Summer in a Cornish Cove by Kate Ryder (29)

As Oliver lowers the window, a blast of warm air hits him squarely in the face. The cove is cloaked in peaceful serenity and the tide gently laps the shoreline. A low hum of voices, interspersed with sudden laughter, wafts over from the decking; people enjoying a Friday night out. He sits a while longer, breathing in the unique atmosphere. During the last week he’s barely slept. He should be feeling dreadful, yet he feels more alive and invigorated than ever. Starting the engine, he noses the car out of the car park and heads towards The Lookout. He has never felt so nervous. He’s like a schoolboy on his first date.

Cara looks round the room one more time and tells herself not to panic. Just breathe. She glances up at the surfboard on the wall and gazes at Christo’s characterful face.

‘I know, I know,’ she whispers, ‘but it’s just a meal. Nothing’s going to happen. How can it?’

No longer can she ignore her growing feelings for Oliver. He has lifted her from deep despair and she will always be grateful to him for that. However, she cannot forget or discount the fact that he has a wife and children waiting for him in Surrey. She will not be the catalyst for tearing that precious achievement apart.

Headlights sweep the track before she hears his car. Despite her assurances to Christo, the butterflies lift and swirl. She breathes in deeply, trying to instil some calm, knowing she has no one else but herself to blame. She asked him. Smoothing down her dress, Cara walks to the porch door, her nerves jittering and those damned butterflies refusing to settle. She feels as giddy as a schoolgirl with a heavy crush. As she reaches for the handle her hand trembles. It’s just a meal, she tells herself again.

With one last deep breath she opens the door.

Oliver grabs the bottle of wine from the passenger seat. He considered champagne but somehow it didn’t feel appropriate. Eventually he settled on a good red wine. Climbing out of the Mercedes, he turns towards The Lookout and his heart misses a beat. Bathed in a glorious golden light, Cara is simply beautiful.

‘Hi,’ he says, walking towards her and hoping his voice doesn’t give away his nervousness.

‘Hi yourself,’ she says, wondering whether she should kiss him on the cheek in welcome.

But, before Cara has a chance to decide, Oliver wraps her in a passionate embrace. He meant it to be a light-hearted hug but, as if it has a life of its own, his mouth immediately seeks hers. As the kiss deepens, it turns into something else. Eventually they prise themselves apart and stare at each other in amazement. Nerves settled; eyes shining. No longer is Oliver lost and adrift in the wilderness. He has come home.

‘Hello, you,’ he whispers tenderly, as if to a lover rediscovered after many years apart.

Cara smiles. Without saying a word she leads him inside.

*

Whoa! This feels weird. Oliver glances down. To his surprise, he’s wearing a wetsuit and sitting astride a brightly coloured surfboard. The top of his head prickles under the heat of a merciless sun. Unbalanced, he repositions his body and tries to relax, offering no resistance to the swell. In the distance he can hear the sounds of a day on the beach: breaking surf, shouts, laughter, babies crying and dogs barking. As the swell effortlessly lifts his board Oliver grips the rails, aware of a deep, vast ocean beneath.

Sudden laughter and Oliver turns. Clear blue eyes dance in merriment as they consider him. The young man with the memorably characterful face is deeply tanned, his blond hair sea-wet dark.

‘OK, man?’ Christo asks, paddling his surfboard alongside.

‘Think so,’ says Oliver as another swell rocks his board and threatens to unbalance him.

‘Imagine the ocean is a beguiling woman,’ says Christo, grinning. ‘Don’t resist, just go with the flow.’ He laughs again.

Something about Christo is so alive; a young man embracing every experience to come his way. His energy is infectious.

Oliver paddles his board sideways to the beach. They are some way offshore. To their right is Anvil Rock and directly in front is The Lookout, perched high on the cliffs. Other surfers are in the sea, either sitting and waiting, or standing and riding the waves, but Christo and he are alone in this section of water. As Oliver’s eyes become accustomed to the light, figures on the beach take shape and he sees a young Cara looking in their direction, shielding her eyes against the sun. She waves and Christo waves back. Oliver’s heart skips a beat. She is aged about twenty, her long blonde hair reaches to her waist and her bikini-clad body is lithe and naturally sun-kissed. She is stunning – as he knew she would be – untouched by any stain of future tragedy.

‘You’ve noticed the wife, then,’ says Christo good-naturedly, his eyes dancing with laughter. ‘She’s an angel. Don’t know what I did to deserve her. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.’ His voice is full of pride.

Dragging his eyes away from Cara, Oliver sees the look of love on the young man’s face.

‘Besides the surf, that is,’ adds Christo with a grin.

Oliver gives a small smile.

