Kitabı oku: «The Newcomer», sayfa 3

4

‘Well, that was a surprise,’ Penny said, taking Simon’s hand as they settled in the back of the people carrier taking them to Heathrow. ‘I’m quite exhausted.’

He stroked her hand as he took a last look at the village green and gaggle of people waving from the vicarage garden. ‘It was quite wonderful.’

‘We’ll sleep well on the flight.’ Penny yawned and turned to Jenna, who was rubbing her nose with Blue Ted. ‘You OK, Pidge?’ she asked.

‘Faith is nice,’ said Jenna sleepily. ‘She liked my bedroom. I don’t mind her using it because she said she would show me how to put make-up on when I come back.’

Simon swivelled his shocked eyes towards Penny, who put her arm across Jenna’s shoulders and hugged her. ‘What fun. But no nicking my expensive stuff.’

Jenna giggled. ‘Your make-up is for ladies with wrinkles. Faith told me that. She’s got proper young stuff. She’s even got a purple lipstick.’

‘Wrinkles? I haven’t got wrinkles.’

‘Because you hide them with the wrinkle make-up.’

Simon nodded. ‘She’s got a point.’

Penny elbowed him hard in the ribs, but Jenna hadn’t finished. ‘And when I showed Faith inside your make-up bag she said that her mummy uses that white cream on her moustache, too.’

‘You showed her my make-up bag?’

‘Well, she’s family now, isn’t she? By the way, can I have a mobile phone because Faith says I can ring her any time when I’m in Brazil.’

Simon spluttered, ‘I don’t think so, young lady.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Penny.

Angela and Robert closed their new front door as the last of the party visitors went home.

‘They are nice people,’ said Robert, taking Angela in his arms. ‘I like Helen.’

Angela tucked her head under Robert’s chin. ‘She is nice. I like Piran, too.’

‘Do you?’ he asked. ‘My jury is out. He did suggest we go fishing. But much too macho caveman for me.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Angela. ‘Do you think they’ll like us?’

‘I think they will love you.’ Robert kissed her hair.

Angela laughed. ‘And you! Everybody loves you.’ She paused. ‘Listen.’

Robert listened. ‘I can’t hear anything.’

‘Exactly. Not a sound. No traffic. No aeroplanes. No music. Just the peace of the Cornish countryside.’ Angela stretched up to kiss him. ‘Glass of wine?’

Faith was at the kitchen table, surrounded by the remains of the party food. She was munching the end of a pasty and flicking through her iPad. ‘Wi-Fi here is useless.’

‘Good.’ Angela tickled her daughter’s head as she passed and began opening cupboards, looking for wine glasses. ‘Would you like a small glass of wine? Special occasion and all that.’

Faith cheered up. ‘Yes, please.’

Robert sat across the table from her. ‘What do you think then, Faith? Like your room?’

‘It’s nice apart from being baby pink.’

‘You’ll get over it,’ laughed Robert.

‘To us.’ Angela raised her glass.

‘To you.’ Robert tipped his glass to hers. ‘This is your gig and Faith and I are happy to be the back-up team,’ He swallowed the pale white wine. ‘Nice.’

‘Mamie sent it to us. House-warming present.’

‘When does she get here?’ asked Faith.

‘Tomorrow. She’s bringing Mr Worthington with her.’

Faith clapped her hands. ‘I’ve missed him. We can explore the village together. Apparently the lane by the side of the church goes down to the sea and a nice beach, Jenna told me.’

‘I might make a picnic for us all. If it’s not raining.’ Angela looked around her. ‘Lovely kitchen, isn’t it? I’m a bit afraid of the Aga, though. Never used one before. Is anybody hungry?’

‘Those pasties filled me up. I had two.’ Robert patted his stomach. ‘How about you, Faith?’

‘I think I’ll have a bath now that I’ve got my own en suite.’ She picked up her iPad and strolled to the door.

‘Well, don’t take all the hot water because Daddy and I will want one too.’

‘Gross,’ said Faith with a curled lip. ‘TMI.’

‘Married people do take baths together sometimes, you know,’ Robert called after her.

Faith ran up the stairs. ‘La-la-la-la, I can’t hear you.’

