Miranda's Mount (11 page)

‘And?’ Ronnie wasn’t going to let her off the hook.

‘He said he’d see me around, which is very likely considering we both spend most of our lives within the same five-mile radius.’

‘That’s it?’

Miranda threw up her hands in exasperation. ‘Yes. Is this a full-blown interrogation or can we please talk about something else?’

Ronnie gave a sigh. ‘I suppose so, but don’t think I’ve finished with you and Theo. I’ll be watching you closely, Miss Marshall. Now, what other attractions have you arranged for this Festival besides a bunch of hunky men in yellow wellies?’

‘We’re
going to lock people in the old stocks by the visitor centre and charge visitors to throw wet sponges.’

Ronnie’s face lit up. ‘Now you’re talking! The stocks I can relate to. Who’s going in there? I can think of a few. That bloke who ran off with the peacock for a start. The gardener says that the poor bugger hasn’t been the same since.’

Miranda rested her chin on her hand and sighed. ‘Well,
actually
, I was looking for volunteers.’

Ronnie shook her head. ‘No. No way, Jose. I’ll be on duty anyway.’ She reached for a stapler from the desk tidy. ‘So forget it.’

‘Reggie said he’d do ten minutes in there.’

‘Reggie’s barking mad.’

‘Pretty please?’

Ronnie banged her hand down on the stapler. ‘No.’

‘Please, Ronnie. I’m doing half an hour myself and a couple of the young gardeners have offered, as have some of the lifeboat crew. The old guy who works part-time in the café said he would too but I’m worried he won’t be able to sit that long. It’s not a soft option being pelted with those sponges. Some of them hurt and people can be really vicious. I’m still short of volunteers. It needs someone tough.’

‘So you thought of big, butch Ronnie?’

‘You’re not butch but you are brave and fear no one. You keep telling me this.’

‘And I’d probably scare the kids off. Sorry, I really am on duty all day or I would do my stint. No, don’t look like that at me. Believe me, there’s sure to come a moment when I’m gagging to be locked up. Like when some brat throws up their Mount St Merryn cream tea after their mum’s left ’em for three hours in the bouncy castle.’ She slotted her report into a manila folder. ‘What about his-bloody-lordship? Thought of asking him?’

Miranda
snorted. ‘Jago? You are joking?’

‘Have you tried?’

‘No. And I’m not going to. There’s no way he’d do it.’

‘You’d make a lot of money,’ said Ronnie. ‘Even if it was you chucking most of the sponges at him.’

‘I don’t hate him that much.’ She pulled the Fishermen’s Choir CD towards her and pretended to study it.

She heard Ronnie pick up her radio from the desk. ‘I have to go and do my rounds. Do you fancy a drink on Friday night? I’m off duty. Tide’s out and we could walk to the Pilchard, if you like. I’ll treat you to scampi and chips then we can go on the lash. Maybe we’ll even meet someone nice.’

‘OK, thanks. Sounds great.’

Miranda felt her cheeks glow. She hadn’t exactly told the whole truth to Ronnie about her conversation with Theo. What he’d actually said was that he might see her around in the Pilchard on Friday night, as he was meeting a few mates. It wasn’t exactly an invitation to a date, but going along with Ronnie was a good compromise. A break away from the island, even if only in the local village pub, would do her good and if Theo was there, so much the better.

*

On
Friday evening, Ronnie and Miranda climbed the steps from the causeway to the quayside and headed up the short steep lane that led to the Pilchard, the inn that was the heart of the fishing village of Nanjizal. It was an old whitewashed stone pub, squatting above the harbour, almost groaning under the weight of its tiled roof.

The inn sign, with its fading fishy symbol, creaked softly in the breeze as the girls walked through the tables of people drinking pints and devouring bar meals. The food at the Pilchard was hearty and good value, and on a fine light evening, the place was jammed full of locals and early season tourists.

Ronnie put a hand on Miranda’s arm. ‘Hang on a minute. Shall I get a table while you get the drinks?’

‘Good idea.’

While Ronnie set off in search of a free table and, Miranda guessed, a good-looking man who wasn’t a tourist or gay, Miranda went into the bar. The buzz of voices, laughter, cheesy background music and glasses clinking hit her ears. She took a long breath in and the tension eased from her body. Wow, had she been that wound up? She hadn’t realised how on edge up she’d been until she’d seen and heard what a normal relaxed situation was like again. She couldn’t see Theo yet but that didn’t matter; it was such a relief to forget about the sale and Jago for a few hours.

