The Island Legacy Page 12

  Ness sighed. “What will it achieve, digging the past up now? Things are already weird enough.”

  She looked so bleak that Lucy’s heart went out to her. This situation wasn’t easy for any of them. “Maybe it will help explain why our uncle made the choices he did?”

  “After meeting your brother earlier I don’t need to find out about my mother to understand that,” Ness said. “I don’t want to be rude, Lucy, but is he always like this?”

  Lucy sat down on a tussock, wrapping her arms around her knees and exhaling wearily. Above her the gulls called and whirled, just as wildly as her feelings and loyalties. As Ness joined her, they watched the tide begin to turn and creep slowly back towards the same causeway that Jamie’s big four-by-four had hurtled along only a little while ago.

  As always, thoughts of her younger brother filled Lucy with conflict. On the one hand she could understand why Jamie was so upset, and she felt she was betraying him by being so glad that he hadn’t inherited. On the other hand, if his response to the grand piano was anything to judge by then her brother would have sold the island to Max Reynard before the tyres of his Range Rover had even reached the town.

  “He’s upset,” was all she could say. “He hadn’t imagined you would inherit.”

  “Well, that makes two of us,” answered Ness. “I can’t say it makes much sense to me, except that I don’t imagine your brother loves the place. But I can see how much the island means to you. Everyone I’ve met so far has sung your praises and I know they wish you’d inherited rather than a total stranger. Merryn and Fern look as though they’d like to stab me.”

  It was on the tip of Lucy’s tongue to explain why, but she managed to stop herself just in time. If Ness was planning something with Max, then it would be better to bide her time. Quite what she was biding her time to do Lucy had no idea, but Fern or Annie were bound to come up with something; they usually did.

  “The thing is,” Ness continued, shading her eyes and looking out to sea, “you nursed Armand and you live here. I feel dreadful that Armand didn’t leave the island to you.”

  Lucy laughed. “I think we both know why. I’ve never been much use at saying ‘no’ to Jamie. Uncle Armand knew that, and he also knew that Jamie’s always desperate for money. Maybe he thought that by leaving the place to somebody who wasn’t emotionally involved with it, the right choices would be made in the long run?”

  “Hmm,” replied Ness. She looked unconvinced and Lucy didn’t blame her. Even to her it sounded a bit of a long shot as far as explanations went. “None of this seems fair on you. Jamie got to choose what he wanted while you had the leftovers and I get the island. None of it makes sense. If our uncle knew Jamie well enough not to leave him the island, then surely he must have known that Jamie would pick the shares and the expensive grand piano?”

  “That’s Uncle Armand for you,” said Lucy mildly. Nothing in her uncle’s will had surprised her in the least. She could see him now, arms folded and bushy eyebrows meeting in a scowl as he refused to do what she was asking, be it eat less salt or call the doctor. “He was a law unto himself. Anyway, I’m thrilled to have the music and that old piano. They actually meant something to him.” She glanced at her watch. “We’d better get a move on if you want to walk across to the mainland. The tide will be over the causeway in half an hour.”

  “You really don’t mind me moving in?” asked Ness.

  She was looking so worried that Lucy’s kind heart went out for her. This must be an awful lot to take in. She seemed a nice girl, and her admiration of all that Lucy had shown her so far appeared to be genuine. It was hard to believe she was embroiled with Max Reynard. Still, no doubt her true colours would soon be revealed – and what would happen next was anyone’s guess. Lucy knew that her own future was as rocky as the island shore; some royalties for unfashionable music would hardly be enough to live on if and when Ness sold the place. She made a mental note to call the agency that had represented Armand, as soon as she had a moment spare. Perhaps they could find a way of boosting his portfolio a little? There had been a flurry of interest a few years ago when the BBC had made a documentary, but since then all had been quiet. That his work had stopped at the very peak of his career both drew and repelled the music industry. Now and again somebody raised the matter of the missing symphony, but if it still existed – or indeed had ever existed – her uncle hadn’t been willing to say so.

