Part Two
CHAPTER SIX
FALCON'S TOR, a hooded frown of a rock dark against the sky over the wide expanse of the moors above Pencarne, a charming fishing village tucked beneath the craggy wing of the cliffs.
The cottage itself was as if enchanted, tucked away on its own ledge of rock, with a garden spilling down a rocky terrace. The rooms were furnished in a comfortable country style, and the kitchen was equipped with a gas cooker, food cupboards, a heater for the bath, and a small gas fridge.
Jem Lovibond had been as nice as his name and had carried all her groceries from the village stores, and being the only son of his mother had even helped to spread bed linen over the lavender bushes to dry in the wind off the sea. 'You'm a little lass yourself to have the care of doctor's young un,' he said to her, his smile broad and friendly. 'Miss Yseult be coming tomorrer and a bit of a tease she be, for all her frail looks. Now if there's anything else I can be doing for you, Miss Perry, you just let me know.'
'Thank you, Jem.' She smiled back at him. 'Is everyone hereabouts as kind as yourself?'
'We're neighbourly,' he said with gruff shyness. 'You'm not all that foreign, not with your looks and that first name of your'n. Tis Cornish as I am!'
He ambled away in tall seaboots, as rugged as the rocks themselves, with a big, kind, simple heart. Ruan took deep breaths of the Cornish air and felt certain she would like this place. Even from here she could hear the sea, and knew that at night it lapped in its rhythm those who slept in the cottages of Pencame.
The next hour or so passed busily, for she gave the cottage a thorough airing, made a batch of cakes and butter scones, and put flowers in all the rooms. By the time she was finished everything looked bright and welcoming, and smelled of cakes fresh from the oven.
She gazed around her with satisfaction, decided she had earned a cup of tea and one of her own cakes, and sat down to enjoy them in the sunlit kitchen.
She glanced at the clock and saw that it was five-thirty. In a while Ann and Buckley would be going to the hospital to visit Tarquin. They would talk of the theatre, and of his convalescence. They would discuss Ann's wedding, but there would be no mention of the part Ruan had played in the dramatic events of the past few weeks.
Everything blurred and she battled with her quick, lonely tears. She mustn't sit here thinking... she would go for a walk! She jumped to her feet, ran a comb through her hair, grabbed her suede jacket and walked out into the reddening sunlight of evening. A wind had risen from the beach below and it blew cool against her eyes, and revived her with its freshness.
She took the winding path that led down past the Lovibond cottage, its front garden a mass of flowers, growing and clinging together in the rocks and crannies, with fantastic seashells set here and there. Jem's mother was in the garden, cutting some mint from a window box. 'Takin' a walk to the beach?' she called out.
*Yes, it's such a fine evening.' Ruan stood on the path, her hair blowing in the wind. 'I do like your garden, Mrs. Lovibond. It's a picture.'
'You're kind to say so.' The woman shaded her eyes from the blaze of the westering sun. 'The tide will soon be turning, so you mind yourself, girl.'
'I can swim,' Ruan laughed.
'Aye, but are you used to our Cornish swells? They'd toss a dinky piece the likes of you like a cork on the water. You mind, now.'
'Of course,' Ruan said at once, and it was nice of people to be concerned over her. She waved and continued on her way down the cliff path to the shore, smiling to be called 'a dinky piece', and catching her breath at the long sweep of the sands, where the rocks were like sleeping sea-monsters, their snouts in the creaming water. She gazed for a long time, both thrilled and awed by this legendary sea-coast, with the high-flying spray that spoke of a temper to these waters that could be dangerous. Seagulls swooped near, mewing as they flew by, to land on the rocks with perfect grace. They alone shared the beach with Ruan, and she could well imagine how wild and desolate this coast had been in the bad old days when ships had been lured to the rocks by the lanterns of the Cornish wreckers, when the caves had been used for hiding kegs of smuggled brandy, and parcels of fine lace.
Bearing in mind that soon the tide would turn, she went only as far as some stranded rocks, warn smooth by the sea and the wind, and providing a perch so she could watch the spume and tumult of the rising tide, the cliffs rising in craggy tiers behind her, made tawny by the setting sun. It was bold and stirring scenery, and Ruan was held by it as if entranced. It was Byronic, with the sun dipping into the sea and being slowly extinguished in the water.
