The Island Legacy Page 16

  It had meant nothing to her either, Ness reminded herself sharply. It was just a bit of moonlit fun. She would put it out of her mind now for good. It would never happen again.

  But as for Max Reynard? There was no way Ness was letting him get his hands on her castle. She wasn’t sure whether she had a drawbridge or whether the village shop stocked boiling oil, but as far as she was concerned she was digging in for the long haul.

  Max Reynard had better watch out. This was war.

  Chapter 13

  Pirran Island ran on its own timescale. Minutes seeped into hours, slipping into days and flowing into weeks. The tides turned, water dimpled the wet sand, clouds raced by and each day stretched out just a little longer than the one before. As one week melted into a fortnight and then another, the castle’s labyrinthine passageways became more familiar to Ness, until she no longer felt tempted to scatter a trail of crumbs behind her like Hansel and Gretel.

  Just as the castle was becoming ever more familiar, so too was the island; before long Ness had explored every inch. From the charged stillness of the ruined chapel to the ferocious rocky teeth of the Devil’s Mouth beyond Grace Note Bay, her new home felt less strange every day. It was comforting to think of her father growing up here. Ness liked to picture him as a small boy scrambling over the rocks to catch darting fish, or rolling down the grassy banks of the motte and chasing his brothers through the long passageways. Now she could understand the rawness of his painting; the savage skies and wild waters that seethed from every brushstroke made perfect sense.

  Her mother had also lived here for a while and died here. Ness had tried to find out more about Beth Penwellyn, but the details were hazy. Even local historian Annie Luckett, who was a little less frosty now that she’d realised Ness wasn’t in cahoots with Max Reynard, wasn’t able to tell Ness more than she already knew. It seemed that all the people who’d lived and worked on Pirran Island in that era were now long gone, taking the truth of that dark stormy night with them. Coming to Cornwall hadn’t revealed anything new: all Ness had to work with were the same bare facts she’d arrived with. A young and beautiful violinist, Beth had originally come here to work on the Island Suite with Armand. She’d subsequently married Addy and then drowned several years later. None of these facts explained anything.

  I can’t leave it at that, Ness told herself for what had to be the thousandth time. How had her mother drowned? Why had Addy fled from his home? Why had the three brothers fallen out? And why, a question that troubled Ness greatly, had Armand Penwellyn really left her the bulk of his estate? If he’d wanted to protect the island from Jamie, surely he could have left it to a wildlife charity or maybe the National Trust? Something deep down inside told Ness that there was more to this. The difficulty was how to prove it now that all three brothers were gone.

  “Stop being such a misery!” she told herself sternly. None of these questions were new, after all. It was just that being here was bringing everything into sharper focus.

  Besides, it was hard to be melancholy when the sun was out and the world outside seemed all newly scrubbed and shiny. Lucy had helped settle Ness into one of the spare bedrooms, and Ness didn’t think she’d ever slept as well as she now did in this circular chamber with its thick walls and latticed windows. Here she could watch the sun rise from one side and set from the other, while at night the stars shone more brightly in the velvet-black sky than anywhere else she could recall.

  “We’ve not used this room for years,” Lucy had told Ness apologetically when she’d helped her move in (which hadn’t been the most onerous of tasks, given that Ness only possessed one rucksack). “Uncle Armand kept it shut up, which I think’s a real shame because it’s such a pretty room, isn’t it? Before he died he suggested you might like it.”

  Ness had been in perfect agreement; it was a beautiful room, simple and uncluttered and yet full of peace and warmth. During the daytime it was flooded with sunshine, and its views stretched out to sea. The room contained a large four-poster bed, a tallboy and a huge carved chest. The flagstone floor was covered by a threadbare rug, its rose design faded now, and sun-bleached pink drapes hung from heavy curtain poles. Set beneath the furthest window – the one that looked across the bay and back to the town – was a big saggy armchair with fat cushions, next to a bookshelf crammed with yellow-paged paperbacks. Ness could imagine curling up in the chair and reading, or maybe to watch the shifting view.

