The Dark Shore (9 page)

5

The sun was a burst of red above the sea by the time they reached the airport at St. Just, and as Jon swung the car off on to the road that led to
Clougy, his frame seemed to vibrate with some fierce excitement which Sarah sensed but could not share. She glanced back over her shoulder at the soothing security of the little airport with its small plane waiting motionless on the runway, and then stared at the arid, sterile beauty of the Cornish moors.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” said Jon to her, his hands gripping the wheel, his eyes blazing with joy. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

And suddenly she was infected by his excitement so that the landscape no longer seemed repellant in its bleakness but fascinating in its austerity.

The car began to purr downhill; after a moment Sarah could no longer see the small huddle of the airport buildings with their hint of contact with the civilized world far away, and soon the car was travelling into a green valley dotted with isolated farms and squares of pasture bordered by gray stone walls. The road was single-track only now; the gradient was becoming steeper, and the sea was temporarily hidden from them by sloping hills. Soon they were passing the gates of a farm, and the next moment the car was grating from the smooth tarmac on to the rough uneven stones of a cart-track. As they passed the wall by the farm gate, Sarah was just able to catch a glimpse of a notice with an arrow pointing down the track, and above the arrow someone had painted the words “To Clougy.”

The car crawled on, trickling downhill stealthily over the rough track. On either side the long grass waved gracefully in the soft breeze from the sea, and above them the sky was blue and cloudless.

“There’s the water wheel,” said Jon, and his voice was scarcely louder than an unspoken thought, his hands tightening again on the wheel in his excitement. “And there’s Clougy.”

The car drifted on to smoother ground and then turned into a small driveway. As the engine died Sarah heard for the first time the rushing water of the stream as it passed the disused water wheel on the other side of the track and tumbled down towards the sea.

“
How quiet it is,” she said automatically.
“
How peaceful after London.
”

Jon was already out of the car and walking toward the house. Opening her own door she stepped on to the gravel of the drive and stood still for a moment, glancing around her. There was a green lawn, not very big, with a white swing-seat at one end. The small garden was surrounded by clumps of rhododendron and other shrubs and there were trees, bent backwards into strange contorted shapes by the prevailing wind from the sea. She was standing at one side of the house but slightly in front of it so that from her angle she could glimpse the yellow walls and white shutters as they basked in the summer sun. A bird sang, a cricket chirped and then there was silence, except for the rushing stream and, far away, the distant murmur of the tide on the pebbled beach.

“Sarah!” called Jon.

“Coming!” She stepped forward, still feeling mesmerized by the sense of peace, and as she moved she saw that he was in the shade of the porch waiting for her.

She drew closer, feeling absurdly vulnerable as she crossed the sunlit drive while he watched her from the shadows, and then she saw that he was not alone and the odd feeling of defenselessness increased. It must be a form of self-consciousness, she thought. She felt exactly as if she were some show exhibit being scrutinized and examined by a row of very critical judges. Ridiculous.

And then she saw the woman. There was a dull gleam of golden hair, the wide slant of remote eyes, the slight curve of a beautiful mouth, and as Sarah paused uncertainly, waiting for Jon to make the introductions, she became aware of an extreme stillness as if the landscape around them was tensed and waiting for something beyond her understanding.

Jon smiled at the woman. He made no effort to speak, but for some odd reason his silence didn’t matter, and it suddenly occurred to Sarah that she had not heard one word exchanged between the two of them even though she had been well within earshot when they had met. She was just wondering if Jon had kissed his cousin, and was on the point of thinking that it was most unlikely that they would have embraced without some form of greeting, when the woman stepped from the shadows into the sunlight.

“Hullo, Sarah,” she said. “I’m so glad you could come. Welcome to Clougy, my dear, and I hope you’ll be very happy here.”

Two

1

Their bedroom was filled with the afternoon sun, and as Sarah crossed to the window she saw the sea shimmering before her in the cove, framed by the twin hillsides on either side of the house. She caught her breath, just as she always did when she saw something very beautiful, and suddenly she was glad they had come and ashamed of all her misgivings.

“Have you got everything you want here?” said Marijohn, glancing round the room with the eye of a careful hostess. “Let me know if I’ve forgotten anything. Dinner will be in about half an hour, and the water’s hot if you should want a bath.”

“Thank you,” said Sarah, turning to face her with a smile. “Thank you very much.”

Jon was walking along the corridor just as Marijohn left the room. Sarah heard his footsteps pause.

“When’s dinner? In about half an hour?”

Marijohn must have made some gesture of assent which she didn’t say aloud. “I’ll be in the kitchen for a while.”

“We’ll come down when we’re ready, and have a drink.” He walked into the room, closed the door behind him and yawned luxuriously, stretching every muscle with slow precision. “Well?” he inquired presently.

“Well?” She smiled at him.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s very beautiful, Jon.”

He kicked off his shoes, pulled off his shirt and waded out of his trousers. Before she turned back uneasily towards the window to watch the sun sparkling on the sea she saw him pull back the covers from the bed and then fling himself down on the smooth white linen.

“What shall I wear for dinner?” she said hesitantly. “Will Marijohn change?”

He didn’t reply.

“Jon?”

“Yes?”

She repeated the question.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Does it matter?” His fingers were smoothing the linen restlessly, and his eyes were watching his fingers.

She said nothing, every nerve in her body slowly tightening as the silence became prolonged. She had almost forgotten how frightened she was of his Distant Mood.

“
Come here a moment, ” he said abruptly, and then, as she gave a nervous start of surprise: “Good God, you nearly jumped out of your skin! What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing, Jon,” she said, moving towards him. “Nothing at all.”

