What Happens In Cornwall...

Apart from the double yellow lines everywhere, telling drivers it was forbidden to park, the predominant colours were grey, white and blue. Most of the houses were white, the sea and the sky were shades of blue, and the roofs, the rocks and the sand were grey. There was only one shop in the village – a combined post office, grocery store and gift shop. It appeared to stock everything from Cornish ice cream to condoms, which was just as well as the nearest supermarket was at least twenty minutes drive away up over the cliffs. They decided against ice creams so soon after breakfast and went for a walk along the beach, before settling down in the garden outside the Smugglers Arms for lunch.

The others had decided to pile into a car and head for the north Cornish coast where the surf was supposed to be better and Sam and Becky were happy to let them get on with it. That afternoon, after a couple of beers at lunchtime, Becky decided she was going to have a lie down. As the temperature was quite warm, even if the sky was now almost completely covered by cloud, Sam decided to try her hand in the kayak that came with the house. She carted it down to the beach and set off at a gentle pace, gradually working her way round the bay. She was quite a long way from the shore when she realised she had got a problem. Or, rather, two problems.

The kayak was cutting through the water remarkably fast, considering she was only paddling gently. She was just beginning to work out that the reason for this was a strong current that had got hold of her, pulling her away from the shore, when the light changed. She glanced up and, to her horror, she saw a bank of sea mist rolling towards her. Frantically she turned the kayak’s nose towards the beach and started paddling hard as the fog closed in around her and she lost sight of the shore. In an instant, she found herself in a featureless grey world where the sea and the sky merged into each other, giving her the impression of being surrounded by cotton wool.

But her cotton wool surroundings were anything but cosy and comfortable. Suddenly, it felt as if the temperature had dropped by ten degrees. Looking down at the bubbles in the water beside her, she saw that the kayak was now moving backwards quite fast. Without being able to get her bearings on anything, it felt as though she was being drawn out to sea. She started paddling hard in the opposite direction, slowing the rate of backward movement, but not stopping it. She realised with a start that she was in a very dangerous situation. Nobody knew she was out here, so nobody was going to miss her until a lot later. She reached for her pocket and then remembered she had left her phone in their room, for fear of dropping it in the sea. She was all alone in the fog. God only knew where she would end up.

The sensation of isolation was so strong she felt a shiver of terror go down her back and tears spring to her eyes. With an effort, she dominated her rising panic and did her best to think logically. Just before the mist rolled in, she had probably been three, maybe four hundred metres from the beach. That wasn’t an insurmountable distance. If only she could get out of the grip of the current, she knew she easily had the strength to paddle back to the shore. In order to get out of the current, she had to go either left or right and try to cut across it, rather than face it head on. Acting on instinct, she swung the boat to the right and dug in.

She carried on paddling across the current for ages, losing track of time completely. Every now and then she had to stop and rest and, in spite of her exertions, she began to feel very cold. She knew she had to find land soon or she would be in big, big trouble. To make matters worse, a cold breeze was getting up and waves were beginning to slap against the side of the hull. She fought her fear and peered into the murk around her, unable to see more than a few metres. Then, she heard something. She stopped paddling and cocked her head to one side, concentrating hard. There was no doubt about it, she could hear waves breaking against the shore. Could it be she had got herself back to the beach? She dug her paddle in again with renewed energy, aiming the kayak towards the noise. Gradually, it grew louder and, as it grew, so did her hopes.

Then, abruptly, the mist before her thinned and she saw something, but what she saw was terrifying. She was heading straight for a rocky reef, around which the white waves hissed and sighed. She spun the kayak around and just managed to squeeze past the rocks without crashing into them. Looming high behind the reef was the dark outline of sheer cliffs. A wave of terror threatened to engulf her and she had to struggle hard to stop herself from crying out in panic. She was completely alone and totally lost. She gritted her teeth and took a few deep breaths. At least she now found herself away from the grip of the vicious current, so she allowed herself a few minutes’ rest, just dipping the paddle into the water from time to time to keep her out of reach of the rocks. However, within a very short time she began to feel very, very cold and this, more than anything else, spurred her into action once more.

