Pennyroyal (10 page)

“Come on up then. They might have lit a fire.”

“I’ll get them to do that while you’re in the bath.”

It seemed quite natural to have Jake in her room while she ran hot water into the bath and added fragrant salts. Before steam hazed the mirror, she saw her reflection. Where was the glamorous model now? She looked a mess and her skirt was muddy. As she closed the door, she saw Jake sit down heavily in the room’s only armchair and open a file on his knees.

He was going to work. It was a reassuring sight though she had no worries that he was going to rush the bathroom. No one could fancy her looking such a wreck. She would have complete privacy.

She heard someone knock at the outer door. It was a maid with the tray and to light the fire. In a few moments there was another discreet knock at the bathroom door and Cassy guessed she was being offered a cup of hot tea. Cassy went to take it gratefully.

But it was not the maid. The arm was muscular and brown, fine dark hairs at the wrist. It was Jake.

Cassy was no prude. She was used to dressing and undressing among a lot of people. There was no place for excessive modesty in a photographic studio.

She knew her body was a good shape: slim hips, long legs, narrow waist.…but she thought her small, taut breasts could have been improved with a little more feminine fullness. Her skin was an all-over golden honey tan from the Barbados sun, no strap marks or blemishes. But for all her feeling good about herself, Jake was the last person who was going to see her naked.

In a flash, a big towel was shielding her from his gaze. She heard an amused chuckle from behind the door.

“Don’t panic, the steam is as thick as a Peak fog. And I’ve got my eyes shut. Both of them. God only knows why. Women were made to be admired.”

She took the tea and put it down unsteadily.

“Sorry, I don’t usually act so nervous. It must be the events of the day.”

She closed the door. She did not know what had shaken her more: her own vulnerable nakedness or the sight of those dark hairs on his wrist. His chest would have a mat of hair and it was a thought that brought colour to her cheeks.

She took a firm hold of these wanton thoughts and stepped into the foaming bath, letting the towel drop to the floor. It was no use thinking about Jake. She had her life planned out and it did not include a permanent man.

She emerged later, rosy and flushed, wrapped in her white towelling robe, hair pinned up. She wondered whether to dress; if she stayed in her robe Jake might take the hint and go.

“Is there any more tea?” she asked.

Jake got up from the armchair and took her empty cup.

“Yes. And I’ve saved you a few sandwiches. I ate all the roast beef. These are salmon.”

“That tea was good.”

“An Everand special. It had a dash of brandy in it.”

“Purely for medicinal purposes, I hope?”

“I thought you needed warming up.”

Cassy curled up in the chair, tucking her bare feet and legs under the folds of her robe, tendrils of wet hair on her neck. She accepted the sandwiches and tea; she felt hungry now and sank her pearly teeth into the moist and succulent bread.

“Well, what have you got to tell me?” she asked in a very unladylike way, her mouth full of sandwich. “Am I going to strike it rich?”

It was meant to be a joke but Cassy knew instantly that the remark was wrong.

“I suppose you must be anxious to know if you have come into a fortune,” he said drily. “Then you can be off spending it on the Riviera or wherever the in-people go these days. I think you may have to postpone the trip. My preliminary survey is not particularly hopeful.”

He folded himself down onto the floor and for the first time Cassy saw a weariness etched on his face. He had spent a long day climbing and crawling around the Pennyroyal; then, already tired, he had searched the moors for her, not hesitating to carry her back when she fell. He might be a big fellow but his physical strength was not limitless.

“Supposing we leave this till tomorrow morning,” Cassy suggested. “We could both do with some sleep.”

“I’ll give you the gist now then you’ll have something to think about.” He shifted himself into a more comfortable position, the fire lighting the angles of his dark face. “I’m not too optimistic that the strikes and shoots in Pennyroyal continue anywhere. I don’t think there’s any ore left. It’s been well worked over the years but it was never a rich mine; it probably never made a profit. There are traces of lead but nothing that could be mined or warrants reopening the mine.”

