Miranda's Mount (31 page)

She took the letter and read it as Ronnie carried on ranting. Miranda didn’t blame her or the rest of the staff. No matter how many rumours had been flying about the island, seeing their fears confirmed must have come as a hell of a shock to the staff.

‘Jago sent this round to everyone. I’ve been on the phone since one of the office assistants brought it ten minutes ago. She says everyone who works or lives here has got one. Miranda, this can’t be anything good. You must know something about it?’

Miranda replaced the sheet on the desk, almost paralysed with shock. The letter asked everyone to attend a meeting that evening in the Great Hall where Jago had something ‘important to tell them’. It said it was ‘vital’ that they attend, if at all possible, and it was signed in fountain pen ink, in Jago’s own hand and formal style.

St Merryn

Ronnie picked it up gingerly as if it was a hand grenade. ‘Looks like a bloody death warrant, doesn’t it?’

Privately, Miranda agreed the signature was very like Henry VIII might have issued when ordering a haircut for one of his wives, but she didn’t need to reply because Ronnie did all the talking for her. ‘What’s Jago doing, calling us all to the Hall tonight? I call it bloody inconsiderate and typical of his lordship. It’s my night off and I’m supposed to be meeting Neem at the Pilchard for dinner. What the hell is going on?’

Miranda answered truthfully, if not completely. ‘I wish I knew.’

‘You
know what I think?’ Miranda could guess but let Ronnie continue, clutching at any chance to avoid telling more lies. ‘I think he’s flogging the place to that French bloke. Creepy git, I never liked him!’ She turned a laser stare on Miranda. ‘You’ve shown them round; you must know what’s going on. You would tell me, wouldn’t you?’

Miranda traced Jago’s signature on the paper with her finger. Outside, she could hear the insistent beep of a van as it reversed along the quay, and shouts as the workmen packed away the stalls and equipment for another year. Next Festival, if there
was
a next Festival, she wouldn’t be here. Perhaps, Ronnie wouldn’t be here either. Miranda certainly couldn’t imagine her working for Jumeau and Devlin for five minutes without throwing one or both of them off the battlements. Lady St Merryn would be in San Francisco, threading flowers in her silver hair like a hippy and Jago would be in the middle of the ocean, drifting again.

They’d come so near to being together, and yet so far. Oh God, she had to tell Ronnie what was happening now, or she’d burst into tears.

‘Miranda. What’s the matter? You look like shit again.’

There could not be many occasions when being told you looked like shit made you want to hug someone, but this was one of them. She would miss her friends so much. Would they have a Ronnie and a Reggie or even a Fred in the Scottish castle she’d applied to? She doubted it and, as for a Jago, he was a one-off.

The phone rang
out, making the desk vibrate and the dust motes shimmer in the thick warm air. Ronnie cursed but picked it up, barking into the mouthpiece. ‘Yeah? Sorry? Who did you say? Right … I’ll see if she’s available.’ She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. ‘It’s for you, Miranda.’

‘Who is it?’ she mouthed.

‘Some woman. Says she’s called Teresa Taylor. Shall I tell her that you’re in a meeting?’

Miranda stood quite still. She felt astonishingly calm all of a sudden. It must be shock, she thought, marvelling at her ability to stand outside herself while everything fell apart around her.

‘Miranda? Are you OK? Shall I ask this woman to call back later?’

‘No. No. I’ll take it.’

After a few seconds’ hesitation, Ronnie laid the handset on the desktop. ‘I’ll give you some privacy,’ she whispered and slipped out of the room.

The sun was slipping
towards the horizon behind him as Jago hung back from the door of the Great Hall. There was no one else outside with him as he hesitated, but through the twin oak doors he could hear the buzz inside. He felt it too, as a sickening ache inside, as if he’d banged a bone on metal.

He lifted his wrist to look at his watch and knew he couldn’t put off the moment any longer. He’d called the meeting for 7 pm and the minute hand on the dial had already crept five beyond the hour. All the Mount’s staff had made an effort to be here, even those who were normally off duty; each one had been summoned by his letter, including Miranda.

