A Regimental Affair (31 page)

‘Do you now?’ said Ginny stonily, staring back just as rudely, hoping against hope that her defiance would protect her, make him doubt his certainty. Two could play at that game. He looked at her impatiently as though he expected her to own up to who she was and confirm his suspicions but she was damned if she was going to explain anything to him. Why should she, to a complete stranger who seemed to have had a bypass operation on the bit of his brain governing manners? As she stared, she noticed that his eyes were hazel – almost green, in fact – and his skin was the most wonderful shade of olive, and he had an incredibly neat nose.

‘Well, if you don’t mind getting out of my way so I can get on?’ he said.

‘Me! In your way? You ran into me!’ Ginny said, shrill with indignation.

He gave her a puzzled look as if unable to comprehend her problem and stomped off into the rain. Ginny shrugged and went through the doors from the freezing cold of a January morning to the stifling heat of the cottage hospital.

Netta was sitting on the edge of her bed in her dressing gown when Ginny got to the women’s ward. She kissed her sister and peeked into the cot where the baby was sleeping peacefully.

‘Hiya, Net,’ she said. ‘How are tricks?’

‘I’m fine. How are you, more to the point? I saw the
Mercury
this morning. One of the nurses showed me. She wondered who the woman was who looked so like me.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Just what I needed.’

Ginny bit her tongue to stop herself saying that the impact on her own life was rather more than it was going to be on Netta’s.

‘Have you told Mum and Dad?’ asked Netta.

‘Do you think I ought to?’

‘For God’s sake, Gin! Someone is bound to tell them. To say nothing of the Internet. You know how Dad catches up with the British news on the Net. They’re going to be shocked to their socks if they find out from someone else –
of course
you’ve got to phone them. Thank God it’s the middle of the night there and Dad probably won’t be aware of what’s going on for a few more hours. You’re to phone them this evening, understand?’

Ginny was sometimes surprised at how bossy her little sister could be. ‘Yes, Netta,’ she said meekly.

‘And don’t think you will get away with pretending to forget. I’m being allowed out, providing the doc gives me the all-clear, so I’ll be there to make sure you jolly well do.’

‘Great news that you’re being allowed out.’

‘Don’t change the subject,’ said Netta sternly. ‘Really, Ginny, the story was appalling.’

‘It was a complete exaggeration,’ retorted Ginny hotly. ‘That bloody woman Taz made loads of it up.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Mum isn’t going to be best pleased when she sees it.’

‘Fingers crossed she doesn’t.’ Ginny sighed heavily. ‘It’s a mess, isn’t it?’

‘Frankly, yes. Still, I expect it’ll blow over soon enough. Tomorrow’s fish and chip wrappings and all that. Right, what do you think about the name Rose?’

Ginny considered it for a minute. ‘It’s all right. Yes, I like it.’ Better than Florence which the eldest girl had got lumbered with as Petroc had insisted that she be named after his mother. Although now the whole family called her Flossie which seemed to suit her.

‘You don’t sound sure.’

‘It’s not for me to say, though, is it? What does Petroc think?’

‘I haven’t told him yet. If he hates it, I’ll think again.’ She looked at the baby. ‘Flossie, Barnaby, Jack, Lisa and Rose,’ mused Netta. ‘It goes with the others, don’t you think?’

It’s hardly a matching set
, thought Ginny, but names were a subjective business. Anyway, it wasn’t really down to her to have an input in labelling this little scrap. ‘Rose Pengelly? Yes, it’s OK.’

‘Good, that’s settled. Now what news?’

‘Hardly any really. I’m on my way to see Granny Flo and the kids. Oh, and Petroc wants me to make vegetable soup for lunch. He says I just throw it all into boiling water – is that right?’ Ginny wrinkled her nose. She didn’t enjoy domesticity and making veg soup was her idea of hell.

‘No, it isn’t,’ said Netta with a laugh. She told Ginny what to do. Ginny felt more and more at sea as Netta went through the details of frying onions and garlic, adding the chopped veg, covering it with water, adding stock cubes, simmering, puréeing …

‘Can’t I just open a tin?’ pleaded Ginny, finally.

‘Not if that veg is going to waste.’

‘But you’ll be home this afternoon.’

‘All right. Forget it, open him a tin and I’ll sort out the soup this evening.’

Ginny sighed with relief. ‘Thank God for that. At least something will be guaranteed to go right today.’

‘So what has gone wrong, apart from the story in the paper?’