Everything was quiet, except for the seabirds calling and the waves splashing ever higher over the sea-held rocks. Ruan thought herself entirely alone, and then distinctly she heard a galloping sound along the beach, coming nearer every second, until a dark horse and its rider were outlined against the sunset and the racing waves. She sat very still on her rock, until some instinct, some forewarning, drove her to her feet... just as the horse came splashing close by, sending up spray and sand from its hooves.
Her sudden movement must have startled the animal, for he gave a sudden whinny and reared up on his hind legs, almost throwing his rider out of the saddle.
Who the devil's that?' As quick as he was strong the rider hauled on the bridle and controlled the horse, then he glanced round to see the cause of the trouble. His black hair blew in the wind, and the tossing mane of the horse was just as dark and wild. There was something primeval about the pair, as if they had appeared from one of the great caves, to take sole possession of the beach when the sun went down and the waves rode in from the sea.
Ruan stared at the man, the last of the light caught in the deep blue of his eyes. She would have known him anywhere ... here on this remote Cornish beach, with the waves beating at the rocks, he was in his element, unmistakable, a part of the timeless scene.
'So we meet again,' he said, raising his deep voice above the rising tempo of the tide. 'You came, after all, to see my part of the world. What brought you, Ruan Perry? Not any liking for me, I'm sure.'
He smiled as he spoke and cantered his horse towards her, reining in beside her slim, taut figure. He gazed down at her, a look of challenge in his eyes. 'Will you shake hands with me, so I'll know you're not some imp made out of seaweed and spells, put here to startle my horse so he'd maybe throw me to the rocks?'
'You always said strange things, Mr. Talgarth.' She tossed her hair, which was growing damp from the spray in the air. 'I must go back, and you had better ride on, if you don't want to get caught by the tide.'
'Where are you staying?' he demanded.
She didn't want to tell him, but knew he was obstinate enough to keep her here until the water was around her ankles. 'I'm staying here in Pencarne, as holiday companion to the young daughter of a - a friend of mine.'
He gestured towards the cliffs with his whip. 'At one of the cottages?'
'Yes,' she spoke reluctantly. 'Rock Haven Cottage.'
'Ah, that's interesting. And now you'd better run home to . your haven before I have to snatch you away on the back ' of Sable!'
She gave him a wide-eyed look, then ran in the direction of the cliff steps. His laughter followed her, mingling with the sound of the sea as it washed over the shingle to the sand. Halfway up the steps Ruan felt compelled to turn and gaze after the rider and his horse until they were swallowed up far along the sands. So it was in that direction that St. Avrell lay, and there would be no escape from further meetings with Eduard Talgarth.
Her heart beat fast, for what was it Charme had said? 'He wants someone to share his chateau - he might have proposed to you, if you hadn't shown so plainly that you thought him hateful.'
Suddenly she felt afraid. What if there was some truth in her stepsister's remark? What if he meant to pursue her, now he found her again in this remote part of the country? He had been a trader in deep waters, where men thought nothing of pirating pearls. He looked as if it would amuse him to pursue a girl against her will.
She ran on up the steps, as if already she heard his tread behind her. It was crazy to behave in this way, yet she didn't stop running until she reached the cottage and let herself in. She switched on the light and stood with her back against the closed door. She breathed unevenly, and her spray-damp hair clung in russet tendrils to her wind-flushed cheeks. In a while, her breath regained, she gave a scornful little laugh. As if Eduard Talgarth could gain some hold over her if she didn't wish it! This was not the mysterious East, or Victorian England. In this day and age a girl had no need to fear any man!
She was about to go through to the sitting-room when she noticed a covered dish on the kitchen table. She paused to lift the cover and a delicious aroma of cold pickled pilchards whetted her appetite. There was also an apple pasty and a little jug of cream, and a sunflower plucked from the Lovibond garden to let her know who had called and left her a Cornish supper.