He pulled her down on to the sheets beside him and kissed her several times on the mouth, throat and breasts. His hands started to hurt her. She was just wondering how she could escape from making love while he was in his present mood, when he rolled away from her and stood up lazily in one long fluent movement of his body. He still didn’t speak. She watched him open a suitcase, empty the entire contents on to the floor and then survey the muddle without interest.

“What are you looking for, darling?”

He shrugged. Presently he found a shirt and there was a silence while he put it on. Then: “You must be tired after the journey,” he said at last.

“A little.” She felt ashamed, inadequate, tongue-tied.

For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to say anything else but she was mistaken.

“Sex still doesn’t interest you much, does it?”

“Yes, it does,” she said in a low voice, the unwanted tears pricking at the back of her eyes. “It’s just that it’s still rather new to me and I’m not much good when you’re rough and start to hurt.”

He didn’t answer. She saw him step into another pair of trousers and then, as he moved over to the basin to wash, everything became blurred and she could no longer see. Presently she found a dress amongst the luggage and started to change from her blouse and skirt, her movements automatic, her fingers stiff and clumsy as she fumbled with zip fasteners and buttonholes.

“Are you ready?” he said at last.

“Yes, almost.” She didn’t dare stop to re-apply her lipstick. There was just time to brush her hair lightly into position and then they were going out into the corridor and moving downstairs to the drawing-room, the silence a thick invisible wall between them.

Marijohn was already there but Justin had apparently disappeared to his room. Sarah sat down, her limbs aching with tension, the lump of misery still hurting her throat.

“What would you like to drink, Sarah?” said Marijohn.

“I—I don’t mind
...
Sherry or—or a martini—”

“I’ve some dry sherry. Would that do? What about you, Jon?”

Jon shrugged his shoulders again, not bothering to reply. Oh God, thought Sarah, how will she cope? Should I try to cover up for him? Oh Jon, Jon
...

But Marijohn was pouring out a whisky and soda without waiting for him to answer. “I’ve enjoyed having Justin here,” she said tranquilly, handing him his glass. “It’s been fascinating getting to know him again. You remember how we used to puzzle over him, trying to decide who he resembled? It seems so strange now that there could ever have been any doubt.”

Jon turned suddenly to face her. “Why?”

“He’s like you, Jon. There’s such a strong resemblance. It’s quite uncanny sometimes.”

“He doesn’t look like me.”

“What on Earth have looks got to do with it? Sarah, have a cocktail biscuit. Justin went specially to Penzance to buy some, so I suppose we’d better try and eat a few of them
...
Jon darling, do sit down and stop being so restless—you make me feel quite exhausted, just sitting watching you
...
That’s better. Isn’t the light unusual this evening? I have a feeling Justin has sneaked off somewhere to paint one of his secret water colors
...
You must persuade him to show you some of them, Jon, because they’re very good—or at least, they seem good to me, but then I know nothing about painting
...
You paint, don’t you, Sarah?”

“Yes,” said Jon, before Sarah could reply, and suddenly his hand was on hers again and she knew in a hot rush of relief that the mood had passed. “She also happens to be an authority on the Impressionists and the Renaissance painters and the—”

“Jon, don’t exaggerate!”

And the golden light of the evening seemed to deepen as they laughed and relaxed.

After dinner Jon took Sarah down to the cove to watch the sunset. The cove was small and rocky, its beach strewn with huge boulders and smooth pebbles, and as Jon found a suitable vantage point Sarah saw the fins of the Atlantic sharks coasting off-shore and moving slowly towards Cape Cornwall.

“I’m sorry,” said Jon suddenly from beside her.

She nodded, trying to tell him without words that she understood, and then they sat down together and he put his arm round her shoulders, drawing her closer to him.

“What do you think of Marijohn?”

She thought for a moment, her eyes watching the light change on the sea, her ears full of the roar of the surf and the cry of the gulls. “She’s very—” the words eluded her. Then: “—unusual,” she said lamely at last, for lack of anything better to say.

“Yes,” he said. “She is.” He sounded tranquil and happy, and they sat for a while in silence as the sun began to sink into the sea.

“Jon.”

“Yes?”

“Where—” She hesitated and then plunged on, reassured by his complete change of mood. “Where did Sophia—”

“Not here,” he said at once. “It was farther along the cliff going south to Sennen. The cliff is shallow and sandy in parts and during the last war they cut steps to link the path with the flat rocks below for some reason. I won’t take you out there, don’t worry.”

The sun disappeared beyond the rim of the world and the twilight began to gather beneath the red afterglow of the sky. They lingered for a while, both reluctant to leave the restless fascination of the sea, but in the end Jon led the way up the path back to the house. As they entered the driveway Marijohn came out to meet them, and Sarah wondered if she had been watching them from some vantage point upstairs as they walked up from the beach.

“Max phoned, Jon. He said you’d mentioned something about inviting him to Clougy for a day or two.”

“God, so I did! When I dined with him in London he said he would have to go down to Cornwall to visit a maiden aunt at Bude or Newquay or one of those huge tourist towns up the coast, and I told him there was a remote possibility that I might be revisiting Clougy at about this time
...
What a bloody nuisance! I don’t want Max breezing up in his latest sports car with some goddamned woman on the seat beside him. Did he leave his phone number?”

“Yes, he was speaking from Bude.”

“Hell ... I’d better invite him to dinner or something. No, that’s not really very sociable—I suppose he’ll have to stay the night
...
No, damn it, why should he turn up here and use Clougy as a base for fornication? I had enough of that in the past.”

“He may be alone.”

“What, Max? Alone? Don’t be ridiculous! Max wouldn’t know what to do with himself unless he had some woman with him all the time!”

“He didn’t mention a woman.”

Jon stared. “Do you want him here?”