How did I get out here on the ocean with Christo? And what the hell am I doing on a surfboard?

‘OK, man, ready to catch waves?’ Effortlessly, Christo turns his board to face the ocean. ‘Just remember, duck-dive any breaking wave over two feet. That way, all the progress you’ve made paddling out won’t be lost by being washed backwards by the wave. Simple!’

Lying flat on his board, Christo pushes himself up and arches his back, chest up. With a steady stroke he paddles across the plate-glass sea towards the rhythmic, big peaks on the horizon.

Do I know how to do this?

Oliver turns back to look at Cara one more time and his heart leaps. The young Cara stands on the beach watching him, but the look she gives him comes straight from the mature woman he knows today… and it promises him the world. Slowly she smiles.

‘Come on, Oliver!’ shouts Christo. ‘It’s now or never. Take on the forces of Mother Nature for the thrill of your life.’

Because the tide is full, the current is very strong. Keeping Christo in his sights, Oliver paddles past Anvil Rock, battling through the waves to the line-up. When the first wave comes he turns and, with head down, pulls water hard, paddling his board as fast he can. As he starts to accelerate down the face of the wave, Oliver rises to his feet and balances himself. Gritting his teeth in determined concentration, he maintains speed to outrun it; the explosion at his heels. And he makes it. He gets away! After that there’s no stopping him. Together, actor and surfer catch wave after wave, making it down the face of each before it hits the curve, trips and topples over, crashing down on them.

The sun, still strong, dips rapidly towards the horizon, gifting the remaining people on the sands a magnificent fiery sunset. He and Christo have been out there for hours and every muscle in Oliver’s body aches, yet he feels invigorated and full of life. He has survived! Together, they carry their boards up the beach, exhausted yet never more alive.

‘Wow, man, you sure know how to surf,’ Christo says. ‘It’ll be Mavericks for you next!’

Oliver laughs. ‘It’s one of the most exciting things I’ve ever done.’

Planting his board in the sand, Christo unzips his wetsuit. ‘Yeah, it’s one hell of a thrill, that’s for sure. But you’re wrong.’ He glances sideways at Oliver. ‘One of the most exciting things you’ll ever do is waiting for you up there.’ He jerks his head towards The Lookout and Oliver’s eyes open wide. ‘But I tell you, man, don’t play with her heart.’ Christo’s voice is deadly serious. ‘If you can’t follow through don’t even start…’

*

Oliver’s eyes flicker open. A pre-dawn light fills the room and for a brief moment he wonders where he is. And then it all comes flooding back. Rolling onto his side, he sees her sleeping peacefully beside him. Throughout the night they have found solace in each other’s touch; the one fixing the other.

Oliver props himself on one elbow, careful not to disturb her, and gazes at Cara in wonder. She looks so young, just like the girl in his dream, without a care in the world. He, too, feels as if he hasn’t a care in the world, though he knows he should have every care. For the first time in his life Oliver feels whole, all the missing pieces of the frustrating jigsaw finally having found their rightful place. Reaching out, he draws Cara gently to him. He so wants to make love to her again but, for now, he will let her sleep. As he curves his body protectively around her sleeping form, Oliver hears Christo’s warning ring in his ears. Silently, he promises he will follow through.

Cara snuggles into Oliver’s warm embrace and a smile settles on her lips. Later, when she thinks back to this moment, she is never sure whether it was just her imagination or if she did hear him whisper, ‘Thank you for showing up, beautiful girl of my dreams.’

*

The sound of waves and a scratching, tapping noise drag Oliver from a deep, healing sleep. He doesn’t want to wake – he’s warm and peaceful where he is – but the noise increases. Slowly he opens his eyes. Shafts of sunlight filter through the wooden slatted blinds and a pair of calico curtains billow in a gentle breeze. The sound comes from the roof. Looking up to the vaulted ceiling, he follows the tapping as it works its way along the roofline. An animal of some sort – is it a rat? A shrill, raucous cry identifies it as a gull. Unseen, the bird rises off the ridge tiles and hovers briefly on an air pocket before swooping out over the cliffs towards the shoreline in search of breakfast. Sounds of beachside living. How he’d love to wake to this every morning.

Clasping his hands behind his head, Oliver looks around. It’s a simple, understated room. Even though she makes a living from the use of vibrant colour, everything in Cara’s bedroom is painted white, even the A-frames. He loves this paradox in her. His hand reaches out to her side of the bed – the sheets are cold – and it occurs to him he might be in the middle of another dream. The surfing dream with Christo seemed real enough. Maybe he will wake to find he’s in bed at the farmhouse, or in Surrey with Deanna. This last thought makes him pause…

The alarm clock displays 06:15. By rights, he should be exhausted but he feels super-energised. Throughout the night they made love and his staying power amazed him, but with Cara it all seems as natural as breathing. Eventually they fell asleep, entwined in each other’s arms.

