Fallen Hero - A Polvellan Cornish Mystery Read online

  ‘Hang on a minute. Let me get it right. They are my –’

  ‘Violet and Iestyn are your great-grandparents from Trevor’s wife’s side.’

  ‘Well! So that’s where my voice came from.’

  ‘Your voice is yours, Mor.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s in the family, isn’t it? I like the thought of that.’

  ‘That’s where I saw it!’ Jess said suddenly. ‘The Wynn-Evans name is on one of the framed prints of playbills hanging on the wall of Marigolds. I met Trish and Angie in there to ask if they remembered your mother meeting your father.’

  ‘I got to go in town and see that picture.’

  ‘I’ll see if I can find a copy. It will be something else to put in your folder.’

  ‘I can’t hardly believe it, Jess. After Granny and Grampy died I thought Mother was the only family I had. But now – All these people you found are dead and gone, but they are still my family, who I come from.’ She reached for her coat. ‘You’ll be glad to see the back of me. Jess, you’ve done some wonderful job.’

  ‘It’s a real pleasure, Mor. And we’re not finished yet.’

  Chapter Eight

  After Morwenna had gone, Jess locked the door, stoked up the fire, and returned to her laptop. The Stella’s crew list also contained the ship’s log. As she looked through the entries Jess’s mouth fell open. She had struck gold.

  Some entries were detailed, others terse. These radiated frustration. But it looked as if the Stella’s master, Captain Frank Day, accepted his chief’s alcoholism as a price worth paying for an engineer who could manage the idiosyncrasies of his ship’s triple-expansion coal-fired steam engine.

  Switching between the log and various search engines, scribbling notes as she went, Jess learned that by 1916 many freighters had been requisitioned by the government. But the Stella’s owners had managed to avoid this and so were reaping high profits as the tonnage of ships sunk by the Germans and the resulting shortage of cargo space pushed freight charges to astronomical levels.

  Only when the US entered the war in 1917 and insisted on protection for their ships bringing vital supplies to the Allies did the convoy system came into operation. Up till then merchant ships had sailed alone. High profits meant high risks.

  By summer 1917 the Stella had already made three round trips to Russia, sailing between Woolwich arsenal and Murmansk carrying guns and ammunition to assist the Russians, Britain’s allies.

  Jess sat back, blinking tired eyes. She didn’t want to stop. But nor did she want to risk missing something important. She shut down her laptop and gathered her notes into a folder.

  At eleven the next morning Morwenna phoned, unable to find Wright & Hendry in any telephone directory.

  ‘All right, Mor. Leave it with me. My solicitor might know.’

  When Richard Banham’s secretary put her through she asked if he could help and explained why.

  ‘Our firm took over Wright & Hendry after the remaining partner retired ten years ago. All client records will be in our archives. Miss Crocker needs to talk to George Ryall. I’ll transfer you to his secretary so you can make an appointment for her.’

  ‘Thanks, I appreciate it.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  After making an appointment for the following Tuesday, Jess phoned Morwenna with the details. She spent the rest of the day finishing off Tom’s accounts.

  On Saturday morning she made a quiche, a Waldorf salad, and an apple crumble, then hurried through the rest of the housework. At five she made a cup of tea then went upstairs to have a bath and wash her hair.

  Afterwards, gazing into her open wardrobe, she hesitated over what to wear. Would he be thinking of it as a date? She wished he hadn’t winked. Should she wear something smart? Not a dress: she wasn’t going overboard. But if he turned up in jeans and a sweater and she was wearing black trousers and fuchsia silk shirt he might feel he ought to have made more effort. For a potluck supper? Right, casual rather than smart.

  She zipped up a clean pair of soft stonewashed jeans, then put on a white tank top and a loose shirt. Applying rose lip gloss, she raked a comb through her almost-dry curls then stepped back and studied her reflection. She looked casual and comfortable. Which proved how deceptive appearances could be. Switching off the light she went downstairs.

  The meal had taken time to put together. But preparing it in advance meant she wouldn’t have to leap up and down every few minutes to check saucepans. She was nervous enough already. It was ridiculous.