  And now he’d taken that secret, along with all the others, to his grave.

  “I can stay in the hotel for a little longer if it helps,” Ness continued when Lucy didn’t reply.

  “Don’t be silly. This is your home now.” Dragging her thoughts away from her financial troubles, Lucy smiled warmly at her cousin. “Of course you should move in. That way you’ll have more idea about what to do.”

  “What to do?”

  “Whether you sell or not.” Lucy rose to her feet, brushing dried grass from her jeans. “Nobody would blame you if you did. This place is a huge burden, especially without the income to run it.”

  “I’m not going to sell!” Ness’s eyes were green circles of outrage. “No way! This island’s special and I’m going to do everything I can to keep it. It’s where my family come from. Of course I’m going to protect it.”

  “You heard David. There’s no money for the upkeep,” Lucy warned, but Ness just shrugged.

  “Then we’ll have to find some, won’t we? Don’t look so worried, Lucy. I know I’m new to it all but it’s amazing here and it’s where my father came from and where he spent time with my mouther. That means so much and there’s no way I’m letting my history go now I’ve found it. We’ll find a way to make this place pay. I promise.”

  Heartened by this and by the “we”, although a little sceptical still, Lucy followed Ness back down from the clifftop, pointing out Grace Note Bay, the Devil’s Teeth rocks and Merryn’s caravan. Then they walked across the causeway, with Biscuit joining them for a Sunday afternoon run. Lucy smiled when she saw Ness’s surprise at how fast the water was approaching the cobbled path.

  “But there were acres of beach just now!” Ness remarked in amazement.

  “The tide comes in very fast,” Lucy explained. “Here’s a top islander tip for you: when you see the water bubbling against the rocks each side of the causeway, that means you’ve only got about five minutes to make the crossing on foot – and if the water’s looking scummy, usually on a northerly wind, not even that. You’ll have to wade at best and get swept away at worst. My advice would be don’t risk it. Wait for a boat.”

  Ness seemed to take this in and they parted by the hotel. Feeling a little more optimistic, Lucy decided to take Biscuit for a long run across the beach before catching Merryn’s boat back. She’d have a word with Merryn too, to ask him to go gently with the new arrival. She’d see if she could persuade Fern to follow suit. Until they knew for certain that Ness really was plotting with Max, Ness deserved the benefit of the doubt. Besides, as her uncle’s will stated, they were all only able to stay living here for as long as Ness wanted them. Unlike Jamie, who now had a fair income to enjoy, Lucy only had her savings and cake-making skills to live off. Her options were frighteningly limited. For now, and until she had managed to figure out what was really going on, they would need to play nicely. Antagonising Ness wouldn’t be a smart move.

  For once the May weather had held fair, and as she made her way along the tideline – with Biscuit racing in and out of the surf with his tongue lolling and ears flapping wildly – Lucy raised her face to the sunshine and enjoyed the warmth on her skin. Families were picnicking on the beach, ice cream sellers were doing a roaring trade on the quayside, and on the far harbour steps where people were queuing for the boats she spotted Fern busily painting henna tattoos onto sunburned limbs. Was there no end to that girl’s talents? She was far too clever to bury herself away on the island. Sometimes she gave away just how well educated she was by mentioning books she’d read or plays she’d seen,
yet when anyone tried to ask her more Fern clammed up as tightly as the barnacles on the rocky shore. Yet more secrets on the island.

  Lucy sighed. Was it really too much to ask for a simple life? That was all Lucy wanted. Perhaps Jamie was right and she was just middle-aged and dull.

  The tide was coming in, so Lucy decided not to walk to the furthest part of the beach but instead to head up the steps by the quay and then back through the town. That way she could pick up a coffee before making her way to the boats and catching a ride home with Merryn. By the look of it people were already starting to queue for trips, which hopefully meant that Annie and her helpers would have a busy time in the tea room. Without the income from her uncle’s estate Lucy was only too aware that finances were precarious at best and a total disaster at worst. She’d glimpsed the figures earlier on and although she was no Stephen Hawking, Lucy knew a black hole when she saw one. Unless Ness was either stinking rich (unlikely) or had a killer fundraising plan up her sleeve (even more unlikely judging by the look of utter terror in her eyes when David had mentioned how much it cost to run the place), the island was in big trouble.