He scanned the terrace, half expecting her to be waiting for him outside but there was no sign of her. That morning, after they’d parted, she’d said she’d be there at his side when he broke the news and he was desperate for her to be there even though it was a selfish request.

He stepped under the shadowy archway and emerged at the back of the hall. Someone had arranged rows of chairs like in a chapel, with an aisle between them, as if he was about to run the gauntlet at an ancient tournament. Any moment now, he expected wooden clubs and studded balls to swing down and wallop him on the head and knock him to the ground. He wouldn’t blame the people if they did.

As he
walked up the aisle, the voices died away. Every head turned to stare at him and his breath caught in his throat at the shock of remembering: the last time he’d been in this situation was when he’d followed the coffin into his father’s funeral in the village church. He’d been on show then, with everyone waiting and watching his reaction, looking to him for clues to his grief.

This evening was worse. The faces were even more sombre than they’d been back then, the emotions born not of sympathy but in fear. The loss of the Mount, as they surely must suspect by now, would feel like a far bigger blow than the loss of one of its owners.

A baby let out a howl and its father shushed it and it was then Jago noticed just how many small faces peered at him, from wooden chairs or their parents’ arms. Why were so many children here on an occasion like this? Then he realised that people wouldn’t have been able to get babysitters at such short notice or maybe they wanted to bring their kids while they could. Perhaps their parents wanted to remind him of just what rested on the decision he had made and was about to tell them.

Jago wanted to shout out that no one need remind him of his responsibilities. The decision had borne him down for months now, as if he were carrying the castle and the rocky island it was built on.

His footsteps rang out on the stone floor as he walked towards the dais at the end of the hall, a thousand hopes and fears and expectations burning into his back. The door clanged shut behind him. He climbed onto the dais and he faced the people, who had all fallen silent. Their faces gazed up at him, as he scanned the crowd, in vain, for Miranda.

Miranda
stopped the Land Rover at the crossroads. There it was.

The Song of the Sea Caravan Park. Half a mile.

Song of the Sea
. Just the name of the place had made Miranda want to go there when she was little. Her gran had taken her one summer to stay in a static caravan. They’d walked on the beach every day and waded in the tidal pool between the great split rock that dominated the coast. Gran had told her that an ancient earthquake and the sea had split the rocks, but Miranda had always known that Neptune had splintered the two cliffs in two with his trident. She’d read in a book that mermaids once gathered in the pool, which was why it was called Song of the Sea. She’d even written stories about the place, little booklets illustrated with drawings, curled up in a corner of the caravan.

She steered the Land Rover down the narrow lane that led to the caravan park and indicated to turn into the site. As she drove into the car park, children swung on the swings and clambered over the climbing frame and reminded her, with a sickening jolt, of what must be happening at the Mount even as she sat here, alone. She pictured the children of the Mount in the Great Hall, waiting with their families, while Jago told them that their lives were about to change forever.

And she wasn’t there to see it, hear it, feel it.

She’d
told herself she needed to see her mother but when the phone call had come, she’d grabbed at the excuse like a drowning person clings to their rescuer. The truth was she just couldn’t bear to see Jago crush the hopes of all those people. In the end, she’d run away again and abandoned him when he needed her most.

Jago looked out
over the people crammed into the Great Hall. His throat was swollen and tight and the realisation of why made it close up a little more. Shit. He would fucking cry if he stayed here a second longer. He would disgrace himself in front of all these people and bawl like Braden. They were growing restless, he could hear them shuffling in their seats, hear the odd whisper of concern, of mounting anger, feel the tension like a taut wire stretched to breaking point.

And still, he couldn’t see Miranda, but it was too late. Too late to wait a second longer.

‘I think you know why I’m here.’ He heard and felt the inward drawing of breath as he spoke. He swallowed, trying to force some moisture into his mouth. ‘And I apologise for calling you all here like this when I know you have work to do and families to care for and lives to live beyond the St Merryns and this island. But I felt that I had to gather everyone connected with the Mount and everyone it matters to.’

