Хилари Боннер - A Deep Deceit

I gazed out to sea, blinking against that last brilliant fire of the sun. The light in St Ives is almost always special, which is why artists still flock there, but that day it somehow seemed more spectacular than ever.

Switching my gaze briefly inland, I saw Fenella Austen disappear into the narrow streets of the town, no doubt to pester somebody else.

‘Let’s forget the b-bloody woman,’ said Carl.

‘Too right,’ I replied. ‘Stand still.’

I used his shoulder to lean against as I removed my shoes and socks, something I almost always did on the beach unless the weather was really bitterly cold. I loved the feel of the coarse damp sand against my bare feet. I dug my heels in and curled up my toes.

Carl grinned at me. ‘Come along, Robinson,’ he said and he grasped my hand and led me along the beach at a trot.

Laughing together, the way we did so much of the time, we eventually slowed to a walk and spent several dreamy minutes enjoying the sunset and looking at the boats before we decided to double back and have that drink as intended in the Sloop.

A few days later, right out of the blue, Mariette invited me to her house for what she described as a ‘girls’ night in’. ‘A good gossip and a few drinks,’ she said. ‘Bring a bottle.’

I was quite excited. In spite of everything it seemed that I was beginning to exist as an individual. It felt as if I were being invited into some kind of inner circle.

Carl seemed pleased for me too, although, as we were meeting well after dark at 7 p.m., he insisted that he walk me to Mariette’s house and pick me up later, and he cautioned me to take care when he left me at the door of her cottage at the top end of Fore Street, just a few minutes walk from the library.

‘Don’t be silly.’ I smiled at him and he had the grace to look a bit sheepish before grinning back at me.

Mariette still lived with her mother. The first surprise came in the narrow hallway of their cottage, two-bedroomed, I knew, but not an awful lot bigger than ours, which was so cluttered you could hardly make your way through. The walls were lined on either side with shelves packed with brassware. Loads of the stuff.

‘Front door was open one day and a party of tourists just walked straight in; they thought the place was a shop,’ murmured Mariette smilingly. ‘You ain’t seen nothing yet,’ she continued as she led the way into the small lace-curtained front room.

More pieces of brass were everywhere, horse brasses, brass weights, plates, jugs, candlesticks and a vast assortment of ornaments ranging from a Madonna and Child to a range of animals including cats, dogs, pigs and rabbits.

‘She’s got about 4000 pieces,’ said Mariette, gesturing me to a chintz-covered armchair. ‘Cleans ’em in rotation and it takes her an hour and a half every day.’

‘Amazing,’ I said. It was the best I could come up with.

‘Now you know the Cornish are barking,’ Mariette giggled.

I did not meet Mrs Brenda Powell that evening. Apparently the deal was that she steered clear of her daughter’s girls’ nights, even though it was Mrs Powell, apparently, who had diligently supplied sandwiches, cheese and biscuits, and homemade cake for the occasion. Mariette appeared to have her mother, whom I knew to be a widow, pretty well trained it seemed to me. Certainly being installed in her own front room – with, I was told, Mrs Powell busily cleaning brass in the kitchen next door – did not cramp Mariette’s usual style, nor that of her three friends, none of whom I had met before, which made me quite nervous. The gossip was as raunchy as I had begun to become accustomed to – only this time there were five young women swapping stories of their sexual adventures. Well, four, actually. I had very little to say, although I found that I thoroughly enjoyed listening to the tales of their exploits.

‘Suzanne’s all right, adored by a man who will do anything to make her happy.’ Mariette put a hugely suggestive emphasis on the word ‘anything’. I tried not to look embarrassed.

‘He’s coming to get you, I’ll bet,’ she added.

Hesitantly I agreed that he was.

‘Good, we’ll all get a chance to have a look,’ she said. I had yet to introduce Carl to her.

‘No, he told me he’d wait outside,’ I replied innocently.

‘Really,’ remarked Mariette, and glanced at her watch. It was about ten minutes before the time I had agreed to meet him.

‘And no doubt he’s there already. He doesn’t take chances with our Suze!’

The entire group then crowded around the bay window and began to peek through the net curtains in order to get a glimpse of Carl as he waited for me in the street.

‘Is that him?’ cried Mariette. I peered around her and was just in time to see the back of a male figure disappearing round the corner. At that moment Carl appeared from the other direction and propped himself against the street lamp outside.

‘No, that’s him, there,’ I said somewhat unnecessarily.

‘Oh, doesn’t he look nice,’ said Mariette in a rather soppy voice. ‘God, I’m jealous.’

I manoeuvred myself so that I too could get a good view of him. He did look nice. That was the only word for Carl really, that and kind. He was not startlingly handsome, or startlingly anything for that matter, just nice, kind, solid, reliable and funny. And I did love him so.

‘Invite him in, go on, just for a moment, oh, go on.’

The entire throng encouraged me. I stepped briskly outside into the cool night air and, quite out of character, asked Carl if he would come in and meet the girls. Even the words sounded strange as I spoke them.

Carl looked terrified. His stammer made an appearance again. ‘I d-don’t think so, Suzanne, p-p-please, I’d rather not...’

He could not escape, though. Mariette and her friends were apparently not prepared to wait indoors for long. When I did not return swiftly with Carl alongside, all four of them followed me out into the street, surrounded Carl and insisted on being introduced. He blushed, his already ruddy face turning absolutely crimson, and I found it as endearing as I had that very first time in Richmond Park.

‘He really is very very nice,’ whispered Mariette in my ear as we finally said our farewells.

Carl hurried me up the hill. I think he was sweating. ‘Good G-God, Suzanne, I felt like a prize bull,’ he said.

‘You are a prize bull, my love,’ I replied.

He laughed, albeit a little uncertainly.

‘Mariette says she’s jealous,’ I went on. ‘I reckon it’s because she thinks you’ll do anything for me.’

I put a suggestive emphasis on the word ‘anything’ in just the way Mariette had done.

Carl looked slightly aghast. ‘Did she say that too?’

I nodded.

‘Do women really talk like that about men?’

I chuckled. He didn’t know the half of it. ‘Apparently,’ I said.

‘Just don’t ever throw me to the w-wolves again, that’s all,’ he admonished, still with just a hint of nervous stammer. But he was smiling when he said it.

Those truly were a happy few months. Nothing at all happened to cause Carl or I any anxiety. The van incident became ancient history. I really did get a taste of the normality I craved.

Mariette had alternate Saturdays off from the library and one weekend she persuaded me to go on a shopping expedition to Penzance with her. Actually, I didn’t take much persuading, but I wasn’t sure what Carl would make of it. I knew he was anxious about my friendship with Mariette, even though he passed little comment, so I didn’t tell him about the trip until the night before Mariette and I were due to take the little train from the station just by Porthminster Beach.