‘Well, that’s got rid of her,’ smiled Robert. ‘Come and sit next to me.’

‘I’ve got stuff to do.’

‘No you haven’t. The removal men are delivering our meagre essentials tomorrow and I know you don’t have to make any beds up because, thoughtfully, Penny told me that she had done them already.’

‘I know,’ Angela sighed gratefully.

‘So, sit here and give me a cuddle.’

‘Can’t we just lie on the sofa, and watch television?’

Robert checked his watch. ‘That’s a point. Chelsea were playing Tottenham earlier. We might get the highlights.’

Robert woke the next morning in the unfamiliar bed in the unfamiliar room. The mattress was supportive but seemed to mould to his body. The pillows were the perfect mix of comfort and yield. The duvet exactly the right weight.

He stretched his limbs, feeling the blood tingle through his body, then relaxed once more.

The light creeping over the top of the curtains drew long, bright fingers over the Victorian corniced, whitewashed ceiling. The walls were painted in a subtle eau-de-Nil, which highlighted the old and uneven plaster. He wondered, as men do, about the workmen who had built this vicarage. How long it had taken them. The families they went home to, covered in sawdust and sweat. They had done a good job. The outer walls were built of sturdy granite and slate. The inner walls probably plaster and lathe with horsehair to bond and insulate.

He closed his eyes and pictured the men working in this room. Caps on. Tweed jackets. Aprons over trousers tied at the ankle. Feet shod in sturdy boots.

They might have sat right where he was lying, eating pasties and smoking pipes.

How many of them had gone on to fight in the Great War? How many had returned? How many were remembered?

He somehow felt connected to them, through the house: now was his turn to make these walls his home. Well, Angela’s turn really …

He reached across for Angela and carefully folded himself around her, feeling the strength in her sinewy back and shoulders and the warmth of her hips on his thighs. His hand reached round and held her taut flat tummy before travelling up to stroke her small breasts. He kissed her neck and she stirred.

‘Good morning, my love,’ he whispered.

‘Hey,’ she whispered back with her eyes still closed.

‘Do you want anything?’

‘What are you offering?’

‘Coffee? Tea? Me?’

‘Faith will hear us.’

‘I’ll be quick and quiet.’

‘Smooth talker.’

Somewhere in the village an engine at full throttle disturbed the moment. It was getting closer and slowing into a lower throatier gear.

Robert and Angela knew at once, even before the two-tone horn set the churchyard crows chattering. Robert rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling before saying, ‘Bloody Mamie.’

The Jensen Interceptor drew to a halt outside their gate. Robert and Angela listened as the car door opened and slammed shut. A feminine, well-educated, husky voice shouted up, ‘Hellooo! Anybody home?’

‘Put your pyjamas on, quick,’ ordered Angela as she flew out of bed and over to her dressing gown. Fastening it round her, she went to the open bedroom window and looked out. The village green, thick with dew, sparkled fresh and green at her. A murder of crows, roused from their sleep by the noise of the engine, flapped and cawed furiously from the churchyard.

A tall woman dressed in a tight pencil skirt, white blouse, with too many buttons undone, and a wide patent leather belt gripping her waist, looked up at her.

‘Darling.’ She opened her arms wide. ‘Am I too early? I have come straight from the dullest dinner date in town. A banker. Three ex-wives. Last one dead. Died of boredom, I suspect. But anyway, the sunrise was so divine I decided to drive straight down. Missed all the traffic. The old Jensen really opened up. If it wasn’t for the traffic cop stopping me I’d have been here even earlier. He was terribly sweet, though. Turned out he was a Jensen fan and wanted to know all about her.’

Angela was still fighting with her dressing gown sleeve. ‘Were you speeding? Is that why he stopped you?’

Mamie shook a white chiffon scarf from her coiffed blond curls and looked sheepish. ‘Maybe. A little. But he was awfully nice. Just a little ticking-off. Wasn’t that sweet? Aren’t you going to open the door and let me in? Mr Worthington is dying for a pee.’