  “I’ve dusted and aired it,” Lucy had continued, not waiting for Ness to answer, “and all the bedding’s clean. The tallboy’s empty for your clothes to go in, but I’m afraid I haven’t had a moment to sort out the books or see what’s in the chest. There must be a key for it somewhere but heaven knows what’s happened to it.”

  Ness had laughed and placed her bag on the bed. “Everything I own is in this rucksack, so I think it’ll easily fit in the tallboy. We can sort the chest out later.”

  “We’ll have to break the lock if we can’t find the key,” Lucy had sighed. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

  “That seems a shame,” Ness said. The lock was beautiful: brass and ornate. “Don’t rush on my account. I’ve not got a lot anyway.”

  “It might turn up. I’m still sorting through Uncle Armand’s belongings. I even found his diary. He’d thought ahead and ripped most of the pages out,” Lucy had said sadly.

  “Was this his wife’s room?” Ness had asked, glancing around. “It certainly feels feminine in here.”

  “Uncle Armand never married,” was Lucy’s reply. “I don’t know much about this room, only that it’s not been used for a long time. He lived here on his own for years, until I moved in to help.”

  Now, as she ran down the spiral stairs that led to the Small Hall, Ness thought that she really must have a hunt for that key. It hadn’t taken long before she’d realised that if she carried on wearing her Caribbean wardrobe she’d freeze. Accordingly, she’d driven into Truro with Lucy to stock up on warm clothes. Although the Cornish weather had been beautiful since she’d been here, it was still chilly and the castle was far colder inside than out. If it was a choice between her tan and catching pneumonia, then Ness was resigned to swaddling herself in jumpers and jeans and swapping her glittery flip-flops for boots. She now had more clothes than the tallboy could cope with and the chest would be very handy. At the moment she was heaping her clothes on it, but they’d be much tidier inside.

  “Hello, Ness!” called Josh, when she reached the foot of the steps. Sitting on one of the benches flanking the refectory table, he was working his way through a doorstep of toast and scribbling notes across a buttery-yellow manuscript.

  “You’re keen,” Ness said, looking at her watch and seeing that it wasn’t even nine. Goodness, he must have been up early and walked across the minute the tide had started creeping out.

  Josh shrugged. “It’s teacher training day and Dad’s at work. ’Sides, I like it here. I’m doing a music puzzle. Lucy’s been teaching me. They’re well cool. I’m teaching her to use her iPhone. She’s rubbish.”

  In the weeks since Ness had arrived, Josh too had become something of a fixture at the castle. Most afternoons found him in the music room playing the piano or accompanying Lucy on his violin. Weekends would see him eating cake in the tea room, sitting in the kitchen chatting to Fern or helping Merryn with the boat. His father must work dreadful hours for the evil Max, Ness thought. At this her heart hardened all the more. She hadn’t seen anything of him since their kiss (not that she was thinking of that, of course), but when she did eventually bump into Max Reynard he’d better watch out. As the time had gone by her anger had been growing, not dissipating.

  “Annie’s made toast and scrambled eggs,” Josh told Ness through a mouthful. “She said to have some before Merryn scoffs it all.

  In St Antonia Ness had barely eaten breakfast and had watched her diet carefully – you had to if you spent ninety percent of your time in a bikini – but here she was eating non-stop. It d
idn’t help that Lucy was a great cook or that Annie had a habit of turning leftovers into delicious meals. Most evenings they all sat around the table in the kitchen and tucked into whatever had been thrown together that day in the tea room.

  They were an odd mix, Ness thought, but there was comfort in knowing there was always somebody around. Growing up with Addy had meant she’d never had a family, so Ness was enjoying feeling part of something now. It had taken a while before Merryn and Fern had stopped looking at her suspiciously – and Annie had certainly taken longer to thaw out – but after several weeks had gone by without Ness flogging the island to Reynards, they’d come round. Her unwitting association with Max had been exceedingly unfortunate and was yet another big blot in his rapidly filling copybook.

