Wreckers Island (romantic suspense) (2 page)

The following morning, the girls were awoken by a knock on
the bedroom door. John walked in with two steaming mugs of tea.

‘We’ve got some sausages and bacon already frying.
It looks like it’s going to be another nice day.’

‘John, I was having the most lovely dream,’
said Louise, reproachfully. ‘Thanks for the tea, though.’

‘What a wonderful feeling waking up in a
lighthouse,’ said Emma, sitting upright and cradling her hot mug. ‘You know
something, I could do with a nice holiday lie-in this morning.’

‘You won’t say that once the smell of
breakfast wafts up the stairs,’ said Louise.

‘Right!’ mumbled John a few minutes later, his
mouth half full of sausage. ‘What are we going to do today? Why don’t we go out
in the boat and explore the coast? I feel like achieving something after a lazy
afternoon yesterday. Plus the fact that I think the weather won’t be so great
tomorrow.’

‘Also, we could do with getting to the
mainland and buying some more supplies,’ pointed out Dan, ‘especially if the
weather forecast is bad.’

‘Ok, how about we do our shopping, get ourselves
a picnic lunch and motor along the coast and explore some of the wreckers’
caves?’ suggested Emma.

‘You never know, we might even find
long-lost treasure,’ chimed in Louise, her eyes sparkling. ‘Now that would be
like something out of a book, wouldn’t it? No, I’m joking! We won’t find
treasure. We’re at least two centuries too late. But we’ll have fun looking!’

A full English breakfast was rounded off
with coffee and toast and marmalade after which the four students felt
satisfactorily stuffed.

‘I could loll here all day, reading my
Kindle and staring out at that awesome view,’ said Dan, approvingly.

‘We’ll have plenty of time for staring at
the view and reading books – or Kindles – tomorrow when our little island is
lashed with rain,’ pointed out John.

