Page 11 of New Beginnings At Pencarrow Bay

The following Monday, Peggy strolled down to Lilac House for her four o’clock tutoring session with Ada.

She’d been on another long walk that morning– this time taking the ferry over to Falmouth and trekking around Pendennis Castle on the coastal path, where she’d taken away a coffee to drink on the headland, overlooking the sea.

Later she’d sat in the garden reading a fascinating Cornish cookery book she’d picked up from the phone box on the corner of the harbour.

Since the advent of mobile technology, it now served as a book exchange, which she checked almost every time she passed, frequently dropping off her latest read to share.

This book was a treasure compared with the mostly dog-eared holiday paperbacks normally on offer.

It focused on old recipes, with instructions such as: ‘Boil potatoes and pilchards in thin cream or dippie. This dish is called “Dippie” and was very popular before cream was demanded by the factories.’ She wondered what Ted would make of boiled pilchards, but she rather liked the sound of it.

As Peggy came round the bend into the village, Piers Norton, the vicar, hove into sight, plodding slowly, as was his wont, head bowed, hands clasped behind his back, his tall, spare frame– which always looked undernourished to Peggy– monk-like in its detachment from the world.

She often wondered if she was doing him a disservice by saying hello, interrupting his reverie, so to speak, although his reply, today being no exception, was always warm and friendly.

‘Beautiful,’ he said softly, waving a hand around to indicate the coral-red buds of honeysuckle on the stone wall, the sea, the perfectly blue sky. And Peggy smiled and nodded as he passed by.

Peggy was an intermittent churchgoer. She loved the silence and tranquillity, the music, the ancient stained glass, the smell of damp stone and flowers, the mellow burning of beeswax.

And she wanted to love– and believe– all she heard about God, although this was a trickier ask.

But Piers gave surprisingly good services– it was when he came alive.

Lilac House, as Peggy approached along the road, was lit up in all its pastel glory by the afternoon sun.

She saw Lindy and Felix, her son-in-law, on the terrace, standing on either side of a large terracotta pot.

Felix looked cross. He was clearly engaged in some sort of altercation with Lindy, whose body seemed tense as she leaned forward, hands gesticulating, her voice a fierce staccato undertone– although Peggy was not close enough to hear the words she spoke.

Felix appeared not to say anything in return.

Tall and beefy, not quite handsome, his wavy, light brown hair and broken nose– from youthful rugby encounters, apparently– were set off by the sort of fair skin that flushed pink after a glass of wine or too much sun, giving him an air of bumbling Englishness.

Peggy liked what little she’d seen of him.

She was embarrassed now, witnessing the row, and hesitated in her stride.

But Lindy had already spotted her, and her whole demeanour instantly changed as she drew back from Felix and waved at Peggy, a charming smile replacing her frown.

Felix, too, acknowledged her with a wave, but the tension in his expression took longer to fade and he didn’t smile.

‘Come on up, sweetheart,’ Lindy said, pulling open the weathered wooden gate as Peggy climbed the short flight of mossy steps to the terrace. ‘Ada’s having her tea.’ She led Peggy through the open front door along the passage to the kitchen.

Ada, turning ten in August, was a delightful child, sporty and practical, but she struggled academically.

Peggy suspected the move to the exclusive private school in Truro, rather than the high school where most of her village friends were heading, was solely her parents’ ambition– Lindy had indicated she was a fierce supporter of state education and the local high school a bus ride away.

Peggy worried for the child. Failure so young might blight her confidence for years to come.

Now she sat at the kitchen table, a lighter version of her father’s wavy hair in a French plait down her back, wispy and frayed after a long day at school.

She still wore her blue gingham uniform dress and was munching a Jaffa Cake, sipping a mug of milky tea. She gave Peggy a shy smile.

‘Where’s your mum?’ Lindy asked her granddaughter.

‘Gone to the Co-op to get fish fingers.’ Ada gave Lindy a cheeky grin.

Lindy smiled lovingly, but rolled her eyes at Peggy.