  She was forty-eight years old, not a lovesick teenager. Tom had been her friend since primary school. For a while in their teens he had been more, much more. Perhaps because her parents had died while she was a child she was more aware of life’s fragility, how everything could change overnight. Loving him, she had wanted commitment. He hadn’t been ready for that, so they had parted.

  Fate in the form of Alex’s death and the loss of her home had brought them together again – older and hopefully wiser. But both had acquired considerable baggage during the intervening years.

  The first time she had seen him after returning to the village she had felt her heart stutter. Surprised by her reaction she had shrugged it off as nostalgia, fond memories of a past far simpler than the present.

  They had met again a few days later in the shop. Grubby and sweaty with dust in her hair, she had run down to buy milk for Fred, Jason, and Charlie’s mid-morning coffee. Seeing Tom ahead of her at the counter, she had been torn between pleasure and self-consciousness at her dishevelled state.

  ‘All right, Jess?’ Gill called from behind the grill that separated the post office from the public. As Tom looked round Gill demanded, ‘Dear life, girl, whatever you been doing?’

  ‘Fred’s just knocked down a lath and plaster wall. I’m barrowing it out to the skip.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be doing that,’ Gill scolded. ‘Where’s Jason?’

  ‘Helping his father. I’m their labourer. The sooner it’s finished, the sooner I can move in.’ Doing the labouring herself was saving money and she needed every penny.

  Tom brought his head close so only Jess could hear as he murmured, ‘She didn’t need to do that. I knew the moment you came in.’

  Jess felt herself blush and the warmth in his gaze demolished the intervening years in an instant.

  She picked up her laptop, Morwenna’s folders and Tom’s box of papers, now all neatly collated, and put them on top of the low cupboard under the bookshelves.

  Then she laid the table with mats, cutlery, plates, and glasses then set out cups and saucers for coffee by the kettle. She checked her watch by the kitchen clock. Six fifty-five.

  She put another couple of logs on the woodburner, brushed up the ash, washed her hands, and rubbed in some hand cream. The clock said seven. She looked through her collection of CDs for some music. Rock? Great for housework but she was jumpy enough already. Classical? Not for a potluck supper. Vocals? Eva Cassidy had a beautiful voice but her songs were heartbreaking.

  Grabbing her favourite film themes compilation, she slotted it into the player and turned down the volume. She wanted it audible but not so loud it would interfere with conversation.

  Then she sat on the sofa, leaned back, closed her eyes and tried to relax. He would be here any minute.

  She hadn’t known she was going to invite him until the words were out. Earlier it had crossed her mind to phone him and say she wasn’t well. But even as the thought occurred she had known she wouldn’t, that she didn’t want to. Then what was she fretting about?

  She was scared. Of what? Tom? She opened her eyes and looked at the clock. Five minutes past. He wasn’t coming. Of course he was. He’d probably been late getting in from the yard. He’d be here any minute.

  Getting up she plumped the cushions, filled the kettle with fresh water, then spooned some of her home-made apple and sultana chutney into a small dish and put it on the table.

  The knock wasn’t loud, but it made her jump
. She sucked in a deep breath and crossed to open the door.

  ‘Hi, Tom. Come in.’

  ‘I know I’m late.’

  ‘Only ten minutes.’ What she should have said was ‘Are you?’ as if she hadn’t noticed.

  He thrust a bottle of white wine – already chilled – and a box of dark chocolates into her hands, then took off his coat and hung it over hers on the peg. ‘I’ve been sitting in the car park since five to.’

  ‘Why?’

  He pushed both hands through hair still damp from the shower. ‘I didn’t want to look too keen. Which is daft because I’ve been looking forward to this all day.’

  Seeing his clean jeans, shirt, and maroon sweater, Jess knew she had chosen her outfit wisely. His jaw was smooth and she caught a trace of citrus cologne.

  ‘Nice aftershave.’

  ‘Not too strong is it?’

  ‘No, it’s lovely. Thanks so much for these. But you shouldn’t have.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. Least I could do. It’s been all go at the yard. Then I had to get Chris back to his mum’s. Now I’m free until Monday morning.’

