Shadows Over Paradise (21 page)

Klara looked at me in surprise. “Well, as I say, Jane’s memory
is
erratic, but she means a lot to me, and I’d love you to try. So let’s stick to the plan for you to meet her—perhaps early next week?”

“Sure,” I said, my heart sinking. “Anyway, where had we got to? Oh yes.” With a shaky hand, I pressed Record.

I returned to Lanhay just after one.

“I’ve been exploring,” Honor reported as I hung up my coat. “I went down to the beach, but it was high tide and completely covered, so instead I walked round the headland. I got to a place called Carne, had a scrumptious hot chocolate from an ice cream van, gazed soulfully at the sea, then came back.”

I took the finished tape out of the recorder and labeled it. “Sounds lovely.”

“It was glorious; there are still masses of wildflowers. I saw lots of pink valerian. It’s terrific for sleeping problems.”

“I know. Klara gave me some.”

“Do you still sleep badly, Jen?” Honor looked concerned.

“Not too well, no.”

She gave me a compassionate glance. “Well … it must be very hard at the moment, wondering what’s going to happen with Rick.” I didn’t tell Honor that that wasn’t the only thing preoccupying me. “It’s a shame you don’t want to have kids,” she went on. “I mean, it would make everything so easy if you could just—”

“Having children
doesn’t
make things
easy
.”

“Right … I just meant that it would make the
decision
easy. Of course having children is a huge challenge and exhausting—everyone knows that. But it must be wonderful, if you’ve always wanted them, to get that chance—I hope
I
do. Maybe I won’t.” Honor shrugged. “But Jen, you’ve found a man who you really like, and who feels the same about you, so I hope you don’t throw your chance at happiness away. Anyway … lecture over. Shall I make lunch?” She opened the fridge and peered inside. “Ham and cheese omelette?”

“That would be nice.”

Honor took out the box of eggs, then lifted the lid.

“Ooh—blue ones.”

“They’re from the farm. Araucanas,” I added as Honor rummaged in the cupboards and pulled out a frying pan. “Klara told me that she’s busy this afternoon, so I’m going to take the rest of the day off. Would you like to go to St. Mawes? I’ve never been.”

“I’d love to.”

An hour later we made our way there along the narrow, winding road, turning off at St. Just in Roseland to look at the church set in a subtropical garden beside a tidal creek. We drove on, and as we rounded a bend, there was St. Mawes, rising steeply up from the harbor, the houses interspersed with Monterey pines, giving the village a Mediterranean air. At the far end was the small castle. The gardens sloped down to the wide waters of the Carrick Roads.

“It’s beautiful,” Honor murmured. “All those boats, and that lovely promontory.”

“I guess that’s St. Anthony Head—and that’ll be Falmouth Docks across the water.”

We drove slowly up to St. Mawes Castle, parked, then crossed the drawbridge and went in.

After we’d explored its battlements, we walked into the village, strolling along the waterfront past steep, narrow streets where romantically named houses—Smugglers’ Corner, Trevarth, and Sea-Spray—jostled for space.

On Marine Parade we passed an art gallery, and a gift shop in the window of which were some knitted baby hats and booties in the shape of penguins and lions. We gazed at them.

“How adorable,” Honor breathed. “I want to buy them right now, for Nina’s baby.”

“No,” I said firmly. “Too early.”

“True. We don’t want to jinx it.” We walked on. “So what are you going to wear to the christening?”

“Can’t say I’ve decided yet.”

“Do you think one should avoid white, so as not to upstage the baby?”

“I think it would be tactful, yes …”

We passed the St. Mawes Hotel and the tiny post office with its racks of postcards and buckets and nets. We came to the harbor, where a small ferry was moored by the quay. A few people were waiting to board it.

“Let’s see where that ferry goes,” Honor remarked. As she went up to the ticket kiosk to ask, I noticed a café on the other side of the road. Sitting at a table in the window was Klara. She was with another silver-haired woman. As Klara leaned forward and dabbed at her companion’s jacket with a napkin, I realized, with a sinking feeling, that this was probably Jane. Suddenly Klara looked up. Her face broke into a smile, and she waved to me while the other woman followed her gaze with an impassive air.

Honor came back. “Who’s that you’re waving at?”

“It’s Klara. So … where does the ferry go?”

“Oh, to Falmouth and up the Helford Passage, but look, I’d love to meet Klara. Can we say a quick hello?”

