Another Life: Escape to Cornwall with this gripping, emotional, page-turning read. Sara MacDonald
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу Another Life: Escape to Cornwall with this gripping, emotional, page-turning read - Sara MacDonald страница 17
Название: Another Life: Escape to Cornwall with this gripping, emotional, page-turning read
Автор: Sara MacDonald
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
isbn: 9780007388028
isbn:
‘Do I really sound like Dad?’ he asked Nell, leaning against the Aga and pulling a hand through his hair irritably.
‘Sometimes you do.’ Nell took the heavy kettle off the Aga and poured water into two mugs. ‘Your language is worse, you get angry rather than depressed, and your bad temper blows over more quickly than your father’s black moods.’
Charlie took his mug of coffee from her and asked suddenly, surprising himself as well as Nell, ‘Were you happy with Dad, Nell?’
Startled, for this was so unlike Charlie, Nell was momentarily lost for the right words. Eventually she said slowly, ‘I don’t think I had the time to even think about it. We had a busy life together and I believe I was perfectly content. We both loved the farm and had the same goals …’
Nell added, because she knew it was what Charlie wanted to hear, ‘Your father and I understood each other very well. We had a whole life together.’
Charlie grinned and drained his mug. ‘Good. I’m off. I won’t be back for lunch, I’ll grab a pasty as I go through the village. See you later. When is Gabby back?’
‘Not till this evening.’
‘Why does she need all day to look at figureheads?’
‘Peter Fletcher couldn’t go, and he asked Gabby if she wouldn’t mind going with Mark Hannah, the Canadian, to see the figureheads and to show him around Tresco. It would be a waste of money to just go out there and come back on the next helicopter, don’t you think? She did tell you, Charlie, you don’t listen.’
‘Probably not,’ he said proudly and went out of the door.
Nell, irritated, thought, he sounds just like his father sometimes, too. It was a glorious morning and she hoped Gabby was enjoying every minute of a day’s escape.
It was odd. Gabby was such a small, unobtrusive person. Often they would not see each other all day, yet when she was away from the farm Nell felt the lack of her presence in her small workroom, missed glimpses of her flitting around the farm, somehow always registered the weight of her absence.
She thought about her duplicity in answering Charlie’s question. Of course she had had time to think about her happiness with Ted. Too much time. Working with your hands freed your mind to fly to places better not visited, but that did not mean she had wasted her life in wanting to change what she could not. The one thing she did envy about Ted back then, and Charlie now, was their ability to accept as truth anything she said with quiet conviction. It was something she had perfected over the years, for in the moment of saying it she too believed the power of her own unambiguity.
She picked up a bowl and went back outside to check the chicken houses and surrounding area for eggs. She found six perfect speckled-brown eggs in the long grass by the hedge. Looking up at the cloudless sky, listening to the roar of the sea in the distance, Nell smiled, thinking again of the small simple pleasures that sustain, that never change and count as happiness.
‘Actually, it’s Gabrielle, not Gabriella,’ Gabby said, as they sat outside on a wooden bench drinking coffee and eating biscuits.
‘I know,’ Mark said. ‘I know it is. But I like the sound of Gabriella, it rolls off my tongue. Gabrielle, Gabriella – the name reminds me of Pre-Raphaelites floating down rivers in gossamer dresses.’
‘Like the Lady of Shallot!’
‘Yep. That’s it!’ They smiled at one another.
‘This is heaven,’ Mark said. ‘Have we time to explore the whole island?’
‘Tresco isn’t very big and we have the rest of the day.’ Gabby was amused.
‘Maybe we could gather a picnic together. Is there a shop?’
‘There’s one shop on the other side of the island. It isn’t exactly a supermarket and there is a pub right next door to it if you felt like a drink or somewhere to have lunch.’
‘I thought it might be fun to walk, if you’re happy to, then we can stop when we feel like it. I’d like to leave time to have a last look at Valhalla before we catch the helicopter back.’
‘We’ll do that, then.’
They circled the walls of the castle and walked along the tree-lined road past fields, birdwatchers’ huts and timeshare cottages to the other end of the island. In the shop they bought filled rolls, crisps, a bottle of wine, chocolate and two apples. Mark stowed them away in his small backpack. They turned and walked along the coastal path for a while and then stopped at a small white sandy beach. Gabby kicked her sandals off; the sand was already warm under her feet, the sea a shade of violet.
Mark Hannah removed his socks and shoes and rolled his trousers up and they walked along the edge of the sea. He asked her about the other islands: St Agnes, St Martin’s, Bryher and St Mary’s. Gabby explained that each island was entirely different and unique in its own way.
‘Each summer all the islands become full to bursting. Accommodation is at a premium, even the campsite on St Agnes gets overbooked. People book a year in advance and then boat-hop between the islands. There are also trips out to visit the seal colonies, the pre-historic sites and to Samson, which is unpopulated now.’
Mark sighed. ‘How I wish I’d booked a week on one of the islands before the hotel in Truro instead of visiting a colleague’s family.’
‘Maybe you’ll have another opportunity?’
‘Not this trip. I have to get back to London to see my publisher, but I’m stopping off in Exeter and hiring a car to do a couple of days’ research and to visit an old aunt. I wouldn’t have minded wasting a week in St Mawes if it had been fun, but the couple I stayed with kept having these God-awful dinner parties and I was trundled out like a decaying trophy.’
Gabby laughed, although she felt sympathetic. ‘It’s because people down here love having anyone of note to show off to their friends. It’s a good thing you weren’t visiting at Christmas, you’d have been swallowed whole.’
They stood for a moment watching the sea. In the distance a small boat packed with holidaymakers chugged its way past to the small jetty behind them. The water at their feet was crystal clear and tiny fish darted between their legs.
‘Whenever I’ve come before it’s been on The Scillonian. It only takes a couple of hours, but it always seems more exciting somehow than the helicopter. You can pretend on a short sea voyage that you are making a journey to a foreign place. You can’t do that in a twenty-minute helicopter ride.’
‘Do you often come over here?’ Mark asked.
‘Not really, considering we’re so near. We used to come every few years when my son was small. Getting in and out of boats and running wild and exploring are a child’s idea of heaven.’
Mark СКАЧАТЬ