  Jess turned away to put the wine on the table and the chocolates on the worktop by the coffee cups. Was he hinting at staying? Was she ready for that? Even if she was, he had no right to simply assume –

  ‘Jess? What’s wrong, bird? And don’t say “nothing”. I promised I’d give you all the time you need. But if something upsets you I want to know. That’s fair, isn’t it?’ Catching her hand he simply held it. He didn’t crowd her or draw her closer.

  ‘You’re right. It’s – I don’t want to bore you –’

  ‘Hey …’

  ‘OK, my solicitor rang to tell me that Alex had lost all our money speculating in shares. Then Mor called in to show me her grandfather’s will. He left his cottage to Mor, but Brenda never told her.’

  Tom swore under his breath. ‘She was probably afraid Mor might turn her out.’

  Jess was shocked. ‘Morwenna would never have done that.’

  ‘’Course she wouldn’t. But Brenda might have if things had been the other way about. What else?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Jess.’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s just – it’s been two years and a lot of ups and downs, but I’ve finally got my life – now I’m hearing things I knew nothing about. Each time Mr Banham rings he takes away a bit more of the man I thought I knew. I’m sorry, Tom, I didn’t mean to –’

  ‘I asked. And I’m glad you’ve told me. Sure there’s nothing else?’

  Meeting his gaze, feeling his thumb gently rubbing her knuckles she blurted, ‘About tonight –’

  ‘Ah, yes, tonight. I can’t stay. Not because I don’t want to. I do. I really do. But right now you got enough going on. You don’t need any more pressure. Besides, I don’t want you thinking I’m easy.’

  She stared at him. He gazed back, expressionless. Then the corner of his mouth twitched. Her tension dissolved and she started to laugh. ‘Oh Lord, was I that obvious?’

  Raising her hand he kissed her knuckles. ‘Now we’ve got that out of the way, where’s the corkscrew?’

  She kissed his cheek. ‘You’re special, Tom Peters.’

  ‘Hold that thought.’ He opened the wine, she cut the quiche, and sitting opposite each other they began their meal.

  ‘How is Chris getting on with his community service?’ Jess asked, passing him the salad bowl.

  ‘His supervisor is well pleased. He put in seven hours with the Parish working party last Saturday. They’ve been clearing overgrown footpaths between the village and the marina.’

  ‘It needed doing.’

  ‘When I got back from the marina after the gale, Doug told me, in front of Chris, that the boy deserved an extra tenner for his work that day. I told him he’s getting soft in his old age. He just snorted and said to make sure the boy got his money. When Chris started at the yard I thought there might be trouble between him and Doug, what with the age difference and all. It was scratchy for a couple of weeks. I stayed out of it. Then one day I heard Chris tease Doug, calling him Grampy. Doug started telling Chris about his grandfather who sailed on a windjammer. They were still talking about sailing ships when we stopped for dinner. Anyhow, what about your research into Mor’s family? How’s that going?’

  ‘Her great-grandfather was chief engineer on a freighter with a regular run carrying arms to Murmansk in northern Russia. This was before the convoy system so ships sailed alone. Yet despite the risk from mines and German submarines, the Stella only had one gun mounted at the stern. That doesn’t seem right. Why didn’t she have more?’

  ‘Because a freighter’s job is to deliver cargo, not get involved in a fight.’

  ‘Yes, but why have a gun at the stern? Surely –’

  ‘Think about it, Jess. In a rough sea a bow-mounted gun would be underwater half the time. A ship that’s pitching,’ he tipped his flattened hand up and down, ‘isn’t exactly a stable platform to fire from. A sub is faster than a freighter so the gunner wouldn’t be able to judge distance. And if you don’t know how far away your target is, how can you hope to hit it?’

  She gathered up their empty dishes. ‘Now you’ve explained, it’s obvious and I feel like an idiot.’

  ‘That’s one thing you aren’t.’ He refilled their glasses. ‘A stern gun is more than enough to keep an enemy away while you make a run for it.’

  Tom helped with the dishes. Then, as she brought their coffee to the low table in front of the sofa, he turned off the kitchen light, leaving just the side-lights and the dancing flames behind the woodburner’s glass doors.