Oliver gets out of bed and retrieves his clothes from a heap on the floor, smiling wryly as he recalls how he couldn’t get out of them quickly enough last night. He pulls on his jeans and shirt, and walks down the hallway, calling for Cara. All is silent. As he makes his way through the living room to the kitchen, Oliver notices her car parked alongside the Mercedes. Taking a glass from a cupboard, he fills it with cold water and takes a sip.

‘Morning, Basil.’

From its favourite position amongst the pot plants on the window sill, the cat blinks at him, stretches and then resumes its slumbers.

Where is she?

Oliver peers through the kitchen window, but there’s no sign of Cara. Perhaps she’s painting in her studio and hasn’t heard him? He climbs the wooden stairs and stops at the door, respectful of her inner sanctum. The room is a wonderful space for an artist’s studio. Light floods in on three sides from windows with commanding views over the cove. Propped against the walls are numerous canvases, but it’s the one on the easel that catches his eye. On it is an outline of the hidden view she shared with him when they were on the cusp of something profound, only for Greg to break the moment. Was that only four weeks ago? Time has taken on a different dimension in Cornwall; his Surrey life is but a vague recollection. The work in progress promises to be achingly beautiful, but it causes an odd sensation. It makes him want to cry. Oliver frowns.

Must be a reaction to the enormity of what we’ve started.

He descends the wooden stairs. As he enters the living room, a note propped against a vase on the dining table catches his eye.

He smiles. As with her paintings, Cara’s handwriting is distinctively creative.

Oliver decides not to bother with shoes. Closing the porch door behind him, he gingerly crosses the stony track onto grass and heads towards the steps leading down to the beach. The sky is a cloudless, cornflower blue and the warmth of the early morning sun caresses his skin. A gentle summer breeze ruffles his hair. He pauses at the top of the steps and looks along the full expanse of the cove. There’s not a soul about. The sands are pristine, washed clean by the last full tide, and a flock of seagulls zealously guard the water’s edge eyeing up the next meal. Glancing to his left, Oliver sees footprints leading across the sand before disappearing around a rocky promontory. He descends the steps and follows her trail.

The tide is out, allowing him access to a further stretch of sand usually cut off by the sea. Here, the cliffs tower high above a natural and wild cove with no human habitation in sight. At the far end is Cara. Oblivious to his presence, she walks with head bent, her white jeans rolled up to her knees. Occasionally she stoops to pick up a shell or some other object of interest and Oliver’s heart swells. He loves that she should still finds things of interest, even though she’s lived here for years and has probably beachcombed every inch. Her blonde hair glistens in the sunlight and he is simply dazzled by her.

A beautiful, guardian angel of silver and gold.

The thought surprises him but, as he watches, Cara’s radiance intensifies as if, indeed, she is an angel come to earth. He knows their night of passion was born of the deepest love and the highest faith, for he felt her within; soul-bound complete, entwined forever in pure serenity…

How poetic and so early in the morning too!

The discordant screech of a gull from high on the cliffs makes Cara look up. Catching sight of Oliver, she waves. It was one hell of a night! She left him sleeping, needing time alone to assimilate all that occurred. He looks different this morning, she thinks. Still devastatingly good-looking, of course, but there’s an additional element to his countenance. What is it? She smiles as the answer comes to her. He looks free.

‘Fancy a swim?’ she calls along the lonely beach.

‘What, now?’

‘No time like the present,’ she says with a laugh.

Unzipping her jeans, she steps out of them and then peels off her T-shirt. Lastly, she removes her knickers. Vulnerable and naked, Cara glances at Oliver, but there’s nothing vulnerable about the look she gives him. It’s the same one from his dream, promising him the world. Turning, she runs into the sea. As she dives beneath the waves, her neat buttocks rise briefly out of the water enticing him in. Oliver’s breath hitches in his throat. Surfacing a few yards further out, Cara shakes her long wet hair out of her face and turns to face him. With the sun behind her, she rises out of the ocean and, with arms outstretched, raises her hands high above her head, the water cascading through her open fingers giving the impression of wings.

Indeed! A beautiful, guardian angel of silver and gold.

‘Come on in, Oliver,’ she says, a smile lighting her face. ‘It’s as warm as a bath.’

Oliver glances up at the cliffs and along the beach. This would be a prime opportunity for unsolicited photographs to end up in the papers. Unbuttoning his shirt, he takes it off and places it on the sand. Then, checking the beach and cliff top again, he removes his jeans. Oliver stands naked on the sand.

