Miranda's Mount (8 page)

He
heard Miranda click the top on her pen. ‘So that’s definite? I need to know so I can start the publicity campaign for the Festival. We need to let the lifeboat fundraisers know too, so they can promote it.’

‘Yes.’

Miranda made an exaggerated mark halfway down her form. Clearly, that was him ticked off the list.

‘Right. Thank you. I’ll leave you to get on with your work.’

He took in her tanned legs, her slight figure swamped by shorts and polo shirt like an urchin growing into a big sister’s clothes. She was the kind of woman who didn’t want to be noticed. She raised the clipboard. She definitely didn’t want to be noticed by him.

Too
late.

‘If you could spare a few minutes, I’d like to discuss something with you,’ he heard himself say.

The clipboard shot up in front of her chest like a shield. Was she that scared of him? He only wanted to talk to her. Hadn’t known how much he wanted to talk to her until this moment. He stood up. ‘Do you fancy an ice cream?’

‘What?’

‘An ice cream. Cold stuff, comes in lots of flavours.’ He smiled. ‘It’s such a lovely day and I think I should make another inspection of the property.’

‘I really should be doing a risk assessment of the visitor facilities.’

He felt reckless, and not quite in control, like the man who is terrified of heights yet is drawn to the edge of the cliff. ‘You can do a risk assessment of me if you like.’

Christ, what was he saying?

Miranda ignored him, her eyes telegraphing ‘twat’. ‘I thought you were busy with the Southcastle plans.’

‘How do you know that’s what I’m doing?’

‘An educated guess? Plus I saw the letterhead on your desk when I came in. You had your eyes closed so I realised it must be something riveting.’

Ignoring her sarcasm, Jago flipped a thumb at the door. ‘Please?’

Her eyes widened in surprise then she glanced at her watch although he suspected she was fully aware of the time. ‘I suppose I can spare ten minutes but that’s my limit.’

‘Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of taking you beyond your limit.’

Her
lips twisted, but she led the way down the path that led from the library to the quayside.

He followed her, fascinated as she skipped down the steps, a little too fast, in his opinion, obviously uncomfortable with being followed. Fascinated too by his own boldness and stupidity. Jesus, he was almost flirting with her back there and, worse, he’d been enjoying himself. It was wrong but he didn’t want to stop, not yet, not just yet …

He quickened his step as Miranda speeded up. She took the steps two by two and he did the same, his longer stride bringing him closer to her. He knew she could hear him close behind. In fact, she almost had to jog to keep the distance between them. He lengthened his stride. If he reached out with his hand, he could touch her arm. He heard her breathing hard and felt guilty at taunting her. He slowed but she kept up her pace.

His reaction to Miranda had shocked him, not only because he was attracted to her but because he reacted to her. She made him feel again – if only annoyance, amusement, frustration, a desire to provoke her. He hadn’t felt that way about another human being, of any sex, for a long long time.

Since Rhianna had gone, he’d been numb for months, seeing the people around him, like figures who lived on the other side of a thick grey veil that separated him from the rest of the world. He’d certainly not been interested in women in any serious way and, God knows, there had been enough of them in Australia – sometimes literally throwing themselves at him. One, an ex-model, had broken into his bedroom at the surf centre and lain on his bed, stark naked.

He’d ordered
her out and thrown her clothes after her, earning himself a reputation as a bastard in the process. Sadly, his reputation had only served to attract even more women and, eventually, he’d given in to quite a few of them, for the touch of another human being, for the relief of uncomplicated, emotionless sex.

It had certainly been emotionless on his part and, as for the girls, he knew he was sorry if they’d been hurt but, being brutally honest, he hadn’t truly
felt
sorry. All of his guilt had been used up on Rhianna. He’d had none left for any other woman.

Soon, he found himself tarred with the image of the playboy aristocrat, and perhaps he deserved it. It was what was expected of him, and there was some comfort in that: doing what everyone expected.

He guessed that word of his exploits had reached the Mount, probably distorted and enhanced by gossip and speculation and sheer boredom. Not a lot happened in Nanjizal. Before he’d arrived back at the castle, via his lawyers in London, he’d called into the local pub for a drink. He wasn’t sure quite why he’d gone in there. He didn’t need a pint, but did want to delay the moment when he finally set foot on the island again.

