Page 3 of New Beginnings At Pencarrow Bay
The house was cool and dark, with an atmosphere of polished wealth: flagstones and ticking clocks, floor wax, rose- and clove-scented pot-pourri, faded chintz covers and silver photo frames, a brick-red Aga keeping the kitchen warm. Old-fashioned, but richly so. When Peggy visited she felt as if she were going back in time to a smarter version of Granny Maud’s genteelly shabby house in Wells, which conjured up very mixed emotions: she and herbrother Tom had, involuntarily, spent the second half of their childhood with their grandmother.
When everyone was present, Lindy clapped her hands. ‘Welcome! So lovely to have you all here.’ She reached out a hand, laying it lightly on Peggy’s shoulder. ‘And I’m delighted to announce that I’ve found a new recruit to the cause.’ General laughter and applause greeted her words. ‘Let me introduce you to Peggy Gilbert. She’s the partner of the lovely Ted– whom you all know from his delicious coffee up by the castle.’
Peggy smiled at Lindy’s description of Ted. But with all those eager eyes on her, she couldn’t immediately think of anything sensible to say back, so she kept smiling, adding an awkward wave she instantly regretted.
The next hour and a half passed quickly. Peggy was introduced to a lot of the women– including Sydna, as sharp as a tack and a brilliant raconteur of stage stories– who all seemed to know each other well. She chatted and smiled and talked about the bay, how much she loved it, how thrilled she was to be living there. She fielded questions about her future plans, her answers vague because there were no plans, although she mentioned that she hoped to find teaching work, in case any of the women knew of openings. She laughed at plenty of retirement jokes about learning Turkish or scuba diving, growing giant marrows, wearing her pyjamas all day. It was all very light-hearted, but she couldn’t help feeling a sting in the tail relating to her own uncertainties.
Lindy, at some point, rallied the room and began an uplifting speech about the dire state of the roof of the village hall, how far they were from their target. Peggygot the impression that, though the women were thoroughly enjoying the coffee and cakes, the biscuits– even her crumbly ones– and the chance for a good natter with mates in a comfortable setting, the fundraising was a bit of a sideshow. She suspected it would be mostly Lindy, single-handed, who would raise the money for the roof.
‘Thank you so much for inviting me,’ she said to Lindy afterwards, when the stragglers had finally left and Peggy was helping to clear up. ‘That was fun.’ She grinned, relieved that she’d engaged with all those new faces reasonably well. In fact, she’d had a good time.
‘They’re a nice lot, aren’t they?’ Lindy said, clearly pleased. ‘But bloody useless at raising money, of course.’
Peggy laughed. ‘It’s a rare skill. Not sure I’m much good at it either, but I’ll help wherever I can.’
Lindy gave a theatrical sigh. ‘Thank you. Good to have your support.’ She rinsed the coffee pot and set it upside down on the draining-board. ‘And maybe your Ted can help too. He seems to know all sorts of people.’
‘True.’ Peggy paused. ‘Although he’s always so busy.’
Lindy cocked her head, a frown on her face. ‘Gosh, you sounded rather sad just then.’
Peggy was taken aback. ‘Did I? No, no, I’m fine.’
But Lindy’s face still wore a concerned look. ‘That’s why I wanted you to meet the girls today. Don’t be shy with them. They’re good company when you get to know them, and they obviously liked you.’
‘I so appreciate being included, Lindy. I can see you all have a lovely closeness.’I hope I can be a part of it one day, Peggy added to herself.
‘This is a proper community. We look after each other,’Lindy said, patting her arm reassuringly. After a short pause she went on, ‘You know, I had to take early retirement too– my husband wasn’t at all well. It was a huge wrench. I loved my work, loved who I was in that role. But I love what I’ve become, too. Here in the village.’ She smiled. ‘You’ll get there.’
‘I’m sure I will,’ Peggy said, managing to sound creditably upbeat. She was touched by Lindy’s insight. She had never talked to her about her worries, but it felt good to be heard without even speaking… and to be so reassured by someone who actually knew.
The two women chatted on while they finished the clearing up. When Peggy was at the door, saying goodbye, Lindy raised her hand. ‘Nearly forgot. I’ve another book for you,’ she said. ‘Not as good as the last one, but quite compelling in a strange way. It’s on my Kindle so I can’t share and I’m hopeless at titles. I’ll text it to you later. Check it out and we can chat about it, if it appeals.’
Peggy smiled broadly. ‘Bring it on!’
