Betrayed in Cornwall Read Free

was a plastic basket containing wet towels. Sheets and pillowcases churned in the washing-machine. She mounted the three concrete steps leading up to the ground which had been levelled and grassed by Ed. Tall flowering shrubs bordered the lawn and provided privacy. In its centre stood two Cornish palms. Their fronds, which tapped like rigging on the masts of ships in the lightest of breezes, were totally still and silent, as was the house. Her guests had gone out for the day and Sarah was still in bed. She would surface when there was no more work to be done then disappear without saying where she was going.
    I should insist upon knowing, Etta thought as she pegged the towels to the rotary line which was hidden behind theshrubbery. It just seemed too much of an effort. As far as Sarah was concerned, everything she said and did lately was wrong. Joe had never been like that. Deep down she understood that Sarah was flexing her muscles. Neither child nor woman, she both resented and wished to emulate her mother. I hope Rose can sort her out, she thought, turning with a smile when she heard Joe’s voice.
    He hugged her, keeping his arm around her shoulder as they went into the house.
    Sarah stood in the kitchen wearing a short housecoat and an even shorter nightdress. ‘Is there any bread?’ she asked.
    ‘It’s in the bin, where it always is. Please clear up after yourself. I have to get some shopping.’ How different they are, she thought, as she picked up her purse and car keys.
    The term had not officially ended but Sarah had sat her end-of-year exams and only needed to attend school occasionally. One more year and she would be off to university. Maybe then they could become friends again. Maybe then she could sort out her own life.
     
    Rose stood back and folded her arms, satisfied with the oils which were waiting to be collected. It had taken her almost thirty years to achieve her ambition, her own exhibition.
    Fate rather than lack of talent had been responsible. Originally from Gloucestershire, Rose had come to Cornwall after finishing at art college. She had met and married David Trevelyan, a mining engineer, and had lived in Newlyn ever since. After his death she had rebuilt her life and, since that time, encouraged by friends and fellow painters, she had concentrated less and less on watercolours and photography and returned to her favourite medium which was oils.
    Geoff Carter had told her that the gallery could cater for sixty guests for the first night’s private viewing. Rose had sent out printed invitations but there had been far fewer than sixty. The people she wanted to come were those who were most dear to her. Geoff had suggested it might be an idea to ask some of the influential people in the area but Rose had declined. This wasso special to her that buttering up strangers who might be useful would spoil the evening.
    That her parents were coming was her greatest pleasure. She had no other family, the other guests were her closest friends. Barry Rowe in particular. She had known him ever since her arrival in Cornwall. He ran a gift shop which specialised in the work of local artists and craftsmen. For many years Rose had painted wild flowers and village scenes which Barry reproduced as greetings cards and notelets.
    During her marriage art had become more of a hobby than a career, although she managed to sell her work via Barry and cafés and tea-shops which displayed her paintings on their walls. When David died Rose had discovered that she could manage financially but she had needed something to occupy her time and had taken up photography as well.
    Barry Rowe, thin, stoop-shouldered, slightly balding and with glasses which perpetually slipped down his nose, had been in love with Rose since the day they had met. Unmarried himself, he had stood by her through good times and bad, never giving up hope that one day they would be together. Not once had Rose given him any indication that she felt more than