Buried in Cornwall Read Free Page B

one.
    ‘It was handy today.’
    Rose snorted. ‘Handy to have everyone arrive a bit sooner, that’s all.’
    ‘Yes, but when you’re out by yourself at night, it’s safer.’
    Rose chewed the side of her mouth. He was right, of course. The West Country, for so long always a step behind and a reminder of a more gentle age, was now no stranger to crime and seemed to be catching up with everywhere else. ‘So, I’m walking up Causewayhead and about to be mugged or attacked and I say, “Hold on a minute while I get out my phone to ring the police”?’
    ‘Now who’s being pedantic? You know perfectly well what I mean.’
    ‘Well, it’s heavy, I could always use it as a cosh.’
    Nick shook his head, smiling as the waiter brought several dishes and arranged them on the hotplates. Nick indicated that Rose should begin before he helped himself to food. Having tasted it he nodded approvingly then continued, ‘It could’ve been the wind.’
    ‘No. I can’t expect you to believe me but it was a scream. A woman’s scream. Oh, let’s forget it, it’s one of those things that happen round here, that’ll never be understood.’
    ‘Did anyone know where you were going today?’
    ‘What difference would that have made?’ Rose, her carefully loaded chopsticks halfway to her mouth, felt a fleeting panic.
    There was a strange expression on his face as he said, ‘I’m not sure.’ He paused. ‘I just wondered.’
    ‘I told Stella and Daniel. In fact, I think it was Stella who originally suggested the scene. I’m so grateful to them, Nick, they’ve really taken me under their wing. They’re all so nice. I expected, well, I’m not sure, not jealousy, I’m nowhere in their league, but perhaps resentment at a new face amongst the recognised.’
    ‘We’re not like that, Rose. I’m surprised you should have thought so.’
    ‘I apologise, I meant no offence. It’s just that after coping on my own for so long and allowing myself to settle for second best …’ She shrugged again and pushed her hair back over her shoulders, tucking it neatly behind her ears so as not to get it in the way of the food as she leant over the bowl.
    Nick remained silent. He guessed wrongly that she had been suffering from a lack of confidence. Having lost the husband she had loved deeplyand with whom she had been so happy that her talent had taken second place, she must have needed courage to change direction so late in life. He was annoyed for having underestimated her. It had been easy for him, he had been one of the lucky ones, his work had been shown and bought almost from the beginning. Unlike Rose he had not married, although there had been several longstanding relationships. The last one had ended six months ago. Jenny was an artist’s model, one of those wild-looking creatures with olive skin and a tangle of black hair and eyes that could seduce with a glance. Nature, he thought, could be very deceptive. Jenny had wanted nothing more than to settle down and have babies and she had believed Nick would oblige on this score. After three years she had flung her few possessions into a bag and walked out, slamming the door, shouting recriminations about her wasted youth and his having used her. Initially too stunned to retaliate, Nick had remained standing in the kitchen, spatula in hand, and continued to fry the mackerel that was to have been their supper. Used? he had thought. She lives with me free of charge, off my earnings, and eats my food which I generally end up cooking. If she’d got out the hoover once in a while it might have helped. He had flung downhis cooking implements and rushed to the door. ‘Used?’ he bellowed down the narrow alley from the cottage door, much to the astonishment of locals and holiday-makers alike – although the latter had probably lapped it up as a piece of local colour. ‘Who’s used who, I wonder?’ But Jenny had already disappeared around the corner.
    Rose was completely different. She was