HIGH TIDE AT MIDNIGHT (29 page)

Dominic. She'd left him nothing—not a note, nor even a card, and she found

herself regretting this with all her heart. Nothing could change the way

things were between them, but it was suddenly, very painful to know that he

would always imagine she had gone away hating him. She was never going

to see him again, but it was strangely important that he should know that she

had not been lying when she had confessed her love for him. Even if he was

sardonically amused by the knowledge, at least she would no longer be

around to be hurt by his mockery.

She got up and walked restlessly round the room. But it was too late, much

too late to do anything about it now. There was no chance of getting a gift for

him. All the shops had been shut for hours—and besides, that wasn't the sort

of thing she meant.

As she returned to her chair, her hand caught the sketch pad which was

balanced on the arm and sent it flying to the floor. She knelt down to retrieve

it and saw that it had opened at the page where she had made the drawing of

Morwenna Trevennon on the beach in Spanish Cove. She looked down at it,

her lip caught between her teeth. At the time, the brooding self-revelation of

the drawing had frightened her. Now, she felt its impact anew. Her face, her

eyes, all her helpless, hopeless longing for the man she loved who did not

return her love. Not Morwenna Trevennon, who had loved triumphantly and

died for her love without regret.

She tore the page out of her book very carefully, then went over to the big

roll-topped desk in the corner of the room which Greg and Biddy regarded

as their office, and found a large square envelope. She would send him this,

she thought. Post it from London after Christmas.

She wrote his name on the envelope, then paused. But that wasn't what she

wanted. She wanted his present to be with the others under the tree, not some

kind of afterthought. She got up and went to the window, pulling back the

curtain and staring out into the darkness. It had been snowing again and

most of the evening too if the light covering on the ground was anything to

go by.

She turned away, telling herself that what she was contemplating was

complete and utter madness. It was at least two miles to Trevennon from

here, if not more, along unlit lanes. And if she managed to get there, what

then? If she simply posted the letter through the box, it would tell everyone

that she was still in the neighbourhood and could embarrass Biddy and Greg.

The only alternative was to get into the house without being seen and put the

envelope under the tree with the other presents. She looked -at her watch.

The meal, she knew, was one of Inez's most festive spreads and would

probably still be going on. If only she could get there before they moved into

the sitting room for coffee.

She felt almost light-headed as she reached for the phone and dialled the

number of the local taxi service in Port Vennor. The owner was not eager to

turn out, but when Morwenna persisted, he grudgingly agreed, and told her

at her request what the fare would be. She had enough in her purse to cover

it, but hardly anything left over once it was paid, and again she told herself

that this whole idea was madness.

Yet she had to do it. It was as simple as that. She put on her boots and wound

her long scarf round her head and neck. She couldn't afford to have the taxi

bring her back as well. She would have to walk, and as an afterthought she

armed herself with Greg's powerful flashlight from the kitchen mantelpiece.

She made the taxi-driver drop her well out of earshot of the house in case

anyone with sharp ears wondered who was driving up at that time of night.

She approached the front door cautiously. It had occurred to her that it might

be locked and that her whole errand could be fruitless, but it swung open

when she tried it and she tiptoed noiselessly into the dimly lit hall. The

dining room door was closed, she saw with relief, and she could hear the

murmur of voices and the clatter of cutlery coming from behind it. One of

the lamps had been left on in the empty sitting room, and this and the

firelight provided all the illumination that was necessary as she crept across

the room and slipped the envelope in among the other gifts.

' As she crossed the hall, back towards the front door, she heard movements

from the dining room—the sound of chairs being moved back—and realised

she was only just in time. She had left the door slightly open to facilitate her

retreat, and she was through it in a second and back in the cold white world

beyond.

All that was left now was the long trudge back to St Enna. She looked up at

the house whose strange gaunt shape had become so dear and familiar and

thought how she would miss it. There were other things too. She would miss

the cry of the gulls early in the morning and the touch of spray on her face as

she walked along the cliffs. And she would never see Spanish Cove when

the seals came in the spring, or later in the year when the brightness of the

summer sun would dance on the rocks and the restless sea.

Almost without knowing it, she began to walk away from the house and the

lane which led back to the road, towards the cliffs. One last time, she

thought, to sniff the salt in the air and see the sea breaking on the shore at her

feet. Then she could carry its sound in her ears like a shell to alleviate the

long city days ahead.

As she came out on to the cliffs, she moved carefully, shining the flashlight

ahead of her at every step. It was very calm, and very cold, and the snow

which had been coming down fast had now dwindled to a few desultory

flakes. Below her in the cove, the sea murmured like a siren.

She transferred the flashlight into her other hand, and gripping the handrail

tightly began to pick her way down the steps. It had been bad enough the

previous time when the steps had been frosty. Now, the thin covering of

snow had made them treacherous in the extreme. Halfway down she paused,

wondering whether it would be more sensible 'to retrace her steps, but that

seemed a defeatist attitude so she pressed on.