She started off again, doing her best to run parallel to the cliffs, loath to lose sight of land, but dreading the prospect of another reef in her way. She paddled on and on, becoming ever more desperate, and then, just as she was beginning to feel very, very tired, she sensed a lightening in the backdrop and she let the waves take her. Another rocky outcrop swept past her, close enough to touch and then, amazingly, she bumped up against a vertical wall and a flight of weed-encrusted stone steps; man-made wall and man-made steps.

She could have wept with relief. She reached out with her hands and grabbed at a metal ring set in the wall, as the kayak scraped against generations of barnacles. Never had the sight of a stone wall been so welcome.

She clung to the rusty iron with both hands and rested her head on her arms. She felt tears coursing down her cheeks; tears of sheer relief that she had reached land. Suddenly, all her worries about her sporting career, her studies, her mother’s mental health and, above all, her relationship with Neil, faded into insignificance. She was alive and that was all that mattered. That, and the minor problem of hauling herself out of the kayak and onto dry land.

It took her a long time to get out of the boat and up the steps. She felt as if she were a hundred years old; slow, doddery and so, so tired. She slipped into the water twice and was soaked to the skin by the time she reached the top, the kayak somehow tied to the iron ring below her. She crouched on all fours for several minutes, breathing deeply and shivering with cold before she managed to summon the energy to raise her head and look around.

She was on a small jetty, set within a tiny bay. The jetty ended abruptly only a few paces in front of her and another stone stairway led up a sheer cliff face into the mist. Above her, a host of seagulls were calling and screaming, but the fog shrouded them from sight. But, amazingly, just to one side of her was something totally unexpected. She hauled herself to her feet, wrapping her arms around herself in a vain attempt to conserve some residual heat in her body, and squelched her way across the flagstones. When she reached the cliff, she stopped and stared. Set into the sheer rock face was a shiny, modern stainless steel door. She didn’t need to read the sign that said Adler Elevators to know it was a lift. Beside it was a very modern-looking keypad.

She reached over and pressed the biggest button, but nothing happened. She tried the other, smaller numbered keys, without success, but even through her befuddled haze she realised the lift wouldn’t operate unless she knew the code. Without it, she was stuck out here in the cold. She tried again and again and then, finally, resorted to beating her fists against the steel doors, hearing her blows echo around the little bay. She was on the point of collapse when, wonderfully, she heard a humming sound. The lift was in operation. Seconds later, the doors slid open and she found herself face to face with a serious-looking man with grey hair that was just beginning to go white at the temples. He was wearing a dark suit, with a collar and tie, like a very classy maître d’hôtel. He looked about sixty, but slim and fit with it. His eyes flicked across her suspiciously.

‘What are you doing here?’ His voice was far from welcoming.

‘I… I was out in a kayak.’ Samantha’s words came out very slowly and her voice sounded to her like it belonged to somebody else. She did her best to summon what residual energy remained in her exhausted body and attempt an explanation. ‘It was the mist. I couldn’t see. I’m afraid I got lost. I was being washed out to sea…’ Her voice tailed off.

‘You look cold.’ His expression changed from suspicion to something else. Maybe relief. He hesitated for a moment before coming to a decision. ‘You’d better come in. Come along now.’ He stepped to one side and waved her into the lift.

‘Thank you. Thank you.’ Samantha could hardly recognise her own voice. She was trembling so violently by now that she bit her lip as she spoke and tasted blood in her mouth. She staggered forward into the lift and the man followed her in. She watched as the doors closed and the sound of the waves and the gulls was suddenly extinguished. A sign on the wall indicated that the lift had only been installed a few months earlier. Indeed, it was so smooth that they could barely get any sense of movement as it climbed. After only a few seconds the doors hissed open and she gazed wearily out. She caught the man’s eye.

‘Where are we, please? What is this place?’

‘This is the Abbey of Saint Bernard on Rock Island. Where have you come from? Tregossick?’ She nodded mutely, wiping blood from her lip with the back of her hand. Her fingers felt so cold against her face, they could have belonged to somebody else. The man stepped out and led her to a bench against the wall. His expression had softened and, while not yet friendly, was at least more welcoming. ‘I’ll have to ask you to wait here for a moment, while I go and speak to the owner. Here,’ He pulled a bulky jacket off a hook by the lift door and handed it to her. ‘Put this on. You look frozen stiff.’