'They're dears,' she whispered, and she sat down to enjoy the food, pushing to the back of her mind a dark face lit by a pair of dangerous blue eyes.
Strange that blue eyes could give that impression, as if a flame burned in them!
She went to bed about nine and read for a while by the light of a fat little brass lamp. Her room was charming, with a door connecting it to the bedroom in which Yseult had books and belongings left over from last year's holiday - boxes of shells and curl-edged photographs pinned to a cupboard door, sea-faded shorts, and an old brass bell picked up from the shore, washed there from a boat that had met disaster, perhaps, on a stormy night.
Ruan could hear the sea as she lay alone in the cottage, but she wasn't nervous. Tonight the sea was calm, lapping the shore in a constant rhythm that was like a long-drawn whisper. 'Sleep and dream. Sleep and dream.'
She put out the lamp and settled down drowsily. Tomorrow she would meet her young charge - a rather ancient taxi from the village was picking her up in the morning -and it would cross the moors and take the road to Port Perryn, where the steamer from Brittany would land her passengers, Ruan was eager to meet Yseult, curious to find out if she had her father's kind nature. Hugh Strathern was very kind once a girl grew used to his bluntness, and it gave Ruan a feeling of security to know she could turn to him if anything really frightened her, or worried her.
She closed her eyes in the darkness and listened to the sea ... and though she didn't want to remember that strange encounter on the beach, she found that each detail of it had imposed itself on her mind. She even seemed to smell again the salt tang of the turning tide and the glossy hide of a healthy, well-exercised horse. She saw the iron-dark head of the rider outlined against the fiery glow of the sunset; the strong, sun-weathered face was one she would like to forget... if she could.
His mouth was etched by deep lines, those of authority, and a rather bold laughter. He had never been a man to dream away the hours; he had been active all his life, and he had been amused by much that he had seen. His nose was dominant, his chin deeply clefted ... as if a devil lurked there. His voice held foreign intonations, a heritage of the Breton in him, intensified by years of travel in faraway places. He ran deep, did Eduard Talgarth, like one of those lonely pools on the moors. Like the sea at his door,
and in his blood.
He was born ruthless, or taught by life to be so, and she was resolved to keep out of his way as much as possible. She wasn't going to be pursued like a doe glimpsed in ft thicket, who might accord him the amusement of a chase. She bad no time for someone who thought of women in that way ... she had known the joy of being loved, and as far as she could see there was no tenderness of heart in the man who was so unlike Tarquin.
Tarquin... she murmured his name as she drifted off to sleep.
Ruan shaded her eyes from the sunlit water of the bay as the steamer tied up at the jetty. In a short time her passengers began to come ashore, where passports and papers were checked by men in dark blue uniforms. Luggage began to appear in stacks on the quay, where cars and taxis stood at the ready. '
There on the quay Ruan watched eagerly for a red-haired schoolgirl accompanied by a nun in a starched white wimple and grey gown. Minutes passed as more and more passengers flocked off the steamer, until as the crowd thinned Ruan caught sight of the tall, thin figure of a grey-clad nun. She half-raised her hand, catching sight of Yseult in the same instant that the girl caught sight of her. She was wearing a Panama hat; but Ruan felt sure she must be Yseult. The girl stared at her, wonderingly, then turned and spoke quickly to Sister Grace. They both looked again in Ruan's direction. The girl was now smiling, but there was a frown on the nun's face as she scanned Ruan from head to foot.
Ruan's dress was the colour of a watermelon, the light, short skirt fluttering in die breeze off the sea. Her russet hair was brushed smoothly back to reveal her slender neck. She was slim, standing there, as insubstantial as if she had drifted out of the heather standing high on the cliffs above the harbour.
As soon as Sister Grace came ashore, and the two pass-in ports were checked, she came beaming down on Ruan, a well strapped leather hat-box in one hand, and her charge firmly held in the other one. Her crisp white wimple seemed to add to her height and her dignity, and to reduce Ruan to almost another schoolgirl.
'You are Miss Perry?' she demanded. 'Who is to be chaperone to the young Yseult?'
'Yes, Sister.' Ruan was on the defensive at once. 'I assure you her father, Mr. Strathern, has complete confidence in me.'