She was about three steps from the beach when the handrail snapped. She

cried out, losing her balance, and the flashlight flew out of her hand and

landed on the sand below with Morwenna after it. She landed awkwardly,

her left foot catching on a stone and turning under her so painfully that for a

moment she felt sick and faint and the world swung dizzily about her. She

bent her head and gritted her teeth until the spasm passed. She did not think

she had broken her ankle, but she had almost certainly sprained it. Slowly

and gingerly she tried to stand up, but her foot would not take her weight and

with a little groan she collapsed back on the sand. She had only the dimmest

notion of first aid, but it seemed a sensible idea to get her boot off before her

ankle swelled too badly. It might be sensible, but it was also difficult and

extremely unpleasant, and she was almost in tears by the time it was

concluded. She got slowly and painfully on to her knees and felt all around

her in the sand for the flashlight. She found it almost at once, but it was

broken, and at the same time Morwenna became aware of several things.

One of them was that no one knew where she was, and the second was that

the area of beach on which she was crouching was small, and becoming ever

smaller by the minute. The tide, she thought desperately, all Nick's warnings

about its perilous swift advance returning to chill her. Oh, God, the tide.

Why hadn't it occurred to her that it might be high tide tonight?

She pushed the broken flashlight into her pocket and crawled on her hands

and knees back towards the steps. She dragged herself up on to the first one,

then paused. There was no handrail to assist her now, and as well as being

steep and slippery the steps sloped a little, so that she found she was sliding

backwards towards the beach again. This isn't happening, she thought. It

can't be happening. She was beginning to panic and she knew it, and she

forced herself to calm down. Her fingers scrabbled round the stone steps,

seeking some kind of hold, but her hands were numb with cold and wouldn't

obey her. Besides, the steps were worn smooth with age. There were no

convenient ledges or other projections to grasp.

She glanced back over her shoulder and saw that the incoming waves

seemed to have made further advances even in the past few minutes. She

wondered what time the tide would reach its height. The lower steps were

covered in seaweed, which indicated the final limits of the rising water, but

this was not her main concern. Her chief enemy was the intense cold, and

she knew it.

Teeth gritted, she tried again to stand and collapsed down on the steps with a

cry of pain, grazing her elbows as she fell. On a flat co-operative surface she

might have been able to hobble a few feet, but the steps defeated her.

Coming down to the cove, she thought with a kind of icy finality, would be

the last and most disastrous of her impulses. She looked back to see where

the water had reached and saw her discarded boot, bobbing away on the ebb.

Before long, she knew, the freezing water would be lapping round her feet.

She was shivering violently, light-headed with cold and fear, her mind a

whirling jumble of confused thoughts and images. The sea was coming to

take her, she thought, as it had taken the other Morwenna centuries before,

and it would be much easier not to struggle any more but simply close her

eyes and let herself go on the high tide at midnight. There were coloured

lights flashing behind her closed eyelids and the sea was murmuring to her

with the voice of a lover. She found herself wondering how long it had been

before the sea had carried Morwenna and Esteban away from each other, or

had her arms clung fast to him even in death? Nothing would seem so bad,

she thought remotely, with your lover's arms around you.

The voice of the sea was louder now and more insistent, calling her name

over and over again, and she gave a little soft groan in response. And the

arms which held her were strong, just as she had imagined, but they could

not overcome the fear that gripped her and she began to struggle weakly.

Dominic's voice said urgently, 'My darling, I've got you. You're safe, but

you mustn't fight me. Try and relax and put your arms round my neck.'

And she thought, 'So it's a dream, all a dream,' and allowed an overwhelming

darkness to swallow her up.

There were other dreams as well. Strange dreams of the hall at Trevennon

and Nick, white-faced, standing hand in hand with Barbie Inglis. There was

warmth and unimaginable softness and comfort and a liquid which trickled

fire down the back of her throat. And oddly there was Dr Warner's genial

figure. 'A fine Christmas present this is for us all, young lady.' His touch on

her ankle was magically comforting and she tried to tell him so, but his face

kept receding and it was much easier instead just to take the two small white

tablets that he was offering her. Somewhere close at hand, he was telling

someone, 'Yes, a bad sprain, but she's young and resilient, so we'll have to

hope there are no ill effects. Rest and quiet and plenty of warmth is what she

needs, but call me at once if…' His voice faded and the darkness returned,

but it was a friendly darkness now.

When she opened her eyes again, a cold grey light was filling the room, and

she knew that she wasn't dreaming. She turned her head slightly and looked

up at the slightly ironic gaze of Morwenna Trevennon, until a more homely

countenance interposed itself.

'Merry Christmas,' Inez said somewhat tartly. 'And a nice fright you give us

all, I must say!'

Morwenna gave her a wan smile. 'I'm sorry.' Tisn't me you have to apologise

to, my lover. Here's some soup I've been keeping hot for when you woke up.

Sit up a little bit and I'll arrange your pillows.'

Morwenna complied, wincing a little as she moved her injured foot.

'What happened?' she asked. 'I was on the beach and I fell—I can remember

that. I couldn't get back up the steps.'

Inez looked austere. 'And what were you doin' down there, I'd like to know,

when you'd gone off from your home without a word to anyone?'

'It would take too long to explain,' Morwenna said wearily, beginning to eat

her soup, and Inez's face softened.

'And I shouldn't be going on at you when you need rest,' she said. 'You eat

the soup, my pretty, and then I'll brush your hair because Mr Dom's

downstairs waiting to have a word with you.'

Morwenna laid the spoon back in the bowl. Her eyes sought Inez's

apprehensively. 'I—I don't want to see anyone.'

'That's no way to talk.' Inez put the spoon imperiously back into her hand.