‘Oi, less of the ‘our’, remarked Louise,
feigning a scowl. ‘This island and its worldly goods belongs to me, remember!’ she
added, a mischievous look in her eyes. ‘Well, my mum and dad anyway. Mind you,
it is nice to share it with you all.’

~~~~~

‘All aboard!’ cried Louise a few minutes
later when her three guests finally heaved themselves from the breakfast table
and out to her boat, waiting patiently for them at the jetty.

‘For a minute,’ gasped Emma, ‘you feel like
you’re coming out of an ordinary door and stepping onto a pavement with houses
all around don’t you, then it hits you that you’re actually in a lighthouse on
a little island surrounded by the sea. It’s mind blowing.’

Louise smiled at her. That is exactly how
she felt about this place and she was pleased Emma shared that sense of awe and
delight which seemed to be overcoming her initial apprehension. Louise’s boat
was a sailing dinghy with a small outboard motor attached. For the purposes of
getting the short distance to the shore, it was easier to use the motor,
although usually she preferred to rig up the sails. The others watched in
admiration as she deftly weaved her way round the rocky outcrops poking out in
the bay – rocks which could cause so much misery to less experienced sailors. Louise
cut the engine as they came into shallow water and rowed herself to the jetty.

Beyond the beach was Porthlevnack, the sort
of timeless Cornish fishing village that you might have thought had disappeared
long ago. It was good to see that such places still existed. On a hillside
above were the ruins of an old castle, which added its own atmospheric touch.

Louise, John, Dan and Emma spent the morning
ambling around. Louise knew every inch of the place but for the others it was
somewhere new to explore. They enjoyed strolling along the narrow, winding
lanes overlooked by quaint, whitewashed cottages perched on steep slopes overhanging
a harbour dotted with colourful fishing boats.

‘You know,’ said John to Louise, ‘this is a
simply enchanting place to come for a holiday. To have an island to call your
own, with its own lighthouse and this wonderful little village on your
doorstep, you are very lucky.’

Louise nodded. It
was
wonderful, but
it was extra special with friends there to share it. The others didn’t know but
she had often been on her own, growing up in rural mid Cornwall with few people
her own age to mix with.

John’s existing strong feelings for Louise
were deepening in these surroundings and the smiles she gave him encouraged him
to hope that possibly, just possibly, there might be a chance of them getting
together. So often during the academic year he had planned to ask her out but
he rarely got to spend any time with her alone.

Meanwhile, Dan was seizing the chance for a
one-to-one chat with Emma. Yet Emma, despite her ebullient spirits that day,
kept flicking her blonde hair in a distracted sort of way while shooting several
glances towards John, on whom they were wasted.

They finished up in a small, 17th century café
for coffee and cakes. From their seats in the large bay window set in thick
stone, they could see the harbour and just about, in the far distance, their
lighthouse on its meagre scrap of land. They paid the bill and went off to the
general stores for fresh food and milk and some snacks for a picnic before
returning to the boat.

‘Right off we go, bound for Wreckers Caves,’
declared Louise as she pulled the starting cord on the engine. The boat roared
away from the shore of Gunwalloe Cove. They swung to the right and round a
promontory. The coastline was extraordinarily jagged here. No sooner did you go
round one jutting out headland, than you found yourself turning hard back,
heading into natural inlets and mini-harbours, often sheltered from the fresh
sea breeze where the sea was as calm and flat as pond water.

‘There’s a type of lagoon here in between
those two sandbanks,’ said Louise, pointing, where the water is almost as warm
as the rock pools on my island. Why don’t we anchor and do a spot of swimming,
then have our picnic lunch?’

That sounded a good idea and the four had
already put on their swimwear that morning before setting out. Louise cut the
engine and let down the anchor. They stripped off their clothes and leapt
overboard.

‘It’s amazingly warm,’ enthused Emma as she
sank into the water, a rich turquoise under the summer sun. John and Dan swam
to the sandbank and hauled themselves onto it. They stood on the sand bar protruding
from the water pretending to be shipwrecked sailors.

‘Get back in, you wusses,’ Louise bawled at
them.

Emma paddled on her back, gazing at John and
Dan prancing about under the bright sun. She had never seen them clad only in
swimming trunks before. With their lean, muscular frames, narrow hips and tight
stomachs they were both a good catch. The sight of them made her tingle
slightly. She now fancied John more than ever, although Dan’s graceful,
slightly effeminate poise was also alluring.

She tore her gaze away and forced herself to
look at another impressive sight – the fierce, jagged coastline and those
strange, cavernous openings in the cliffs. What perfect hiding places they must
have made in which to stash smuggled goods or salvage from a wrecked ship.

Emma swam to the boat and got in. ‘Come on,’
she yelled, ‘let’s have our picnic!’

The others by now were sprawled on the edge
of the sandbank, half submerged.

‘I could lie here all day,’ said John,
reluctant to move. But Dan and Louise were hungry and they pushed him into the
water before swimming off.

‘Hey, that’s not fair,’ he cried and tore
after them.

Once they were back on board, they grabbed
some crusty bread and made clumsy cheese and tomato sandwiches. Washed down
with a can of lager each in that beautifully sheltered spot, the boat rocking
gently, it was possibly the tastiest meal they’d had in ages.

‘Now for some serious exploration,’