Cassy saw her dreams disappearing, vanishing with the bright flames that leapt towards the chimney. The agency, being independent and her own boss…

“But there are further workings beyond Dove Hole Cavern that I’ve not looked at yet,” he went on. “I’ll be chipping out channels across the lodes at regular intervals and evaluating the samplings back at the laboratory. Who knows, there might be a big rake not yards from where the old miners stopped and gave up. But it would need a lot of capital to reopen the mine.”

“I haven’t that kind of money,” said Cassy. “My savings over the years are not exactly in the capital class. I’ve earned a lot of money, but I’ve always spent most of it.”

“Then you’ve no choice,” said Jake, heaving himself up. “You’ll have to sell the mine. Perhaps some fool will buy it.”

What do you mean…some fool?” said Cassy. “You’re talking as if it has no value. It must have, surely?”

“A hole in the ground, caves and tunnels?”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Do you want a second opinion? I could put you in touch with a colleague.”

“You do take offence quickly. I’ve never met anyone so touchy. I am quite satisfied with the way you are conducting the survey. I was just surprised at your advice to sell. It’s too early to make that kind of decision.”

“Psychologically it’s the right time. If word gets around that I’ve done a survey and then Pennyroyal goes on the market, prospective buyers might think I found something. If I take two months, then you want to sell, they’ll know for certain there’s nothing there.”

“I can see the logic of that,” said Cassy. “But any prospective buyer would send their own mining surveyor down the mine, wouldn’t they? They’d make the same report.”

“Not necessarily,” said Jake, a slight gleam coming into his eyes. “You forget, I’m the best.”

“So you’ve told me at least six times,” said Cassy, stifling a yawn. The brandy was making her feel sleepy and she wanted him to go. No, it was more than sleepiness. She wanted him to go while she still had her senses. She knew that if he came anywhere near her, she would have a hard time stopping her arms going round his neck and pulling him down to her lips. She might sleep peacefully if he went now. Her body was stiff and aching but she knew that if he took her to bed, his hands would have a magic in them that could soothe away that pain. She was rejecting all her natural inclinations.

She glanced down at her hands clasped round the now cold cup so that he would not see the sudden tears.

Loneliness was drowning her like a relentless North Atlantic roller. Would she regret this moment in the years to come? Would she look back on this meeting with Jake Everand and know that she had passed up a chance of finding happiness, even if not permanent happiness?

He came over and took the cup away from her, putting it back on the tray. Then he fitted her palm against the facing palm of his own hand. It was a gesture of such sweetness that Cassy was deeply moved. His face was near, strangely guarded as if he were afraid that he might betray himself.

“I never fight with ladies when it’s nearly midnight,” he said. “Good night, Miss Bristling Independence. Let me know when Cassandra Ridgeway rejoins the human race. I’d like to be around, show her a good time.”

Her spiky tear-studded eyes widened with alarm, but he was only laughing at her once more. He kissed the tip of her finger and with a slight, mocking bow, left the room.

Cassy tucked the same hand under her arm, close to her wildly beating heart, hardly able to believe the powerhouse of emotion that gentle, subtle touch had fired. She was falling blindly, irrevocably, in love. She would have to escape first thing in the morning, pack and leave, forget Pennyroyal, forget High Rake, and most importantly, forget Jake Everand.

All at once a new, prickly feeling raced along her spine. Was that why Grandfather had left her the Pennyroyal? Did he know somehow that Jake Everand would walk into her life and tear its careful construction apart? Troubled and scared, Cassy sat thinking, letting the fire go out before eventually going to bed and falling into an exhausted sleep.

Chapter Six

Five days later Cassy received a meticulously detailed report on Pennyroyal. She read it carefully, appreciating that Jake Everand had kept the technical terms to a minimum for her benefit. The conclusions were clear. The mine was worked out; there was not enough lead ore in it to make reopening a viable proposition. Jake recommended that the mine should be sold off as a novelty, perhaps to be featured as a tourist attraction.

