The view across Mount’s Bay in the early morning light is breathtaking. A sun-kissed, shimmering St Michael’s Mount rises out of a sparkling sea; just like the magical Isle of Avalon rising from the mists. Should she paint the Mount in a similarly mystical fashion, representing it as something from the Arthurian legend?
‘Mum!’ Sky’s voice from the back of the car brings Cara back to earth. ‘You’ve missed Grandma and Grandpa’s road.’
Damn! She’s driven straight past the turning; such is the draw of that magnificent view. Cara pulls into a gateway and waits for a couple of cars to pass before executing a U-turn. As she drives towards the lane on the brow of the hill, the glittering, tidal island beckons to her in the rear-view mirror. Yes, she will definitely paint it with a mystical feel.
After a seemingly endless winter the countryside is, at last, coming to life and the Cornish hedgerows are a patchwork of yellow. The celandine and primroses are wonderful this year and clusters of daffodils sway in the breeze, shouting from the hedge tops. Cara smiles. There’s a hint of a promise in the air. She follows the lane for half a mile and, as fields give way to housing, turns into a driveway. Her father stands at the open front door. As soon as the car comes to a halt, Sky rushes up to his grandpa and gives him a hug, and then runs back to the car to let Barnaby out of the boot. In the rear-view mirror Cara catches her daughter roll her eyes.
‘Come on, Beth, let’s go and see Grandpa. Go gently with the eggs.’
Bethany climbs out of the car, carefully holding a wicker basket packed with some of Bobkin’s straw. Nestled in the centre are a dozen painted eggs. As an Easter present for her grandparents she has blown the eggs and decorated them in varying pastel shades, adorning each with flowers, birds, dots, circles and swirls. They are so pretty Cara thinks she could easily sell them in the gallery, though she doubts she could survive the complete take-over of her kitchen and the general mayhem that ensued while her daughter created her masterpieces.
‘Happy Easter, Dad,’ Cara calls out, as they walk towards him.
‘And what have you got there, young Beth?’ Ken asks. He gives his daughter and granddaughter a kiss.
‘An Easter present for you and Grandma.’ Proudly, Bethany holds out the basket. ‘I painted them myself.’
‘Well then, you’d best go and find your grandma,’ Ken says, smiling affectionately at the young girl.
Cara hugs her daughter, taking care not to upset the basket. ‘Enjoy yourself with Grandma and Grandpa and make sure Sky behaves himself! I’ll join you tomorrow for lunch.’
‘Bye, Mum,’ Bethany says, entering the cottage.
Gruffly, Ken clears his throat. ‘Have a good evening and don’t worry about your children.’ Noting the catch in his voice, Cara glances at her father, touched by his show of emotion. ‘Your mother has planned a full day in addition to the Easter egg hunt. I only hope I can keep up!’
Cara laughs. ‘Thanks for having them.’
‘My dear girl, no thanks are necessary. It’s an absolute pleasure. And I shall look forward to getting some exercise with that dog of yours.’
Cara checks her watch – almost time to open the gallery. She peers through the open doorway but there’s no sign of her mother.
‘Bye, Dad.’ She hugs Ken and walks towards the car but, hearing an upstairs window opening, turns back to the cottage.
‘Cara, darling, have fun tonight.’ Her mother and Sky lean out of the window. With his paws on the window sill, Barnaby looks out of the fixed pane next to them. Cara laughs.
‘Dad, just look at that dog. I swear he thinks he’s one of my children!’
Glancing up at the bedroom window, Ken’s heart swells. This is what he loves best; days with family.
‘Happy Easter, Mum,’ Cara calls, ‘and, Sky, try not to be too cheeky. Be helpful.’
The young boy gives her a wide, disarming smile and Cara falters. Quickly, she turns away and heads towards her car. Having reversed out of the driveway, she glances back at the cottage. Her mother is no longer at the window but Sky is still there. He waves and Cara smiles at her son – the embodiment of Christo at that age.
*
Late afternoon, Easter Saturday, and Tas looks across the line of actors as they take their final bow. The Tasmanian Devil Theatre Company has pulled off its opening performance to an appreciative audience, unusually swelled by the huge London and local press interest present. The car park is overflowing and the pub over the road thriving from the additional custom. Tas silently congratulates himself on having brought together a multifarious troupe of performers. He knows his casting is inspired, and Oliver is no exception. He likes to spring surprises and is more than satisfied with the audience’s reaction when Oliver first breaks into song. Accustomed to him playing the romantic lead or strong action man, few people have any idea of Oliver’s pitch-perfect, baritone singing voice. A collective intake of breath reverberated around the theatre.
