What Happens In Cornwall...

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Well, it’s not Schnitzel the dachshund, that’s for sure, Beppe thought to himself as he watched the door continue to vibrate ominously.

A few seconds later they heard footsteps. There was a sharp command from within and the barking ceased. The door opened inwards a few inches and two faces peered out through the crack, one above and one below the security chain. The lower of the two was a hostile, hairy beast showing a lot of teeth. The one further up had noticeably less hair and fewer teeth. Nevertheless, it looked scarcely less hostile.

‘Yes?’

Beppe gave Giancarlo a nudge.

‘Good evening, Madam. We are just arrived from Italy. We have a reservation for two rooms.’

There was a pause for thought from the inside of the door. Then, abruptly, it slammed shut. There was a sinister rattling of chains before it reopened to reveal an elderly lady of generous proportions and a huge mongrel dog. Although the dog’s greying fur testified to its considerable age, its hackles were standing on end and its teeth were bared. His female companion looked more welcoming now, if you could ignore the teeth on the dog.

‘You must be Mr Peruzzi and Mr Scogna… Scognamill..?’

Beppe put her out of her misery. ‘Scognamiglio.’ He extended his hand. The dog’s growl deepened with menace, but Beppe gritted his teeth and waited for one of the two to grasp it. Fortunately for him, it was the woman who got to it first.

‘I’m Mrs Pendennis. Welcome to Island View. Doris, be quiet!’ The dog sat back on its haunches and stopped growling. The menace in its eyes, however, remained ever-present. ‘I expect you’d like to see your rooms. Do come in, now, won’t you?’

She stepped aside, firmly grasping the dog’s collar as the two men squeezed past her into the hall. Beppe’s stomach only just made it. ‘Straight on down the corridor. The rooms are through the glass door. You’ve got rooms one and two. The others are empty tonight.’

They followed her instructions and found themselves in an unexpectedly large extension that jutted out of the back of the bungalow. There was a lounge with a television and five bedrooms. Beppe opened one of the doors with trepidation, but was relieved to find a solid-looking bed and a modern en suite bathroom. It all looked very clean. He went back out to check on how Giancarlo was doing.

‘My room’s fine. How’s yours?’ The boy had to admit, grudgingly, that his room was not as bad as he had feared. Beppe took that as a seal of approval. ‘Good. Now, you’re the linguist. Ask her where we can get a meal tonight.’

‘Excuse me, Madam. Is there a restaurant near here?’ Mrs Pendennis had abandoned the dog elsewhere in the house and had followed them in. A sullen growling and occasional barking could still be heard in the distance. The old lady sat down at the table in the lounge and indicated that they should join her.

‘There’s the Smugglers Arms down in the village. That’s only a few minutes’ drive. If you want more choice, you have to go to one of the bigger towns, like Polwenton. You’ll find details of what’s available in the area in the brochures in the rack.’ Sure enough, a well-stocked selection of local information was on display on the sideboard. ‘Now, will you be wanting the full English breakfast tomorrow?’

Giancarlo rarely had more than a cappuccino for breakfast and he had no idea what Beppe might want, but he said yes anyway. The lady gave him an approving look. ‘Very good. So many folk go for the low fat option these days. It’s good to find people with an appetite.’ She looked across at Beppe, clearly approving of his expansive waistline. ‘Now, what time would you like your breakfast?’

‘What did she say?’ Beppe had been studying a series of photographs on the wall. They were of Rock Island in the thick of a terrible storm. The waves were crashing halfway up the cliff face and spray almost obscured the old abbey from sight. Once again he found himself thinking about the difficulty they were likely to face getting over to the island.

‘What time for breakfast?’

‘I don’t know. Say, eight o’clock.’ Giancarlo relayed the message and Mrs Pendennis nodded. ‘Did she say we can eat somewhere round here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fine.’ He hesitated and then, as the old lady was still sitting there, he added. ‘You could ask her if there is somewhere round here where we can rent a boat.’

‘A boat?’ Giancarlo followed Beppe’s eyes to the photographs. ‘Of course, the island.’ He translated the question.

Mrs Pendennis knew the answer immediately. He relayed it back to Beppe. ‘She says there’s a place down by the harbour. They’ve got everything from canoes and jet skis to deep sea fishing boats.’

‘Excellent.’ Beppe glanced at his watch. ‘Nine o’clock Italian time. That means it’s eight o’clock here. Either way, it’s time for dinner. Let’s head for the restaurant.’ A sudden thought struck him. ‘How do we get back in without being eaten by that bloody dog?’

Mrs Pendennis had already anticipated the question. ‘Here you are.’ She laid two sets of keys on the table. ‘One for each room and a key to the back doors.’ She pointed to the French windows. ‘You can come and go quite independently through here. That way you won’t bother poor old Doris. She doesn’t like being disturbed when she’s sleeping.’