  Although she’d told each person in turn that she had no intention of selling the island (she’d even taken the trouble to speak to old Fred, who hadn’t heard a word anyway), Ness was become increasingly aware that very soon she was going to have to take some action regarding their finances. Quite what form this should take, she wasn’t certain. Maybe she would call a council of war and see if the friends of the island could brainstorm some ideas together. Without the income from Armand’s portfolio, things were looking bleak – and Lucy’s royalties wouldn’t arrive until the autumn.

  Ness continued on her way to the castle’s kitchen, which adjoined the Small Hall. The kitchen was generally the place where everyone congregated. It was a long room with an enormous open fireplace at the furthest end, its chimney still blackened with the soot of centuries. It also contained a very battered oak table, plus an ancient Aga that pumped out warmth. It was to the latter that Ness headed now, to warm her chilly fingers on the rail.

  Merryn was seated at the table, his socked feet propped up alongside the marmalade as he cradled a mug of tea in his strong brown hands and chatted to Annie. Seeing Ness, he smiled. Now that the warmth reached those blue eyes she was reminded of the inviting waters of the Caribbean. She thought of the slow pleasure of sinking into the gin-clear sea and letting the waves wash over her sunburned limbs, and then felt her cheeks heat up. He was more attractive now that he wasn’t shooting the stare of death at her. She hadn’t seen that much of him since she’d arrived, but when they did bump into one another he’d been friendly enough.

  “Have I got crumbs on my face?” Merryn asked, brushing cheeks that were dusted with golden stubble.

  Embarrassed to be caught gawping like some teenager with a crush, Ness felt her flush deepen. It was a curse of being red-haired, along with a hot temper and skin that look forever to tan.

  “No crumbs, but you are running late – and take your feet off the table!” Annie scolded, reaching across and tapping his legs. “What manners!”

  Merryn grinned at Ness. “She still thinks I’m a naughty boy in her classroom.”

  “That’s because you are,” the older woman said tartly.

  His blue eyes held Ness’s. “You’d better listen to Annie. It’s true. I can be incredibly badly behaved.”

  His meaning was unmistakable. Flustered, Ness turned her attention to filling the kettle. She felt like plunging herself under the cold tap too, because a sudden throb of heat was coursing through her every cell. There was something wild about Merryn that was very appealing. Max Reynard had been all control and brooding sexuality, whereas the bronze-skinned, golden-haired skipper was pure energy and sunshine.

  “Tea, anyone?” she asked. She was aware of how British she sounded; her American friends would be laughing if they could hear her now.

  “I’ll have another cup and I’ll take one to Lucy in the tea room,” said Annie, holding out her mug. “Merryn here is going to work. There’s a broken toilet to attend to and Fred needs a hand fixing the ride-on before he can start mowing.”

  “Oh, the glamour,” Merryn said ruefully. “It seems you’ll have to learn all about my bad deeds and misbehaviour another time, Ness.”

  “I’ll look forward to that,” she said, and blushed even deeper when she saw the way his lips quirked upwards. Lord, but he was a rogue. She’d really have to be careful, otherwise Merryn would think she wanted to jump his bones. Which she did, in an abstract way, because he was undeniably sex on a stick. Not that it mattered whether she fantasised about him; in reality, she knew that getting involved with him would make life even more complicated than it already was, which was saying something.

  Once Merryn had departed, munching toast with those strong white teeth and laughing, Ness made tea and joined Annie, who gave her an arch look.

  “Careful,” she said.

  “I can look after myself,” Ness assured her.

  “It isn’t you I’m worried about,” Annie replied. “But none of my business anyway. Now,” she continued, her voice shooting up several decibels in true teacher style when Ness looked poised to protest, “after our chat the other day I’ve been doing some research and it seems that there is still one person in the town who was working on the island when your parents lived here – and she might know a little more than me.”

  “Really?” Ness was thrilled. Anything that would help her to know more about Beth Penwellyn would be a bonus.

  Annie nodded. “Merryn’s grandmother, Rose. I’d forgotten all about it but she was working in the kitchen back then. Your uncle used to throw the most amazing parties. He really was something of a celebrity, you know. The Island Suite was so popular and everyone touted him as being the next Vaughan Williams. Rose is an interesting character but she’s notoriously difficult to deal with. If she does know any more than I do, then she’ll have kept it to herself for a long time.”

