Treasure of the Heart Read online

  “Granny, please don’t start the Dropping Out of Uni lecture. I really don’t think I can handle it right now.”

  “I’m not about to lecture you,” Alice said, looking hurt. “You’re old enough to make your own choices. But I love you and I hate seeing you so unhappy.”

  “I’m not unhappy,” Issie fibbed. “I’m just hung-over.”

  Pulling herself to her feet, and trying to ignore the listing of her brain inside her skull, Issie finished the orange juice and did her best to look thrilled to be leaving the warmth of Seaspray for the wild weather outside and another party.

  Thank goodness it was only Ashley and Mo’s bash, Issie thought as she pulled on jeans and a hoody and pinned her braids up onto the crown of her head. There was no need to go mad and dress up for family. Her sister would probably be in jodhpurs, and Ashley only had eyes for Mo anyway. Besides, the green-hued and unmade-up face that was looking back blearily at her from the mirror would do wonders at keeping the likes of Teddy and Little Rog at bay.

  By the time Issie was ready to set off the wind was growing louder, roaring through the trees at the top of the village and rushing straight through Polwenna. Alice and Issie found themselves being buffeted and punched by invisible fists as they followed the winding path through Seaspray’s gardens, and above them the sky was bruised with storm clouds. When they reached the lane both women looked towards the harbour, their eyes wide when they saw that the waves were breaking over the highest rocks beyond the bay. The storm gate was shut and the quay was teeming with oilskinned fishermen securing their moorings and adding extra bowlines. Davey’s Locker was taking the full force of the wind’s fury – it was lucky that the shutters had been closed for a few days, otherwise the glass would certainly have been broken. Was it her imagination, wondered Issie, or was the light really fading with each second that passed? Her hand stole to touch the gold coin hanging around her neck and she shivered; this was just the kind of day that would once have been perfect for wreckers like Black Jack Jago.

  “This storm’s really bad!” she exclaimed.

  “It certainly is,” Alice agreed. “I’ve seen lots of them in my time but this is certainly going to be one of the worst. It’s a force-eight gale, Radio Cornwall said earlier, but I think it’ll exceed that. Thank goodness all the trawlers are in.”

  Mariners’ View was directly across the bay from Seaspray, which meant walking down into the village before climbing up and out again. It was a steep walk on a fine day and without a hangover; in a gale-force wind and with thudding temples Issie was ready to collapse by the time she arrived.

  The simplistic beauty of Mariners’ interior always took Issie aback the moment she stepped inside. Ashley’s architect had taken out the internal walls and replaced the furthest wall with glass that framed the seascape, flooding the house with light and creating a living work of art. The scene was ever changing from minute to minute, but today it was at its most spectacular as the waves tore across the bay and dark clouds swelled on the horizon. Who knew what secrets were hidden deep beneath the churning water? As she stood watching the power of nature being unleashed, Issie had the strongest conviction that something incredible was about to happen…

  “Hair of the dog?” grinned Ashley, appearing over her shoulder and offering a glass of champagne. “Or would you rather I found some tequila? That’s your poison of choice, I believe?”

  Issie groaned but she accepted the drink anyway. Sod it; her no-alcohol resolution could begin tomorrow. “Don’t tell me you were there too?”

  Her brother-in-law laughed. “Christ! You were drunk! I helped Nick carry you home. Maybe you ought to stick to orange juice and have a few nibbles?”

  Ashley Carstairs’ idea of “nibbles” was somewhat more extravagant than most people’s. Rather than providing the sausages on sticks, cheese and pineapple and a few bowls of crisps that were the usual fare at village parties, he’d hired Symon Tremaine to do the catering and no expense had been spared. Glancing around the crowded room, Issie was amused to see the most eclectic group of villagers imaginable chowing down on exquisite mini pasties, prawn and chorizo skewers and plates of fruits de mer. Granted, Big Rog looked a bit confused by the mini pasties and had combined at least eight in order to equal one of Patsy Penhalligan’s bakery-shop versions – and Betty Jago was looking very suspiciously at the caviar blinis – but generally everyone was having fun regardless of the weather. Even Mickey Davey had stopped bragging for long enough to shovel in some smoked salmon.