Giancarlo translated her instructions. Beppe heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Thanks be to God for that. I hate big dogs. The idea of letting myself in the front door and being confronted by that evil old beast would have put me off my food.’

‘Nothing puts you off your food, Beppe.’ Giancarlo knew him so well already.

Chapter 9 (#ulink_cc132742-ef9f-5cc2-aade-a3ef117955f0)

‘You’re not looking your normal sunny self this morning, Virginia.’ Samantha dropped her bag on her desk and came across to her head of department. She wasn’t feeling very sunny either, after a weekend of rows and raised voices with Neil. As usual, the archaeology lab smelt of decay. Virginia also looked pretty rotten this morning. ‘Something wrong?’

Virginia Greenway handed her a sheet of paper. At first, Sam couldn’t make head or tail of it. The letterhead belonged to a firm of solicitors in Zurich, Switzerland. As she started to read down through, Virginia supplied a précis.

‘No way we’re going to be allowed onto Rock Island.’

Samantha scanned the letter, noting the reference to our clients, whose identity we are not at liberty to reveal. The last words of the final paragraph were unequivocal: We are therefore unable to grant access to the Abbey of Saint Bernard or any part of Rock Island. Unsurprised, she sighed and looked up.

‘Bugger.’

‘Bugger, indeed.’ Virginia was glowering. She reached out and took the letter back from Sam and threw it onto her desk. ‘Bloody Swiss. Who do they think they are?’

Samantha decided to leave her alone to vent her spleen and returned to her own desk. As she did so, the door opened and Becky came in. Seeing the look on Virginia’s face, she flicked a glance across to Sam. ‘Trubble at t’mill?’

Sam gave a brief explanation. Becky looked disappointed. ‘What a shame! I was checking it out the other day. It really does look like the most amazing place. It must be heaving with millionaires. And, coincidentally, here’s me on the lookout for a millionaire.’

‘Still no sign of Chris Martin or any other rock star?’

Becky shook her head despondently. ‘Not many of those around the university. And what about you? Any improvement on the home front?’

Samantha shook her head sadly. ‘The opposite, I’m afraid.’ Rather than get drawn into a post mortem of her awful weekend, she decided that mugs of tea were in order, so she headed for the electric kettle. She caught Virginia’s eye and raised a mug in the air, receiving a distracted nod in response. She made the tea and distributed the mugs, returning to sit down beside Becky again. She glanced across at her. ‘So, if there aren’t any rock stars, any other men on the horizon?’

At that moment, the door opened and Ryan came in.

‘Hi, Ryan, how was your holiday?’ Once again, Samantha reflected that he would make an ideal boyfriend for Becky, but for some reason, she never seemed to respond to his advances. He was a tall boy, a few years younger than Sam, closer to Becky’s age. He had red hair and the sort of pale skin with freckles that seems to cry out for factor fifty sun block. Still, he was quite good-looking and he was clearly infatuated with Becky. He waved to Virginia and came over to take a seat next to Becky. As the water in the kettle was still hot, Sam got up to make him a cup of tea. When she got back, he was still recounting his adventures in Turkey. She glanced out of the window. The sun was still shining brightly over the city, so she settled down to listen to his tale without wanting to throttle him out of sheer jealousy.

‘Anyway, I’ve got a load of photos. Why don’t we meet up in the pub this evening and I’ll show them to you?’ Sam caught Becky’s eye. She read complete disinterest. Before Becky could say anything unfortunate, Sam leapt in.

‘Can’t manage tonight, Ryan. Becky’s coming running with me.’

‘I am? I mean, oh yes.’ Becky hastily corrected herself. ‘Of course I am. I’m on a fitness campaign, Ryan. Maybe some other time.’

Sam noted the look of disappointment on his face and sighed for him.

Chapter 10 (#ulink_c88bd6e2-e771-5e52-8e46-2adfbb85cb37)

‘Sam! It’s so good to see you again.’

Karen jumped to her feet as Sam pushed through the door to the Wobbly Wheel pub and held out her arms for a hug.

Sam was in contact with very few of her old school friends nowadays. Karen was a rare exception; very rare. Before getting the call from Karen the other night, it had to be two years, even three, since she had last heard from her. They had been best friends during most of the tough teenage years and they knew each other really well. They had both been picked on for being more interested in sport than classroom gossip and this had brought them closer together. Both shared a taste for tall, strong men – although now, Sam reflected, her own particular tall, strong man had most definitely lost his appeal. Karen, like Sam, had left school without going to university, but in Karen’s case it was so that she could take up a job as cub reporter on the local newspaper in Salisbury where they had grown up. Now, since Sam’s mum had moved away to Bristol, she rarely went back.

It was barely six o’clock and they were just about the only people in the pub. Sam’s feet echoed on the stripped wooden floor. The two girls embraced and then Karen stepped back and subjected Sam to careful scrutiny before giving her verdict.

‘You’re looking great.’