The pub landlady folded her arms as Miranda reached the bar. ‘Hello, stranger.’

‘Sorry, Karen, I’ve been really busy.’

‘I’ve seen so little of you lately, I thought there was a man involved.’

Miranda gave an ‘I-should-be-so-lucky’ grimace. ‘No, but the season’s getting into full swing and I’ve been planning for the Festival of Fools. Will you be able to come?’

‘If I can get away from here for an hour or so.’ Karen reached for a glass from above the bar. ‘Half a lager?’

‘Yes, please and a white wine spritzer for Ronnie.’

Karen raised an eyebrow. ‘Not a pint of Tinner’s? If she’s gone for such a wussy drink, she must be on the pull.’

You could say that again, thought Miranda as she carried the tray drinks back to Ronnie, nodding at locals she knew. She didn’t hold out much hope for Ronnie, but you never knew. A miracle might happen and there were certainly plenty of people around. Ronnie had chosen a table in the middle of the Pilchard’s beer garden. Unfortunately, it overlooked the Mount, a major attraction for the pub’s tourist visitors but rather a busman’s holiday for her and Ronnie.

On the other
hand, Ronnie’s attention was occupied by a far bigger attraction.

She snatched at Miranda’s arm after she’d set down the tray of drinks on the table. ‘Oh my God. Have you seen that?’

A group of guys were laughing and drinking at a nearby table. They were all hefty and wearing shorts and rugby shirts.

‘Who
are
they?’

Miranda tried to make out the faces around the table. ‘I’m not sure, but I think I’ve seen one or two of them before. They’re from a rugby team over in Penzance. They were drinking outside the pub by the museum in St Ives when I went to that seminar on maritime history a couple of months ago. You can hardly miss them, can you?’

‘No and the big one can do the Haka with me any day.’

All
of the men were built like brick outhouses, but the one that had caused Ronnie’s jaw to drop stood head and shoulders above them. His laugh rumbled round the garden like an express train. He looked like a Maori to Miranda and reminded her of a modernist sculpture, beautiful yet stark. The arm lifting up his pint was adorned with inky tribal tattoos.

‘Don’t look, don’t look. He’s seen us!’

Ronnie pulled the hem of her Lycra skirt down her thighs but it immediately pinged back up again. ‘Oh God, you don’t think I look too tartish, do you?’

Miranda shook her head. ‘I don’t think he’ll mind. If he’s single.’

‘Single? If he is, do you think any woman would dare get in my way? And, oh, isn’t that Theo with them?’

Miranda did a double take as Theo came into view, having previously been swamped by his crowd of hulking rugby mates. ‘Yes, it is but I didn’t know he played rugby.’

Theo placed a tray of pints on the rugby players’ table.

‘Miranda,’ Ronnie purred in her ear, ‘you don’t feel like contributing to community relations, do you?’

Miranda thought her friend sounded like a lioness scenting a helpless gazelle. The Rugby God had no chance, single or not. She sincerely hoped he wasn’t gay.

‘You mean you want me to talk to Theo?’

‘I’ll love you forever and have your babies, if you do.’ Ronnie leaned in closer to her. ‘After I’ve had
his
.’

The Rugby God laughed and the earth shook again, at least it did for Ronnie who gulped down her spritzer like lemonade. Miranda wondered how subtly she could catch Theo’s eye but was saved by him catching hers and immediately heading for her table. Miranda caught several pairs of envious female eyes trained in her direction as he joined her.

‘Hello, ladies. Been let out on parole from Mount Alcatraz, have you?’

Miranda laughed. ‘Ronnie fancied a night off.’

Theo winked at her. ‘I could see you were dressed to kill.’

Miranda
glanced down at her strappy dress and dinky ballet pumps, wondering if she’d overdone it and decided Theo was just teasing. She hardly had a chance to wear them at the Mount and tonight was their first outing of the year. Her mother was always telling her to dress up, put on a bit of slap, anything to get her out of the caravan and acting ‘normal’, she’d supposed. Maybe her mother had been genuinely worried about her turning ‘peculiar’. An obsession with Egyptian mummies wasn’t that odd for a child, but if you were still fixated on them at sixteen maybe your mother had grounds for anxiety.

‘We don’t get out much,’ she joked.

Theo’s gaze drifted from her head to her toes. Miranda felt rather like a marine engine being inspected. ‘You should do something about that. You spend far too much time locked away on that thing.’ ‘That thing’, the Mount, loomed on the horizon behind him in the evening sun. Theo’s expression hardened and he pressed his lips together as if he wanted to say more but didn’t trust himself.

