Fallen Hero - A Polvellan Cornish Mystery Read online

  By the beginning of 1917, finally recognising the threat from mines and German submarines to ships bringing cargo to Murmansk and Archangel, the Royal Navy sent minesweeping trawlers to the area. Two elderly cruisers were adapted and sent out to act as repair workshops. The first of these cruisers, HMS Iphigenia, arrived in Murmansk in March 1917, the month the Tsar abdicated.

  Before the war, Murmansk had been a small and remote fishing village. But remaining ice-free all winter gave it strategic importance and within three years it had expanded into a sprawling port with a newly built railway line linking it to St Petersburg, then known as Petrograd.

  A Russian cruiser, the Askold, was berthed alongside HMS Iphigenia. But following a mutiny aboard the Askold, her officers were arrested and taken away, leaving the crew on their own. After using up all the food and supplies, they simply abandoned the ship.

  Another entry in the log referred to ships requisitioned by the British government arriving in Murmansk with Russian deportees from the UK.

  Jess did some further digging and learned that these men, mostly Lithuanians living in Scotland, had been offered a choice: to enlist in the British army, or return to Russia for military service there. To pressure them into fighting on the British side, they were told that no help with repatriation or subsistence would be offered to the families of those who chose to leave. Horrified, and fascinated, Jess read on, making notes, checking information on websites and in archives.

  Saturday morning was dry, cold, and windy. At ten Mavis called in for Jess and, carrying shopping bags packed with plastic boxes, they walked down to the village hall.

  Muffled up in coat, flat cap, and scarf, Harry was on his way out of the car park as they arrived.

  ‘What time do you call this?’ Mavis demanded. ‘Viv said the heating would be on by nine.’

  ‘Overslept, didn’t I? Anyway, it’s on now and I’ve filled the urn.’

  ‘Where you going now? What about the tables?’

  ‘I brung them in from the back room and stacked them against the wall. I got things to do. I’ll come back and put ‘em up d’reckly.’ He hurried away.

  ‘That’s the last we’ll see of him,’ Jess sighed, opening the back door into the hall kitchen.

  ‘Don’t you believe it. He wouldn’t miss free food. But you’re right. We won’t see him no more this morning. ’Tis bitter in here,’ Mavis grumbled, setting her bag on the worktop. ‘I aren’t taking my coat off till it warms up.’

  ‘Come on, we’d better put up the tables.’

  ‘Switch the kettle on first, bird.’

  They had set up four tables when the back door opened and Viv entered with a blast of cold air. With her gold padded jacket she wore a green knitted hat with a rosette on the side and a pink woollen scarf wrapped several times around her neck.

  ‘Shut the door!’ Jess and Mavis shouted.

  ‘Give us a chance. I only got one pair of hands!’ Viv yelled back. Dropping her bags beside the others, she pulled the door closed. ‘That wind is some sharp. I called in the shop to remind Gerry about the milk. He’s bringing it round. I got Gill’s cakes here: two Victoria sponges filled with home-made strawberry jam and cream. Kettle’s boiled. Make a pot of tea, shall I?’

  An hour later the hall had warmed up and they had shed their coats. Every table was spread with a blue crepe paper tablecloth and surrounded by four chairs. More chairs lined the walls. Cakes, buns, sausage rolls, and quiches had been laid out on serving plates. Cups and saucers covered one worktop.

  Viv nudged Jess. ‘You know what this reminds me of?’

  ‘The carol concert?’

  Viv nodded. ‘I’ll never forget Mor’s face when she come in with Henry’s cap full of money for that dear baby.’

  ‘That was nearly five weeks ago,’ Jess said.

  ‘Where do the time go? Still, at least now Brenda’s gone Mor got a chance to be happy.’

  ‘We all know that, but it’s probably best if you don’t say it to Mor.’

  ‘As if I would!’

  As Jess raised an eyebrow, Viv grinned. ‘All right, I won’t, OK?’

  By five to two, every pew in the chapel was full and latecomers were standing at the back.