  With music playing softly in the background he took her hand and they talked about changes in the village. She felt the rough hard skin on his palm; saw pale scars on his knuckles. Suddenly he smothered a yawn.

  ‘God, Jess. I’m sorry. I haven’t caught up yet after the storm. I’ll go.’

  ‘Not yet. You haven’t –’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This.’ Leaning over she touched her lips to his. His mouth was warm and familiar. They broke apart reluctantly. Looking into his eyes, Jess read a reflection of her own feelings. Tonight had been another step forward. It felt right. And it was enough, for now.

  ‘I’m going before I fall asleep on your sofa.’

  She held his jacket then he turned and put his arms around her. ‘Thanks for a lovely meal.’

  ‘You’re very welcome. We can do it again –’

  ‘Soon?’

  ‘You just want someone to cook for you.’

  ‘I can bring fish and chips. It’s your company I’m after.’

  Laughing, she kissed him then gently pulled free. ‘OK. I’ll phone you.’ She opened the door. ‘Night, Tom.’

  Stepping outside he half-turned so the light fell across his face. ‘Night, Jess. Sleep well.’

  Chapter Nine

  On Tuesday morning, George Ryall confirmed that the will Morwenna had found in her mother’s wardrobe was a true copy of the original. Morwenna was indeed the owner of the cottage in which she had lived all her life.

  Thanking him, Jess and Morwenna rose to leave when his phone rang. The call was brief and when he replaced the receiver he smiled at Jess.

  ‘That was Mr Banham, Mrs Trevanion. He’d appreciate it if you could come in and see him next Monday at ten thirty, if that’s convenient? Perhaps you could confirm with the receptionist on your way out?’

  Wondering what he could want to see her about so soon after their last meeting, Jess realised Morwenna was waiting for an answer. ‘Sorry, Mor. What did you say?

  ‘Can we go and see the poster, Jess? The one in Marigolds? We’re here anyway and it’s just down the road.’

  ‘Yes, of course we can. I’m ready for a coffee.’

  The waitress remembered Jess, who explained the significance of the poster and asked if she could speak to the manager.

  ‘I’m sorry, he won’t be in till this afternoon
.’

  Jess gave her a card. ‘Could you give him this and tell him why we came? Naturally I’ll pay the cost of having it copied.’

  ‘Shouldn’t be much. You could take it up to the stationer’s. They do printing and over-sized photocopies.’

  ‘I can’t believe it, Jess,’ Morwenna said as they walked back through the town to the bus stop. ‘They’re my family and they was famous.’

  A horn tooted and Viv pulled up alongside. ‘Want a lift home?’

  ‘Thanks, Viv.’

  ‘I’ll go in the back.’ Morwenna climbed in alongside Viv’s shopping and Jess sat beside Viv, who swung the little car out into traffic and up the road.

  ‘How’s it going with the funeral, Mor?

  ‘Two o’clock Saturday at the chapel.’

  ‘What about after? When I was in the shop this morning Gill said we should have refreshments in the village hall.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Morwenna said. ‘I was going to put something on at home –’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Viv said. ‘There’ll never be room.’

  ‘I don’t s’pose many will come –’

  ‘’Course they will. And you can’t expect them to stand out in the garden this weather.’

  ‘Viv’s right, Mor,’ Jess said. ‘I’ll make two large cheese and tomato quiches.’

  Behind her, Morwenna burst into tears. Jess and Viv looked at each other.

  ‘What’s wrong, my bird?’ Viv asked. ‘Look, it don’t have to be the hall. You could have it in the pub, but –’

  ‘No, it isn’t that. You all been so lovely to me and Mother never had a good word for anyone.’

  ‘Well, truth is, Mor,’ Viv said. ‘I wouldn’t cross the road –’

  Jess stopped Viv with a look and spoke over her shoulder. ‘It’s not for your mother, Mor. We’re doing it for you.’

  ‘So it’ll be in the hall,’ Viv decided. ‘Soon as we get back I’ll tell Harry so he’ll know to put the heating on.’

  After soup and a sandwich for lunch, Jess continued her research, alternately reading of the Stella’s log and checking newspaper archives and historical records.