There was no getting out of it. “Sure.” We crossed the road and went into the café. Klara was on her feet, pulling out chairs for us.

“This is Honor,” I said.

“It’s great to meet you, Klara. Thanks so much for letting me stay.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Klara responded. “And this is my friend Jane.”

Honor beamed. “Hello, Jane. I’m Honor.”

Jane gave her a sweet but vacant smile. “Honor? Honor …,” she repeated, then narrowed her eyes as though mulling over a difficult question.

“I’m staying at Lanhay,” Honor explained.

A frown pleated Jane’s brow. “Lanhay?”

“My cottage,” Klara interposed. “Don’t you remember, Jane? Harry and I built it ten years ago. In fact you made those lovely curtains for it.”

“Did I?” Jane asked. “Well, I do
like
curtains. I always have.” She turned to me, and as she held me in her clear, childlike gaze, I felt a rush of recognition that made me feel weak. I saw again Jane’s features animated by compassion; I remembered her voice, as she’d chatted away, doing her best to reassure me. I remembered her beautifully manicured hands, shuffling cards. I prayed that she wouldn’t remember me. To my relief, her expression remained blank. She hadn’t a clue who I was. Suddenly her eyes widened and she grinned at me. “Snap!”

“Snap?” said Klara.

“Snap!” Jane repeated.

“You’re being silly, sweetie,” Klara said to her patiently. “Jane, this is Jenni,” she persevered. “Jenni’s staying at Lanhay while she helps me write a book. I told you that she’d be coming down for a few days—do you remember?”

“Yes.” Jane nodded. “I
do
remember, and curtains
are
nice, yes, yes, very nice,
but …
” She sighed. “This isn’t Jenni.”

“Of course it is,” Klara said gently. “Now let’s have some more tea.” She waved at the waitress, then turned to Honor and me. “What would you girls like? My treat, of course.”

“It
isn’t
Jenni,” Jane insisted, a little petulantly.

“It is,” Klara responded evenly. She picked up the menu, then glanced at me. “They do a delicious lemon cake here; let me get you some.”

Jane was shaking her head, her lips pursed. “It’s
Genevieve
.”

Klara looked at her. “No, Jane. Her name’s Jenni—as in Jennifer.”

Honor laughed. “Actually, Klara, Jane’s right: It
is
Genevieve.” She looked at Jane. “But how funny that you should know that, because no one ever calls Jenni Genevieve, do they?” she added to me.

My mouth had gone dry. “Only my mother.”

Klara stared at me, bewildered. “I thought you were called Jennifer.”

“No. People always assume that’s my name, but it’s not. Jane’s right.” I felt as though I were hurtling toward an abyss. And now I was falling …

“Of
course
you’re Genevieve,” Jane said. “And we played snap!” She gave me an indulgent smile. “Didn’t we?”

“Genevieve?” Klara echoed. She looked at me searchingly. Then her expression changed from one of confusion to clarity. “Of
course
,” she murmured. Her eyes filled with concern. “I remember you now.” And in that moment I remembered her too.

“How did Jane know who you were?” Honor asked as we drove back to the cottage.

“We met,” I answered tersely. “Many years ago.”

“Down here?” I nodded. “So you’ve been to Polvarth before?”

I changed down a gear. “Yes.”

“You haven’t told me that. So, you came here on holiday?”

“Yes. When I was a child.”

“And you met Jane then?”

“That’s right. She used to run the tea hut down on the beach.”

“How amazing that she remembered you after so long, especially as she’s a bit confused. You must have made a great impression on her.” I didn’t respond. “And Klara said that she’s met you as well.”

I turned off the main road. “She has. I’d … forgotten.”

“It was great to see St. Mawes,” Honor said as I parked the car at Lanhay a few minutes later. “But, Jenni, the tide’s low now. Can we go and look at the beach before it gets dark?”

“Of course.”

We set off down the lane.

“Are you okay, Jen?” Honor asked after a minute or two. “You seem a bit distracted. Is it because of Rick?”

“No. It’s got nothing to do with him.” We came to the row of holiday houses, and I stopped at Penlee. “This is where I stayed when we came here before. It was twenty-five years ago.”

Honor looked at the house, then we walked on, past the old red telephone kiosk and the stone gateposts of the hotel. “So you’d have been nine,” she said. “You came with your mother?”

“Yes.” It was true. Suddenly the beach came into view.

