Invitation To A Cornish Christmas. Marguerite Kaye

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СКАЧАТЬ only that I’m thirty-six years old. Of course there have been women. But I’ve never been a man to make any sort of false promises, Emily. That’s what I meant. And now it sounds as if I’m propositioning you, which I’m not. I’m simply—I want us to be honest with each other, that’s all.’

      A very refreshing change indeed, if he meant it. All her instincts told her that he did, but her instincts had been catastrophically wrong before. Yet she did feel she could trust him. Was it then dishonest of her to keep her past to herself? No, she decided. All Treeve wanted was her honest opinions, and those she could give freely.

      ‘I honestly think we should turn back,’ Emily said teasingly. ‘Before we’re trapped by the rising tide.’

      ‘I’ve said too much again, haven’t I?’ Treeve said, making no move, pushing his hair, damp from the salt spray, back from his brow.

      ‘We’ve only just met. You are only here until the end of the year.’ She considered this. ‘Though I suppose that is an argument for us to skip the conventional niceties.’

      ‘I think we’ve already done that,’ he replied, indicating their bare feet.

      ‘Very true.’

      They set off back through the lapping waves. The next time their hands brushed, their eyes met, and their fingers clasped. His hand was warm against her icy skin. The sun was bright now, making the sea glitter. Emily’s blood tingled and fizzed in her veins. Any other day she would put it down to the exhilaration of walking on an unspoilt beach in fine weather. Today, it was a whole combination of things: this particular beach; this particular sun; this particular man.

      ‘I’m a silversmith,’ she said, wanting to surprise him, to give him the gift of an unsought confidence, wanting to trust him with it.

      Treeve looked suitably startled. ‘A silversmith?’

      ‘That’s how I earn my living.’

      ‘How extraordinary. You don’t look like a silversmith.’

      ‘What do you imagine a silversmith looks like?’

      ‘A wizened old man wearing spectacles, hunched over a workbench. How on earth did you learn such a trade? Doesn’t it require some sort of apprenticeship?’

      ‘My father was a silversmith of some repute. I lost him six years ago.’

      ‘By the sounds of it, you were very close.’

      ‘Very.’ Emily blinked furiously. ‘I worked with him from an early age, and through a friend of his, also learned the basics of jewellery making—the two are very distinct trades, usually. I combine them. My father made much bigger pieces on a grander scale than I could produce here. My work is not so profitable, but luckily for me, I’ve discovered that I’m most adept at cutting my cloth to suit my purse.’

      ‘By moving to a tiny cottage at the ends of the earth,’ Treeve said. ‘Though you only arrived here in April.’

      He wanted honesty. How to explain that honestly? Emily wondered. ‘London is expensive and I also desperately wanted—needed a change. My resources have been dwindling.’ Which was most certainly true. ‘Though I am quite self-sufficient,’ she added. ‘You must not feel sorry for me.’

      ‘I don’t,’ Treeve said, clearly confused by the challenge in her voice.

      ‘Good. I won’t be pitied, you know.’

      ‘I can’t imagine why you think I would do such a thing. If anything, I envy you your independence.’

      She bit her lip. ‘It has been hard earned, believe me.’

      He eyed her for a moment, struggling, she thought, with whether or not to pursue the subject, whether to ask her the obvious question. ‘All the best things are hard earned,’ he said eventually, a platitude for which she was grateful.

      ‘True. I like to be busy, though the short days at this time of year are problematic. My work requires daylight.’

      ‘Is that a hint that I’m holding you back?’

      ‘No, though I ought to get back to my workbench soon.’

      ‘May I have the privilege of seeing some of your work?’

      ‘You are very welcome to call, though I think you will find that your time is not your own, once it becomes known that you have arrived. Everyone will want to meet you, and you will wish to make yourself familiar enough with your new domain to be able to decide whether or not to entrust it to Mr Bligh.’

      ‘True, but I think you in turn underestimate my determination to become better acquainted with you. Assuming, of course, that you have a similar wish?’

      This time there was no mistaking the glow in his eyes. Emily’s cheeks heated. ‘I think I’ve made it plain that I do.’

      They were back where they started on the sands. The tide had all but swallowed The Beasts. The surf was getting higher and the clouds lower. Treeve rescued his shoes and stockings from an incoming wave, and they headed up the beach to the foot of the cliff path, Treeve turning his back without being asked as Emily picked up her own shoes and stockings.

      ‘Why is it,’ she said when she had finished, ‘that damp sand on bare feet feels so delightful, yet damp sand in wet wool is so unpleasant?’

      He laughed. ‘Perhaps every pleasure comes at a price.’

      Now, what was one to make of that remark? He led the way up the path. She allowed herself to enjoy the view of him from behind, the athletic ease with which he negotiated the steep path, and the smile he gave her every time he turned around to check that he had not gone too far ahead.

      When they reached the top, Emily was more breathless than she should be. ‘Are you headed to the village? There’s a path…’

      ‘I know,’ Treeve said.

      ‘Of course you do!’

      ‘Actually, I’m headed back to Karrek House. An appointment with my brother’s lawyer. Or I should say mine, now. I am not looking forward to it, but there’s no point in putting it off. The sooner I understand the extent of my obligations, the better. I’ve very much enjoyed our walk.’

      ‘As have I. I walk on the sands most mornings. If you feel like company. I mean, you don’t have to join me.’

      ‘I’d like that, Emily.’ He caught her hand, covering it with his own. ‘I would very much like to say that I’ll see you tomorrow, but I think you may be right, in the very short term at least. My time is not likely to be my own. Shall we say soon?’

      ‘Soon.’ Their fingers twined. ‘I should go.’

      He nodded. He stepped towards her. She thought he was going to kiss her. He would taste of salt. His hands tightened around hers. Then he let her go.

      ‘Whatever happens with the rest of the day, it has begun very well. Until the next time, Emily.’

      ‘Until the next time.’

      She СКАЧАТЬ