‘An Aga, darling!’ cried Mamie as if she were looking at the crown jewels. ‘God, I am so jealous. I’ve never stayed anywhere long enough to have one of my own, but darling Jeremy’s mother – you know, the one who was married to the Home Secretary – cooked divine things on hers.’

‘Oh, good,’ said Angela, who didn’t have a clue who darling Jeremy was. ‘You can show me how to use it then.’ She reached for the big old steel kettle. ‘I can just about boil this on it.’ She lifted the left-hand lid of the Aga and plonked the kettle on it.

‘Now, darling, don’t be silly. You know I don’t cook. By the way, has my early arrival interrupted a little something between you and Robert?’

Angela pulled her dressing gown closer around her. ‘No.’

‘Ah.’ Mamie smiled wickedly. ‘It’s just that you’ve got it on inside out.’

Angela blushed and then began to laugh. ‘Oh, Mamie, I am so pleased to see you.’ She hugged her aunt.

‘Me too,’ said Faith, arriving with a yawn. ‘Group hug, please.’

Mamie held her arms out for the three-way embrace. ‘Look at you. So beautiful, and so tall.’

‘Children do tend to grow,’ said Robert from the doorway. ‘Hi, Mamie. Welcome to Cornwall.’ The group hug separated and Mamie gave Robert the once-over.

‘Robert, you look divine in pyjamas. I had you down for a sleeping-in-the-buff kind of man.’ She raised an eyebrow saucily at him as Faith made a retching sound and Angela changed the subject.

‘Where’s Mr Worthington?’

‘In the car. Sleeping. Dreadful company. And he has had the most unpleasant attack of wind all the way down the motorway, so try not to breathe around him.’

Faith was already out in the hall and wrenching open the front door. Within moments a long-legged, shaggy wolfhound with caramel eyes and a dignified face lolloped in. Faith followed behind. ‘Your car does smell terrible, but Mr Worthington says he’s very sorry.’

Angela sank to her knees and fondled the big wise head in her lap. ‘Hello, boy. Welcome to your new home. You’ve come to live by the seaside. Shall we go walkies on the beach later? Shall we?’

Mr Worthington thumped his long, feathery tail on the kitchen tiles and held a leg up to have his elbow tickled.

Breakfast was a busy mêlée of boiled eggs and gossip as Mamie demanded to hear all about the new people of the village.

‘Queenie sounds like my kind of gal,’ she affirmed. ‘We’ll be great friends. Get her out on the tonk and I’ll know everything there is to know in a flash. And what about you, Robert? What will this year in Cornwall bring you?’

‘I am here purely as Angela’s wingman.’

‘Not going to put your journalistic talents to use?’ Mamie liked to get straight to the point. ‘I am certain that the local news outlets would love to have the famous Robert Whitehorn on their books.’

‘Oh, no, no. My first priority is to get Faith settled into her new school.’

Mamie turned her shrewd eyes to Faith. ‘When do you do your GCSEs?’

‘Mocks are in the summer term,’ Faith said, scowling. ‘Real ones next year.’

‘A bit disruptive for you, then?’

‘My old school is keeping an eye on the syllabus down here, before I go back there. It should be fine.’

Mamie nodded slowly. ‘Just promise me one thing.’

‘What?’

‘You work hard and you don’t give your parents any trouble. This is a big year for your mother. Her first parish. She needs this to go well and for you to respect that. Got it?’

‘Got it.’

‘Good.’ Mamie stood up decisively. ‘I am going to unpack. Have a shower and get out of these townie clothes.’

‘Don’t you want to have a rest? You haven’t been to bed,’ said Faith kindly.

‘Good God, no. I’ve never needed much sleep. Time for that when I’m dead. Now, Faith, take that dog for a pee, please. He stinks. Robert, you wash up. Angela, get dressed. I want to see this new church of yours.’

5

The vestry key, heavy and old, had a knack to it that Simon had showed her but Angela now couldn’t remember.

‘The previous vicar told me the trick but …’ she turned the key and wiggled the old latch to no avail, ‘… I can’t think what it was.’

‘Give it to me,’ said Mamie. Angela stepped aside as her aunt lifted the latch and pulled the door up and outwards. She turned the key. The door opened smoothly. ‘I think it’s one of those doors that changes with the weather,’ she said to an astonished Angela. ‘You’ll get used to it.’ She stepped into the vestry. ‘God, it’s cold in here.’