As Oliver comes off stage Tas slaps him on the back. ‘A fine performance, Mr Fox. If you carry on like this, by the time we get to the Minack you may be word perfect!’
Oliver laughs. ‘Stranger things have happened, my friend.’
It’s exhilarating being on stage again. He’d forgotten the intimacy and immediacy of performing in front of a live audience. He likes the interaction. A couple of the cast stop to chat, pleased that the performance is out of the way and ‘first night’ nerves put to bed.
Clambering onto a chair, Tas clears his throat. ‘Well done, everybody.’ His voice booms out across the auditorium. ‘A great opening performance at the start of what I feel is going to be a terrific run. I suggest you all go off and enjoy yourselves tonight and I’ll see you all at Blisland village hall on Monday. Five thirty sharp. Don’t be late. No excuses about narrow lanes, lack of signposts or being waylaid by the Beast of Bodmin Moor! If anyone has any questions I’m available on mobile but, for the most part, just enjoy the beautiful environs and get some clear Cornish air into your lungs before the long haul. Happy Easter!’
Oliver glances around the open-air theatre and recognises a number of journalists who have bravely ventured forth from the safety of the city to the wilds of Bodmin Moor. As they surge forward to interview the star of the show, he braces himself for the onslaught. Sorrows in the Sand is a thought-provoking play and a number of the audience stand in small groups discussing the message it has delivered.
‘Excuse me.’
Oliver turns. An older lady, dressed in a colourful smock, peers up at him, a pen in one hand and a programme in the other. A small and immaculately suited gentleman stands at her side.
‘I wonder if you would autograph this programme for my daughter. She did so want to come and see your performance tonight but she’s rather poorly.’
‘I would be delighted to.’ Oliver smiles at the elderly couple. ‘What a shame your daughter couldn’t make it, but I hope you enjoyed the play.’
‘Oh yes, indeed. A very powerful message.’ A smile plays on the woman’s lips. ‘And you, young man, have a wonderful singing voice.’
‘Thank you.’ Oliver accepts her compliment as he takes the pen. ‘What’s your daughter’s name?’
‘Mandy.’
Several reporters jostle around Oliver and the elderly couple, eagerly noting everything being said.
‘This is a wonderful theatre,’ Oliver says, writing some words to the poorly Mandy. ‘What a bonus for this part of Cornwall.’ He hands the autographed programme back.
‘Yes, indeed,’ says the elderly man in a strong Cornish accent. ‘We farm locally, lived here all our lives and wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. We were very happy when the Sturrocks created Sterts.’
‘When was that?’ Oliver politely asks, listening to the variety of the man’s tone as much as the meaning of his words.
‘Second of June, nineteen ninety. We attended the opening production of Othello, directed by Ewart Sturrock himself,’ the man says with pride.
Utilising the natural contours of a dip in a field, a classic, terraced amphitheatre has been created with a sail-like, all-weather canopy providing protection from the elements.
‘How lucky you are to have this on your doorstep,’ says Oliver.
‘We’ve supported Sterts from the start,’ explains the woman, taking over from her husband. ‘We like the feeling of involvement you get sitting in the audience. It’s not the same at Plymouth’s Theatre Royal or the Hall for Cornwall in Truro.’
‘It’s a wonderful space with a unique atmosphere and I’ve certainly enjoyed performing here,’ says Oliver. ‘We need more people with the vision to turn old buildings and unusual spaces into theatre venues. That way, people around the country, like you, will be encouraged to support theatre and the arts.’
The elderly lady smiles warmly at Oliver. ‘Are you in Cornwall for long?’ she asks.
‘The whole of the summer. This is our opening performance. Hopefully, once your daughter is well again she will catch one of our other performances.’
‘Yes, I’m sure she will.’ Her eyes twinkle at the actor. ‘And I may accompany her!’
Oliver smiles. ‘The box office has leaflets listing where we are performing. Hope to see you again.’ Graciously, Oliver attempts to take his leave of the couple.
‘Oliver, let’s get a couple of photos with the old couple,’ says a journalist he recognises from The Telegraph.
‘Our Mandy will be so disappointed not to have her picture taken with you,’ the elderly lady says, as Oliver stands between her and her husband. He smiles for the cameras.
‘Thanks, that’s great,’ says the journalist.
‘So, Oliver, what do you think about appearing on stage in Cornwall?’ asks a reporter from The West Briton.