“It is structurally sound,” he had written, “and would take very little adapting to become an interesting day trip for visitors to Derbyshire.”

It was a final insult.

Cassy almost threw the bulky report on the floor. A novelty. A tourist attraction. He was suggesting that her beautiful, awesome Pennyroyal should be gawped at by tourists who paid fifty pence at the door and chucked litter everywhere. No, thank you; it was a lead mine, not Disneyland.

Even as she dismissed his suggestion, a small part of her remembered the thrill and excitement of going underground for the first time, and the strange, eerie boat ride through the dimly lit canal. It had been an unforgettable experience. Then the utter blackness of Dove Hole Cavern. Oh yes, it was tailor-made for day trippers.

“Finally, I would suggest that the mine is put on the market immediately,” Jake Everand concluded. “This should avoid any speculation. A good mining broker could handle this transaction for you, and I would be happy to recommend a reliable firm to act on your behalf. I would estimate the value of Pennyroyal in its present inactive state to be in the region of £30,000.”

Thirty thousand pounds. The amount rocketed through Cassy’s mind, sending shooting stars in all directions with the word “Cassandra” lit up in neon lights. This was the capital she needed to start her agency. She did not stop to calculate if it was sufficient for a year’s rent, for publicity, for employing a staff, for paying the telephone bill, which would be enormous. Cassy knew she ought to do a few sums first; but she was afraid to in case they might deter her from making that first big step towards total independence.

As her mind whirled round in excitement, another thought crept in, nagging and refusing to go away. She did not want to lose Pennyroyal. It meant a great deal to her. It would be like selling off her grandfather.

Perhaps this was what he intended? That she should sell Pennyroyal and the capital to give her security and independence. If only she knew what he had been thinking, it would help her make up her mind.

She pulled on the big, white, cable-stitch sweater and adjusted it over her white jeans. She drove the now familiar couple of miles to Ridge House. She wanted to talk to Jake Everand before he left Netherdale. He was returning immediately to Cornwall. She had seen little of him in the last few days, a fact which had allowed her to regain her usual cool composure.

Mrs. Hadlow was pleased to see Cassy; the kettle was on the boil before Cassy was halfway out of the car.

The Land Rover was not in evidence and Cassy wondered if she was too late.

“No, Miss Cassy, he’s not gone yet. But he’s planning to leave after lunch. He’s gone to pay Albert his money.”

“Ah, the reticent Albert,” said Cassy.

“You seem to be determined to make a mystery out of this, Miss Cassy,” said Mrs. Hadlow with a slight air of disapproval. “The mine ran out of lead so your grandfather closed it. It was as simple as that.”

Cassy remembered the disarray in the mine office, the abandoned work sheets and accounts, the tea mugs and muddy shoes. It gave every appearance of being left in a hurry. If the mine had been closed in a normal manner, Cassy felt sure her grandfather would have put everything in order first. It was not his orderly way to shut the door on chaos.

“I’d like to look round Grandfather’s study again, if I may,” said Cassy.

“You know you don’t have to ask here,” said Mrs. Hadlow, thawing, but still a bit sniffy.

She did not enjoy looking through Grandfather’s desk but it had to be done. There were a lot of papers kept methodically in files and big brown envelopes, going back to the year dot.

She tried to ignore the photos of herself smiling down from the walls and wandered over to the mantelpiece. The beach photo had slipped in its frame and she took it down, intending to replace it in the centre of the mount.

As she unfastened the clasps on the edge of the frame and removed the backing, she expected the photo to slip out, but instead another photograph faced her. It had been printed on thick board, turned in the frame and used as a filler.

Cassy looked at it curiously. It was a wedding group. Eight people standing outside Netherdale church, caught forever in rays of pale sunshine; a bride and groom, best man and bridesmaid and two other couples. It was not easy to date…the bride wore a conventional, long, white satin dress and held a large, overpowering bouquet of carnations. She was a slim, dark-haired woman with a pleasant, not unattractive, face. Cassy did not recognise her.