Everyone except one person, the one person who mattered most to him. Where was she? Where was Miranda?

‘I
know there have been a lot of rumours about the future of the Mount. You may have seen and heard things yourselves over the past few months and I’ll admit that I haven’t helped by not being straight with you, so now I
am
going to be straight with you.’

There were mutters and grumbles and an angry voice hissing ‘Shut up!’ In the front row, a toddler pointed at him and let out a giggle.

‘Despite anything you might have heard, I want to scotch all the rumours now. I’m not selling the Mount and I never will.’

Never.
That word, spoken with such passion, surprised even him with its force. He’d decided before the meeting that he was going to stay, a decision he’d thought he’d come to through hours of soul searching since Miranda had left him that morning. But now he realised that his change of heart had taken days and weeks and months. Perhaps he had always intended to stay but refused to acknowledge or recognise it. He might never know what had happened inside him since Rhianna had died and he’d met Miranda but saying his piece out loud in the Hall in front of everyone had convinced him he was doing the right thing.

Now he’d made the leap, on the side of staying, he felt wildly at peace if wildness and peace could co-exist at the same time. Not until his bones lay in the crypt in the castle church would the Mount leave St Merryn hands and not then, if he could help it. He would bring up his heirs at the castle – he could see his children now, darting around the Hall, splashing in the rock pools and dancing around their mother – he could see a future here at last.

He suddenly
felt intoxicated with certainty, but clear in mind enough to know that these emotions would pass too. He was riding the wave of relief at having done something, having clung on to something solid and certain in his life. In the days and months to come, he knew that there would be moments when he might regret taking on the Mount but, for now, he’d fight tooth and nail to keep the place and the livelihood of all these people. He’d do it, not out of guilt but out of passion and love for the place – and he’d fight tooth and nail to keep Miranda by his side too.

A few of the people were crying now, and not just the women. He recognised a former boatman who must have retired even before Jago had left for university. The guy must be nearly ninety but he still lived in one of the cottages and he was weeping. A few rows back he spotted Daisy from the ice-cream kiosk, sniffing into her handkerchief. Even Reggie, dreadlocked and huge, looked dangerously close to cracking.

It was all Jago’s doing. He’d held the power to reduce these people to tears and that had terrified him. Even now, when the deed had been done, the responsibility scared him and he knew he had to get out of the Hall. He was no saint, no hero, just a very flawed human being.

The crowd wouldn’t let him be human and flawed. That’s not what they wanted; they wanted him to be Lord St Merryn, whatever that represented, however much it really was just a title – a figurehead, a name.

‘Three cheers for his lordship!’ shouted the old man.

What?
Jago wanted to die of shame.

‘Hip hip hurrah!’

No. Christ, no. He felt sick. He didn’t deserve thanks for what he’d done, let alone applause.

‘No, please!’ He wanted the flagstones to open up so he could sink through them, out of sight and forgotten.

‘Hip, hip, hurrah!’

He held up his hands. ‘Really, please.’

‘Hip, hip, hurrah!’

He jumped off the
dais and stumbled slightly as people slapped him on the back. They shouted down his ears and the final hurrah shook the hall to its timber rafters. He scanned the crowd, frantically searching in every corner, behind every pillar for her, but she wasn’t there. She should have been here, listening to him do what he should have done a long time ago.

‘Thank you,’ he called, voice breaking as he raised his hands in the hope of some quiet and space so he could speak again. The hubbub died and the room fell silent. A baby wailed and laughter rippled through the people as the tension was replaced with relief and joy. They were all smiling back at him. ‘Thank you all for your patience. I’ll speak to you all individually over the next few days. There will be changes here, but for the better. But now, I have to go. Please, go home and have a good evening and thank you. Thank you for supporting me and my family. Goodnight.’

‘Bugger me but we all thought you were going to flog the place to some big corporation.’ Reggie pumped his hand up and down as he made his way through the crowd.

At least Jago managed
a truthful answer. ‘I couldn’t do that,’ he said. ‘Have you seen Miranda?’