Even though she’s just spent the most glorious night with this man, Cara breathes in sharply. He’s in great shape: no spare flesh; muscles well defined; and there’s an outline of a six-pack. She savours his physique.

Oliver walks towards the sea, the wet sand oozing between his toes. It’s a glorious feeling to be unfettered by any trappings. Entering the water, he winces and sees her playful grin.

‘Just you wait ’til I get you,’ he threatens with a smile.

Cara lets out a little shriek, at the same time giving him a wide-eyed look.

He wades in deeper. The cold water chills his skin as it works its way up his legs. Suddenly he dives beneath the waves and, resurfacing in a sea of bubbles, sets off towards her in an overarm crawl, his muscles glistening as he powers through the sea. Soon, he is beside her.

‘Nothing like a bracing swim to start the day,’ she says casually.

‘Warm bath, you said!’ Oliver gives her a mock stern look.

‘Well, to a cold-blooded creature it probably is,’ she says mischievously, ‘though you proved last night to be anything but…’

Reaching out, Oliver pulls Cara through the water towards him. Gently, he lifts her out of the sea. He watches, mesmerised, as the water runs in rivulets from her shoulders across her soft, rounded breasts, teasing her nipples erect. He has never seen anyone so exquisite and he cannot speak. He doesn’t need to; the look in his eyes says it all. Despite the cold, he feels himself stir.

Putting her arms around his neck, Cara wraps her legs round his waist. Feeling safe in his arms, so strong and powerful, she allows herself to believe that, together, they can face the world.

Oliver braces himself against the rhythmic swell of the sea. Cupping her buttocks in the palms of his hands, he draws her into a loving kiss. As their passion grows, any concern about water temperature is soon forgotten.

Pulling back briefly, Oliver gazes at Cara, spellbound. In a voice he hardly recognises as his own, he whispers, ‘Cara, you have saved me. You are my one, my all.’

*

High on the cliff, amongst the heather and wildflowers, Sylvie grinds her teeth together in fury.

‘Bastard! You are mine.’

She holds the camera steady and, focusing on Oliver’s face, takes the photograph. She has never seen him look so passionate or enraptured, not in any of the numerous love scenes she’s examined time and again. She thought she knew his complete range of emotions, but this is something new. She scowls and clicks away. Then she zooms in on Cara’s face. She wants to hate her but there’s something about this woman that confuses her. It’s as if Cara pours oil onto Sylvie’s troubled waters, easing and soothing away her pain. Lying low on the cliff, careful not to be seen, Sylvie is transfixed by the luminous glow that surrounds the couple. She watches them making love in the sea, oblivious to anything but each other, and quickly lowers her head when they finally emerge from the water. As Oliver glances up at the cliff top again Sylvie ducks, then watches as they gather their clothes and walk hand in hand, naked, along the beach.

Rising to her knees, Sylvie keeps her finger on the shutter button until Oliver and Cara disappear around the rocky promontory into the main cove. Only then does she howl into the wind, her misery and sadness becoming unbearable. She remembers her excitement at finding herself in his presence on Holy Isle. But last weekend he was so cruel, telling her he didn’t love her and never had, although she knows that’s a lie – he loved her in Scotland. If it weren’t for this woman turning his head he would love her again. Beyond frustration, Sylvie raises the camera high above her head, ready to smash it against a rock. She hesitates. Slowly, a look of pure maliciousness replaces the one of despair. If she can’t be with him then neither will this golden woman. She will see to that.

*

Approaching the rocky outcrop, Oliver glances cautiously along the empty beach of the main cove and hears Cara’s carefree, light-hearted laugh.

‘Can’t help it,’ he says, holding his clothes in front of him to afford some dignity. ‘You never know who may be snooping.’

She considers the constraints of his life, so different from her own. ‘It’s so early, Oliver. I doubt there will be anyone on the beach for at least an hour.’

She turns and smiles up at him. It’s only then he notices the small but vibrantly coloured hummingbird tattoo on her left ankle.

‘Cara, you are full of surprises,’ he says in wonder.

She glances down. ‘Oh, that. One wild summer when I was sixteen. Seemed a good idea at the time. I still like it, though.’

Oliver nods. He loves it.

‘What time do you have to go?’ she asks.

‘I can stay until three.’

‘That gives us around seven hours,’ says Cara, doing a quick calculation. ‘What would you like to do?’

Oliver gazes at the golden girl with the hummingbird tattoo walking naked beside him, at ease in her own skin and making no attempt to cover her beautiful body.

‘That’s easy,’ he says without hesitation. ‘You!’