In the short time he’d spent in the bar, he’d realised that he was still hot property in the village. He’d had phone numbers scrawled on his arm and shoved into his jeans pocket, not to mention being felt up while he’d been washing his hands in the Gents. Some bloke had asked him to a gay night in Penzance and three girls had invited him for a ménage à quatre in their tent.

The village had changed a bit since he’d left for university.

Maybe that was why he
was so intrigued by Miranda, because she was one woman who clearly hated his patrician guts. Because he couldn’t have her and so was safe from hurting her or himself.

‘Oh dear, just look at the roof on the toilets! There’s a slate missing.’ As they reached the quayside, Jago landed back on planet Earth with a thud. Miranda stood with her hands on her hips, tutting at the lavatory block opposite the icecream kiosk. ‘I must go and phone the roofers right away.’

She started to walk away from him but he took her arm. ‘No you don’t.’

‘But …’

‘Later. Compulsory ice cream first.’ He steered her in the direction of the kiosk.

‘There’s a queue,’ she protested, looking panicky at the trail of people waiting at the open window in front of the kiosk.

‘Then we’d better wait our turn.’

Miranda was in dire need of cooling off by the time they reached the front of the queue. This might be crazy but Jago had seemed almost to be …
hunting
her. She’d tried to get out of their ice cream date by spotting the damaged loo roof but he’d had none of it and now here they were. Daisy, the woman who managed the ice-cream shop, raised her eyebrows when she saw them together. She cultivated a local wench image, which went down brilliantly with the visitors, particularly the male ones. It was an unorthodox business strategy but Miranda approved wholeheartedly. Icecream sales had increased by a third since Daisy had taken over the kiosk.

She
scooped a generous dollop of strawberry ice cream into a cone for Miranda. ‘There you go, my lover.’

‘Thanks, Daisy. Business good?’

‘As ever. Be even better when the schools break up proper and the dads and grandads are on holiday.’ She winked at Jago. ‘And what can I do for you, Lord St Merryn?’

Jago seemed amused, his mouth twisted in a smile. ‘A double mint choc chip cornet, please.’

‘Coming up.’ Daisy crammed the double cone with ice cream. ‘You want clotted cream on top of that? And chocolate sprinkles?’

She made the offer sound positively obscene. Miranda tried hard to keep a straight face.

‘Yes, please. To both.’

Leaning forward out of the kiosk window, Daisy’s ample bosom squashed together as tightly as Jago’s twin scoops of mint choc chip. ‘That’ll be four pounds twenty please, my lord.’

Jago fumbled in his jeans pocket, while holding the cone in one hand. He pulled an apologetic face. ‘Bugger.’

‘What’s up?’ asked Miranda.

‘I don’t appear to have brought any cash with me.’

‘Like the Queen?’ she said, relishing his sheepish face. ‘I’ll get these.’ She handed over the cash. ‘Thanks, Daisy.’

‘A pleasure, my dears. Now, who’s next?’

Jago walked with Miranda to the sea wall. ‘Look, I think we need to make a fresh start. You must think I’m a bit of a prat,’ he said.

Miranda
took a long lick of her ice cream before replying. ‘Not a bit of one.’

He laughed then rescued the trail of minty cream about to drip onto his T-shirt. ‘Shall we?’ he said, waving his cone in the direction of the harbour. The gulls squawked overhead as they strolled along by the water, licking their ice creams. Miranda had the urge to avoid stepping on the mortared cracks in the great slabs of stone that had been dragged from the mainland to make the harbour. If you didn’t step on them, then you could become invisible.

As a child, she’d tried that trick a lot, especially when her mum’s boyfriends had been around. They’d thought she was an alien for wanting to read in the stuffy caravan when it was sunny outside. One of them had threatened to throw her books on a bonfire.

‘Amazing that they managed to build this place,’ said Jago, watching her.

‘What place?’

‘The castle. What’s the matter? You seem miles away.’

‘Brain freeze,’ she said, pointing at the ice cream ‘What did you say about the castle?’

‘That it was incredible, how it was built in medieval times, considering they had no mechanical tools.’

She stared at the turrets and towers, rising up in a Gothic fantasy. Except it wasn’t a fantasy. It was a living and breathing community where people had lived and loved and which they’d died to defend. ‘They had faith, I suppose,’ she said.

