Betrayed in Cornwall Read Free Page A

friendship for him, but that did not deter him. Perversely, he had liked and admired David Trevelyan and had helped Rose through the terrible months following his death but he had been sick with envy when, five years later and as fully recovered as she would ever be, she had started seeing Jack Pearce, a detective inspector in the Devon and Cornwall police.
    Rose had known all this but could not allow Barry to dominate her life, which he had a tendency to do if she was not firm. She supposed she was thinking of him particularly because of the promise that she had made Etta Chynoweth that she would speak to her daughter. ‘Leave well alone,’ she could hear Barry say, although he would be wasting his breath. But when and how to do it without making it appear too obvious to the girl? Well, problems like that tended to sort themselves out. Rose went downstairs to wait for Geoff Carter.
    The water in the bay was now azure beneath the strong sun. The colours were more vibrant, the light so different fromanywhere else that numerous artists were drawn to the area. On days such as today Rose felt she might have been looking out of a window somewhere in the southern Mediterranean.
    The kitchen door was wide open but no air circulated. The lawn might be patchy and uneven and in need of a cut but the shrubs and flowers survived regardless, thanks to the temperate climate and plentiful rain.
    Geoff’s van came up the drive and stopped behind her Metro. It was specially designed to carry paintings. In the back were racks, wooden slats behind which oils or watercolours framed in glass could be safely transported. Rose was not quite sure what she felt about Geoff, although she had to admit she had not known him long enough to judge him fairly. Sometimes she wondered if he was making a pass, at others she thought that she was simply reading too much into the most simple statements. Time would tell, she supposed, wondering if she was in the least interested.
    ‘Hi. Excited?’ he asked, raising one eyebrow as Rose went to greet him.
    ‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘Come on in. Have you time for a coffee?’
    ‘Regrettably, no,’ he said.
    Which might mean anything, Rose thought. Together they wrapped the canvases in hessian and loaded them into the back of the van. Geoff slammed the sliding door and its tinny echo reverberated in the still air. He wiped his head with a spotless handkerchief and said he would see her tomorrow. His words were accompanied with a wink, confusing Rose further.
    By lunchtime the house was spotless so she set about preparing the evening meal. Fresh fish from Newlyn, naturally, had been her mother’s request. Trevor, who had landed that morning, had hung a bag of fish on the kitchen door handle, knowing that Rose would be up long before the sun reached it. It contained several megrim and a crab, which must have been given to him because he and his crew fished for flat fish all year round. The crabbers only worked between Easter and September. Like many fishermen’s wives, Trevor’s wife, Laura, often complained there was no room in her freezer for anything else but fish.
    Tomorrow she need not think of food. After the viewing, her parents were taking her out to eat. Once everything was ready she made coffee and took it out to the garden to drink. Sitting on the metal bench, she felt the sun warming her bare arms and face. Already she had a tan, which surprised most people because of the colour of her hair. She had tied it back whilst she dealt with the food but now pulled it free of its band. Her skin, nearly always devoid of make-up, was fresh, and the lines and the few stray strands of grey in her hair added character rather than aged her. She would, she realised, look very much like her mother in another twenty years’ time. And in approximately another hour she would see her. She sighed with contentment and sat looking at the bay as she drank her coffee.
    To her left was Newlyn harbour but only a few masts