  The entire choir had come and stood in rows facing the congregation. When Morwenna walked in, escorted by Ben in an ill-fitting dark suit, his hair slicked down, face shiny and freshly shaved, Jess, sitting with Tom near the back, saw her shock as she took in the crowd. Her mouth quivered and tears spilled over. Ben dug into his jacket pocket and pressed a clean folded handkerchief into Mor’s hand. Jess’s eyes stung.

  As the service progressed, she sat and stood with everyone else. She mouthed the hymns but couldn’t get a sound past the lump in her throat. She wished she hadn’t come. She’d had to for Mor’s sake. But the words of the service and the sight of Mor’s shoulders shaking catapulted her back two years. She felt as if a scab had been ripped off exposing raw nerve ends.

  Beside her Tom pressed his arm against hers. Clinging to control by her fingertips she didn’t dare look at him. But his touch offered comfort.

  The choir sang “Amazing Grace” and “The White Rose.” The minister gave a eulogy clearly written by Morwenna, who told of her mother’s struggle with ill-health. It was short, simple, and generous.

  ‘Better than Brenda deserved,’ Tom whispered.

  Jess nodded.

  Then came the final prayer and it was over. People milled about outside the chapel as Ben helped Morwenna into the car to follow the coffin to the cemetery for the interment.

  ‘You all right?’ With a hand under her elbow, Tom steered her away from the crowd. ‘You’ve gone very pale.’

  She made an effort. ‘Bit of a headache, that’s all. But I don’t think I can face the hall.’

  ‘You’ve done enough for today. Viv told me,’ he said before she could ask. ‘Go home and put your feet up. I’d come with you but I’ve got a customer arriving –’ he looked at his watch, ‘in half an hour. As he’s driving down from Dorset I ought to be there.’

  ‘Of course you should.’

  ‘I’ll give you a call later. Can’t promise what time.’

  ‘Tom, don’t worry about it. You might want to take him out for a drink or a meal. We’ll catch up next week.’

  He brushed his hand down her sleeve. ‘Look after yourself.’

  Closing her front door, Jess crossed to the woodburner and added more logs. She switched on the kettle then went upstairs to change. After making herself some hot chocolate she opened her laptop and the file containing her research into Trevor Ludlow.

  Chapter Ten

  Richard Banham came out to the reception area and shook her hand. ‘Good morning, Mrs Trevanion. Thank you for coming in. You probably weren’t expecting to hear from me again so soon. Coffee?’

  Jess let his pleasantries wash over her as he ushered her into his office and closed the door. She took her usual chair and watched him add milk from a matching jug, then set the cup and saucer on the desk where she could easily reach it. Pouring a cup for himself he settled into his leather chair and leaned back.

  ‘How are you?’

  Assuming he was simply being polite, she was about to reply ‘fine’ when he added, ‘I mean really.’

  As his interest appeared genuine she answered honestly. ‘I have the occasional down day, but they are rare now. Six months after Alex died my GP referred me to a counsellor who told me I had a choice. I could keep looking back to a past I couldn’t change, or look forward and build a new life.’

  ‘Sounds like good advice.’

  She nodded. ‘But I wasn’t ready to hear it. That took another six months. Then one morning I woke up and realised I’d had enough and it was time to let go.’

  ‘It was that easy?’

  She smiled briefly. ‘It surprised me too. She had told me to imagine being on a ship with a large suitcase into which I had put all my grief and anger and blame. Then drop it overboard and
watch it sink out of sight. It sounds ridiculous –’

  ‘Actually, it doesn’t.’

  ‘The thing is, it worked and the difference was amazing. Now when I feel low I try to focus on all the good things in my life.’

  He replaced his cup carefully. ‘I really admire the way you’ve come to terms not just with what happened, but with all has come to light since.’

  He paused and Jess felt her muscles tighten. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Did your husband ever mention a Laura Stanton?’

  Jess thought for a moment then shook her head. ‘No. Who is she?’

  ‘A lawyer. She lives in Dubai with her eighteen-year-old daughter, Kimberley.’

  ‘What has this to do with me?’

  ‘Kimberley is your husband’s child.’

  Jess stared at him. She heard the words but they didn’t make sense. ‘No. No, there’s been a mistake. She can’t be.’