  Lucy retraced her footsteps across the wet sand. She was so deep in thought that at first she hardly noticed the knot of children gathered at the foot of the slimy beach steps. When the tide came in this was the perfect spot for crabbing or jumping into the chilly water. As soon as the tide retreated it was a favourite place for the local youngsters to practise parkour and hone their climbing skills; rarely a summer passed without a broken bone or two. In spite of all adult attempts to stop these activities it was a local rite of passage to climb to the top of the wall when the tide was out; most townsfolk had done so at some point, and Lucy still had the pins in her arm from when she’d been dared to make the ascent. As clumsy then as she was now, she’d tumbled to the compacted sand with a wallop and a nasty-sounding crack. That had been the summer Max Reynard had come to stay with them, Lucy recalled. Max had been the one who’d run to fetch help while Jamie had laughed. Strange to think that such a kind little boy had grown into such a hard-hearted man. If that was what having money did for you then she was happy to be poor.

  As she grew closer to the wall, Lucy saw that although half a lifetime might have passed since she’d fallen onto the beach that day, some things never changed. A gaggle of local children stood at the foot of the steps, while a good fifteen feet above them a small boy clung to the quay wall. Even from several metres away, Lucy could see he was gripping so tightly that his knuckles shone white through his skin as he tried his hardest not to fall and his feet scrabbled for a foothold.

  “I can’t go any higher,” Lucy heard him call. There was a wobble in his voice.

  “Go on, you pussy! Right to the top!” yelled a boy from below.

  “He’s scared!” jeered a freckly lad.

  “You’re such a girl!” called another, and all the rest started laughing.

  Lucy’s temper began to simmer. She couldn’t bear bullies, which she knew was ironic seeing as she spent most of her time being bossed about by one. Maybe that was why? She knew exactly how that little boy felt – she even had the scar on her pinned arm to prove it.

  The pale-faced climber stretched his hand out to try to grasp a hold, but his fingers slipped and for a few heart-stopping seconds he slithered down the wall before clawing a grip. The children below laughed and jeered. It was like a scene from a Cornish version of Lord of the Flies.

  “You’re crap!” cried the freckly one, whom Lucy recognised as one of Val’s many grandchildren. Danny, she thought he was called – although there was such a tribe of them it was hard to remember them all. And wasn’t that Polly Pipkin’s daughter? If she looked closely she was bound to know the others too; St Pirran was a small town and it was impossible to get away with anything here.

  As Nessa Penwellyn would soon discover.

  The boy scrabbled for a surer foothold and slithered further down the wall, only managing to cling on through luck rather than skill. Lucy’s heart catapulted into her mouth. If he fell onto the sand from this height, which judging from his precarious grip was very likely, there was going to be a nasty injury. Before she could think twice, she strode towards the group of children.

  “Danny Polmartin! What on earth do you think you’re doing? You know how dangerous this is! I’d have thought better of you at your age. Just you wait until I see your mother!”

  Instantly six pairs of eyes were on Lucy; the seventh pair was still trained on the wall as the climber focused every ounce of his concentration on not falling. Lucy didn’t recognise him. He must be a new arrival to St Pirran. That would explain why he was having to try so hard to prove himself.

  “We’re just having some fun, Miss Lucy,” muttered Danny mutinously.

  “Don’t give me that! I know exactly what you’re up to and it certainly isn’t fun!” Lucy was seething. “I’ll be having words with your parents, young man.” She glanced around at the others, all of whom were now suddenly very keen to be elsewhere. “In fact, I’ll be talking to all of your parents, so you’d better get home and speak to them first, don’t you think? And count yourselves lucky I haven’t called the Harbour Master… yet.”