announced Louise, wiping the crumbs off her mouth when the last of the
sandwiches had been devoured. She stood up in the boat and scrutinised the coast.

As she did so, she became vaguely aware of
being scrutinised herself – by John, who seemed intent on removing her swimming
costume with his eyes. Louise turned in his direction and brought her heels
together. Posing in front of the mirror had taught her that doing so accentuated
her every contour and curve.

It intrigued Louise that John seemed taken
with her and vexed her slightly that Dan showed no real interest. Emma glanced
at John and noticed, uneasily, where his eyes were lingering.

Get a grip, Emma told herself. This holiday
was about the four of them, all good friends, spending a nice, relaxing time
together, free from the stress of university life and mounting money worries.
It was not an opportunity to go after John – she could do that at Oxford, with
the means to keep her distance if things went wrong.

So what if she had barely a penny to rub
together? This holiday wasn’t going to cost her much and anyway, the others
were struggling too, if not quite as much. Louise was a party girl who easily
let money slip through her fingers, despite generous cash injections from rich
parents, while John and Dan were only barely solvent thanks to doing menial
part-time work on the minimum wage.

Louise pulled her jumper and jeans back on
and advised the others to do the same. ‘It will be chilly where we’re going,’
she warned.

With the oars in the rowlocks, Louise
channelled her energy into powering them through the water. With swift, strong
strokes, she brought the boat beneath the cliffs and through a narrow ravine,
just wide enough to take them. It led into the rock face itself then expanded into
a large cavern.

Louise brought the boat alongside an iron
mooring ring and tied it up. She stepped out onto the floor of the cavern and
beckoned the others to follow. She took a torch from her rucksack and flicked
it on. They gasped at the size and beauty of an enormous underground chamber.

‘Wow,’ said Emma, her voice echoing. Isn’t
this amazing! What a perfect place for smugglers, don’t you think, Louise?’

‘It
was
perfect for them,’ she
replied. ‘This was one of their notorious haunts around these parts. As you can
see, apart from the sea water pouring in along the ravine, it is perfectly dry
and goes back a long way. Can you see the way those great big breeze blocks have
been mortared into the walls?’ The others followed the beam of her torch.

‘Behind them lie secret passageways used by
the smugglers. Some of the tunnels were hewn from the rocks but most were
natural, and they lead deep into the cliff-face and into remote underground
caves where stuff could be hidden.’

‘So why were they blocked up?’ asked Dan.

‘In the past, it was to try to put an end to
the smugglers’ and wreckers’ activities. Others were closed off more recently, for
health and safety reasons I would guess,’ said Louise.

‘That’s a shame, I would have loved to go exploring
a smugglers’ passageway,’ said John, pressing his hands against the bricked-up walls
as if the stones might be possible to dislodge.

‘Yes, it would be great fun,’ agreed Louise,
‘but you have to remember that any ill-gotten gains stashed away down here
would have been carted off long ago. Even the well-hidden spots have been
discovered. The smuggling and wrecking trade was at its peak in the 18th
century, so there was plenty of time since to uncover anything that remained.’

‘Would there have been smugglers right here,
where we’re standing?,’ asked Emma.

‘Yes, they were active right along this
coast,’ replied Louise. ‘Some places, like Perranporth on the north coast of
Cornwall had a smuggling syndicate – even the local clergy were involved. Then there
were the famous old smuggling inns where they would plot their next moves.’

‘It does sound like the stuff of books,
rather than real life,’ said Emma as she walked around the cavern.

‘I suppose,’ said Dan thoughtfully, ‘it’s
easy for us to romanticise their exploits now, especially when there was
treasure of different kinds involved but at the time it was a serious criminal
activity. We shouldn’t make these people out to be any kind of heroes. They
were wicked.’

‘Oh I don’t know,’ retorted John, cheerily.
‘It’s hard to see it as wicked now when it happened a couple of centuries ago.
To me, it seems more historic and, well, fascinating, than anything else. Think
what it must have been like to be a fly on the wall 200 years ago and see the
wreckers and smugglers hauling their cargo into great caverns like this and
down those old tunnels far into the hillside. Wooden trunks, brimming with
bullion and gold and silver coins!’

With his wide grin, straw mop of hair and
eyes gleaming in the torchlight, John looked rather like an old-time smuggler
himself.

‘Ooh you don’t half talk nonsense, John,’
giggled Louise. ‘Look, if we’re done treasure hunting here, perhaps we ought to
head back to the lighthouse and get the food we’ve bought in the fridge.’

As Louise skilfully navigated her way
through the ravine and out into the bright sunlight of the bay, the four found themselves
imagining the comings and goings of centuries past. Dan was right, these people
weren’t heroes but as baddies go, they were a colourful lot.

‘Do you know what I wish,’ said John, as
they approached Wreckers Island. ‘I wish we could find a way into those
blocked-up tunnels and follow them deep into the hillside, into caves where no
human foot has trodden for 100 years and more. And perhaps find a single overlooked
gold coin or something?’

‘Not a hope!’ hooted Louise. ‘But you’re a
romantic John, and I like that.’

She gave his shoulder a rub and flashed a
smile at him. John grinned and, for a moment, a flash of understanding seemed
to pass between them. Emma winced. Why didn’t she have the confidence to flirt
with John like that? In any event, it looked like she might already be too
late.