Suddenly Oliver is overrun by newshounds, all eager to learn his reasons for accepting a role in a play by an unknown writer, touring a far-flung region of the country.
Presently, Tas joins him. ‘I can see a few more hacks lining up to interview you. Don’t suppose there’s any chance of us getting out of here quickly?’
Oliver grins. ‘It wouldn’t make good press if the director and his lead were seen hot-footing it from the theatre!’
‘No-o-o, don’t suppose it would.’
For the next hour, Oliver and Tas make themselves available to answer questions. Both men know how to play the media but, at last, they are ready to leave. In the late afternoon sun, director and actor walk companionably towards the car park.
As they approach the Jeep, Tas turns to Oliver. ‘OK, Mr Fox. Time to party!’
*
Dusk descends upon the cove, softly cloaking it in subtle shades and hues. A few stragglers remain on the beach enjoying the calm of the evening.
‘Tan, switch on the fairy lights, will you?’ Rick calls to his girlfriend from the decking.
Looking up from the counter, Tania wipes her hands on her apron. ‘OK, boss!’
She flicks a switch and suddenly the café takes on a magical appearance as strings of twinkling white lights play across the ceiling beams and out onto the decked area.
‘Lookin’ good, Tan, and I’m not talking about the café.’
Tania laughs throatily. ‘How many bowls of salad do you want?’
‘Use all the large ones.’
Peering at the open shelves beneath the counter, she counts eight. This is the first party of the season and it’s been a brilliant day. A passable impression of summer. Hopefully, the weather will hold.
As Rick hauls on a rope, a large white sailcloth rises up at an angle across the decking. Tying it off, he stands back and appraises the outside space. ‘Hope it won’t rain, but just in case…’
‘Rick, don’t tempt fate!’ Tania says. She looks up from chopping salad. ‘What?’
She’s so sexy, even in that apron!
‘You… in the kitchen,’ Rick says, ‘just where I like you.’
‘Excuse me!’ Tania puts the knife down and picks up a juicy, ripe tomato. ‘Just wait ’til I catch you…’ Emerging from behind the counter, she runs through the café and out onto the decking.
Rick quickly jumps down onto the sand and backs away, hands up in surrender with a grin on his face. Tania lobs the tomato at him.
‘Mind the chinos, Tan,’ he shouts, neatly sidestepping the missile.
‘Anyway, thought you liked me in the bedroom.’
‘Yeah, there too!’
‘Men!’ Tania exclaims, grinning.
The first of the evening’s guests arrive just as Rick lights up the three large barbeques positioned on the beach. Amongst the early arrivals are not only residents of the cove but also a family staying in the area for the Easter break.
‘See Tania for the booze element,’ Rick instructs, ‘and once the coals are good and hot we’ll get the barbies on the go.’
‘We’ve been lucky so far with the weather,’ comments the man of the family. ‘Hope the rain keeps away.’
‘Oh, don’t you know? We’re a rain-free zone here in the cove!’ Rick responds, and the man laughs as he follows his wife and children into the café.
Rick loves to entertain – he’s good at it – and Tania loves to party. Networking is her thing. Soon, strangers and friends intermingle as if they’ve known each other for years and as the party gets under way, a varied soundtrack booms out across the sand.
*
In the deepening dusk, Cara, Tristan and Morwenna pick their way along the track towards the illuminated fairy grotto at the far end of the beach.
‘Rick hasn’t lost his eclectic taste in music,’ comments Tristan. ‘By the way, Cara, I saw Ben at the garage earlier. Did you know Rick’s invited him?’
Cara groans.
‘Don’t worry. We’ll keep him at arm’s length!’ Morwenna promises, glancing across her brother at Cara.
‘Much appreciated.’
Morwenna laughs.
‘He’s always so enthusiastic,’ Cara says. ‘I feel such a heel.’
‘Be true to yourself, Cara. Christo wouldn’t want it any other way.’ Tristan smiles down at her.
Cara nods, but it’s getting harder by the day to find excuses.
Stepping off the track and onto the sand, they make their way towards the party. Several people sit along the edge of the boardwalk and a red-hot glow radiates from the barbeque drums.
‘There’s Martha and Stephen,’ Morwenna says, pointing towards the decked area. She shouts a welcome to their friends.
‘It sure is revving up in there,’ says Stephen, approaching with a bottle of beer in his hand. ‘Quite a queue forming. I suggest you get your drinks sooner rather than later.’
‘What do you two want?’ Tristan asks, turning to Cara and Morwenna. They decide on lager and he heads towards the bar.
