Miranda's Mount (7 page)

‘Persuade Jago to change his mind?’

‘Yes.’

‘I have tried, my dear, but there’s no hope, I’m afraid. I’ve never seen my son so set on anything as getting rid of this place.’

Miranda had
gone back to the cottage after speaking to Lady St Merryn. She’d denied herself any tears, simply splashed her face with cool water and tried to compose herself before heading back to the office.

It was a midweek day in May, so not horrendously busy, although there were plenty of people milling about on the quayside. While the visitors at this time of year were still mainly younger families and older couples, there was a school party sitting at the picnic tables outside the visitor centre, tucking into their packed lunches. The kids were huddled in their jumpers and waterproofs and Miranda didn’t blame them. The Mount’s position left it exposed at the best of times and it was now a dull, cool day; the sky seemed to be painted entirely from a palette of grey. She zipped up her fleece to her chin and tried not to romanticize the place; she’d done far too much of that already and it seemed pointless now.

She walked around the harbour and saw a familiar figure in the process of manoeuvring a small RIB alongside the harbour wall.

‘Hi there!’

Catching
sight of her, the man shouted and Miranda flapped a hand in his direction. Tears started to spring to her eyes again at the sight of his broad grin, as if he was a friendly face among people who had let her down so unexpectedly and were no longer what she’d thought they were.

‘Miranda! Here, grab this!’ He threw her the mooring rope, and she held on while he leaped up the stone steps and onto the quayside. ‘Thanks.’

Miranda admired the taut muscles in his forearms as he secured the RIB’s ropes to the mooring post on the harbourside. Theo was ruggedly handsome in the way of men who battled the elements for a living and loved it. She thought of the contrast between Jago, selling the Mount and his soul, and Theo, who would have given his soul for the community. She dug her nails in her palm, wondering if it had really been such a great idea to meet Theo now when she felt so raw. The news she’d just heard weighed on her like a great slab of stone.

Theo turned his eyes on her. Miranda always laughed when she heard anyone’s eyes described as ‘blue as the sea’ but that’s just what Theo’s were like: deep blue-green like the shallow waters of the bay when viewed from the heights of the Mount. He must have known she was watching him. Tiny lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes as he smiled at her. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t call in sooner but I ended up covering for another coxswain in St Ives on my day off and then I had to get the engine repaired on the RIB.’

‘That’s all right,’ said Miranda, feeling both cheered and a little discomfited as she always did in Theo’s presence. She was never sure if he took her seriously as manager of the Mount and suspected he was faintly amused by her passionate commitment to someone else’s property. Yet Miranda wasn’t turned on by the St Merryns’ position like some royal hanger-on, she just loved the chance to be in charge of almost a thousand years of heritage, even if it was borrowed.

Theo climbed
up onto the quay. ‘How’s things?’

Crap, she wanted to say, crapper than the crappiest thing in the whole world. Instead, she managed a non-committal shrug.

‘Oh dear. Are you OK? You look a bit pale.’

‘I’m fine. Late night.’

Theo folded his arms, his biceps bulging. ‘You work too bloody hard. Don’t let them run you into the ground. The St Merryns will take advantage if you let them. Especially
him
.’ He flipped a thumb in the direction of the castle.

‘News travels fast,’ said Miranda, realising at once who Theo meant.

‘His lordship’s been spotted in the village already. Not on his own, of course.’

Did Theo mean he’d seen Jago with a woman, or women, Miranda wondered, more mortified than ever about her stupid pirate fantasies. The note of sarcasm in Theo’s voice was also ringing alarm bells. So there had been something in Ronnie’s comments about Jago and Theo. They were a similar age, was there some history between them?

‘Why’s the git back here anyway? Run out of money, and wants a sub from Lady St Merryn?’ Theo gave a rueful smile. ‘It’s OK, I’ll shut up about Jago. I’m sure he’s not likely to run out of cash but I hope he’s not here to make trouble for you and the people at the Mount.’

Trouble was exactly what Jago had caused and recent news was just the start of it. But she couldn’t possibly tell Theo that. ‘I don’t really know. I’ve kept out of his way as much as I can.’