Honor clapped her hands. “It’s beautiful! And the tide’s
right
out!” The rippled sand glimmered in the low sunlight.

As we walked down the slipway I heard his voice again, thin and high, drifting toward me.

Evie! Wait! Please. Evie! Evie …

“There’s the tea hut,” I heard Honor say. “It’s closed—for the winter, I suppose.” We walked across the beach, stepping round the clumps of brown seaweed that strewed the high-tide line. Honor bent down and picked up a piece of driftwood. “Look at this, Jen, it must have been in the sea for years; it’s so white, and as smooth as satin.” She held it out to me, but I barely glanced at it. “Are you sure you’re okay, Jen?”

“I’m fine.”

She looked about her. “It must be fantastic here in the summer.”

You don’t have long.… Hold his hand now
.

“And the rocks are great,” Honor remarked as she walked toward them. “I couldn’t see them yesterday because they were covered up by the sea. Can we look in the rock pools?”

Don’t want to help you
.

Well, you’ve
got
to
.

“If you like,” I said absently. I followed Honor across the pale sand, and we climbed up.

“Ooh, tiny mussels!” Honor exclaimed as she stood on the first rock. She tiptoed between them. “Don’t want to crush them.” She jumped onto the next rock, then peered down, her hands on her knees. “This is a good pool—lots of nice seaweed. That’s bladder wrack, isn’t it?” she asked as I came and stood beside her. “I think that wide one’s called sea belt … Oh, look! A shrimp! Just there, by those limpets.” She straightened up and stepped onto the next boulder, then bent down to the water again, her blond hair lifting in the breeze. She stared into this pool for a few moments, then frantically beckoned to me. “
Fish!
” she whispered, her eyes wide. She stooped a little lower as she tried to spot it again.

I want to hold the net.… It’s my turn
.

“It’s gone under that rock. But it was huge—at least two inches, a speckled brown color with frilly fins.” Honor laughed. “I could do this for hours!”

The bell’s ringing, Evie
.

I can’t hear it
.

…’Member what Mum said
.

Honor leapt across a gap. “Be careful,” she warned. “There’s a gully here—it’s quite deep.” I didn’t follow her. “I’d love to see a crab,” she called over her shoulder.

You’re … a stupid little
baby
!

I
can
get it, Evie!

It’s too late! You ruined it …

“I adore rock pooling.” Honor stepped onto the next boulder. “In fact I wouldn’t mind doing it again tomorrow. We could buy a net and bucket. What do you think, Jen? Jenni?” She turned. “
Jenni
? What’s wrong?” She hurried toward me, jumping
back over the gully again. “What’s the matter, honey?” She put her hand on my arm, her blue eyes filled with concern. “You’re crying—please tell me what’s wrong. If it’s because of Rick, crying won’t help,” she rushed on. “You’ve just got to decide what you mind most—losing Rick, or having a child when you don’t really want to, though God knows a lot of women our age would be thrilled to have a man who was keen to start a family with them.”

“It’s not
about
Rick,” I murmured. “I told you it’s not.”

“Then what
is
it about? What’s happened, Jen?” Honor’s expression cleared. “It’s to do with Jane, isn’t it? She
was
a bit strange with you, but she’s obviously a bit confused, so I wouldn’t get upset about it.” She shoveled her hand into her pocket, pulled out a pack of tissues, and handed me a couple. “Please don’t cry, Jenni. I mean, why should what poor old Jane said upset you like this?”

I felt a tear seep into my mouth with a salty tang. “She remembers,” I said brokenly. “They probably
all
remember round here.”

“Remember what?” Honor frowned, baffled. “What do they remember, Jen?” She sat on a rock, then stretched out her hand for me to sit beside her. As I did so, she tucked her arm through mine. “Jen, honey, I hate seeing you like this. And I worry that I talk so much, I don’t give you the chance to confide in me. I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong,” she coaxed. I didn’t answer. “Maybe I can help.”

“You can’t.” My throat ached with a suppressed sob. “No one can help me.” I looked at the sea, dotted with white sails. “I should never have come back! I’d persuaded myself that it might
be a
good
thing to come back; that I might be able to find some peace at last—but I never will. It’ll always scratch at my soul.”

Honor was staring at me. “Jenni, what are you talking about?” she asked quietly. I didn’t answer. “Please, Jen, in the name of our friendship, tell me what’s upsetting you so much.”