‘The heating’s on a timer.’ Angela was looking for the light switch. ‘Just a couple of hours twice a day, to keep the old place ticking over.’ She found the old brass light switch and flipped it down with a pleasing clunk. A dim, unshaded single bulb, hanging from the ceiling, began to glow. ‘It’ll warm up in a minute. Let there be light and all that,’ said Angela, hoping that Mamie wouldn’t hate everything. ‘And I think the bank of lights switches over by the door there turns on the main lights.’

Mamie peered at the plastic panel and pushed each switch down.

Angela opened the inner door to the church and found the nave and choir fully lit. ‘Oh, good. They are the right ones.’

Mamie walked in and took in the beauty of the old church with the late morning sun making the jewelled, stained-glass windows glow.

Taking her time, she stepped towards the altar, heels clicking on the cardinal-red floor tiles. She gazed up at the vaulted ceiling, motes of dust drifting through the sunbeams.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she breathed. ‘Imagine all the weddings and baptisms and funerals that have taken place here.’ She turned to Angela. ‘It’s perfect and you are perfect for it.’

An anxious Angela asked, ‘So you like it?’

Mamie sat on a pew. ‘Darling, I am bursting with pride.’

‘Would Mum like it?’ Angela asked as she sat next to Mamie.

‘She’d hug herself with joy.’ Mamie put her feet up on the pew in front of her. ‘Bloody cold, obviously, but this is exactly where you belong. I can feel it. There is good karma here. I like the smell too. Beeswax. God, if your mother were here she’d be polishing every day.’

Angela grinned. She pointed at a needlepoint kneeler lying at her feet and examined the motif of a lamb watching a bright star in a night sky. ‘Wouldn’t she love making one of these?’

Mamie nodded. ‘Oh, yes. She’d have the stitch-and-bitch club up and running. Knitting for beginners, forcing the poor grannies and young mums into creating hideous pram blankets and woolly hats.’ She sighed. ‘I miss her.’

Angela looked towards the altar and sighed. ‘This is one of those times when I want to ring her. Tell her all about it. I find myself actually reaching for the phone at times. Let her know how Faith is doing. How happy I am with Robert … Silly, isn’t it?’

Mamie took her niece’s hand. ‘I do the same. Very often. I miss her more than I can say. I have so much to thank her for.’ She rummaged the depths of her pockets. ‘Three years this October.’ She pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a gold lighter. ‘Can I smoke in here?’

‘Probably not but I won’t tell.’

Mamie lit up and blew a plume of smoke into the still air, then turned her concerned eyes towards Angela. ‘How are you?’

Angela watched the smoke rise in the still air. ‘OK.’

‘Only OK?’

‘I haven’t cried for almost a fortnight.’

‘And the tablets?’

Angela looked at her hands. ‘Good. Half the dose now. Dr King keeps an eye on me.’

‘And who will keep an eye on you while you are here?’

‘I can call Dr King any time. But we generally chat once a week. It helps. Sometimes I’m fine, sometimes I am drowning in the grief of missing Mum and other times I am totally numb. Dr King says it’s all normal.’

‘Do you talk to Robert when things are difficult?’

‘I try not to. It worries him and he feels helpless so …’ Angela rubbed at her forehead, not wanting to break down in front of Mamie.

‘When we were little, your mum and I, she was the good daughter. If there was washing to hang on the line, she’d do it. If Mum needed her feet rubbed, it was her she wanted. It caused more than a little sibling rivalry between us, I can tell you.’

Angela smiled. ‘Mum told me you were a bit of a rebel.’

‘A bit! The uncomfortable truth is, I was jealous of her. Her beauty, her sweetness, her brains. Her smooth complexion. She had no need to rebel. Everyone loved her.’

‘She told me she envied your independence.’

‘Oh, I was independent all right. Lipstick, boyfriends, the Rolling Stones, cigarettes and gin. Insisting that everyone called me Mamie rather than Marjorie.’

Angela laughed. ‘Is it true that you tried to get Mum to change her name too?’