He
frowned. ‘You look about as comfortable as a fish on a hook. I was joking but if Jago is here to make life difficult, it wouldn’t surprise me. The landlady of the Pilchard almost dropped a glass when he strolled in a few days ago.’

‘So he was in there before he came back to the Mount?’

Theo nodded. ‘Apparently there were women swarming round him. Likes to make an impact, does his lordship.’

The image of Jago surrounded by fawning girls fitted in so well with Miranda’s actual and imaginary idea of Jago that she longed to believe it. Too much, in fact. She decided to take Theo’s report of the prodigal’s return with a small but healthy pinch of salt and yet Jago had been in the pub, there was no denying that, and her own experience in the armoury had proved he liked to make an impact. She itched to ask Theo for the juicy details but didn’t want to betray more than casual curiosity.

‘Let’s forget him for now,’ said Theo, delivering a double whammy of relief and frustration. ‘I know you’re always busy but do you have time for a coffee? I wanted to talk to you about the Mount’s evacuation procedures. I doubt you’ll ever need them but there’s always the outside chance of a tidal wave or crazed gunman running amok through the castle.’

‘That’s not funny,’ said Miranda, a shiver running down her spine.

Theo
assumed a deadly serious expression. ‘I know, my jokes are terrible. Black humour goes with the job, I’m afraid. Now come on, I’ll pay for the coffee and I’ll try to make the experience as painless as possible.’

Miranda smiled. ‘The coffee will be free.’

He patted her on the shoulder and his touch felt comforting and tingly. Perhaps Theo
did
understand how she felt, more than she’d been willing to acknowledge.

‘And so is my advice,’ he said, as Miranda decided her day had just gone up several notches.

An hour later, Miranda left the café with pages of notes which needed to be typed up into a risk assessment. Procedures in the event of waterspouts, fire, flood and mad axemen had all been covered, and only the possibility of aliens invading had been left out.

As she watched Theo’s RIB power towards the mainland, the emptiness inside her returned at the thought that she might have to leave the Mount – and worse, leave Cornwall – and never see Theo and her friends again. Or was it disappointment that Theo had gone? Several times back in the café, as they’d chatted and laughed, he’d touched her hand briefly and she’d been almost sure that he was going to ask her out. He hadn’t but maybe Ronnie was right. Perhaps Theo did like her as more than a friend. She’d known him a few years, she’d begun to think of him as a friend but she’d never got any vibes that he thought of her as more. He was surely out of her league for a start … and why had he seemed to show more of an interest in her now after she’d found out the Mount was being sold and she might have to leave? Did he sense some kind of change in her, a willingness to move on or do something different with her life? Or was that her imagination?

A few
days after breaking the news about the sale to Miranda, Jago sat in his study in the tower of the Mount. Reading through the latest proposals from Southcastle was driving him mad. Wearily, he shoved the folder of papers away from him. No matter how resolved he was on the sale, seeing the details set out in black and white was not a pleasant experience.

He’d gone through Southcastle’s proposals with his mother, not wanting to leave her out of the proceedings. Lady St Merryn had questioned many of the points in the draft contract, as Jago had expected, but, ultimately, she’d said the final details were up to him; it was his decision to sell and he must take responsibility.

He knew she didn’t really agree with the sale and hoped he would change his mind, and he wouldn’t have expected anything less from her. At the end of the day, he was alone in this one.

What was new about that? The previous decision he’d had to take had been the most lonely of his life, and he still wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing. His stomach knotted even now at the memory of the dilemma he’d had to face. He would never forget what he’d done, or rather what he hadn’t had the courage to do.

A sudden
squall rattled the window, wafting the sound of the ocean and the smell of ozone into the study. He could almost feel the salt tightening on his skin. He should be on the sea now – he smiled to himself – or more likely, in the sea. He hadn’t surfed a break in Cornwall for years and he’d probably get wiped out within thirty seconds.

He crossed to the window and squinted at the beach. A calm sea licked the shore as the tide crept in and out each day. Waves battered the Mount in winter, but it was bucket and spade land. For surf, he’d need to head for Godrevy or Porthmeor.

Not that he’d ever surf again.