He walked across to another lift, this time a futuristic glass bubble in one corner of the huge entrance hall in which Sam now found herself. As he stepped in and the lift doors closed, Samantha covered her shoulders with the jacket, slumped down on the bench and looked around. It was an awesome place and very, very ancient. The hall was huge, dark and hung with flags and tapestries. The ceiling was immensely high and she found herself looking up at the underside of the lift way up above her. It was like being inside an empty tower. The floor was made of flagstones, polished and worn by the passage of countless feet over the centuries. It was truly spectacular.

For a moment she had a vision of Dracula’s castle from an old horror film and it suddenly occurred to her that here she was, a girl on her own, in bizarre surroundings. And, she realised, as a wave of fear threatened to overwhelm her again, nobody knew she was here. In spite of her exhausted state, she was wondering whether to head back down and take her chances in the sea when the glass lift began its downward journey. As it reached the floor, she breathed a sigh of relief. There was a woman in it.

The doors opened and a dark-haired woman came out, accompanied by a young black Labrador. While the dog rushed over to make a fuss of the visitor, the woman stopped and took a good look at Sam’s bedraggled state. ‘Hello. It certainly looks like you could do with some help.’ She sounded very concerned for Sam’s wellbeing, and all Sam could do was nod forlornly. She looked up and caught the other woman’s eye. She read sympathy and the same air of relief she had read on the man’s face. It was as if they had been expecting an unwelcome guest and were pleased to find that their visitor was nothing more than a shipwrecked sailor.

Even through her weariness, Sam couldn’t help noticing what perfect teeth and skin she had, even though most of her was hidden behind a pair of thick-rimmed sunglasses and a mass of hair. ‘Here, come up with me and we’ll sort you out.’ The woman extended her hand and Sam followed her into the lift, the excited dog licking her fingers as he pushed in alongside them.

The lift rose silently to the gallery that circled round at high level. As they stepped out, Sam could see that the floor of the hall was now far below. The woman led her through a doorway into another massive room. It was magnificent, with rows of arched windows, some with stained glass that Sam, even in her numb state, recognised as clearly medieval. The walls were covered in tapestries, paintings and sculptures. The room was furnished with armchairs, sofas and low tables. A girl, dressed in a maid’s uniform, was on her knees at the enormous fireplace.

‘Tracey’s lighting the fire. We’ll soon have you warm.’ Samantha realised she had blundered into an environment very different to her own cramped flat with its piles of unwashed dishes. The dark-haired woman nodded approvingly at the maid by the fire. ‘Excellent, Tracey, thank you.’ She turned to Sam. ‘Now, if you want to get out of those wet clothes, I’ll go and find you some dry ones. You’re about my size so some of my things should be OK. Here, for the moment, wrap yourself in this.’ She pulled a tartan blanket off one of the sofas and handed it to Samantha before disappearing through a door at the end of the room. The young dog looked round uncertainly and then headed after her.

Samantha did as she was bidden and wrapped herself in the plaid. She couldn’t feel her fingers or her toes, but at least the shivering gradually stopped. The fire crackled as the kindling caught and by the time the black-haired woman came back, Samantha was beginning to thaw out a little. This time the woman in the dark glasses was accompanied by another maid, carrying an armful of clothes. ‘I think it would probably be a very good idea of you had a bath or a hot shower, you know. You’re still shivering, although maybe not so much as before, and the hot water should raise your body temperature. Julie, show this young lady to a bathroom, would you.’

Fifteen minutes later, Samantha emerged from the bathroom, feeling like a different person. She could feel her skin glowing as the heat of the shower had restored her to a more normal temperature once again. The clothes she had been given were an excellent fit, including some super soft leather pumps. Even through her exhaustion, Sam had noticed the designer labels on the jeans and the jumper. Even the underwear was Dior!

‘Hi, you’re looking better now. Come over here to the fire. Would you like some tea or maybe some hot chocolate?’ The woman with the black hair called her across and Sam came and stood in front of what had turned into a roaring fire, the heat reaching through the jeans to the backs of her legs.