‘It’s not that bad over there,’ joked Miranda, a bit pissed off with Theo for suggesting that she was being held prisoner on the Mount. ‘I’m here now, too.’

‘I didn’t know you played rugby, Theo?’ Ronnie cut in, desperation to turn the conversation hitching up her voice an octave. Playing matchmaker to Theo and Miranda had obviously been pushed down the agenda by her eagerness to get to grips with the Rugby God.

He turned
round briefly to nod at his friends. Rugby God raised his glass to him and Theo waved his back. ‘I don’t play the game myself but I’ve got a few mates in the team. They’re organising a tug-of-war to raise money for the lifeboat station and we decided to hold a meeting about it. In the pub, of course.’

‘A tug-of-war? What?
All
of you?’

‘Yeah and, somehow, I don’t think we’re going to lose. Not with Neem over there on our side.’

Ronnie heaved a sigh. ‘He is absolutely enormous.’

Miranda seized her chance, hoping Ronnie wasn’t going to need oxygen. ‘That sounds exciting. You don’t think your rugby mates would consider doing a tug-of-war at the Festival of Fools, do you? As it’s in aid of the lifeboats.’

He scratched his chin. ‘I don’t know. Never thought of that but it’s a bloody good idea. I’ll ask.’

‘It would be great entertainment for the visitors. The kids would love it. If you could find some opposition, that is,’ said Miranda, realising that she was the one who sounded desperate. Theo might think she fancied Neem, or that she was angling for a date with him.

‘Oh, they can always find some chancers wanting to take them on. Even with their star player,’ he said.

Miranda felt the frustration radiating from Ronnie and blundered on. It was too late to worry about what Theo thought of her. ‘Will Neem be able to come along to the Festival too?’

Theo shrugged. ‘I dunno. Maybe. He’s over here for a couple of years doing a jewellery course at the college in Falmouth so if he’s not busy I guess he might be able to do the Festival.’

Ronnie almost
choked on her spritzer.

‘He
lives
here? He doesn’t look like a jewellery designer, I mean,’ Miranda said, feeling increasingly like Ronnie’s ventriloquist’s dummy. All she needed was to sit on Ronnie’s lap and have her jaw worked up and down. Theo really would think that she fancied the God herself if she pushed it any further.

Theo pulled a pendant out of his polo shirt. It was a tiny silver dolphin strung on a leather cord. ‘We all take the piss out of him but you should see the stuff he turns out. Look, he made this.’ He held the pendant between his calloused finger and thumb. ‘He’s hoping to open his own studio one day. He’s got a few pieces in the gallery here in Nanjizal.’ He let the dolphin rest back against his tanned chest, and it nestled in a fluff of dark-blond hair. Then he gave Miranda a searching look. ‘Perhaps you should drop by and visit him if you’re that interested.’

Miranda decided she’d gone beyond the call of duty. ‘Oh,
we’d
love to see his pieces in the gallery. Wouldn’t
we
, Ronnie?’

Ronnie made a sound somewhere between a squeak and a honk. Theo glanced at her, shook his head slowly and gave a wry smile, as the penny dropped. He put down his pint and bellowed to his mates across the garden. ‘Hey, Neem. These ladies want to meet the artist. Come and show the girls your wares, mate!’

Neem
detached himself from the group and made his way over. When he stopped in front of their table, his bulk blocked out both the evening sun and the Mount. Ronnie seemed to be melting in a puddle of drool but somehow managed to struggle to her feet. Although she was six inches taller than Miranda, Neem was another eight or nine above that. Miranda felt like a Chihuahua at Crufts, standing next to a borzoi and the Hound of the Baskervilles.

‘Neem, this is Miranda,’ said Theo.

Neem held out a hand like a digger shovel. It was an old-fashioned gesture but Miranda bravely offered her fingers, expecting to have her bones mashed to a pulp.

‘Hello, I’m Neemia Mealamu,’ he said, pressing her fingers gently but firmly, like a man who was well aware of his strength and of using it judiciously. His gaze lingered longer on Ronnie and he smiled warmly, showing a set of perfect white teeth. Miranda revised her opinion: the guy was more like a giant golden retriever than a Baskerville.

‘And who’s this?’ he asked in a rich, deep Kiwi accent that sounded as if it had been mined from the depths of the earth.

Ronnie, mesmerised, offered her hand. ‘Veronica S-stapleton. But you can call me R-ronnie.’