‘Looks like we’re in for a good night,’ Stephen says. ‘Tania’s running the bar and you know what she’s like once she’s had a few!’
‘Yeah, the drinks will be on Rick,’ comments Martha.
Another shout of greeting and they turn in the direction of the car park. Ben, Rob and his girlfriend, Sarah, walk along the boardwalk towards them. As Ben makes eye contact with Cara he breaks into a huge grin and waves madly. Cara sighs.
‘And so it starts!’ Morwenna comments quietly in her ear.
‘Don’t!’
‘I promise not to leave you two alone,’ Morwenna says, giving Cara a quick squeeze.
As the moon rises in the night sky, rapidly cooling air consigns the unexpected warmth of the April day to memory. With denim jeans tucked into ubiquitous Ugg boots, Cara has layered a strappy French blue tunic over a long-sleeved white T-shirt, but she’s thankful she remembered her cardigan.
‘Hi, Cara!’ Ben bounds up to her and plants a sloppy kiss on her cheek. ‘Do you want a drink?’
‘Tristan’s on the case.’
‘Hi, Ben.’ Morwenna steps forward.
‘Hi, Mo. Didn’t notice you there.’ Glancing around, Ben spies more friends in the café. ‘Just going to get a drink and say hello to Jim and Danny. Won’t be long.’
‘Take as long as you want,’ Cara says, waving him away, and Morwenna stifles a snort. Ben gallops towards the café.
‘That lad!’ Morwenna says, planting herself next to Cara on one of the strategically placed logs on the beach. ‘Can you imagine him as a toddler? I bet he was into everything. His poor mum.’
Cara laughs. ‘If you could bottle that enthusiasm you’d be well sorted.’
‘Is Jane coming tonight?’ asks Sarah, joining them on the log.
‘Yes, later,’ answers Morwenna.
Holding three bottles aloft, Tristan steps down from the crowded decked area onto the sand. ‘Quite a battle in there,’ he says, handing a bottle of lager each to Cara and his sister. ‘Tania’s well on the way to being pissed. She forgot to charge me for these.’
‘That’ll please Rick when he discovers his takings aren’t quite as expected,’ comments Stephen.
Tristan laughs. ‘Hey, Steve, Rick’s asked me to man one of the barbeques. Fancy giving me a hand?’
‘Sure.’
Cara turns in the direction of the ocean. Although she cannot see it, she’s aware of its mighty presence. The tide is on its way out and she can hear waves breaking gently on the shore some way beyond the illuminated area of sand. It still feels odd socialising without Christo. Will she ever get used to it? In her quiet acknowledgement of the power of the sea, Cara feels Christo at her side and is comforted.
‘Hey, Cara, fancy a dance?’ Ben stands in front of her, a ball of energy cutting straight through the private and introspective moment with her late husband. As Ben grabs her hand and pulls her to her feet, Cara is sure she can hear Christo’s laughter.
‘Hang on, Ben!’ Placing her bottle firmly in the sand, Cara gives Morwenna a meaningful look.
They join several other people dancing to the music and, soon, Ben’s enthusiasm begins to rub off. As the distinctive sound of Supertramp’s ‘Dreamer’ drifts across the cove, Sarah and Rob join them and, all at once, the evening begins to feel like fun.
*
Tania spots Oliver as soon as he enters the café. She waves and is rewarded with a smile.
‘What can I get you two fine men?’ she asks.
They order Doom Bar.
‘Had a little too much of the amber liquid, Tan?’ teases Tas, as she sways towards the chiller cabinet.
She laughs her throaty laugh. ‘Why, can you tell?’
‘Just a tad!’
‘How did it go today?’ she asks, flipping the metal tops and handing over two bottles of cold beer.
‘Oliver wowed them, especially the ladies.’ Tas takes a swig of beer.
Tania nods expansively. Losing her balance, she falls against Oliver. ‘Oops! Now how did I get here?’ she asks flirtatiously.
Oliver puts his arm round her waist to balance her.
Tas laughs. ‘Yeah, wonder how!’ Looking around, he spies Rick tending the barbeques. ‘Just going to say hello. Sure you’ll be safe with her, Ollie?’
‘Think I can manage,’ Oliver responds.
Raising an eyebrow, Tas disappears into the crowd.
Nestling against Oliver’s chest and breathing in his masculine aroma, Tania closes her eyes.
‘You OK?’ Oliver asks.
‘Oh yes!’
‘You’ve got customers,’ he says, removing his arm, but Tania holds on tightly. ‘Tania?’