  “Do you think she might know more?” Ness asked.

  Annie looked thoughtful. “Maybe. I’ll agree with you that it all feels a little odd and unfinished. Now, it might just be the historian in me, or maybe I’m a nosy old boot, but yes, I think she might know something. Armand certainly looked after her, and of course Merryn lives here too and has done for ages. Your uncle was a strange man but he was steadfast too. Once he made his mind up about something or someone, that was it.”

  “Like not speaking to his brothers?” Ness could see this was the case. “Or leaving most of his estate to a niece he’d never met?” And locking up rooms, abandoning his music and leaving odd bequests? The more she thought about it, strange didn’t come close to describing her uncle.

  “Just so,” the older woman agreed. Then she sighed. “Ness, I can’t pretend that I knew what was going on in Armand’s mind. Lucy was probably the closest to him out of anyone and even she’s in the dark. It might be an idea to have a chat with Rose but I must warn you, she’s very spiky and totally devoted to Merryn. Anyone who upsets him won’t want to come across her in a hurry – and she certainly wouldn’t want to help them.”

  The warning couldn’t have been clearer. If Ness broke Merryn’s heart his granny would have something to say about it and anything she did know about the past would remain a secret. It was all a bit ironic really, since from what Ness had gleaned about Merryn Hellier, he was the Don Juan of St Pirran. She was sure his heart was very safe.

  Leaving Ness to ponder on all this, Annie rose and began to stack the dishwasher. Ness’s temples started to throb. This was all becoming so complicated. What was it that David Brown had warned her when she first met him? That her inheritance could prove to be a poisoned chalice? Untangling secrets was the least of it. She needed to find some money as well, and fast. She’d never known an electricity bill could have so many noughts on it – and this was in the summer too. What would happen when the winter arrived didn’t bear thinking about.

  Before she could even get started on the horror that was the council tax, Ness’s thoughts were interrupted by the sudden appearance of Josh. White-faced and wide-eyed he stood in the doorway, panting.

  “You’ve got to come at once! Come on!”

  Ness was out of her chair and at his side in a heartbeat. “Josh! What’s happened? Are you all rig
ht?”

  “They’re here! The men! You’ve got to stop them!” He was speaking wildly, the words so choked that he was almost incoherent. “They say they’re taking it away! Come on, Ness! Stop them.”

  He tugged her hand, trying to pull Ness after him. “Hurry up! They’re taking the piano! You’ve got to stop them! They can’t take your piano!”

  Annie’s hand flew to her chest. “Jamie must have sold it. I thought he’d gone quiet.”

  Jamie Penwellyn had certainly been lying low. Since storming out after the will reading he’d not been in touch with Lucy and was yet to reappear at the castle. Although Ness was relieved not to have been confronted with his antipathy, she’d known it was only a matter of time. He’d probably been holed up somewhere, plotting her downfall.

  That and selling the Steinway.

  “It’s not my piano, Josh,” she told the little boy as gently as she could. “It was left to Lucy’s brother and he can do whatever he likes with it.”

  “But it belongs here!” Josh wailed. “The Island Suite was composed on it! He can’t take it! He can’t!”

  He began to cry, huge gasping sobs that shook his body.

  Ness turned to Annie helplessly. “I can’t do anything about this, can I?”

  “Of course you can’t,” Annie said. “Now listen, young man, you’re going to have to be very brave about this. Lucy’s going to find saying goodbye to that piano even harder than you, so we need to look after her, don’t we?”

  Josh gulped and wiped his hand across his eyes. “I ’spose.”

  “Good boy.” Annie patted him on the shoulder. “I think Lucy needs to know what’s happening so that she can say goodbye to the piano. Would you be able to go and fetch her from the tea room? It’s very important you look after her now. She’s going to need you.”

  He sniffed. “OK, Miss Luckett.”

  Once he was out of earshot Annie’s mouth set in a bitter line. “I hope Jamie enjoys his one hundred thousand pounds, or whatever it is he’s sold it for.”