  ‘I’m afraid there’s no doubt. Ms Stanton applied for a copy of the death certificate of her daughter’s father, Alexander Robert Trevanion, prior to applying for a grant from a charitable trust that specialises in sending children of deceased ex-pats to university in England. The death certificate gave your late husband’s home address and your name as his widow.’

  ‘I know what’s on a death certificate,’ Jess’s skin tingled unpleasantly with the devastating shock of Alex’s duplicity. ‘Sorry, that was rude –’

  He waved her apology aside. ‘I’m sorry to be giving you such unwelcome news.’

  ‘You are absolutely sure?’ Even as she asked, she knew he would not be telling her unless he was certain.

  ‘Ms Stanton spent several weeks contacting solicitors in the area attempting to locate the firm that handled Alexander Trevanion’s affairs. Eventually she reached us.’

  ‘What does she want?’

  ‘From you? Nothing. Though she did ask me to convey her apology. She claims she didn’t know Mr Trevanion was married.’

  Alex hadn’t told this woman he had a wife and twin sons? ‘Why are you telling me? Stupid question, I suppose you are required to, rules of disclosure or something.’

  ‘True. But there’s another reason. It’s possible your late husband put money into the home Ms Stanton shared with their daughter. If indeed that is the case, you may have a claim –’

  ‘No!’ Jess shook her head.

  ‘Perhaps this is not the best time to discuss –’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Abruptly, Jess stood up. ‘You’ll have to excuse me. I need to go home.’

  Sitting at the front of the bus, her head turned away from anyone getting on and off, she gazed unseeing out of the window. Alex had a daughter ten years younger than their sons. How had he met this woman? How long had the affair lasted? How was she going to break this to Rob and Sam?

  She had trusted her husband completely, believed they had a strong partnership. Because much of their marriage was spent apart, she had treasured his time at home. Yet that wasn’t without its difficulties.

  When he was away, responsibility for the house, the boys, her grandparents, and Alex’s father lay with her. When he came home it took a few days to adjust. She had to tread warily and bite her tongue. She had thought it was only to be expected, that she was no different from the wives of men in the armed forces whose husbands could be gone for six months at a time.

  She missed him fiercely each time he went away. But after a couple of days she slotted back into her routine. What choice did she have? It was his job, he loved it, and, as he so often pointed out, his salary had put their sons through university and given her the freedom not to work.

  She wondered why he thought that looking after a large house and garden, feeding two growing boys, and spending two days a week doing laundry, housework, and shopping for her grandparents, then another day doing the same for her father-in-law, didn’t qualify as ‘work.’ But she knew how lucky she was, and she didn’t want to spoil his time at home with rows.

  His death had left her stunned and bereft. Discovering he had left her with no money, no insurance, and a re-mortgaged house had been a profound shock. Now, finally ready to move on, she learns he’d fathered a daughter with a mistress. Had she ever really known the man who had been her husband for twenty-six years?

  Too shaken to think, too numb to feel, Jess stayed indoors for the next three days. There was food in the fridge but she had little appetite. She ignored the phone, letting the answer machine pick up messages while she escaped a situation too painful to deal with by losing herself in the dramatic events of Trevor Ludlow’s last voyage to Russia.

  On Thursday evening a rap on the door made her jump. She didn’t move from the table.

  The letterbox was pushed open and Tom called through it. ‘I’m not leaving, Jess, so you might as well let me in. If I keep knocking, Ivy will be out to see what’s going on.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she shouted.

  ‘So open the door.’

  Shoving her chair away from the table she stormed across to the door and unlocked it. ‘Come in then if you must.’ She turned away. Before she reached the kitchen he was inside with the door closed. To give herself something to do she filled the kettle then glanced over. He was standing on the mat, waiting.

  ‘You been poorly? There’s some nasty bugs around this time of year.’

  She was tempted. If she said she was ill maybe he’d go away. No, he wouldn’t. This was Tom. He would offer to get her a hot water bottle and make tea. She shook her head.

  ‘What’s on, bird?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Nothing. I’ve been busy, that’s all.’ Even as the words left her lips she hated herself for the lie. He was a man and she didn’t owe him a damn thing. No. He deserved better.