‘Um, a cup of tea would be great, please.’ Sam was feeling quite overcome by this stage. She had never seen a place like this before. It was a riot of leather furnishings, polished wood and remarkable antiques. If the pair of china dogs on the mantelpiece were authentic, they were probably worth more than Sam’s whole wardrobe. In fact, she thought to herself, the clothes she was now wearing were probably worth almost as much.

The tea arrived very quickly, brought in on a massive tray by a young male waiter. Along with the tea was a huge chunk of freshly-baked sponge cake. The Labrador flopped down on the floor beside Sam’s legs, his eyes trained on the cake dish. Samantha sat down on the sofa and sipped her tea, glad to be here, glad to be alive and very, very grateful. She cleared her throat. ‘I can’t thank you enough for helping me. I’m so terribly sorry to put you to all this trouble. You see, I’m afraid I’ve just been really, really stupid. I set out in the kayak without telling anybody where I was going and I foolishly strayed too far out from the shore.’ She paused as the memory of her ordeal threatened to overwhelm her. She cleared her throat, finding it hard to go on. ‘And then I got into a really strong current.’ She couldn’t help herself, she suddenly burst into tears. With an effort, she rubbed her hands across her eyes and explained. ‘I’m sorry… I suppose it’s just the relief…’

‘You’re all right now. Here, use this.’ The woman with the black hair handed her a linen napkin from the tray. Her expression was warm and supportive. ‘It must have been a frightening experience.’

‘There are some nasty rip currents round here.’ Sam wiped her eyes and turned towards the voice. It was the man who had greeted her on the jetty, his expression now more sympathetic. ‘You’re very lucky you didn’t get washed out to sea. In this pea-souper, you would have been in real trouble.’ Sam noticed that he didn’t approach any closer, remaining on his feet against the far wall, while the maid, Julie, who had shown her to the bathroom, was now stationed against the opposite wall. It was very formal and a little overwhelming. Sam took a few breaths and did her best to smile back at him.

‘I know. I really don’t think I’d have been able to paddle much further.’ Suddenly she remembered her manners. ‘By the way, my name’s Samantha Squires. I’m a postgrad student at Exeter University.’

The man gave her a half-bow. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you. My name is Griffiths. I’m the steward here.’ Sam noticed that he didn’t introduce her to the black-haired woman. Sam turned her attention to her, but didn’t press her for her name. With those enormous dark glasses, it was pretty clear she wanted to keep her identity secret. Sam wondered if the hair might even be a wig, although it looked very convincing. She apologised once more.

‘I’m very sorry to burst in on you like this. You’ve been so very kind. I wonder if I could just use your phone to call somebody to send a boat to pick me up.’ As she spoke, she found herself wondering just how that was going to be possible. Maybe if she phoned Becky…

The woman smiled. ‘You’re very welcome. And don’t worry about a boat. We’ll get you back to dry land. Anyway, your visit gave me a bit of excitement for a change.’ There could have been a note of regret in her voice. ‘So, what are you studying?’

‘Archaeology. I’m doing a PhD.’

‘Oh, you lucky girl. I loved history at school and I was all set to go to university to do a history degree, but then…’ Her voice tailed off and there was an awkward pause before she continued. ‘But then I got sidetracked. But I’ve always kept an interest in it.’

Altogether, Sam stayed with them for over half an hour and she did most of the talking. By the end, she still knew next to nothing about the black-haired woman, apart from the fact that she was remarkably hospitable and generous. Also, if she owned the abbey and the island, she was patently mega rich. Even if she were just renting it, she would need very, very deep pockets to pay for a place like this. Finally, as the grandfather clock struck five, Sam realised she had better get back, before Becky started to get worried. She brushed the crumbs of cake off her lap and stood up. The dog made short work of vacuuming them up and she smiled at him, reaching down to stroke his ears. ‘I think I’d better get off now, if you don’t mind. I’m sure you’ve got far better things to do than listen to me wittering on about Vikings.’

‘Far from it. I can never get enough of history. To be honest, Samantha, I rather envy you.’ Again there was the rather plaintive edge to the other woman’s voice. She and Mr Griffiths accompanied Samantha to the glass lift, the young dog nudging her playfully as he trotted beside her. As the doors opened, Julie appeared with a plastic bag.