‘And I don’t?’

‘I didn’t say that, Jago.’

‘You don’t have to.’

Miranda pushed
her tongue deep into the cone, caught Jago staring at her and quickly removed it. ‘What did you really want to talk to me about?’ she asked.

‘A few things.’

‘Ah, Jago! Idling as usual.’

At the shout from the harbour, they turned to find Lady St Merryn being helped from a boat that had just arrived. She waved a hand as the boatman helped her up the gangway and onto the quayside.

‘Mummy needs me,’ he said. ‘We’d better go and meet her and save her the walk.’

Lady St Merryn’s arrival was a welcome distraction. Miranda wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what Jago had been about to say; it couldn’t be anything she wanted to hear. His mother shook her head in mock disbelief when Jago arrived. ‘Good grief. You’ve actually let down your hair and come down from the tower.’

Miranda felt wicked. ‘He wanted an ice cream.’

‘I needed to inspect the café,’ said Jago, licking a drip of ice cream from his finger.

‘Hmm. I hope you’re not wasting my property manager’s time.’

Miranda dumped the end of her cone in a litter bin as Jago swallowed his whole.

‘How was Penzance, Mother?’

‘As exotic as ever. There’s talk of John Lewis opening but I can’t see it myself … not that it matters to me any more.’ She held up a carrier bag of brochures. ‘I’ve been to the travel agency.’

Jago
shook his head. ‘You could have booked a trip online. I would have helped you.’

‘You’re right. I could have wasted a day of my time, getting precisely nowhere and probably spending half of it watching videos of skateboarding dogs. I’m quite capable of finding my way around a website, thank you, but I prefer to deal with human beings and it’s all sorted now. I’ve got my flight booked.’

Miranda itched to ask more. She didn’t believe that Lady St Merryn simply wanted to ‘see the world’ and was convinced there was some other motive. Was she going abroad for treatment for her arthritis or for something more serious? Or was she emigrating permanently, or, Miranda felt a shiver run up her spine, going abroad to die?

Whatever her employer’s reasons for leaving, it was one more nail in the coffin of the Mount. Miranda didn’t want to ask directly and her ladyship obviously wasn’t going to volunteer any information out here in public.

Lady St Merryn thrust the carrier at Jago. ‘If you’ve finished your ice cream, I’d appreciate you carrying these up to the castle for me and don’t you dare offer me your arm or a wheelchair. I’ll get up there myself. I’m not decrepit yet.’

‘I wouldn’t dare.’

She glared at him. ‘I know that you’d dare do a lot of things. Don’t forget I gave birth to you. Miranda, goodbye. Don’t allow my son to distract you from your work and, Jago, I want to talk to you later.’

Leaving Jago with the carrier bag, she walked along the quayside, nodding as she went to the staff.

‘Are
you sure her ladyship is all right?’ Miranda cast out her line, hoping Jago would bite.

‘She’s fine.’ He hesitated, and then said, ‘I wanted to tell you something.’

No bite then and worse, he was going to deliver some new blow. She could tell from the way he ran his hand through his hair. A nervous gesture, maybe a guilty one?

‘Southcastle Estates are coming to visit the Mount next week. I’d really like you to help me show them around.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Miranda spied Ronnie on the harbour side, eyeing them suspiciously. Despite the ice cream, she suddenly developed a nasty taste in her mouth. ‘Can’t you do without me?’

‘I could but I don’t want to. You’re my property manager and it’s going to look odd if you’re not on board with this as well. I want to present a united front.’

‘So Southcastle know you haven’t said anything to the staff yet?’

‘Of course they do. They’ve already been here informally of course.’

‘I wasn’t aware of that.’

He had the grace to look uncomfortable. ‘No. They just arrived as ordinary visitors. I arranged it before I arrived but my mother knew about it.’

Miranda had to take herself in hand very firmly. The news that the potential new owners had already checked out their territory shouldn’t have come as a shock. What did hurt was the fact that Jago and Lady St Merryn had arranged the visit behind her back. But, she kept on reminding herself, it wasn’t her property, it wasn’t her decision, and she had to focus on that fact.

‘Until everything is signed and ready to announce to the press, there’s no need for the staff to know.’ He spoke more gently but she wasn’t soothed one bit.