Samantha gave her a sceptical look. These days, with all the problems at home, she felt anything but great. Karen, on the other hand, was looking really good. She had never been overweight, but now she was as slim as Sam and, with her short blonde hair, she looked athletic as well as pretty. Sam remembered that for several years until she had moved into serious training with the national coaching squad, they had been running partners. By the looks of her, Karen was keeping up her fitness. She managed to summon a smile in return. ‘Hi Karen, it’s good to see you, too, but, to be honest, I’m not feeling particularly great.’

Karen shook her head. ‘Well you’re looking good all the same. Does the not-feeling-great thing have anything to do with your man?’ A shadow crossed Sam’s face.

‘Afraid so, Karen.’

‘Relationship not going swimmingly?’

‘About to sink without a trace, to be honest.’ With an effort, she succeeded in putting aside her irritation at the mention of Neil and managed another smile. It really was good to see Karen again after so long. ‘The less said about my man the better. Anyway, you’re not looking so bad yourself. In fact, you’re looking slim and lovely. Does this mean you’re on the streets again?’

Karen’s eyebrows raised and she grinned. Realising what she had said, Sam hastened to clarify. ‘I mean are you out running round the streets again? You look as if you are.’ She nodded appreciatively. ‘You’re looking very fit.’

‘I do a bit of running, now and then. But mostly it’s just the stress.’ Before Sam could ask what she meant, Karen jumped to her feet. ‘Now, how about a G & T?’

Karen left the table and went up to the bar to order two gin and tonics. In fact, Sam had hardly touched gin for quite a few years, but this had been their chosen drink in their final year at school when they were doing their best to appear grown up and sophisticated. When Karen returned, Sam was flipping through the book on the table. She looked up with a smile.

‘You going for promotion?’ Sam pointed at the cover. ‘The Greatest Press Baron of All Time? Bit of a mouthful of a title. Learn anything?’

An expression of embarrassment crossed Karen’s face. ‘It’s all about Lord Beaverbrook. He was the big man in my business between the wars. I thought I might learn a thing or two.’ Gold earrings and a gold watch on her wrist combined to reflect the light into Sam’s eyes. Karen had always had a thing about gold. She sat down and raised her glass in Sam’s direction. ‘Cheers, Sam, it’s great to see you again. So just what exactly is the problem between you and, what was his name again? Nick? Noel?’

‘Neil.’ There was a pause before Sam decided to confide in her. ‘I think familiarity has bred contempt.’ One look at Karen’s face told her this would not be enough to satisfy her pathological nosiness. The fact that she had gone into journalism reflected her constant thirst for information. Sam took a deep breath. ‘We’ve been growing apart for ages. We hardly talk these days and when we do, it just spirals into an argument.’

‘Oh dear. Is it all terribly traumatic for you?’

‘It’s not a bundle of laughs. The fact is, the relationship’s been going sour for months. I suppose I’ve come round to realising that maybe we’re at the end of the road now. I’ve got to make up my mind to do something about it. I’m just worried about the effect the news might have on my mum. You heard about the divorce, did you?’

Karen nodded. ‘Afraid so. We were all amazed at the news. Fancy your dad going off after all these years! How’s your mum coping?’

Sam explained and saw her friend’s face fall. She did her best to summon a smile. ‘Anyway, thanks for asking, Karen, but she’ll be fine. We’ll both be fine. It’ll work itself out.’

Karen gave her a sympathetic look. ‘I’m so sorry. Depression’s a terrible thing. I’m afraid I know all about it.’ Before Sam could ask what she meant, Karen carried on. ‘And I’m really sorry to hear about you and Neil. Ah well, c’est la vie, I suppose. Plenty more fish in the sea and all that.’

‘I’m not in the mood for fishing, Karen. I just need to get out.’ As she spoke, she heard the door open. To her surprise, she saw the same tall man with the cowboy gait that she had seen out in the university grounds. He came in and headed for the bar. The Wobbly Wheel was the closest pub to the university and normally packed out with students during term time. Now, in the summer months, it was eerily quiet. Seeing him here reinforced her feeling that he must be something to do with the university. He gave no sign of noticing her, so she returned her attention to her gin and tonic.

Karen was sipping her own drink and studying Sam carefully. Sam ducked her head as the journalist, picking up on Sam’s interest in the man at the bar, did a bit of digging. ‘Somebody you know?’

Sam looked up, feeling strangely embarrassed. She did her best to sound disinterested. ‘Who? Him? No, I just saw him for the first time the other day and I think he might be something to do with the uni.’

‘He’s very good-looking, isn’t he?’ Karen was still looking closely at her, rather than him.

‘Um, yes, I suppose so.’ Sam felt a bit too much like a fish on the end of a line, so she did her best to turn the tables. ‘So what about you, Karen? Life not treating you too well either? What’s this about depression? You said on the phone you’d got problems.’ She caught something in her friend’s expression. ‘So? What’s the matter?’