The Cornish Affair Read Online Free PDF Page B

Nelson, shut up Nelson!”
    I knew when I was beaten, and pointedly ignoring the bird, called to Baxter to go for a walk. Some fresh air was called for.
    I took Baxter eastwards, towards the woods which covered the gentle hill on the side of Penmorah. The woods had been my delight when I was a child, much more so than the beach, where I always felt that the sea was just waiting for a chance to reclaim the land, and I’d felt duty bound to keep a watchful eye on it. The woods, on the other hand, were innocent of such treachery. Still, and almost padded with velvet, so soft was the silence in there. All of the ancient mossy trees had a bend in them where they leant away from the sea wind, from above they must look like a field of green wheat, bending in the breeze.
    A jay flashed in front of me, and Baxter gamely gave chase, letting out excited yelps. He then remembered his dignity, and reverted back to a purposeful trot, tail held high and ears pricked up ready for any danger that may befall us. I say us, because it was quite comforting, but I suspect that if a mad axe murderer leapt out from behind an oak tree, Baxter would most certainly have left me to it.
    My cousin, Beatrice and I used to play for hours here, but she was a domesticated creature even in the dark Celtic woods, and made houses out of twigs and dead branches. Complete with make believe doors and windows and would then invite me in to take tea. I’d always felt resentful of this, they were my woods, after all, I certainly didn’t need an invitation to cross the threshold. I smiled at the memory of Beatrice’s cross little face, when I refused blankly to enter her house. Things hadn’t changed that much between us now, I reflected. When Bea did make the trip over from Canada to see Nancy, she still had the ability to get my back up. Treating Penmorah as her make believe house.
    Bea was a sturdy, sensible creature, two years older than me, who did a job in a bank in Ontario that neither Nancy or I understood, although we’d had it explained to us many, many times. It was hard to remember that Bea was Nancy’s daughter, she had none of her mother’s charm, or vagueness, but was a hard headed business woman, married to a sensible engineer, with two sturdy sensible sons.
    One of the main jealousies I had with Bea, was that she had been born in Paris , which had seemed to me as a child the height of sophistication and somehow deeply unfair. Paris … how glamorous. Why hadn’t I been?
    Nancy had invited my mother out to join her there for a sisterly long holiday when my father was out in Australia working on a non-existent gold mine (one of his many failed businesses.) Dorothea had stayed for nearly a year, and had been present at Bea’s birth.
    Nancy was a strangely unmaternal grandmother, who occasionally would guiltily forget her grandsons names, or muddle them up. I never knew if she did this on purpose to unsettle Bea, or if she genuinely forgot. She hardly ever spoke of them to me, but again, that could be her natural sense of delicacy, supposing that I felt I might have missed the boat.
    It couldn’t have been further from the truth.
    Having sensible sturdy sons had never really appealed, besides, I had trouble looking after myself, two pets, my aunt and a very demanding house, let alone a squalling baby. Although, of course, I do see that if you had a husband things might change a bit on that front.
    I sat down in a pool of pale sunshine and leant against the lichen covered trunk of an oak tree. Tightly curled fronds of ferns were sprouting all around me, I let my fingers stroke the sun warmed earth and closed my eyes to feel the shallow heat of the sun on my face.
    Of course, a husband would be nice. But where on earth I would find one was beyond me. I‘d given up looking really. Port Charles wasn’t very big on eligible bachelors, yes, Jace was an exceptionally fit young man, but husband material? I think not. I’d conducted an affair with a