Palmer-Jones 05 - Sea Fever Read Free Page B

because I don’t call them ‘bloody Corns.’”
    Laura had begun to type again. Rob looked at his watch. “The pubs are open,” he said. “ Let’s have a drink, and you can tell me all about it. I haven’t got long. I’m going to Porthkennan to stay with Rose Pengelly this afternoon.”
    “We haven’t time for a drink,” George said. “And I know about Porthkennan. We’re here on business. We need to talk to Greg Franks. You are still expecting him on the pelagic you’ve organised?”
    Rob rummaged through the papers on his desk and pulled out a typed list. “Yes,” he said. “He confirmed the booking last week.”
    He looked up at George and smiled. Molly thought again that he was dangerous. “ Why don’t you come with us, George?” he said. His voice was quiet and persuasive. “ There’s nothing more exciting than seawatching, nothing in the world. There’s a spare place on the boat and plenty of room at Rose Pengelly’s. You still need Wilson’s petrel, don’t you, George? People on the last three pelagics I’ve organised have had brilliant views. Then we’ll spend the rest of the week in Cornwall with the first migrants coming in, and regular trips to Porthkennan Head for the seawatching if the weather blows up. If it’s business, why don’t you put it down as expenses? Claim it back from the taxman.”
    Since the meeting with the Franks, George had been thinking of Cornwall as a vague, wistful dream of deep valleys and salt west wind. He knew it was romantic folly, a reaction to the hot summer spent inland. He knew Molly thought he was being weak and unprincipled.
    “We’ll just talk to Greg,” he had told her in the car. “We’ll just stay one night, then come home. You can tell him how depressed his mother is. Then it’ll all be over.”
    Now Rob’s words made the promise seem rash. He did need Wilson’s petrel. And what, after all, was wrong with taking a few days off for some seawatching?
    “You make a commission on every place you sell, do you?” he said, unwilling to give in immediately.
    Rob grinned. “ We’ll have a brilliant week,” he said. “You’ll see. You’ll never forget it.”

Chapter Two
    Gerald Matthews tried to decide occasionally why he found Rose Pengelly so attractive. He was a scientist, after all, and trained to be analytical. At first he thought that his loneliness was clouding his judgement. He had few friends of either sex, and after his time alone perhaps he would have been excited by any woman who showed him kindness. But it was more than that. Even before Rose became pregnant, he could tell that other men were fascinated by her. Quite often her house was filled by men, and as she moved among them, pouring wine, laughing, every one of them was affected by her. They become kinder, more vital, more intelligent, because she was there. The sweetest moments for Gerald were when she chose him to be her confidant. She would slip away from the crowd, pull on her jacket, and whisper to him.
    “I need some fresh air. Let’s leave them to it.”
    She would tuck her arm into Gerald’s, and they would walk down the lane between the overgrown hedges and out onto the rocky path to the headland. The walks over the short grass to the point filled him with joy and hope. For days he would believe that she might come to care for him. Then the magic would wear off, and he would be left with a searing frustration, because nothing ever developed from the friendship. On one of the evenings at Porthkennan he had tried to kiss her. Past the bend in the lane, so they could not be seen from the cottage, he had pulled her clumsily towards him. With a little laugh she had broken away; then she ran down the lane, leaving a trail of her footprints in the moonlight. At the coast path she turned and called to him, “ Come on, Gerald, you old slowcoach,” in her old tone, as if nothing had happened. They continued their walk to the headland.
    When she told him she was