  For Issie, though, any food was out of the question right now. “Not for me, thanks. I don’t think I’ll ever eat again,” she grimaced.

  “I thought that was drinking?” Alice remarked drily, joining them and giving Issie a sharp look when she saw the champagne flute in her hand. Kissing Ashley on the cheek, she added, “It’s a lovely party, my love. Everyone’s braved the weather to come out.”

  “Of course they have, not that I’m flattering myself it’s on my account. They’re all desperate for a good nose around Mariners,” Ashley said, his dark eyes bright with amusement. Giving Issie a knowing look, he added, “Apparently there was a rumour going around that I’d installed a dance pole. Where on earth could that have come from?”

  “No idea,” said Issie quickly. Oops. She may have accidentally said something like that to Saffron Jago, who had a mouth the size of the Saltash Tunnel. It had seemed amusing at the time to see how long it might take the rumour to get around the village (slightly faster than the speed of the ISS orbiting earth, apparently), but under Ashley’s scrutiny it suddenly didn’t seem quite as funny. Much as Issie liked Ashley, a man who’d become a self-made millionaire by his mid-twenties probably wasn’t to be messed with.

  “Where’s Mo?” asked Alice, looking around the crowded reception room. “I must wish her happy New Year.”

  “She’s gone to the stable yard because she’s worried about the barn roof staying on. Don’t panic, Alice, she’s not about to start clambering around in the wind. She’s taken Little Rog with her and the Penhalligan lads,” Ashley told her firmly. “There’s no way I’m having Mo climbing ladders in her condition – oh!”

  Alice’s hand flew to her mouth and Issie nearly choked on a mouthful of champagne. Had Ashley just said what she thought he had?

  “Oh dear. Can you forget I just said that?” Ashley asked hopefully. “Silly question. Of course you can’t. Damn. Mo’s going to kill me. And I’ve done so well getting over my operation too; what a waste of Mr Oliver’s surgical skills.”

  “Mo’s pregnant? With a baby?” Alice looked stunned.

  “Knowing Mo she’d probably rather it was a foal,” Ashley replied wryly, “but yes, I can assure you that the tadpole we saw on the scan definitely had feet, not hooves.”

  “That’s wonderful news!” Issie cried, her hangover almost forgotten as she hugged him. “I’m going to be an aunty again! Yes!”

  “Time to set the new generation an example then,” said Alice.

  Issie ignored her grandmother. “What a brilliant start to the New Year!”

  Ashley nodded. “We think so too. There’s a lot to celebrate for us, that’s for certain, but could I ask you just keep this to yourselves for a little bit longer? We don’t want to say too much until the next scan. You know how it is.”

  “Of course,” Alice assured him. “We can keep a secret, can’t we Issie?”

  Issie curled her fingers around her mobile phone, tucked deep inside her hoody pocket, and thought that it was as well her grandmother didn’t know just how good she was at keeping secrets.

  “Sure,” was all she said. Some things were better not talked about. Leaving Ashley and Alice talking in whispers, she wandered to the window and watched the storm gathering power. Rain was battering against the glass now and running down in endless tears. Below, the waves were dashing themselves against the rocks with such ferocity that Issie stepped back, half expecting to feel spray on her cheeks.

  Th
ere was a trembling in her pocket. Her mobile, switched to silent, vibrated for ten rings before giving up. Issie drew it out as warily as if it were a grenade with the pin pulled; she knew before she’d even looked at the screen who the caller would be.

  Mark. Would he ever let her go? And would she be strong enough to allow him to?

  With shaking hands, she cleared the call log and switched the phone off completely. Maybe she’d have a digital detox for a while. Cold turkey was probably the only way to get over him. That and another glass of champagne.

  Issie pushed the mobile into her pocket and turned back to watch the ocean. This time, she really could feel saltwater on her cheeks, albeit not from the sea.