‘We live in a fishing village, the sea a stone’s throw from our front door, and this child of ours won’t eat fish in any form except the frozen finger kind.

’ She bent to kiss the top of her granddaughter’s head.

‘I’ll leave you to it, then, sweetheart. ’

The lesson went well. Peggy had managed, over the weeks since she’d begun tutoring Ada, to find ways to inspire her in the comprehension and creative-writing exercises.

Grammar was harder, but Ada’s vocabulary, at least, seemed to be improving.

By the time she sat the exam, Peggy felt she could do well enough.

When the hour was up and Ada had made her usual quick escape to her room, Peggy got ready to leave.

Normally Lindy would be hovering, ready to brew tea and settle down for a book chat.

Peggy had been particularly looking forward to it today.

She wanted to show her the old cookery book she’d found, which she’d brought with her.

But there was silence in the big house, except the loud ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall.

Reluctantly, she made her way out, stopping to speak to Felix, who was still labouring over a terracotta planter, carefully transferring small seedlings from a tray into the dark soil.

‘I can’t find Lindy. Will you say goodbye to her, please?’

‘No problem. Ada get on okay today?’ he asked, brushing a strand of hair out of his grey eyes with the back of a dirty hand. His accent was estuary English, slightly Cockneyfied on some words, sounding not unlike Peggy’s boys.

‘Yes, she did well,’ Peggy replied. ‘Ada always works hard… She’s such a pleasure to teach.’

Felix beamed. Then his face fell as he flicked his eyebrows and let out a weary sigh, his gaze darting towards the house. ‘Sorry about earlier. Hardly ideal, all this.’ He blew out his cheeks. ‘Not that I’m not incredibly grateful, of course.’

She gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘I can imagine.’ He didn’t have to articulate how complicated it must be to move in with his mother-in-law, settle in a small village in the furthest reaches of the country– however beautiful– quietly planting flowers by the sea, after the breathless excitement of trading on the financial markets, the huge salary and edgy, drink-fuelled socializing that probably went with it.

Complicated for Lindy too , she thought now, having her life invaded, even if it was family.

She felt for them all. Not for the first time, she longed to ask what had happened to bring them there, wondered what Felix planned for their future.

At that moment, Lindy popped her head out of an upstairs window and called down to Peggy, making them both jump. ‘Sorry to miss our chat,’ Lindy said, through the open window. ‘I got absorbed in something and forgot the time.’

‘No problem. I’ll see you soon,’ Peggy replied.

‘Say hi to Kim for me.’ She wondered where Kim was– it wouldn’t have taken long to get the fish fingers.

But Peggy had often seen her sitting alone on one of the benches that led down to the sea, gazing out across the bay– maybe escaping the problems of their current situation for a quiet hour.

As she walked back up the hill, enjoying the early-evening light playing on the boats in the harbour– it made them stand out, almost glow– she wondered, fleetingly, if Lindy had been avoiding her.

It was the first time she hadn’t taken time to sit and discuss with Peggy their current reads.

She stopped and leaned on the sea wall in one of her favourite spots.

There was a couple sitting on the beach below holding hands, scrunching their bare toes in the sand and laughing softly.

They weren’t young, and Peggy couldn’t help smiling at the image.

Goodness, how lucky she was to have fallen in love with Ted.

Thoughts of him overtook those of Lindy– who had been perfectly friendly, after all, and seemed pleased to see her.

Ted was going to be late home tonight. He was meeting with a group he had got together when they first moved to the village, of hardcore runners.

They individually timed their runs, heavily competitive, and Ted always came home mud-spattered and exhausted.

He was older than the youngest runner in the small group by about ten years, but that didn’t faze him.

She would wait supper– he would no doubt be starving.

Peggy prepared the meal, then went out onto the terrace to catch the fading light.

She began to read. Ted was normally home after the running club by seven at the latest. Eight o’clock came and went, but she didn’t notice: the book was the one Lindy had recommended at the coffee morning, a factual account, written like a novel, of mutiny, murder and shipwreck in the eighteenth century.

It totally absorbed her attention and she was looking forward to discussing it with Lindy.