‘Oh, yes! How could I have a sister called Elsie! I went on and on at her. Ellie. You must be called Ellie. Mamie and Ellie sounded infinitely better than Marjorie and Elsie.’

‘And yet you were so close as you got older.’

‘We were. She was my best friend. I could tell her anything and she’d never judge me.’

Angela nodded. ‘She told me that when Dad died, you came straight home to be with her.’

‘Where else would I be? Anyway, being a chalet girl in Klosters might have sounded good but it was a terrible job. The men were all randy, but ugly, and the women were all skeletal bitches.’

Angela laughed. ‘I can imagine you arriving, all glam in white salopettes and fur boots.’

‘I brought her a bottle of Nina Ricci L’Air du Temps from duty-free. To cheer her up.’ Mamie inhaled her cigarette deeply then stubbed the butt on the tiled floor. She noted Angela’s raised eyebrow. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll pick it up before we go. So I gave her the perfume and she hugged me for it and, shortly afterwards, we discovered you were on the way.’

Angela bent down and picked up the discarded cigarette butt. ‘What would she and I have done without you?’

‘Well, you’d have been called Tracey, for a start!’

‘What?’

‘Yep. It was the name of the midwife who delivered you. Terrible idea. So I gave her some better options. Sadie. Eloise. Tuesday.’

‘Tuesday?’

‘Well, you were born on a Tuesday. Anyway, she said no to all of them and then I thought of Angelina because you were such an angel, but your Mum preferred Angela so here we are. And, as it happens, the perfect name for a perfect vicar.’

‘I will be happy with being a half-decent vicar.’

Mamie put a comforting arm around her niece and kissed her hair. ‘Darling, your mum and I couldn’t be more proud of you.’

‘Thank you.’ Angela’s eyes pricked with tears. ‘I wonder if I have been incredibly selfish. Asking Robert to take a year out. Disrupting Faith’s school life …’

‘Now stop that!’ Mamie reached for her bag and drew out her packet of cigarettes. ‘That is self-indulgent nonsense and you know it.’ She lit another cigarette and with it between her teeth said, ‘You, my girl, are a brave and wonderful woman. Robert will survive; in fact, I think he’s very grateful to be out of his rut for a bit.’

‘It’s not a rut! Mamie, the Prime Minister calls him Bob. The BBC are thinking of sending him to Washington to be their correspondent. He is important. I’m just a rookie vicar who has landed in a tiny rural parish and who isn’t so certain that it’s the best thing I could have done.’

‘You might like to have a few joss sticks burning in here,’ Mamie said.

‘Don’t change the subject. I’m trying to tell you how scared I am. This could all turn out to be a huge disaster.’ Angela clenched her hands anxiously.

‘My darling girl, I may not have faith in your God, but whoever she is, she has faith in you. This is simply a test of that faith.’

Angela angrily brushed away a stray tear. ‘It’s hard. Believing in something that others think is a fantasy. People judge me. Think I am naïve. Mad.’

‘Who thinks that?’

‘You. Robert. Faith. Old friends. I’ve been asked so often, If there is a God, why does he allow war and violence? I can only say that we were given the Ten Commandments to live by but God gave us the free will to follow them or not. Not much of an answer, is it?’

Mamie sat silently, mulling this over, then said, ‘If I believe in anything it is the innate goodness that lies inside humans. You will lead this parish by example.’

Angela took a deep breath then sighed. ‘I will try.’

‘You’re only human.’

‘Yeah.’

‘So what about some joss sticks?’

‘No.’ Angela smiled weakly.

‘Why not?’ Mamie shrugged.

‘Because I am an ordained priest in the Christian Church. Not an old hippy like you.’

‘So pompous and pious,’ Mamie teased. ‘There’s nothing wrong with a joss stick. Great for meditation. Why wouldn’t they be great for prayer? Tell me where in the Bible God says, Let there be no joss sticks?’

‘Fire hazard.’ Angela sniffed. ‘And please don’t stub that cigarette out on the floor again.’