As she walked back up the hill, Peggy mused on what it would mean for her to fully experience and become part of this ‘proper community’ to which Lindy had referred. It wasn’t familiar territory. In the block of flats in Highgate where she’d spent nearly twenty years, there had been minimum interaction with the neighbours. The only person she’d really bonded with was Flann, the old boy in the basement– a relic from before the gentrification of the block– who used to keep Murray Mints in a scuffed Pyrex bowl to offer her sons when she dropped by to check on him. The other residents merely smiled the usual hurried greetings, exchanged brief chats about the weather or theskittish heating system in the block, as they passed on the stairs. And Peggy had been fine with that: it was London. Village life seemed more all-encompassing. A small, cohesive tribe, not the pockets of individual friendships that were the norm in a city. She hoped she could somehow shake down into it, break through the strangeness and, as Lindy had insisted, ‘get there’.
That afternoon Peggy went for a long walk. She took the smaller ferry– hardly more than a large rowing boat– round the corner of the bay and walked up onto the headland beyond the lighthouse. There was a strong breeze and intermittent sunshine as she tramped along the coastal path, with its narrow twists and turns, steep ups and downs, treacherous tree roots, spiky gorse hedges, loose scree to trip the unwary, and down onto a small, sandy bay hidden among the cliffs, where she sat for a while, the sand cool against her bare legs. This was a walk she often did, now she had so much time on her hands. It was beautiful today, with the wild spring flowers and grasses, salt on the air, the insects buzzing in the hedgerows. She waved at the seal that regularly shimmied across the water of the cove like a vaudeville turn. He was huge and lazy and shiny and a bit of a show-off: Peggy adored watching him plunge in and out of the waves. So graceful for his size, with his almost comically whiskered snout below huge dark eyes, he seemed to be performing just for her.
As she sat there, the beach to herself, her thoughts drifted again to Ted. Buoyed up by the warmth of Lindy’s friendship and the welcoming ladies at the coffee morning, she felt a little more optimistic about joining him in thesocial life of the village.I can do it, she thought, clapping her hands at the seal as it pirouetted in the surf.I’m sure I can.
Back home and with a couple of empty hours before supper, Peggy returned to her recent obsession: baking the perfect Cornish pasty. She’d attempted some a couple of weeks ago and they had been a disaster, the pastry too short and crumbling, the filling claggy and tasteless. But she felt this failure was no laughing matter: pasties were takenextremely seriouslyin Cornwall, to the extent that they were a protected species, with a Protected Geographical Indication or PGI.
You can’t call your pasty ‘Cornish’, Peggy had discovered with surprise, unless it has a minimum of 12.5 per cent beef and 25 per cent veg, which must include only potato, onion, swede (called ‘turnip’ in Cornwall, just to confuse you), and a seasoning of salt and pepper. You weren’t allowed to cook the ingredients before slow-baking in a pastry case. She had thought it couldn’t be that hard– after all, generations of impoverished Cornish tin miners’ wives had thrown them together daily, with only the most basic cooking facilities. But any tin miner worth his salt would have scoffed– possibly clipped her round the ear– if faced with one from her first batch.
Today, Peggy took a lot more time and care. She used a stronger bread flour to stop the pastry crumbling, mixed lard with the Cornish butter, bought good-quality beef skirt from Pete, the village butcher, and added plenty of salt and pepper to the layered ingredients. Then she baked them for nearly an hour at a lower temperature than before.
Later, at supper, consuming the golden-glazed, pungent,peppery pasties with some baked beans, Peggy couldn’t help purring with pride. ‘Perhaps not up to the harbour bakery standard yet,’ she considered, ‘but not bad, eh?’
‘I think they’re better,’ Ted replied gamely, making appreciative noises around another large mouthful of pasty. ‘I could definitely sell these at the van if you make them again.’
‘Thanks… So, let me tell you about the coffee morning,’ Peggy said. ‘Everyone was very charming and welcoming. There was this wonderful old actress who told hilarious stories about her love affairs with all these famous actors– had us in fits of laughter. And there was another lovely woman, Lorna, who’d been on the lifeboats in her youth– incredibly brave. They know each other so well, of course, and I was very much the newbie. But they seemed interesting and nice.’
Ted nodded, his mouth full again.
‘I think Lindy has her eye on you for a bit of fundraising,’ Peggy said. ‘Called you “lovely Ted”!’ She chuckled. But Ted did not. And his smile, when he finally looked up. seemed a little forced.
‘Well, I am lovely, aren’t I?’ he joked, then concentrated on scooping up the remaining beans with his fork.