He saw someone enter the courtyard from the staff pathway and walk across the terrace. That rear view was unmistakable. Miranda, tight arsed in every way. She strode across the courtyard, carrying a clipboard – God, did anyone need a clipboard nowadays? He edged a little closer to the leaded panes.

She’d stopped, apparently to inspect a litter bin and seemed to be marking the flapping sheet of paper on her clipboard. Surely she could have got one of the staff to do that. Hadn’t she heard of delegating responsibility?

He inched open the leaded window, careful not to make a sound with the iron catch, and leaned out. She had her back to him, trying to tug her shorts and knickers out of her bottom. Oh dear, she
was
having trouble with those shorts. It was sweet, really, and strangely sexy, not that he was interested. Smiling in spite of himself, he nudged the window open wider.

‘Shit!’

His head bumped the window, the catch slipped and the window crashed back against the masonry. Miranda flashed round, eyes instantly riveted on his guilty face. He wondered if he could detect a blush on her cheeks.

Jago lifted a hand and nodded politely like he’d just met her walking the dog. He desperately wanted to laugh but Miranda’s expression was stormy. She marched off and disappeared down the steps that led to the dining hall.

No more box-ticking for her today, he’d put a stop to that.

He closed
the window and trooped back to his desk, sat down in the leather chair and tried to read through some paperwork but no matter how many times he saw words on pages, none of them were making any sense to him. His mind seemed to seethe and boil with conflicting emotions like the currents around the Mount. He couldn’t shake off the image of Miranda, gazing up at him, in contempt and embarrassment and … Had there been something else in her expression other than hostility towards him? Was she in some bizarre way attracted to him? No matter how hard he tried to deny it, he was attracted to her physically and if, in spite of her attitude towards him, she felt the same way … what then?

It would be bloody inconvenient, that’s what. And disturbing. He couldn’t let it happen, but what if it was already too late? A weird tingling had begun inside his cheek; a bizarre buzzing that spread through his whole body, right to the heart and lower. He hadn’t felt anything like it since Rhianna …

The memory
slammed into him, like a freak wave, dragging him under and spinning him out of control. He remembered the last time he’d made love with Rhianna before their world had imploded. They’d slipped away into the dunes on a remote beach, the grass shading them from the fierce heat of the Southern afternoon. The sex had been glorious, heart pounding, sweet and tender and then it had happened. When he opened his eyes, four stone walls confronted him – and Miranda.

He hadn’t heard the door open. She stood in front of the desk, clutching the clipboard to her chest defensively. He thought of getting to his feet, like a gentleman would have done when a lady walked into the room.

His bum stayed firmly in the chair. ‘Hello.’

‘I saw you were in. I hope I’m not interrupting you.’

‘As a matter of fact, you are, but it doesn’t follow that the interruption is unwelcome.’

She pursed her lips at him, unsure how to take his remark. ‘I’d like to discuss the Festival of Fools,’ she said primly.

‘The Festival of Fools?’

‘Yes.’ Her voice grew higher. Maybe she was nervous or maybe her knickers were bothering her again. ‘The Festival of Fools,’ she repeated, enunciating each word as if he was an idiot, ‘is the Mount’s main event of the year. We have entertainers, stalls and attractions and all the proceeds go to good causes. I’m sure you must remember it.’

He felt angry and knew it was because her barbs had begun to land too close to home and his heart whispered, because he’d been thinking of her in the same place in his mind as Rhianna and that was wrong. It
had
to be.

He tried to keep his voice gruff. ‘I do remember. It’s been going on for years, even before my grandfather’s time when, as I’m sure you know, the proceeds went to the local poor fund. But why do you need to ask me about it?’

‘Because,’ she said patiently, ‘the choice of charity each year lies with the owner of the Mount. In the past, I’ve asked your mother’s opinion, of course, but she said that this year it should be your decision. She did, however, suggest the local lifeboat fund as one option. It’s been fourteen years since they last benefited.’

Clever Mummy, adding another tiny weight to his burden of guilt by reminding him of how many people depended on his role as landowner. No matter what his mother said, Jago was sure she hadn’t accepted his decision to sell. His mother would certainly hold out hope until the ink was dry on the contract. ‘The lifeboat sounds like a good idea,’ he said, glancing down at the papers on his desk.