'You're very young, not much older than Yseult herself. How will you cope? The two of you alone in a cottage on the moors?'
'The cottage is not on the moors, Sister.' Ruan smiled, but it was not returned. 'Quite close by is the cottage of a fisherman and his mother, two kind people who work for Mr. Strathern.'
'This woman does the cooking?'
'Why, no, I can cook myself.' Ruan was beginning to feel harassed. 'I'm perfectly capable, Sister. Yseult's father would not have given me the job of looking after her if I •were irresponsible.'
'Men are not always good judges of the female character,' said Sister Grace explicitly. 'They are too often carried away by a charming face.'
'I'm hardly a vamp-' Ruan didn't know whether to feel amused or annoyed. Yseult was looking at her with sparkling green eyes; she thought this a game, but Ruan knew that the earnest. Breton teacher was very reluctant to hand over her pupil to someone so youthful. She could have realized, and dressed her person and her hair with more sedateness. But she had thought only to please Yseult, who had written so eagerly to Hugh about the summer holidays.
'You will forgive me if I am concerned.' Sister Grace shot a fond glance at her pupil. 'Yseult has not been very well, and we at the convent school worry about her. I realize that Monsieur Strathern must be a busy man, but all the same-'
'Mr. Strathern must have written to the school, Sister, to let you know that someone a little younger would be taking care of his daughter? You must allow that a man in his position would be unlikely to choose a companion for Yseult whom he could not trust.' Ruan's smile became coaxing. 'I'm a working girl, Sister Grace, and quite soon I shall be twenty. You mustn't hold my look of youth against me.'
"You feel I am being officious?' For the first time Sister Grace smiled. 'Perhaps I take my duties too seriously and expect it of every person I meet. As you say, Monsieur Strathern is an important man and perhaps more used to judging character than other men. Perhaps you are a nurse, Miss Perry?'
'No, my work is concerned with antiques.'
'Though you look so young.' Sister Grace laughed at her own joke and then became serious again. She turned to Yseult and fussed with her Panama hat. 'You will be a good child, eh? You will keep your hat on in the sunshine and not overtire yourself in the turbulent waters of this Cornwall you are so in love with. Now you will promise me-?'
'Dear Sister Grace, don't be stuffy!' Yseult smiled and her rather pale face took on a puckish charm. 'Ruan looks terribly nice to me, and fun, and I just love that father of mine for giving her to me for the holidays.'
'Then it is settled - child, where is your suitcase?'
'Back there among that lot.' Yseult pointed along the quay, to where the luggage had been piled up.
'Then fetch it this instance! You have all your things in it, with the lace.'
'Lace!' Yseult pulled a face as she went off to find her suitcase.
'A dear child, but a trifle obstinate,' said Sister Grace. 'You will be firm with her, Miss Perry? It isn't good for the young to have all their own way, especially these days, when parents seem to be losing all their authority. Yseult is not one of the strongest, you understand, and she so likes to go into the water. You must watch her^ She is subject to bad chest colds.'
'I promised her father that I'd take the very best care of her. He loves her so much, and wants her to have a lovely holiday.' Ruan watched as Yseult returned carrying her suitcase. She had long coltish legs, and it was probably the school uniform that made her look younger than her sixteen years. Her eyes were her father's, and a red-gold plait was escaping from under that ridiculous hat. Ruan decided to buy her a raffish sunhat as soon as Sister Grace departed. The good Sister meant well, but she seemed to lack a sense of fun and humour, to which the young responded with all their instincts.
The three of them made their way off the quayside, and the Sister asked if they were returning right away to the cottage at Pencarne.
'No, I thought we'd have lunch at some quaint place, and have a look round Port Perryn before going home.' Ruan smiled as she spoke, but her tone was firm. She would take good care of Yseult, but she wasn't going to cosset her in cotton wool. Hugh had ordered plenty of fresh air and Cornish cream, and Ruan was going to see that her charge enjoyed plenty of both.
'Will you join us for lunch, Sister?' she asked politely.
