying Jean Blythe. And I'm afraid the fault for that lies with the gallery and not the artist.'

‘You don't agree that she was the one who led them to do that?'

‘Yes and no. She did what she needed to to survive, but her own art is so radically different that the buyers should have known.
Caveat emptor
.'

The newsreader nodded. ‘Buyer beware.'

‘However, there is no question that Jeanette's seascapes are worthy of fame in their own right. She developed her style without outside influence.'

‘So you feel it is a fuss about nothing?'

‘Exactly. You have two painters with unique styles. Both worthy of all the accolades they have received.'

‘One last question: what of her granddaughter, Gabriella Blythe? How is she coping with all this information about her grandmother and her own roots?'

Gabe's mouth went dry.

‘It's not my place to say. Gabriella has been overwhelmed by her grandmother's death and by the revelations. I believe very strongly that she should be left in peace to grieve and rebuild her life.'

The camera left his face as the newsreader thanked him for taking the time to speak with them.

Gabe closed the window on her computer and googled Alexander Falk. This explained why she had found nothing for him under Fin Alexander. However, under his real name there was plenty of information, from his impressive academic credentials to his divorce. His ex-wife Patricia was stunning, possibly the sexiest woman Gabe had ever seen, and they'd made a striking couple. At least he hadn't lied about the ­divorce – the tabloids had had a field day with it.

Fin was more than qualified to speak about Jaunty's work, and the man in the hospital was the arts editor for
The Times
. But why had Fin done this? It was clear from reading everything on the web about him that he didn't need a big scoop to kick-start his career. Just two years ago he'd done a major television series on the war artists. That was why Jenna must have thought he was familiar. Gabe took one last look at his picture on the screen and closed the laptop. Nothing made sense. Why hadn't he told them his real name when he ­arrived? There was no need for secrecy. Gabe didn't understand anything any more, most of all her feelings for this man.

 

It was midday and the phone rang, probably for the fifth time. Gabe frowned. She would have to begin answering it again sometime. It might as well be now. ‘Hello.'

‘Gabe.' Fin's voice ran through her.

She leant against the counter. ‘Yes.'

‘You haven't been answering the phone.'

‘No.'

‘Is the press still hounding you?'

‘Don't know.'

He laughed and she had to force herself to breathe.

‘Are you OK?'

‘Fine.' She was so far from fine but she couldn't say that.

‘Liar.'

Gabe swallowed. He was the reason her life was upside down. ‘Thank you for all the fire-fighting on Jaunty's reputation.'

‘It's not finished.'

‘The interest should die down now.' Gabe played with Jaunty's necklace.

‘True.' He paused. ‘I'm worried about you.'

‘I'm fine. Thanks for checking on me.' Gabe could hear French being spoken in the background. At least Fin wasn't going to spring on her that he was standing at the top of the lane and wanted to see her.

‘Gabe, there are things I need to say.'

‘Don't worry, Fin. All is forgiven. Take care.' Gabe hung up before she said any more. She wanted to hate him, but she didn't. Even after all he'd done she loved him. She would have been so much better off right now if she hadn't let him in to her life. That cast-iron bubble she had constructed around herself would have been perfect for now and for always, but it was gone.

 

 

 

 

 

Twenty-Two

 

 

 

 

G
abe squelched through the mud on the path. The leaves were mostly gone from the trees. It seemed to have happened overnight and the twisted shapes of the branches filled the space above her. Gabe pulled her coat tighter about herself.

The tide was out and only a small channel of water remained. Gabe climbed down the bank to the decaying iron carcass of the boat near the quay. She walked closer and inspected the rusting hull. It had been here for as long as she could remember but she had never identified with it before. There were huge holes and the top was lost all together. It would never set sail again. Gabe touched the barnacle-covered wreck then walked on past it to the quay.

The mud was soft and she trod carefully. The last time she had made this walk Jaunty was still alive, and later that ­evening Fin had sailed into their lives. Gabe stopped. Everything had changed. Jaunty was gone, her reputation in tatters. Gabe looked up to the cabin. It was almost invisible, which was what Gabe was trying to achieve. Yet part of her longed to reconnect. She wanted to go to Italy and find her relatives, and to Germany as well, although she didn't know how to begin to approach the von Hochsbrinks. They, of course, probably didn't know that Jaunty and Dietrich had found each other during the war, and they certainly didn't know the awful end. Were her eyes so like his that they would know upon seeing her, or was it only Jaunty's guilt that made the connection? Was there a way that she could verify the link without betraying Jaunty further? She shook her head. How could she want to be so alone yet desire to become a part of something?

It was another big spring tide and the creek was a vast mudflat. Curlews walked the far shore and their cries ripped through her as she counted the lobster pots sitting on the river­bed. One curlew called and then another replied. Overhead the cloud level was descending. She could see the rain falling on Merthen Wood. It would be here before long, but under the overhang of the pine trees she felt cocooned. The wind blew from the east against the tide's journey out to sea and the river was deserted. She hadn't even heard the fishing boats heading out this morning, although she knew they must have. Nights had been spent striving for sleep, only to be denied until the early hours. Waking late she would plough through her days doing what was required and avoiding the world.