‘Sorry.’ Mamie stood and walked up the aisle. ‘Nice vibe in this building. I can see you bringing fun and spirit to this place. It may not be an inner-city area but it will have its own problems. Humans like to make a mess of their lives and all human mess will be here exactly as it is in any other parish.’ She walked back to where Angela was still sitting. ‘All joking apart, darling, I know you will make a difference. Whatever that difference may be. Too late for me, of course. God gave up on me years ago. But he likes you.’

‘He likes all of us, even you,’ Angela said fondly.

‘Don’t try and convert me. It’s much too late. Now let’s get out of here, I want to see the beach.’

They went back to the vicarage and picked up an excited Mr Worthington and Faith. The latter was in a tiny jumper and hot pants.

‘Put some clothes on. You’ll catch your death out there,’ Mamie ordered.

‘I’ll be fine,’ said Faith, wrapping an extra-long scarf round her neck.

‘It’s raining,’ her mother told her. ‘Put your coat on.’

Faith did as she was told, grumbling, ‘You’re so boring.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Mamie said, propelling her to the door.

The weather had turned from the early sunshine and bright blue sky to a grey accumulation of grim-looking clouds. Shellsand Bay was at its bleakest. As the three women, with Mr Worthington bounding ahead of them, neared the beach, the wind pummelled their faces and the roar of the waves filled their ears.

The weak sunshine layered strips of colour across the wrinkled sea. Steel grey, bright silver, and oily green met and mingled, changing with the dance of the wind.

The white-capped waves hissed as they bumped on the shore, their rhythm soothing and hypnotic. Dozens of smooth pebbles chasing and flipping as the tide sucked the water out again.

Mamie took off her wedge-heeled gold trainers, revealing tanned feet with scarlet-painted toenails. ‘Paddling, Faith?’ she called above the strong breeze, not blind to the fact that Faith was shaking with the cold, her bare legs, sticking out from under her far from sensible coat, covered in goosebumps and turning blue.

‘No.’

‘Well, Mr Worthington and I are going in. Come on. What about you Angela?’

‘No, thank you.’ Angela’s chin was down inside her jacket.

‘What’s wrong with the pair of you? When you’ve lived with the Inuits your blood thickens. Hold my shoes.’ She handed them to Angela. ‘Come on, Mr Worthington.’

Excitedly, Mr Worthington dashed ahead, stopping to circle back for her every few seconds. He spotted a piece of driftwood and wrapped his jaws around it, sand and all, plonking it at Mamie’s feet.

She obliged and threw it high towards the water line.

Angela and Faith watched her from the drier sand.

‘Inuits?’ asked Faith. ‘What, like, living in an igloo?’

‘Hmm.’ Angela frowned slightly. ‘I can’t always tell which of her stories are real, embroidered or simply fiction.’

‘Who was supposed to have given her that fur coat again?’

‘A man she met in Marrakesh. He told her it had been left behind in a restaurant by Rita Hayworth, who had never returned to claim it.’

‘Who’s Rita Hayworth?’

‘The most alluring film star of her day.’

Faith wrinkled her nose. ‘Weird.’

‘Nice coat, though.’

‘Yeah, like wearing dead animals on your back is like a good thing. As if the poor things were, like,’ Faith raised the pitch of her voice to mimic a small mammal, ‘oh yeah, please murder me and wear me as a coat. I’d be honoured.’

‘Well, let’s not get into that right now. That was then and this is now and Aunt Mamie is Aunt Mamie and … oh my goodness, she’s fallen over.’

Mamie had been bowled over by an overenthusiastic Mr Worthington and was now on her knees clutching at the shifting sand as a huge wave crashed over her, soaking her hair, leaving her gasping for breath, and tugging her further out.

As Faith and Angela ran to her, shouting, ‘We’re coming. Hold on,’ they heard strong footsteps racing behind them. Angela turned and saw Piran.

‘My aunt! She’s fallen in,’ she shouted.

Piran made no answer. He simply ran to the water’s edge and strode into the icy waves. Mamie had found her feet and was staggering in the swell but the next wave knocked her over again and pulled her further out. Piran shouted to her but his voice was just a rag on the wind. Now up to his waist, he plunged in, swimming with admirable strength, as Angela and Faith were later to attest, towards a helpless Mamie.