Sister Grace replied with regret that she couldn't. She was anxious to get to her sister's bedside. She looked around for a taxi, and it was a relief when the vehicle rolled away with the good woman inside, still holding on firmly to the leather hatbox that contained her clothing, her books and no doubt a few Breton jams and pies for her sister, who was recovering from an operation.
'She's a good soul, but-' Yseult shot an old-fashioned smile at Ruan - 'why are very good people so very earnest?'
'They see only their duty and are a little afraid of having fun, but without them our world would be terribly wicked.' Ruan took Yseult's suitcase and carried it. 'We'll go and eat at a place I noticed called the Camelot.'
'I rather like wicked people,' Yseult grinned, and removed her hat. Her hair was colourful as old Irish gold, and at once her face took on a piquancy the Panama hat had concealed. 'Nice-wicked, if you know what I mean? Bold but not sold to the devil. There are people like that. Sir Lancelot was one of them ... all this part of the country is teeming with legends about King Arthur and his Knights!'
'I take it Sir Lancelot is your favourite?' Ruan smiled.
'You bet! He was so brave and daring, and it's sad that he couldn't enter the Company of the Grail because he loved the queen. He's more human than Galahad, who's a bit of a prig.' Yseult's green eyes were gemlike as they met Ruan's, and she swung her school hat by its ribbon as they walked along. 'How did you meet my father? It was a thrill when he wrote to say that he'd found someone young and rather lovely-to be my summer companion. You are rather lovely, aren't you? Is Pops taken with you? That would be something"! Men get set in their ways without a woman around to keep the atmosphere alive.'
'Really!' Ruan couldn't help laughing. 'Your father operated on a - a friend of mine and saved his life. That's how we met. I needed a job and he suggested that I chaperone you for the summer.'
'Maybe he thought we could chaperone each other,' Yseult suggested, a gleam of devilment in her eyes. 'Pops is awfully nice, isn't he? The rugged sort. I like men who look as if they could take charge of the world - men with authority. I mean to marry one, that is if I can find one who won't mind that I have red hair.'
'It's red-gold, Yseult, and very unusual.'
'The girls at school say I'm ginger. They call me Ginger-bush.'
'I shouldn't mind that, Yseult. The ginger-bush smells heavenly, and your man of authority will want a girl with spirit.'
'You're nice, Ruan. You talk to me as if I were grown up.'
'You're on the way, aren't you ?'
'Urn, but sixteen is such an awkward sort of age, the end of being a tame schoolgirl who can't do her sums right, and the beginning of being curious about everything. I used to read the tales of the Round Table as if they were fables, now I realize that they're love stories.'
"Doesn't it make life more exciting?' Ruan smiled.
Yseult nodded, and then gave a chuckle of delight. 'This is going to be a super holiday. Cousin Val used to make me feel a complete kid. I couldn't paddle without my rubber shoes on, and she had a fit if I went off with Jem in the boat.'
'Well do our best to make it a holiday to remember,' Ruan promised. 'This is my first visit to Cornwall and I'm very impressed by the great cliffs and the wonderful stretches of beach. It's almost a world apart.'
'"Into Bodmin and out of the world,"' quoted Yseult. 'The Cornish people are a race apart, and some of them look as dark and foreign as Latin men. It's an exciting place, Ruan. Anything could happen.'
'I'm sure of it.' Ruan looked about her with pleasure, in Port Perryn, with its maze of cobbled streets, stout little houses of moorland stone, and long harbour wall draped with fishing nets. The music of the place was the mewing of the gulls, and the singing of a fisherman as he caulked his boat. The air was tangy from the wide Atlantic that surged beyond the tideline, a lion of a sea dabbing at the shingle with paws of velvet this morning.
It delighted Yseult to be lunching at the Camelot, with the figure of a mounted knight above the mullioned windows. And she couldn't get over it when Ruan said she could have a shandy while they waited for their lunch. "You are a sport - um, I think I'll have lobster, though shellfish is inclined to make me feel itchy.'
'Have the celery soup, and then the lamb cutlets with sprouts and potatoes,' Ruan suggested.
'Are you having that?'
"Yes, it sounds nice, and you don't want to feel itchy all the afternoon.'
"No - all right, I'll have the same as you.'