‘Oh, it’s nothing. I just met this wild man who barged into me and then accused me of being the one to get in his way, and then as this altercation was going on he realised who I was. He must have seen the paper.’

‘Who was it?’

‘How on earth should I know? He recognised me and was perfectly piggish, so I didn’t quite get around to exchanging calling cards.’

Netta laughed. ‘What was he like?’

Ginny described his untamed hair and his almost green eyes and his complexion.

‘You seem to have noticed an awful lot about a man who barged into you and then shoved off without an apology.’

‘Did I?’ She had, hadn’t she? If he hadn’t been so rude, Ginny wouldn’t have minded finding out who he was and getting to know him, but his half-decent looks had been completely negated by his appalling manners.

‘Well, I can’t think who it might have been,’ said Netta. ‘There’s a smashing guy who runs a family hotel in Hugh Town and he’s got curly hair, but he is charm personified and wouldn’t dream of being so rude. Frankly, I don’t know anyone as boorish as the bloke you’ve just described.’

‘Perhaps he wasn’t local. After all there’s no rule that says that anyone who might recognise my picture in the paper has to be a resident here.’

‘No there isn’t. It’s just that a local is less likely to relish the idea of the press descending on the island. We like tourists here but we don’t want masses of London hacks here raking up muck. I just hope he doesn’t go around tipping off the tabloids that you’re here. I don’t fancy having the paparazzi camped out round the farm.’

The thought hadn’t crossed Ginny’s mind. She gasped involuntarily. ‘Oh, God. You don’t think he’d tell anyone, do you? I mean, the papers may pay for a tip-off like that and there are people out there who will do anything for a bit of cash.’

Netta shrugged. ‘I don’t think your story is that newsworthy.’

For some reason Ginny felt a bit nettled by Netta’s put-down. Huffily she said, ‘It’s all right for you to say that. It’s not you in the papers.’

Chapter Twenty

After Ginny left Netta she tramped through another sharp shower to Granny Flo’s house. She could hear the squeals and yells of the children playing as she opened the gate in the low garden wall and walked up the gravel path to the bright red front door. She rapped the highly-polished, dolphin-shaped brass knocker sharply to ensure it would be heard over the children. Granny Flo, little, white-haired and rosy-cheeked – a picture-book granny – opened the door and held it wide for Ginny to enter.

‘Hello, me ’ansome,’ she chuckled in her Scillonian burr, as Ginny bent to kiss her. ‘You’ve been and gone and done it proper this time and no mistake.’

Ginny smiled sheepishly. ‘You’ve seen it then.’

‘Bit hard to miss, flower. I haven’t shown the kiddies.’ She led the way through the dark hall into the south-facing kitchen with its big window overlooking the bay and across to the headland and the Star Castle Hotel. As Ginny walked into the room, the last vestige of the heavy shower was blown away and the sun lit up the view. Instantly the sea turned from murky grey to brilliant azure, flecked with dazzling white wave crests. Ginny felt as though it was a show put on for her benefit – just to demonstrate to her how wonderful the islands could be.

In the kitchen, Netta’s brood were grouped around Granny Flo’s table. Flossie and Barnaby were tall enough to stand, but the younger two. Jack and Lisa, were kneeling up on chairs. They were playing with some rather grubby-looking pastry that they had fashioned into shapes and pretend tarts and cakes and which had obviously, judging by the pastry’s grey tinge, been keeping them occupied for a while. Flossie, standing opposite the door, looked up and caught sight of Ginny first.

‘Aunty Gin,’ she shrieked, throwing her lump of dough down and running around the table, nearly knocking her little sister off her chair in the process.

In a second, Ginny was clasped by both Flossie and Barnaby, and Jack was clambering off his chair, determined not to be left out. Only Lisa, who could not be expected to remember an aunt who had last visited her when she was barely nine months old, was indifferent to Ginny’s arrival. Instead she used the opportunity of her siblings’ absence from the table to gather up their share of the pastry and start to eat it. Granny Flo swooped down on her from across the kitchen and gently removed the unsanitary mixture, but Lisa objected and protested lustily. The resulting bedlam in the kitchen was indescribable as Flossie and Barnaby shouted all the louder to get Ginny’s attention, Jack yelled because everyone else was and Lisa bawled because she had been thwarted.

In the middle of the mayhem Ginny sat on one of the kitchen chairs. She pulled Jack on to her lap, which quieted him as he was instinctively aware that he was occupying a prize spot, and Flossie and Barnaby were each able to access an ear into which they could simultaneously and in stereo tell Ginny all their news. At the same time, Granny Flo placated Lisa with a digestive biscuit. The noise abated.

