The Bonbon Girl. Linda Finlay
by the scattered mounds of spoil from the small quarries along the cliffs.
She relaxed back in her seat, her thoughts turning to Kitto. She wondered what he was doing. How she longed to be with him instead of this creepy works manager with his oily smile and fancy way of speaking. Why, he didn’t even notice the Cornish Heath that only grew on the serpentine or the mauve heather, golden gorse, purple betony, or creamy primroses that were blooming in the hedgerows. Kitto would have stopped and picked her a posy to take home. Kitto! If she ate her tea quickly, perhaps she’d be home in time to call and see him.
Even as her spirits rose, she knew it was a futile thought, for dusk fell quickly this time of year. Besides, it was rumoured a smuggling run was due in and no sensible person ventured out after dark then. Although the preventatives were vigilant, the seasoned smugglers who fiercely believed in their right to free trade went to great lengths to ensure nobody came between them and their booty. The village and caves were a veritable warren of secret tunnels and cellars where contraband was hidden until it could be safely moved on.
As they traversed the breadth of the flat peninsula, she remembered the story of old Mrs Arthur who, having a fondness for brandy, refused to move from her chair when the customs officers descended to search her cottage. Apparently, she’d clutched her chest and groaned until – afraid she was having a heart attack – they’d fled. Then, with a grin, she’d got to her feet, removed the rug covering the hatch and calmly climbed down her cellar steps to celebrate with a fresh bottle.
‘Well, here we are, my dear.’ She jumped as she felt a hand on her arm then realized they’d stopped outside an imposing stone building perched high on a cliff. Even on a dull day like this, you could see right across Mounts Bay to Penzance. ‘Our competitors are over there,’ Fenton announced, as if telling her something new. She shook her head, for everyone on The Lizard knew they competed for business with the works at Wherrytown.
‘By the time I’ve finished here, Poltesco will be booming and they will be but a distant memory. Dead as the dust in their works,’ he boasted, turning to her with a satisfied smile. ‘We’ve all the resources and men we need at Poltesco. The materials come in through the back door and are wheeled out of the front, straight onto the boats.’ Colenso bit her tongue, for again he was telling her things she already knew. But the Ferret was in his stride. ‘Railway or not, there’s no way they can compete with that.’ Then his expression changed. ‘Still, enough of business, it’s time for us to get to know each other better, is it not?’ he murmured, moving closer until his thigh was resting against hers.
Seeing that glint spark in his eyes once more, she could stand it no longer and leapt down from the trap.
Colenso heard a muttered oath, followed by a thud and then footsteps hurrying after her. However, when Fenton reached her side, he just smiled knowingly and took her arm.
‘The finest hotel on The Lizard,’ he announced grandly. ‘I take it you’ve not been here before?’
‘I can’t say I remember,’ Colenso replied sweetly, refusing to rise to his gibe. She could never afford to come somewhere like this and he knew it. These fine new places were springing up all over the peninsula to cater for the tourists and artists who, inspired by the beautiful serpentine gifts and unusual flora and fauna, had begun descending in their droves. They had money to spend and the hotels were quick to capitalize on it.
A blast of warmth hit them as they entered the grand foyer with its plush red carpets and huge log fire blazing in the ornate stone fireplace. A man sporting a dark uniform with a red waistcoat hurried to greet them and, much to Colenso’s consternation, insisted he take their outer garments.
‘Won’t feel the benefit when you go outside again, else,’ he whispered, seeing her dismay. ‘Your table is ready for you, Mr Fenton,’ he announced, showing them through to a private lounge overlooking the water where another fire was burning brightly, this time in a magnificent fireplace of green serpentine. Colenso stared around the smallish room with its solitary table set for two. For the second time that afternoon, she vowed to eat as quickly as she could, and when the waiter appeared bearing a tray laden with triangles of sandwiches, scones, cream and jam, she realized it would be no hardship. And the Ferret couldn’t expect her to make conversation because it was rude to talk with your mouth full, wasn’t it?
However, she hadn’t bargained for Mr Fenton’s own table manners. Apart from ensuring her plate was never empty, he tucked into his own food, staring thoughtfully out across the bay. It was only when they were sipping their tea that he spoke.
‘Well, that was delicious, don’t you think?’ he asked, leaning so close she caught the tang of his lemony cologne. However, he was more interested in trying to peer through the oyster spider-gauze covering her blouse than in her answer. Instinctively she sat back in her seat and his lips curled into a smirk.
‘I expect this is rather different to the way you normally spend your Sunday afternoons.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, thinking that, however lavish the food had been, it was the company that mattered and she’d rather be sharing a picnic of stale bread and cheese with Kitto.
‘This could become a regular occurrence, you know,’ he told her, nodding his head as if to add weight to his words. She watched the whiskers beneath his nose bob up and down and thought how much like a ferret he really did look. Then when he removed a pristine handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his lips with paw-like hands, she had to turn away before she burst out laughing.
‘I understand that it was Mr Rowse who did the turning on your, er, craft works, Colenso,’ he said. The tone of his voice told her this was more than a casual remark and she sobered immediately.
‘Er, yes,’ she replied, endeavouring to keep her voice steady.
‘And a splendid job he did too,’ he smiled.
‘Kitto is very talented and wants to become a master craftsman,’ she told him proudly. Henry Fenton studied her for a long moment.
‘Like him much, do you?’ Colenso nodded and his expression hardened. However, the next moment he was smiling again.
‘I too am an ambitious man, my dear. And when I set my heart on something, I do anything and everything to make sure I get it.’ He paused and stared at her, grey eyes like pebbles. Suddenly she felt the necklace tighten and put her hand to her chest to stop it from digging in. He flushed, his eyes widening as they followed her movement. Cursing silently, she placed her hands in her lap.
‘You were telling me about your plans,’ she reminded him. He continued staring for another moment before raising his head.
‘It is my intention to have a showroom built at Poltesco similar to the one we already have in London. Obviously, it will exhibit only the finest quality pieces.’
‘You mean I can continue with my work, then?’ Colenso asked excitement rising, for she missed the satisfaction she derived from seeing the dull stone turn into useful items gleaming with vibrancy.
‘Alas, no. Quite apart from the fact there will be no more offcuts, as you call them, the works I have in mind will be of a more exclusive nature. Ornamental clocks, tables, barometers, decorative vases, bowls, tazzas, that kind of thing. Resplendent polished red serpentine placed on plinths, they will complement our larger works of mantlepieces and shopfronts handsomely. Anyway, my dear, we are here to get better acquainted not to talk shop,’ he smiled, sitting back in his seat. Remembering her brother had asked her to find out as much as she could about his plans for the works, Colenso returned his smile.
‘Actually, Mr, er … Henry, I find your plans most interesting. Won’t all this mean you’ll need to have extra stone quarried?’ His face lit up and he leaned closer again.
‘You are one canny woman, Colenso. It does indeed and everyone will benefit. The quarrying of extra stone will mean more money for the workers.’