Ruan ordered their meal and felt pleased. The girl was very thin, and she had promised Hugh a more robust daughter by the end of the summer.
It was over lunch that Yseult asked the inevitable question. 'Where do you come from? Did you meet my father in London?'
Ruan shook her head, and then taking a deep breath she talked of Avendon and tried not to think of the man who had made it a heavenly place, until he had looked at her with a stranger's eyes and she had fled from every reminder of him. The river and the swans, the lightning-struck theatre, and the bridge by the watermill. Only this far away from him could she talk of those places.
'Are you fond of the theatre?' asked Yseult^ innocently unaware of the stab to Ruan's heart.
'Yes, I've always enjoyed playgoing. Now what shall we have for dessert? You choose, Yseult.'
'Mmm, we'll have something I bet you've never tasted before - thunder and lightning!'
Ruan stared at Yseult and for a moment her eyes were filled with the pain and shock of seeing the Mask Theatre after it had been struck from the skies.
'It isn't that bad,' laughed Yseult. 'Cornish splits with treacle and cream are heavenly - the people hereabouts call them thunder and lightning.'
'Oh, I see,' Ruan forced a smile to her lips, though a shadow lingered in her eyes. 'Yes, I must try everything Cornish.'
The splits were delectable, and in a while Yseult's chatter eased the awakened throb of pain and loss. By the time they left the inn and wandered down a cobbled lane to where tiny, quaint shops were situated, Ruan was feeling less acutely her longing to see Tarquin; to hear him speak her name, to feel him holding her hand.
They came to a shop with beach things displayed, sand shoes and raffia hats among them. 'You must have a sun-hat,' Ruan said. 'How about the raffish one with the green band to match your eyes ?'
'I'm game, if you'll have one as well, Ruan.'
They emerged laughing from the shop, each dad in a high-crowned straw hat. They were bound for the seashore, having left Yseult's suitcase at the inn to be collected when it was time to go home to the cottage. 'I'm glad Sister Grace can't see me, minus my Panama and my blue blazer.' Yseult caught at Ruan's hand and they went running down the slope to the seashore. A man seated on the keel of an upturned boat turned a lazy dark head to watch them, the smoke of a cheroot drifting past the glint of his blue eyes.
As the two girls reached the sand, Yseult suddenly stood stock still and stared at the man on the boat. 'That's a friend of Pops',' she exclaimed. 'I wonder what he's doing in Port Perryn?'
Ruan wondered as well as she recognized that still, strong figure, like a figurehead outlined by the sea and the sunlight.
'He used to sail all over the seven seas,' Yseult whispered excitedly. 'But now he's given it up to settle down with his first love.'
'She must love him to have waited while he sailed all over the place,' said Ruan, slightly puzzled when she remembered the things Charme had said about him.
'I'm not taking about a girl,' Yseult laughed, a young and musical sound that must have carried to the man who sat alone, smoking. 'If he had ever loved a Cornish girl he would have taken her to sea with him - he's that sort, Ruan.'
'Then what are you talking about?' Ruan was intrigued against her will.
'He was to have been a sculptor, and then his father died bankrupt - he was such a gambler that he was a legend in Cornwall - and Eduard Talgarth had to go away to sea to restore the family fortunes. He succeeded! And he bought back the family home, and even some of the scattered treasures, such as old portraits and furniture made from the timber of Armada ships. He's a terribly determined man, and exciting in a way.'
*Exciting?' Ruan murmured, and she was looking at him as he rose to his feet and began to approach Yseult and herself, his strides long and deliberate across the shingle. He wore well-tailored modern slacks and a white sports shirt, but still he gave the impression of another century, another time, with the smouldering quality of the Cornish added to it. The wind stirred his hair and his shirt sleeves, and his eyes glinted in the sunlight.
'They say there's a devil in him,' whispered Yseult. 'There always is, in the Talgarths.'
'It's young Yseult! I met you last year when you came to St. Avrell with your father.' He held out a hand to Yseult, who was blushing madly as she shook hands with him. His smile was a teasing twist of his lip, as if he knew full well that the two girls had been discussing him.