  ‘Too busy to pick up the phone? To let me know you’re OK? I was worried, Jess.’

  ‘Why? I’m a grown woman. I didn’t ask you to – I don’t want –’ She turned away, swallowing hard and blinking away scalding tears.

  ‘I thought we were friends.’

  ‘Don’t do that! It’s emotional blackmail.’

  ‘It’s telling you I know something’s wrong. A blind man could see you’re upset. I care about you, Jess. Trust me. Talk to me. I’ll listen. I won’t even offer an opinion unless you ask for it. But whatever’s upset you, and it’s clear as day that something has, you need to let it out. Shutting yourself away in here and letting it fester inside you will just make it worse.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Her voice broke and she gave a helpless shrug. ‘I just – I couldn’t –’

  ‘Go and sit down. Do you want tea or coffee?’

  ‘Tea, please.’ While he poured boiling water into the pot, she knelt to add another log to the woodburner and sat back on her heels. ‘Alex had a daughter with a woman called Laura Stanton.’

  His hand jerked, slopping tea onto the worktop. ‘Bloody hell!’ Grabbing the dishcloth he wiped up the spill. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘My solicitor told me when I went in on Monday morning. There’s no doubt.’

  ‘So that’s why no one’s seen sight nor sign of you. Gill was asking.’

  ‘She’d have known something was wrong and I couldn’t face –’ she made a helpless gesture.

  He set the mugs on the coffee table and lowered himself onto the sofa. Jess stayed on the floor, hugging her knees.

  ‘She’s a lawyer and lives in Dubai. I remember Alex made several trips there. Her daughter’s name is Kimberley and she’s eighteen.

  ‘Dear life, Jess. Talk about a shock. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I’m telling you now.’

  ‘Only because I turned up and said I wasn’t leaving.’

  ‘I needed time to get my head around it. I’m so angry. In fact, anger doesn’t even begin to describe it.’ She shook her head. ‘And I feel such a fool.’

  ‘Being angry is fair enough.’

  Jess remembered. Susan had left Tom for the m
an she was having an affair with, taking Chris with her.

  ‘Oh, Tom –’

  He waved it away. ‘Why should you feel a fool? He’s the guilty one. You trusted him. He betrayed that.’

  ‘I didn’t have a clue. Was it just a fling or did it last for years? Was he still seeing her when he died? He never told her he was married. I know that because she asked my solicitor to pass on her apology.’

  ‘Big of her.’ His contempt calmed and soothed. ‘And you’ve been shut in here for three days, fretting.’

  ‘Not all the time. I’ve been working. So I didn’t have to think –’ Her throat closed and she coughed. ‘Twenty-six years, Tom, yet I had no idea. Does that make him a brilliant liar? Or me blind and stupid?’

  ‘Jess, what Alex did was his responsibility. But he’s dead and it’s over. It’s the past.’

  ‘Except it’s not, is it? What about his daughter?’

  ‘She’s not your problem.’ He stood and held out his hand. As she took it, he drew her up and into his arms. ‘Oh, Jessie, what a time you’ve had.’ Holding her close he rocked gently.

  ‘I’m glad you came.’ She hugged him, nestling her head into the curve between his jaw and shoulder. ‘I was getting on my own nerves.’

  ‘Get your coat. I’m taking you to the pub for a drink.’

  She pushed a hand through her hair. ‘I can’t. I look a wreck.’

  ‘No you don’t. You look like someone who’s been working too hard. Come on, it will do you good. Gill, Annie, Viv, and Jimmy are there, Mor and Ben are with them, and Percy’s propping up the bar having a yarn with Harry. Come on, Jess. You’ve got this place lovely, but you need a break from it.’

  He was right. ‘Give me five minutes.’ She made for the stairs.

  ‘As long as it takes. I’m not going without you.’

  She washed her face and combed her hair. A little makeup gave her some colour. She looped a scarf of multi-toned pinks and lilacs around her neck and swapped her slippers for boots.

  Downstairs, Tom was putting another log on the burner. He stood up, brushing his hands on the seat of his jeans. ‘It’ll be nice and warm when you come in.’