‘Oh, please don’t send me back to work!’
He laughs. ‘But you have customers.’
‘They can go hang.’ She looks up at Oliver, her eyes swimming with drunken desire.
‘Tania, behave yourself,’ he says quietly.
‘But I don’t want to behave myself. I want to be naughty. In fact, I want to be very naughty with you.’
‘Sorry, not possible,’ Oliver says.
‘So you’ve said,’ says Tania, sulkily. Pouting, she pushes herself away from him and sways back to the bar.
Oliver shakes his head. She certainly doesn’t give up easily. Making his way through the crowd, aware of the numerous double-takes, he emerges onto the covered decking. Rick’s music is an interesting mix spanning decades and he can hear Duffy’s voice ringing out loud and clear. Wryly, he thinks it’s a good job Tania is occupied with the bar otherwise she’d probably be dancing her special dance for him right here!
Glancing up from tending the barbeque, Rick catches sight of Oliver standing under the sailcloth. He nods to him in welcome. ‘Good-looking bugger, isn’t he?’ he comments to Tas standing beside him.
‘Who?’ Tas asks, giving the sausages a prod. He looks up and follows Rick’s gaze. ‘Oh yeah, but the funny thing is Ollie doesn’t see it. He’s more concerned with the internal landscape.’ Methodically he turns the sausages, neatly lining them up to expose their pink sides to the hot coals.
‘Probably just as well,’ Rick says.
Standing on the edge of the decking, Oliver looks up at the clear night sky. Free of pollution, the heavens are putting on a magnificent display of twinkling stars and planets. He breathes in deeply. It’s a heady mix: the reflection of the moon on the water; the smell of the sea mingled with tantalising aromas wafting from the barbeques; the cool taste of beer; and Duffy’s sexy voice. Letting the sensations wash over him, Oliver closes his eyes. It’s been a good day and he feels balanced and at peace.
The sound of singing brings him back to the moment and he looks out over the beach. A group of people dance on the sand, carefree and happy. It looks like fun. A floppy-haired young man dances madly around a couple of women singing along to the music. Oliver takes a swig of beer and is about to swallow when his breath catches in his throat and his heart stalls. As noises become muffled and all around him blurs, every nerve in his body is suddenly on high alert as he focuses on this one thing. Eventually he swallows. Finally he breathes.
Cara laughs at Ben’s mad dancing. Encouraged, he increases his tomfoolery.
‘If Duffy could see us now she’d be well freaked!’ shouts Morwenna above the singer’s distinctive sound.
‘Because we’re fierce competition or crucifying her song?’ Cara shouts back, mimicking the singer’s studied moves.
Morwenna laughs. Suddenly Ben grabs Cara’s hands. Singing loudly, he drops to his knees and pleads for mercy. Cara shoots Morwenna a wry look.
Morwenna laughs again. ‘Steady on, Ben!’
Oliver is transfixed. He has never seen anything so exquisite in his life. Unable to take his eyes off the beautiful woman with the long blonde hair, he notes every little detail about her. Deep within, bubbling excitement takes hold.
Who is she?
As Duffy’s song ends, the haunting sounds of Coldplay’s ‘Fix You’ take over.
Tending one of the barbeques a few feet from Oliver, a sandy-haired man calls out, ‘Hey, Gwyneth, this one’s for you!’ Turning to Rick, he says, ‘Be back in a minute, mate.’
Abandoning their duties, Tristan and Stephen join the others on the beach. As if performing a ritual, the friends clasp hands and encircle Cara, each singing along to Chris Martin’s thought-provoking words.
There’s a look on Cara’s face that Oliver doesn’t understand, but he’s profoundly moved by all that’s unfolding. He watches as she joins in the dance, swaying in the centre, surrounded by her friends. Alone – but not alone. Oh, how he wants to be in that circle with her. Oliver shakes his head.
What the hell’s happening?
‘Hey, Mr Fox, want another beer?’ Tas calls up to Oliver. Getting no response, he looks in the direction of Oliver’s gaze and sees a group of people dancing around a gorgeous blonde. He glances back at Oliver then steps up onto the decking beside his friend. ‘You OK, Ollie?’
Tas’s voice shatters Oliver’s paralysis. Blinking rapidly, as if coming out of a deep trance, he mumbles something about enjoying the beautiful view.
Tas glances at Cara again. She’s stunning all right. ‘Yeah, a real babe!’ He nods at the bottle in Oliver’s hand. ‘Want another?’