  Chapter 5

  Alice Tremaine was observing her grandchildren. It was something she did as naturally as breathing and it never failed to make her proud and worried sick in equal measures. While the party swirled and reverberated with a life of its own, she found a comfortable seat tucked beneath the floating staircase, where she was happy to sit quietly and watch proceedings. Even though little more was going on than chatting and eating, Alice knew her son’s brood well enough to be able to tell who was having fun, who was hiding something and who was quietly breaking their heart.

  She glanced at Jake and Danny, her two eldest grandsons, and smiled. They were looking relaxed and contented as they chatted easily with their partners and their friends. Danny actually glowed with joy whenever he looked at Jules, his new girlfriend (who also happened to be the local vicar and a dear friend of Alice’s). Danny had had such a hard time after being injured in Afghanistan, and he’d suffered more than Alice could bear to imagine, so it warmed her heart to see both him and Jules so happy now.

  Then there was Mo too. Alice shook her head in delighted disbelief at the news Ashley had accidentally shared. It was very soon – the couple had only been married a few months and the wedding had been a whirlwind – but she couldn’t imagine her fiery granddaughter with anyone else. Ashley challenged Mo and kept her on her toes, which was exactly what she needed with that active mind of hers. Although Mo adored horses and had always maintained that her eventing career came first, the ups and downs of the past year had forced her to change her priorities. Time held a different meaning for the young couple now. Having a new great-grandchild was something to look forward to, even if it did make Alice feel positively ancient. It only seemed like yesterday that she was teaching Mo how to tie her shoelaces; that her granddaughter was going to become a mother herself seemed impossible.

  Her gaze drifted across the room. Her son Jimmy was deep in conversation with Mickey Davey and Alice felt a flutter of concern. Jimmy might be in his early sixties now, but he was still a constant source of worry. For what had to be the thousandth time Alice found herself wishing that Penny Tremaine hadn’t died so young. Apart from her death being cruel, leaving the children and their father heartbroken, she had been the guiding light that had once brought the wayward Jimmy safely into harbour. Without Penny, his anchorage had broken and Jimmy had drifted ever since, unable to find a purpose. Alice sighed. Penny had been the love of her son’s life and without her he just couldn’t settle. He was always searching for something to fill that gap, be it a project or a punt on the horses or a crazy jaunt across several continents, but nothing really seemed to work. He gambled, spent too much money and was an easy gull for any shyster with a get-rich-quick scheme – which was exactly what Alice feared this newcomer could be. Her brow pleated. Just who was Mickey Davey? He’d turned up in the village, spent a fortune refitting the beach café (and put the Pollards’ noses right out of joint because he’d brought in his own “boys” from Essex to do all the building), but he never seemed to do a day’s work. The money for the gold Rolls and all the drinking in The Ship didn’t come from baking pasties, that was for sure, and instinct told Alice that he wasn’t to be trusted. It didn’t bode well that Mickey had made a beeline for her Jimmy.

  “Can I get you anything to eat, Alice? Or another drink?”

  Reverend Jules interrupted these fretful musings on her way back from the buffet, her plate piled high with seafood and canapés. Seeing Alice look at this mound of food, Jules pulled a despairing face.

  “Isn’t it terrible? Look at me, breaking my New Year’s resolution already. So much for healthy eating and losing a stone. My willpower’s useless.”

  “Symon’s food is hard to resist,” Alice told her kindly. She knew Jules struggled with her weight and even more with feeling guilty about breaking diets.

  The vicar was nodding. “It certainly is. This is my second visit to the buffet. No wonder Sy had such a good write-up in the Western Morning News last week. What was it they called him again?” Her brow crinkled. “The next Rick Stein?”

  “The heir apparent to Rick Stein,” Alice corrected. She knew the article off by heart because she must have read it ten times over and had bought every spare copy from Betty Jago. Symon had merely shrugged off all the praise rather than letting it go to his head, but Alice was very proud of her third grandson. His restaurant, The Plump Seagull, was doing exceptionally well and he’d already earned a Michelin star – good going for a young man who was still in his twenties. Yet Symon was a worry too, because he seemed to do nothing except work. Take this afternoon, for instance: he ought to be here enjoying the party with the rest of his family but instead he’d worked solidly all morning to prepare the food and was now back at the restaurant getting ready for the evening’s covers. He lived alone, had no girlfriend and seemed to exist for his career and nothing else. And as for days off? If he ever took one it was news to Alice.