‘I’ve put your wet clothes in here, Miss. Is that all right?’

Sam suddenly remembered what she was wearing. ‘Of course, thank you. But, how do I get these clothes back to you?’ The black-haired woman smiled and laid her hand on Sam’s arm.

‘Keep them, Samantha. I’ve got more clothes than I know what to do with. I’m just glad you’re all right and we managed to warm you up again.’

Sam babbled that she couldn’t possibly accept, but her protestations were just waved away.

‘Keep them, Samantha. And thank you for brightening up my day. Goodbye and take care.’ The Labrador and his mistress turned back into the glass lift as Sam and the steward entered the lower one. Sam watched her as the doors closed. In spite of her smiles, in spite of her obvious wealth, the woman looked and sounded just plain lonely.

Outside, the mist was as thick as ever, but nevertheless transport was waiting for her. The kayak was already in the back of the boat, which was a gorgeous-looking wooden motor launch, highly varnished and furnished with red leather seats. It looked as if it had just come off the Grand Canal in Venice. An immaculately-attired boatman was waiting to help her aboard.

‘Goodbye, Miss Squires.’ Mr Griffiths’ tone was cordial as he held out his hand to her. Sam wasn’t sure whether this was so she could shake it, or to help her into the boat, but she took it in both of hers, reached up and kissed him on the cheek anyway.

‘Thank you, Mr Griffiths. You saved my life.’

He flushed slightly and gave her a shy smile. Suddenly he looked ten years younger. ‘Glad to have been of service. Now, have a safe trip back.’

The trip back took barely fifteen minutes. The boatman kept apologising for having to go so slowly because of the sea mist. Sam just looked back at him in awe.

‘I’m amazed you’re able to navigate at all in this fog. I can’t see a thing. Have you got radar or something?’

He gave her a gentle smile and tapped the side of his head with a tanned finger. ‘I’ve got all the radar I need up here. I was born in Tregossick and I’ve been messing about in boats in the bay all my life.’ His Cornish accent was strong, but not impenetrable. ‘I’ll share one of my secrets with you, in case you decide to go kayaking again.’ He caught her eye and grinned. ‘Use your ears. Listen.’ He cocked his head to one side and pointed straight ahead. ‘If you concentrate hard, you can hear the waves breaking against the jetty. Two or three minutes and we’ll be there.’

Sam did her best, but it was another full minute before she, too, heard the waves. A short while later, the stone wall of the jetty loomed up in front of them, but the boatman had already turned the wheel and the launch came to rest against the steps with hardly a bump. He looped a rope around a bollard and held out his hand to her. ‘Home again. You’re probably not sorry to get off the water after what happened this afternoon.’

Samantha took his hand and smiled at him, before climbing out. ‘I’ve been very, very stupid and very, very lucky. This could all have ended much worse.’

The boatman handed the kayak up to her and smiled back.

‘All’s well that ends well, Miss. Now, you take care.’

Chapter 3

‘Ciao, Beppe. You all right?’ Bianchi stood up and closed the window before returning to his desk. The noise of the traffic coming down the Via del Tritone subsided to tolerable proportions.

‘OK, I suppose.’ Beppe lowered himself into a chair. It creaked in protest, but managed to take his not inconsiderable bulk. He leant back and mopped his brow. The temperature here in Rome in mid-July was in the high thirties.

Bianchi studied the fat man for a few moments. He looked awful. The bags under his eyes were bulbous enough to cast shadows down his cheeks. His stomach flowed out over his belt like lava down the side of Mount Etna. His sulphurous breath further reinforced the impression as he ran his tongue over his tar-stained teeth before looking up at Bianchi and asking hopefully, ‘So, have you got something for me?’

‘Yes. I’ve got a really good target for you.’ In response to the expression of heightened interest on Beppe’s face, Bianchi explained. ‘It could take the whole of August. This one’s a very, very elusive customer. We’ve had a tip-off and we’re pretty sure we’re the only ones in the know, at least for now. And, if we’re lucky, she might even have a few celebrity friends around her. Hopefully, you’ll be able to kill quite a few birds with one stone.’