She had to pull herself up and move on. This half life wasn't worth living. First, she would join with the other victims of Victor Justin and fight for justice. If they could be strong, so could she. Then she would go away, go and find her European roots. A curlew called again and this time no other bird ­answered.

 

Flights were booked. She would fly out in a few days' time. She had finished everything in her inbox and given evidence via a video link, finding the support of the other victims healing although painful too. Now all that was left was to clear out Jaunty's room. She had put this off, but she wouldn't want to face the task when she returned. Both Hannah and Tamsin had offered to help, but this was the second last step and she needed to do it herself. Her grandmother's ashes still sat in the urn in the centre of the dining table, not yet interred in the graveyard; the words of Max's libretto floated in her head every time she thought about doing it.

 

I am thine,

Thou art mine,

Beyond control;

In the wave,

Be the grave

Of heart and soul

 

With bin bags in hand, Gabe turned from the urn to the bedroom. She opened the door and sunlight poured in the far windows on to the desk. Gabe began with the cupboards. There wasn't much. In the chest of drawers she found little except the notebook that had been tucked away. Opening, Gabe was stunned to find it was filled with sketches of Gabe. Her whole life was captured in pencil and watercolour. Gabe swallowed hard, looking at her small chubby fist on one page, her dressed as an angel for Christmas on another. It was something to cherish. She stroked the cover then turned to the end to see what was the last sketch her grandmother had made. Her breath caught. It was of her and Fin. Their heads close together. The expression captured spoke of hunger, need …love. How had her grandmother seen so much? With unsteady hands Gabe placed it down on the desk and sighed. That was Jaunty's final wish for Gabe and it was a lovely memory, but it was time to move forward.

Jaunty had almost lived the life of a nun with a habit of smocks, trousers and plimsolls. Gabe doubted even a charity shop would find much use for any of these. She placed the bag on the unmade bed and the mattress dipped, and Gabe ran her hand over it. Turning, she swiftly pulled one set of the ‘uniform' out of the bag. She had to have something to keep and she couldn't hold on to the mattress. She laughed as she considered moving in here and creating a matching dent on the other side. But she didn't want to be found here alone, dead in the bed. It would more than likely happen, but she wouldn't dwell on it.

On top of the bureau were just three things, the picture of her father, a picture of Gabe and the perfume. Gabe turned to the desk. Jaunty's confession was sitting on top. How different
would things have been if Jaunty had just been Jaunty? Maybe Fin would still be here.

No, he might not have come in the first place. His uncle's boat and painting wouldn't have led him here. Despite the pain she was glad he had come into their lives. He had given Jaunty a zest to her final days. And well, she could say the same, but they weren't her final days.

 

Gabe rowed through the soft rain down the creek. The north wind was biting and she couldn't face a swim, but the water called to her. The silence of the creek at high tide always affected her. When the tide was out the river birds filled it, chatting to each other, but when the creek was full the only sound was the wind in the trees and her oars disturbing the water. She was alone. No walkers ventured on the paths today in such desolate November weather. The trees seemed to hunch lower to the water's edge, seeking protection from the bitter north wind.

She rowed onward. Tomorrow she began her trip with a drive past Polruan House, the first stop on the journey to find out who she really was. All her life she had been Gabriella Blythe, daughter of Philip and granddaughter to famous artist Jaunty Blythe. Now she knew she was still Gabriella, daughter and granddaughter, but not Blythe at all. This wasn't a case of reinventing herself but of connecting with parts of herself she had never known.

Turning the boat around, she slowly rowed back. Before she left there was another thing she needed to do. Her dismissive
take care
to Fin days ago was supposed to be final, but she owed him an apology. She didn't know what had been said between Jaunty and Fin, and her grandmother's belief in him haunted Gabe. She had to let go and move on; only by saying sorry would she be able to do that.

She reached the quay and secured the rowing boat, checking the ropes. Mike was going to come by while she was away and take it out of the water for the winter. Standing on the quay watching the mizzle lift a bit, she saw the last of the afternoon sun bounce off the river. This was where she had met him, and that warm September evening seemed such a long time ago. Gabe sighed, knowing she couldn't put off this call any longer.

Leaving the quay, she walked back to the cabin. She was soaked. The moisture had worked its way through her sweater to her skin and a chill settled on her. She raced down the last few steps to the cabin, but by the time she was inside her teeth were chattering. She shed the sweater and warmed herself by the fire. It had been stupid to go rowing in this weather, but she'd needed to think. Now she must make the phone call, then she would be free to move on.

She punched in the number before she changed her mind. She jumped when it went straight to his voicemail.

‘This is Alexander Falk. I am sorry, I am unable to take your call. Please leave a message.'