  It wasn’t healthy and it wasn’t right. Something had happened to Symon, Alice just knew it, something that had made him retreat from living his own life and throw himself into his career. Professionally this was paying dividends, but there was more to life than work and his grandmother hated to think of him being alone. Sy was a gentle and thoughtful man with a generous heart and a wicked sense of humour. Before he’d left for his training in London, he’d been as outgoing and as sociable as any of her other grandchildren, so shutting himself away like this was completely out of character. Alice had tried talking to him but she’d have found it easier to squeeze a few drops of blood out of the stones on the beach than to get the truth from him. Whatever it was that had changed him so much, Sy wasn’t prepared to share it with a soul.

  “Alice? Is everything all right?” Jules’s sweet face was filled with concern and Alice realised she’d drifted into deep thought. Another sign of old age, she supposed.

  “Sorry, my love, I was just thinking about Symon and how hard he works.”

  Jules nodded. “I can see that just from what he’s done today. It’s all delicious as always. Did you want me to fetch you anything to eat? Or would you like to join us?”

  Alice shook her head. “I’m fine here where it’s nice and quiet. You carry on and enjoy yourself. Just look out for Issie, would you? I haven’t seen her for a while.”

  “She’s a bit off colour; I think she went onto the terrace to get some fresh air,” said the ever-tactful Jules.

  More likely she was throwing up in one of Ashley’s flowerpots, thought Alice. Outside the gale was raging with twice the ferocity of an hour ago. If Issie was prepared to venture into it then she must be feeling bad.

  “You mean she’s hung-over,” she said bleakly. “I might be old but I’m not stupid, Jules. Besides, I was there when the others brought her home.”

  “It was New Year’s Eve, Alice. I should think most of the people here are drinking hair of the dog today.”

  But Alice wasn’t prepared to make excuses for Issie. There had been far too much of this lately and in her view it wasn’t doing her youngest granddaughter any favours.

  “You didn’t see the state she came home in. Nick and Ashley had to carry her because she was practically unconscious.” Alice’s hands twisted anxiously in her lap. She’d spent the first hours of this brand new year
sitting beside Issie’s bed, terrified that her granddaughter might be sick in her sleep and then choke to death. You heard such awful stories. “Oh Jules, this is happening far too often and I’m really worried there’s more to it. We need to help her; Issie can’t go on like this.”

  “You’re right there,” Jules conceded. “Do you want me to talk to her? As a friend, not as a vicar?”

  Alice nodded. “If you could I’d be so grateful. She won’t speak to me but she might tell you what’s wrong.”

  “I’ll do my best,” the vicar promised. “Leave it with me.”

  And with this Alice knew she had to be content. If anyone had a hope of getting through to Issie then Jules Mathieson was that person.

  While Jules carried the spoils of her buffet run back to where some of the others were gathered, Alice walked over to the vast window to watch the storm. It was a spectacular vantage point and a crowd was already assembled there, watching as the sea hurled salt water high into the air. The sky was black now and the wind roared like an express train, driving bands of rain across the bay in horizontal sheets and spurring the waves to gallop even faster up the beach.

  Alice looked on in awe. In all her years in the village she could hardly recall a storm as savage.

  “My missus has just texted and she says the village is flooding!” A wide-eyed Chris the Cod was staring at his phone. “Water’s coming into the chippy too, and the drains can’t cope with the rainfall. I’d better go.”

  “I’ll come with you, mate. I need to check the café,” said Mickey Davey. “I hope that bloody roof holds. Can’t have my new floor ruined, even if I did get one hell of a good deal on it.”

  “There’s going to be lots of structural damage. Loads of slates off too, I reckon,” Big Rog Pollard remarked to nobody in particular, hardly able to keep the glee out of his voice. While everyone else was starting to worry about their homes, he could only see pound signs tap-dancing through the village. Typical Pollard, thought Alice; his father hadn’t been any different.