'Hullo, Mr. Talgarth-'
'Didn't we decide that it would be Eduard?'
'Yes, but I thought you might have forgotten.'
'I never forget the people I want to remember.' He turned a deliberate eye on Ruan, who stood there slim and tense in her soft dress blown by the wind, acutely conscious of the gaze of his vivid blue eyes.
'This is my companion,' said Yseult eagerly. 'Ruan Perry.' '
'Miss Perry and I have met already. What, didn't she tell you?' He laughed and looked at Ruan with a mocking light in- his eyes. 'By a strange twist of fate we meet again, and I'm curious to know why she came to Cornwall of all places.'
'Because my father asked her to,' Yseult was looking from one to the other with inquisitive green eyes. 'Ruan had a friend who was very ill, and Pops did the operation. She was so grateful to him that she agreed to look after his erring daughter for the summer.'
'How generous of you, Miss Perry, and how nice for Yseult to have you to herself for the summer.' His eyes looked right into Ruan's and their blue was like a wicked flame dancing around the dark pupils, amid the black lashes. 'Would this friend of yours be known to me? Someone I might have met during my stay at Avendon?'
'I - I believe you met him at my stepsister's masque. I know you saw him when he played in Shakespeare at the Mask Theatre.'
'Ah, the handsome actor!'
*Yes.' Her heart was beating rapidly, and she felt that uprush of antagonism, that longing to hurt this man who seemed to laugh at her, as if she were the most innocent of all the women he had met during his voyages.
'So he fell ill? Dangerously?'
'He was badly hurt when lightning struck the theatre. Mr. Strathern's great skill saved his life.'
'And you came to Cornwall.'
'As you can see, Mr. Talgarth.' Her chin was tilted, and she braved the searching look she was given by this man who had known of her friendship with Tarquin... who had said that stardust in her eyes would be bound to hurt. It was disturbing to think that Eduard Talgarth could read her eyes and know that she had run away because Tarquin no longer loved her.
'Ruan, you are a dark horse,' Yseult broke in. 'You never let on that you knew Mr. Talgarth!'
'It was a passing acquaintance,' he drawled. 'Perhaps Miss Perry had no wish to renew it. All the same, it's nice to see you two girls just as I was feeling a mite lonesome.'
'You looked it.' Yseult smiled at him. "What are you doing here in Port Perryn today of all days, when I arrive home for my holiday? Did Pops write and tell you?'
'No.' His smile was teasing. 'I haven't been in touch with your father.'
'Then you're a sorcerer! They always have blue eyes.'
'And long white beards,' he drawled.
Yseult laughed. 'Everyone says your grandmother had second sight and could foretell the future. She predicted that the chateau would go out of your family for many years.'
'Only because she knew her son and his fondness for the cards.' He quirked a black eyebrow and shot his blue glance at Ruan. 'Have you told Miss Perry about the Talgarth devil, which can only be exorcized from each male member ' of the clan by the love of a true-hearted girl?'
'It's an intriguing story,' Ruan murmured, and her eyes dwelt briefly on his clefted chin. 'But do you believe it, Mr. Talgarth?'
'Having travelled widely and seen quite a few strange things, I'm willing to wonder if it might be wise of the last of the Talgarths to get himself a bride.' He smiled in his bold way. 'A loving bride, that is.'
'I'm sure you won't have any trouble finding one,' said Yseult, her eyes on his broad shoulders and his skin as tanned as oak against his spotless white shirt. 'I wish I'd known you when you were nineteen, when you won the wrestling cup for beating the champion of Penzance.'
'Do you, my gilly?' He looked indulgent. 'Let me see, I could have pushed you out in your baby carriage, but don't know what that would have done to my wrestling reputation.'
'Don't be a tease,' Yseult pleaded. 'I should like to have been about sixteen.'
'I was just setting sail for the Far East, gilly. We'd have waved good-bye for a long, long time.'
'Wouldn't you have taken me with you, if I'd been your girl?'
'I wasn't master of my own ship in those days, Yseult.'
'Do you miss the sea? Is that why you come to Port Perryn to look at the boats ?'