‘He’s got her,’ shrieked Faith to her mother, panting. ‘Hang onto him, Auntie Mamie,’ she shouted.

At last, Mamie was towed in, arriving breathless and tumbled.

‘Oh goodness.’ She rested on Piran’s shoulder, trembling and trying to pull her hair from her eyes. ‘How can I thank you?’

‘What the bleddy ’ell do you think you were doing, woman?’ Piran said tersely, gripping her shoulders and pushing her off him.

Mamie let go of him and pulled herself up straight. ‘Thank you so much for saving my life. Very kind of you. Though you are hardly Prince Charming.’

Piran saw the coal-like glitter in her eyes. He glared back. ‘And you’re no Cinderella.’

Angela looked from one to the other. ‘Please. Stop. It’s all been a shock.’ She put her hand on Piran’s arm. ‘Thank you for saving my aunt, Piran. Perhaps you’d like to come back to the vicarage where I can give you some dry clothes and a hot drink?’

‘Thank you, no.’ He shook out his sodden jumper and looked up the beach to where Mr Worthington and a Jack Russell were chasing each other. ‘Jack, heel.’

‘Please send my love to Helen.’ Angela attempted a smile. ‘It was so good of you both to come to the party yesterday.’

‘Had to give Simon and Penny a good send-off, didn’t we? We’m going to miss them.’

Angela felt squashed. ‘Yes. Well. Simon has left big shoes to fill.’

‘Too bleddy right he has,’ Piran retorted.

Jack sauntered up and sniffed at Mamie’s leg. Her arms aching, her teeth chattering, her heart banging, she could only watch as the little dog raised his rear leg and peed on her foot.

Piran wiped a demon’s smile from his face with a huge hand. ‘Come on boy,’ he said, his eyes still dancing with amusement. ‘Home.’

‘What a horrible gorilla of a man!’ Mamie complained as she squelched through the back door.

‘I’m going to run you a bath,’ Angela said. ‘Give me your clothes and I will launder them.’

‘What an absolute oaf,’ Mamie said emphatically, peeling off her sodden things.

‘Who is?’ asked Robert as he ambled into the kitchen and backed out again at the sight of his aunt-in-law in bra and pants.

‘Don’t be so priggish,’ responded Mamie. ‘Never seen a woman in her underwear before?’

Angela gave him a warning glance. ‘Make yourself useful and put the kettle on. Mamie fell into the sea and Piran saved her.’

‘Good old Piran.’

‘I saw nothing good in the man.’ Mamie’s anger grew and filled the kitchen. ‘He was unspeakably rude to me and insulted Angela.’

‘Really?’

‘I don’t think he meant to. It was all very heat-of-the-moment stuff,’ said Angela, moving to the kettle that Robert had ignored. ‘Tea? Anyone?’

‘Tea?’ Mamie was unimpressed. ‘I need some brandy.’

‘Robert, please get Auntie Mamie some brandy and fetch her dressing gown and a warm towel from the airing cupboard.’

‘The pink silk wrap on the bathroom door, Robert,’ Mamie added. ‘Toot sweet, if you could. I’m freezing my jacksie off here.’

After a hot bath and a change into warm pyjamas, Mamie came downstairs to find the sitting room fire had been lit. A proper afternoon tea was laid out on the piano. Cheese sandwiches, ham sandwiches, scones and cake. Angela was setting down the teapot.

‘Angela, what a spread,’ Mamie exclaimed. ‘The country is doing you good.’

Angela sat heavily on the sofa and sighed. ‘The leftovers from yesterday’s farewell party for Simon and Helen. I hope the sandwiches are not too curled at the edges.’

Robert entered with an armful of logs. ‘Simon has a fine log store round the side of the house.’ He crouched in front of the crackling grate and balanced a log onto the blaze. ‘Very impressive. Simon knows what he’s doing obviously. A good log store takes understanding and time to …’ he looked up at the unimpressed faces of Angela and Mamie and changed tack, ‘Ah. There you are, Mamie. Better after the bath? Another brandy?’

‘If you don’t mind. Then I shall tell you all about this afternoon’s misadventure.’