Dark Pirate. Angela Devine
could she explain her decision only this morning to buy a wildly expensive cream knitted sweater hand-embroidered with tiny flowers and a swirling muslin skirt to match? A fairly amazing departure from her usual tailored suits like the one she was wearing now! But somehow the outfit had felt exactly right when she had tried it on. The pale blue forget-me-nots had matched the colour of her eyes and, moved by an odd instinct, she had unclipped the gold slide which had pinned her hair severely at the nape of her neck and let it spring free in wavy brown profusion around her shoulders. The unfamiliar image of herself as soft, wistful, feminine had been irresistible. She had put down a small deposit and asked the shopkeeper to hold the clothes until she could go to the bank and cash some traveller’s cheques to pay for them…That thought gave her a jolt. Oh, help! What time did the banks close? Rose forgot all about Cornish fishermen and glanced down at her watch in alarm. She would have to hurry!
Unzipping her bag, she reached into the compartment where she kept her red vinyl pocketbook containing her traveller’s cheques. Her fingers groped in vain. The first uneasy stirring began inside her and she glanced sharply down. There was no sign of her pocketbook, but it must be here, it must! Everything of importance was in it—her passport, her traveller’s cheques, her return airline ticket to Australia. Frantically she began to unzip the other navy leather compartments. A map of Cornwall, a roll of Polo mints, a neatly pressed white handkerchief, a pocket diary and pen, a comb, lipstick, the keys to Aunt Em’s cottage. But no pocketbook. Rose felt a sudden chill lurch of panic and dismay in the pit of her stomach as if she had stepped off the edge of a cliff. Her normally pink cheeks were suddenly drained of colour and she let out an involuntary gasp. The fisherman was looming beside her in an instant.
‘What’s the matter, my dear? You’ve gone quite pale. Are you ill?’
‘N-no,’ stammered Rose. ‘But I’ve lost my pocketbook. It’s got everything in it. My passport, my traveller’s cheques, my airline ticket…Oh, what am I going to do? I’ve lost everything except my little money purse and that’s only got fifty pence in it!’
‘Now don’t take on,’ said the man mildly. ‘Polperro’s a small village and folks here are very honest, unless one of those tourists has got their hands on it. Still, like as not, what’s happened is this: you’ve taken it out of your bag somewhere to pay for something and not fastened the bag properly, then it’s fallen out. It’s happened to me before today. Now you just try and think, my dear. When did you have it last?’
Rose tried to control the churning sensation in her stomach long enough to allow her to concentrate. She had arrived by bus from Looe at about eleven o’clock, then she had taken a horse-drawn carriage from the head of the gorge to the centre of the village. After that she had spent a couple of hours exploring all the quaint little alleyways with their tea-shops and art galleries and souvenirs. And there had been a small clothing shop near the harbour…It was there that she had fallen hope-lessly in love with the sweater and skirt and paid a deposit on them. The woman at the shop had not wanted to take traveller’s cheques, but had directed her to a bank where she could cash them. Not wanting too many parcels to carry, Rose had decided to postpone her visit to the bank until the afternoon. Several hours had been spent happily ambling around the old cottages and shops, some with whorls in their glass windows, others with patterns of shells set into their limewashed walls, spending most of her cash on postcards and souvenirs. She had also taken a walk up the cliff path and she seemed to remember seeing the red vinyl cover of the pocketbook poking up in her bag when she had put a handkerchief away…
‘On the cliff-top, I think,’ she said, frowning thoughtfully. ‘But I’ve walked all over the place since then. It could be anywhere.’
She explained haltingly about the clothes at the shop by the harbour, her intended visit to the bank, the way she had wandered about. Impatiently her companion cut her off.
‘Well, let’s begin by seeing if you’ve dropped it here,’ he suggested practically. ‘Come on, I’ll help you.’
Rose was too preoccupied to disagree, but she did find it rather surprising that the stranger had taken charge with such firmness and efficiency, even if his manner was a trifle curt. Why was he doing this? Was it simple kindness or some other motive? Oh, what did it matter? The important thing was to find her pocketbook.
They both fell to their knees and searched the floor under the table, but it was quite clear that there was nothing there. As she got to her feet Rose felt a humiliating rush of tears sting her eyes. After all the trauma of resigning from her job, leaving Martin, her mother’s sudden need for a hysterectomy as they were due to leave Australia and then the gruelling flight to England, this was the last thing that she needed! Swallowing hard, she made a blind movement as if to turn away.
‘Thank you for looking,’ she said unsteadily. ‘I suppose I’ll just have to report it to the police as missing and phone American Express. Oh, I wish this hadn’t happened!’ Her voice broke on the last words and the stranger gave an exasperated sigh, put his warm, muscular hands on her shoulders and steered her into a chair. The kindness of the action surprised her. He didn’t look like a man who would be kind. There was something too ruthless about the set of his chin, the narrowed eyes, the tough mouth. Yet here he was, calming her down, with only the slightest hint of impatience in his manner— a faint curl of his lips that made her feel she was making far too much fuss about a very trivial event…
‘Now, don’t you worry,’ he ordered sternly. ‘We’ll soon have this sorted out. Sit down there and I’ll get you another drink, and then we’ll decide what we’re going to do. What would you like?’
‘I haven’t got any money—’ began Rose, but found herself silenced by three strong brown fingers placed over her lips.
‘I don’t suppose I’ll go broke on the price of one drink,’ the man said sardonically. ‘Now, what will you have?’
Rose made a small, choking sound that was closer to a giggle than a sob, then blew her nose and straightened her shoulders.
‘A non-alcoholic cider, please,’ she said.
Her eyes followed him as he moved away to the bar. There was a negligent, animal grace about his movements that made him look totally appropriate in this setting. A wild, lawless Cornishman if ever there was one! And how different from Martin, whose aggression so often dwindled to mere bluster…Yet somehow there was a savage aura of controlled power about this Cornishman that made Martin seem boastful and florid in comparison. He must draw women to him as relentlessly as moths to a naked flame. Well, she wasn’t fool enough to be burnt a second time. All the same, an uneasy tingle of excitement sparked through Rose’s body as she watched the stranger striding back from the bar with her drink. He set it down in front of her and then stretched out his hand.
‘I’m Greg Trelawney,’ he announced. ‘One of the locals. And who are you?’
‘I’m Rose. Rose Ashley,’ she replied, feeling slightly unnerved by the warm, firm clasp of those fingers. It was as if a powerful electric current had surged through her at his touch. ‘I’m from Australia.’
‘Welcome to Polperro,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘Although I’m sorry your welcome has been such a poor one. Well, we’ll see what we can do to sort that out in a minute. Now have a drink and catch your breath. Cheers!’
‘Cheers!’ agreed Rose.
The sweet, sparkling cider with its strong taste of apples did help to revive Rose, but, even more than that, the presence of the man opposite her had the effect of distracting her from her immediate problems. How could she concentrate on a lost pocketbook when Greg Trelawney was gazing at her with that intent, brooding expression?
‘Now, tell me about this pocketbook of yours,’ he urged when at last she had emptied her glass. ‘You say you had it last on the cliff-top?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Rose.
He pushed away his empty glass and rose to his feet.
‘Well, we’d better go up on the cliffs and look for it,’ he announced briskly. ‘Chances are you’ve