  The children didn’t want to stick around for a telling-off from the biggest and shoutiest fisherman in the town; seconds later they were gone, running up the steps and back into the busy streets. Only the young climber remained exactly where he was – glued with terror to the rough stones.

  “We need to get you down,” Lucy called up, trying her best to sound calm. Drat, he was higher than she could reach to lift him. She’d need to guide his feet stone by stone until she could catch him.

  “I’m stuck and I’m going to fall,” he gasped.

  “No you won’t,” Lucy told him firmly. “Just listen to me and do what I tell you and it’ll be fine. I promise. I’ve climbed this wall myself and I know exactly what to do. It’s easy really; you’ll see.”

  “Really?”

  Lucy crossed her fingers. “I promise.” It’d probably be best not to mention that she’d broken her radius during this exercise, she thought wryly.

  Fortunately her bluff worked. The boy’s blond head was nodding now, and as she told him where to put each foot he seemed to trust her enough to do exactly as she suggested. Lucy held her breath as he made the treacherous descent, inch by terrifying inch, until at last he was at a height where she was able to reach him.

  “I’m going to hold onto you now while you do the last bit,” she said, putting her hands up and grabbing his waist. “If you fall now you’ll have a soft landing because I’m underneath.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath. “I don’t want to squash you.”

  Lucy laughed. “You won’t squash me. Besides, I’m so fat I need flattening, so you’d be doing me a favour anyway. Come on, last bit now. You’re nearly there.”

  There was a scrabble, a slither and then a tangle of arms and legs as he tumbled the last few feet. Somehow Lucy managed to catch him and not fall over, which was probably the most agile feat of her life, and then he was back on the sand without any broken bones – his or hers. Big brown eyes gazed up at her from a face so white that the freckles stood out like a rash. The poor little chap must have been terrified.

  “Well done,” Lucy said warmly. “That was really brave.”

  But the little boy was shaking his head. “No it wasn’t. I didn’t make it to the top because I was too scared. They’re right: I’m just a wuss and now they’ll never let me join in. I won’t have any friends.”

  He looked close to tears. Lucy knew that nothing she said would make him feel better. Kids were so cruel to each other and, come to think of it, so were adults. Why couldn’t everyone just be kind?

  “Is that why you were trying to climb the wall? So they’d be your friends?” she asked.

  He nodded miserably. “They said if I did it then I could hang out with them and I’d have people to sit with at school. They d
on’t like me because I’m from London. They think I’m a wuss.”

  Lucy snorted. “I think you’re very brave moving here from somewhere else and starting all over in a new place. I don’t imagine that many of those children have done that.”

  “But I can’t climb the rocks or dive off the quay or drive a boat,” he said sadly.

  “No, but I bet you can catch a tube train or cross a busy road – and you’ve probably been to the Natural History Museum,” Lucy countered. “Anyway, in my experience people who make you do things to become their friend really aren’t worth the effort.” She held out her hand. “I’m Lucy, by the way.”

  They shook hands and she noticed that his nails were nibbled right to the quick. The poor kid really was having a rough time.

  “I’m Josh,” he said, and then added with a frown, “You said you were fat to land on but you’re not fat at all!”

  Lucy laughed. “That’s very kind of you, Josh. I think I maybe just eat a few too many ice creams in the summer. That’s one nice thing about Cornwall – lots of ice cream.”

  “I like Cornwall,” said Josh. “I just don’t think I like the other kids very much.”

  At this point Biscuit, who’d been chasing seagulls by the water’s edge, came bounding over, thrilled to see Josh because boys of his age generally enjoyed endless games of fetch. Biscuit jumped up at Josh before Lucy had a chance to tell the lively springer spaniel to get down. For a moment she felt anxious about this (after all, Josh’s day had been hard enough without Biscuit knocking him flying), but the little boy seemed delighted and laughed.

  “He’s brilliant! Is he yours?”

  “That’s Biscuit and yes he’s mine, but I can tell he really likes you,” said Lucy. “There’s one friend made, even if he is a bit slobbery and sandy.”

  Josh was busy patting Biscuit, who stared up at him adoringly.