T Williams - What Happens In Cornwall...

Sam grinned back at her. ‘I don’t think that’ll be necessary, thanks. Now, where do you think I can buy a card in a little place like this on a Sunday morning?’

Becky reached into her bag. ‘Here, I bought these yesterday afternoon while you were being fished out of the sea. There’s only the little shop down by the bus stop, but I bet it’s closed today.’ She slid a paper bag across the table. ‘As you can see, I haven’t got round to writing any of them yet. Take whichever you like.’

‘That’s brilliant. Thanks, Becs.’ Sam flicked through the cards and chose one with a photo of ducks flying across the sunset. She pulled out a pen and started writing. As she was composing her message, another thought occurred to her. ‘How in the hell do I get the card to them? Do I just address it to “The Occupier, Rock Island”?’

‘What about the boatman? He must come across to the mainland from time to time to pick up supplies. In fact, I bet he picks up the mail.’

Sam looked up. ‘That’s an idea. Keep your eyes peeled. You can’t miss the boat. It’s a gorgeous polished wooden launch, like the one in Some Like it Hot. ’ They had recently watched the classic black and white movie so Becky was familiar with the vessel.

‘Sort of like that one out there?’ Sam’s eyes followed Becky’s pointing finger. Sure enough, the launch was just visible, nosing out of the little harbour on the island, headed for the jetty at Tregossick.

‘That’s it all right. Keep your eyes on it and let me know when he’s getting near land.’ Sam returned to her writing, occasionally looking up to check the progress of the launch. She managed to finish the message and scribble her name before the boat reached the jetty. She added her address and phone number and sealed the envelope. ‘Becs, will you settle up for breakfast and I’ll pay you back?’ Becky nodded and waved her away. Sam picked up her jacket and made a run for the jetty, arriving just as the launch got there.

‘Hello, good morning. Remember me?’ Sam looked down into the boat and saw that there was only the boatman in there.

‘I certainly do, Miss. And I’m delighted to see you fit and well after your adventures yesterday.’ With an experienced hand, he looped a mooring rope around a bollard and tied it off. After securing a second rope, he climbed onto the quayside. ‘I’ll tell everybody on the island the good news that you’re all right again.’

Samantha held out the card. ‘Please could you give this to the lady. It’s just a thank you note.’

He took it from her and smiled. ‘Of course I will. Now, you take it easy, you hear?’

That evening, after a far less exciting day than the previous one, Sam and Becky returned to the pub with the rest of their party of girls. In spite of the traditional surroundings, the place offered a surprisingly varied menu. Sam reflected that the days of Cornish pubs only selling Cornish pasties were long gone. Apart from anything else, the pasties here came with a choice of filling, not just the classic potato, onion, swede and mince. On the Smugglers Arms menu there were smoked fish and scallop pasties, and even vegetarian gluten free pasties. Times had definitely changed. And, apart from pasties, there was everything from tagliatelle alla carbonara to a selection of curries. Curry reminded her briefly of Neil, but the thought didn’t last long. After her dice with death the previous day, relationship problems seemed so much less important.

It was around eight o’clock and they were just finishing two monster portions of cod and chips when Sam’s phone rang. She checked the caller ID, but didn’t recognise it. The group of men who had been circling around their group the previous night had now doubled in size, and the noise of the chatter all around was deafening. Sam took the phone outside.

‘Yes, hello.’

‘Samantha?’ It was a woman’s voice.

‘Yes. Who’s that?’ Something in the woman’s voice was familiar.

‘It’s Ann, from the island.’ There was a slight pause. ‘We met yesterday.’

‘Oh, yes, of course. Thanks a lot for calling. I hope you got my note. I really don’t know how to begin to thank you for what you did.’

‘Yes, thanks. Ronnie gave me your card. That was very sweet of you. That’s what I’m ringing about. Are you still in Tregossick, or have you returned home?’

‘I’m still here. We go home tomorrow. In fact I’ve been in the pub having fish and chips. Would you like to come and join us? It would be lovely to see you again and the least I can do is buy you a few drinks.’

There was a pause before the woman, Ann, answered. The regret in her tone was clear. ‘I would really love to, Samantha, but I can’t.’ She didn’t go on to offer an explanation, but Sam had already worked out that she valued her privacy and anonymity above all else. ‘Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for the offer of the archaeological survey. That sounds really fantastic, but it just isn’t feasible at present. But I’ll keep your contact details and I promise to be in touch if I ever decide to go for it.’

Sam thanked her once more for her kindness the previous day and they both hung up. On impulse, she saved the phone number under the name ‘Ann Island’. As she walked back into the crowded pub, Sam found herself wondering just who Ann was and whether she lived all alone over there.

Chapter 5

‘England, Giancarlo, that’s where we’re going.’

‘But, I thought they said New England.’ His tone was that of a petulant teenager. His pouting expression supported the illusion, although he would be twenty-four that October. ‘I like the States. I want to live in the States. I don’t want to go to England. It’s cold and wet and the people are arrogant and horrible.’

Beppe grunted sympathetically. ‘I know, I know. That’s what I told them, but what can you do? The boss says go to England, so we go to England.’

‘But I don’t want to.’ Giancarlo hammered his fist down on the tabletop. It landed with a heavy thud that drew the attention of the other customers around them. In so doing, his knuckles caught the teaspoon lying beside his cup and sent it spinning across the terrace. The thwack as it caught the elbow of the matronly Dutch lady on the end table drew even more attention, as did her squeal of protest. Beppe screwed up his face in silent rage.

‘Giancarlo, would you please stop behaving like a little child. We’ve had our orders and that’s that.’ He waved apologetically at the Dutch lady who was huffing and puffing indignantly. ‘Now, I want you to book the tickets and rent us a car. Can you do that? There are flights from Fiumicino to a place called Bristol. That should only be a few hours’ drive from the island. Book us on a flight before the end of the month. I want to be settled in there when the target gets there, if she isn’t already there.’

Giancarlo sipped his espresso and nodded. ‘Yes, I can do that, if I must.’ He was still fuming. ‘I’m still going to speak to my dad about this.’

‘You do that, sunshine. You won’t get far, I can tell you.’ Beppe drained his glass of wine and beckoned to the waitress. She came over, but Beppe saw that her attention was on the boy, not him. His eyes followed hers across the table towards Giancarlo. ‘You want another coffee? No? OK,’ He looked up. ‘Just another glass of red.’

Giancarlo watched the waitress walk away, an expression of aesthetic appreciation on his face. He turned back to Beppe. ‘So what’s so special about this island? Rock Island?’

Beppe went on to tell him about the target. Giancarlo’s eyes widened as he heard the name of Ann Cartwright. ‘Now there’s one exceptionally beautiful woman.’