Gabe bit her lip but then said, ‘Hi, Fin. I mean, Alexander. It's Gabe.' She took a deep breath. ‘I'm calling to apologise. I . . .' She stopped because the shivering had started again. ‘I am so sorry for the way I behaved towards you, it wasn't very grown up,' she said, her teeth chattering. ‘Thank you for all the help with the aftermath of the news about Jaunty.' Gabe paused. There was more she wanted to say but didn't know where to begin.

‘Thank you.'

Gabe dropped the phone and spun round. Fin stood in the doorway, water drops resting on his curls. She couldn't breathe. He was here.

With two strides he was beside her. He pushed the hair out of her face. ‘You're soaked and you're freezing.' He looked into her eyes. ‘Have you been swimming in this weather?'

She shook her head. All she could think was that he was here.

‘You need a shower.'

She nodded. He took her hand and led her into the bathroom, turned on the shower and helped her undress before he placed her under the stream of water. Warmth spread through her but stopped when he backed out of the room. It said so much. Gabe swiftly washed her hair and finished. When she was dressed, she came out to find Fin adding another log to the fire.

‘Hi.' Gabe watched him from a distance. Why had he come?

He looked up at her. ‘Hello.'

The sofa stood between them but Gabe knew the divide between them contained bigger obstacles. She couldn't move.

He glanced at her ticket and passport on the coffee table. ‘Milan.'

She nodded.

‘La Scala?' He stood.

She laughed. ‘I haven't booked tickets yet.'

‘Do your relatives know you are coming?'

‘Yes. But I don't know how much was understood.' Gabe took two steps into the room and put her hands on the back of the sofa. ‘My Italian isn't bad, but I haven't used it in a while.'

‘So you may have told them that you are a psychotic killer.'

‘Something like that.' She bit her lip. ‘Fin, I'm so sorry.'

‘So you said.' He put his hands into his pockets.

‘It was all too much and only the two of us knew the truth.'

He nodded.

Gabe closed her eyes for a moment. Why? Why had he done it? ‘Fin, I need to know why you did it?' She swallowed. ‘I need to understand.' She looked up at him. ‘I've been wondering, did Jaunty ask you to?'

‘Yes.'

Gabe looked at her clasped hands, waiting.

‘I didn't want to.' Fin shook his head. ‘She made me promise. I thought you should be consulted but she said no.' He took a step closer. ‘I wanted to tell you but that was another promise she extracted from me. I wish I could take the pain away that I've caused.'

Gabe tried to digest this. Even though it was what she had begun to suspect, it still hurt. She frowned. ‘Why did you lie about your name?'

‘I didn't.'

‘You are not Fin Alexander.' She frowned.

He laughed. ‘Well, I am Alexander Finbar Carrow Falk.'

She stared at him. ‘That's not Fin Alexander.'

‘My mother wanted to call me Finbar after her father.'

‘And?'

He took a step closer to her. ‘But my father said no. He liked Fin but not Finbar. So they took the family name of Alexander and gave me Finbar as my second.'

‘That still doesn't tell me what I want to know.' She played with the ring on Jaunty's necklace that hung round her neck now.

‘No. All my family and friends call me Fin and have done all my life. I only use Alexander professionally.' He paused. ‘When I received Alex's things, and in particular the painting, something clicked and I thought I knew the location of the painting.' He looked out of the window. ‘When I had researched the programme on the war painters a few years ago I had tried interview Jaunty. I had put the request through the gallery. They had forwarded her reply to me. It was postmarked Helston.' He ran his fingers across the back of the sofa. Gabe followed their path, remembering the feel of them on her body. ‘I own several of Jaunty's paintings and I knew she painted in this area; I had a hunch and I had time on my hands.'

‘So you came here to out her?' Gabe stepped back.

‘No! I came to solve a puzzle.' He ran his hand through his hair, making a mess of his curls. ‘As soon as I met Jaunty I knew she was the reclusive painter before she said her name. I wanted her to be at ease with me. And I thought she'd recognise me so I used two of my names to put her off.' He laughed. ‘I didn't know that she would have no idea who I was because she didn't even have a television.'

‘But she opened up to you.'

‘Yes, but not to Alexander Falk, art historian. She saw Alex in me and she knew
Jezebel
, of course she did.'

Gabe swallowed.

He took a step towards her. ‘I just wanted to solve the question in my mind: how did Alex come by a painting that seemed so close to Jaunty's work but was signed by someone else.'

‘Intellectual pride.'

He gave a dry laugh. ‘Partially, but more something to take me away from feeling sorry for myself.'

Gabe put her hand out but then took it back to her side. Touching him would be a mistake. ‘Having kept the secret so long I don't know why she wanted the world to know now.' Gabe shifted from foot to foot, looking down. ‘I still don't understand that.'

‘I did, which is why she asked me to do it, to give the story to a reputable newspaper. And so I gave it to a friend, with strict instructions that it wasn't to go out until I told him to use it. Unfortunately it didn't happen the way it was supposed to.' He sighed. ‘Someone in the newsroom needed a story fast when another fell through and my friend was on leave because his first child was being born. He wasn't consulted and the story was rewritten to make better headlines.'