'Yes, clinging to memories as if tomorrow can never be as good as the days we've already lived through, with their happy hours, and their sad ones.'
Ruan looked at him as he spoke, so tall and dark with the blue horizon behind him and the blue sea in his eyes. So keen-sighted, so aware, making her feel defenceless as he met her look and asked her without words that" they please young Yseult by being friends.
'I must get you two to make up.' Yseult turned to Ruan and there in her green eyes was that look of the young that pleads for love and laughter and no more bitter words. 'Be a good sport, Ruan. We won't get invited to the chateau if you don't shake hands with Eduard and forget whatever silly tiff you've had. The chateau's so strange and marvellous, here in Cornwall.'
'Is it?' Ruan murmured, and on impulse she held out her hand to Eduard Talgarth and braced herself for the touch of those lean fingers that could take stone, silver, or iron, and shape it to his will.
His fingers took hold of hers and it was a tiny shock, the curious gentleness of his touch, as if her hand were a bird. His eyes dwelt on her blue scarab ring. 'That looks like the real thing,' he said. 'Is it inscribed? They sometimes are, in tiny script under the jewelled wings.'
'There are some words,' she admitted, the warmth of his fingers still about hers, 'but I can't make them out.'
'May I try?'
She hesitated, and then catching Yseult's eager look she drew off the ring and handed it to Eduard, who held it to the sun and studied it for several minutes.
'Yes, the script is in Arabic,' he said finally. 'I can't translate the words for you, but the ring is a talisman to guard you against misfortune.'
She looked at him quickly and wondered if he had guessed who had given her the ring. Its possession had not been lucky for her, though she treasured it for the memories it brought.
'May I try it on, Ruan?' Yseult coaxed. 'It's so unusual.'
'No.' Eduard shook his head and reached for Ruan's right hand. He replaced the ring on her middle finger. 'The scarab is like a marriage ring, it might lose its magic if someone else wears it. I have a ring at the chateau which I'll give you, my gilly, when you both come to dine there with me.'
'What sort of ring?' Yseult looked enchanted by the idea of receiving such a gift from him.
'A princess ring, as worn by the lovely Thai dancers when they perform their ritual dances in the temple courtyards.'
'I shall love it.' Yseult hugged Ruan around the waist, as if too smitten by sudden shyness to hug the man who looked at her with lazily amused eyes... blue as Ruan's scarab.
'Have you travelled all over the world?' she asked eagerly. 'Even as far ay the Himalayas?'
'Yes, I've visited the mystic temples which perch among the hills of Katmandu, where the bells ring as if made of silver ice. I've seen golden domes burning in the sun, have lived in a teahouse on a bamboo bridge, slept on a couch of Sumatran tiger pelts, and enjoyed the friendship of an old prince of Manchuria.' He smiled and his nostrils tensed as he breathed the tangy Cornish air, whipped to the shore by the wind. 'Now I've come home to St. Avrell - the last of the Talgarths.'
'You are lucky to be a man and able to do just what you like,' said Yseult.
'Not entirely what I like.' He smiled quizzically. 'Now what are your plans for the afternoon? A laze in the sun, then a cream tea, and home to Rock Haven?'
'You are a wizard!' laughed Yseult. 'You must have learned on your travels how to read minds.'
'Perhaps.' His eyes met Ruan's. 'Shall I read yours?'
She smiled a little. 'I'll read yours, Mr. Talgarth. You're at a loose end and wouldn't mind spending the afternoon with us. I'm sure Yseult will be delighted.'
'Can't I delight you ?' he drawled.
'Being a mind-reader you should know the answer to that,' she said tartly. She turned away from him, biting the smile on her lips. Did he imagine she wanted his company as much as Yseult wanted it?
They lay on the sun-warmed sand, near where the water rippled over the pebbles, and the drowsy deeps of Eduard's voice came in waves to Ruan. She had tilted her straw hat over her eyes and left him to amuse Yseult with his stories, for like all travellers he seemed to have a store of them, and he possessed also a charm for the younger girl that put Ruan on the defensive. Because he had known about Tarquin he made her remember the things she had run away to forget
03-12-07, 06:14 PM
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