‘Aren’t you two big ones at school today?’ asked Ginny.

‘We go back on Thursday,’ said Flossie, aware that she was the eldest child and it was her duty to impart the intelligence.

‘I’m going to school too,’ lisped Jack proudly.

‘Only nursery,’ said Flossie dismissively. Jack looked as though he was about to cry at this put-down.

‘I’m sure it’s very like school,’ said Ginny, staring hard at Flossie and daring her to contradict. ‘So who wants to come back to the farm with me?’ she said, changing the subject.

‘Now?’ asked Barnaby.

‘If you want. Mummy’s probably coming home this evening. How about it?’ Ginny looked at Granny Flo for confirmation.

‘You can do whatever you want, my ducks,’ she said. ‘I was only going to cook you eggs for your lunch, so if you want to go home now …’

‘What sort of eggs?’ asked Flossie.

‘I thought we could have nice boiled eggs with soldiers.’

Flossie considered the offer. ‘Well …’ She looked at Ginny. She liked boiled eggs and fancied them for lunch but equally she wanted to go home.

Ginny felt a twinge of apprehension. Suppose they wanted to go home and yet demanded boiled eggs from her. How the hell did you do boiled eggs? Was it five minutes or ten? And would she be a laughing stock if she admitted to being such a hopeless cook that she couldn’t even boil an egg?

‘Or we could go with Ginny up to the farm and I could cook you eggs there,’ offered Granny Flo, as though understanding everyone’s unspoken thoughts.

Ginny suppressed a sigh of relief. ‘That would be wonderful,’ she said. ‘And Petroc wants me to make him some soup and, I’ll be honest, I haven’t a clue. You wouldn’t be a honey, Granny Flo, and give me a hand? Netta said she’d supervise when she gets back this evening but I don’t think she should. She ought to rest or something, oughtn’t she?’

‘Well, she ought to, but I know Netta. We might persuade her to put her feet up for a little while.’

‘Come on then, children,’ said Ginny. ‘That’s settled. We’ll all go home to see Daddy and Granny Flo will do you eggs there. Flossie, you find everyone’s coats and hats. Jack, you help Granny clear up here, and Barnaby, how about you take me upstairs and help me put everyone’s bits and pieces into a case?’

‘That’s right, my ducks, you do what Aunty Gin says. Come on, Lisa, you can help me too.’

The children bustled off importantly, happy to help Ginny and Granny Flo get them ready for departure. Ginny followed Barnaby up two flights of stairs into the attic bedroom that served as the older children’s dormitory when they stayed with Petroc’s mother. Lisa was deemed too young to manage the steep stairs, so she slept with Granny Flo, which the older children saw as her loss but which Lisa rather liked. She found something very comforting in knowing that Granny Flo was only a few feet away from her. The attic was light and airy as it had two skylights that looked over the roofs of Hugh Town towards the quay. Ginny went to have a look at the view while Barnaby gathered up pyjamas, knickers, socks and other discarded clothes from the floor of the bedroom. As Ginny looked out, she saw a helicopter clatter over towards the airport. It wasn’t the one that provided the scheduled twice-daily service between the island and Penzance, but Ginny’s curiosity wasn’t aroused. Helicopters were a common enough sight as they were one of the main forms of transport to and from the island. Ginny turned her attention away from the window and she trailed around after Barnaby picking up things that he’d missed – a couple of teddies, a hanky and some picture books – and stuffing them into the holdall gaping open on one of the beds.

‘Is that everything?’ she asked, once the room looked relatively clear.

‘There’s our toothbrushes in the bathroom,’ he volunteered. ‘And Lisa’s stuff in Granny Flo’s room.’

‘Gosh! Well done, you, for remembering those,’ said Ginny, who believed that young kids had to have loads of positive encouragement to give them the requisite amount of self-esteem. She had already made a mental note to check Granny Flo’s bedroom and the bathroom but Barnaby wasn’t to know that. Barnaby swelled with pride and led the way to the tiny, old-fashioned bathroom, where they found not only the toothbrushes, but also Flossie’s hairbrush and two flannels. Then they went into the front bedroom and found Lisa’s few things. As they returned downstairs, Ginny heard the helicopter whine overhead as it departed for the mainland.
It didn’t hang around for long
, she thought. Had it been dropping someone off or picking up?