Page 38 of New Beginnings At Pencarrow Bay
‘My parents were considered in the same category as Black, of course,’ Rory went on, ‘but Rory Walsh, who owned the boarding house, took them in– perhaps because, being Irish, he was on the banned list too– and looked after them. According to family folklore, he was generally considered a saint. So, when I came along, I wasn’t going to be anything but Rory.’
‘I love his name,’ Quentin said softly, almost to himself, and Peggy felt herself tearing up a little, hearing the strength of feeling, the love in his voice, his tone so often dry. Then he carried on, ‘Try being labelled “Quentin” for seventy years. People immediately assume I’m a posh, over-educated twat.’
‘Aren’t you?’ Ted teased.
‘Well, yes, maybe I am. But I think people should have to work a little harder before they find that out.’
As everyone laughed, Peggy found herself beginning to relax a little. The inconsequential supper-party banter was fun, Ted’s deliciously chilled rosé helping.These are proper people, she thought,good people, our friends.
‘So tell me, Ted,’ Quentin asked a while later– a little drunk by now and holding the floor– as he hacked another large chunk of buttery Cornish Camembert from the cheese board, ‘how would you, as a relative newcomer, rate our little village?’
‘In what respect?’
‘Oh, you know, friendliness, inclusion, general humanity towards our fellow inhabitants.’
Ted smiled. ‘I’d say it was pretty perfect. It feels like living here is the most amazing privilege.’
Peggy gave a small inward sigh. She wished she felt the same at that precise moment. All the lovely things about the bay– the scenery, the sea, the peace and quiet, their lovely house, and now the society she was beginning to feel part of… Was it like a house of cards about to tumble about her head? She might be prone to over-thinking, but she felt it was a legitimate worry that the people in the village would see her differently if news of this email ever got out. What was more, her past had thrown up no clues to the vile emailer, so was he or she actually someone in her current life? In their gorgeous village? Ted had tentatively suggested it earlier, but Peggy had rejected the idea out of hand. She had no awareness of having upset anyone local– although how could she be sure?
Quentin was eyeing Ted thoughtfully. ‘Interesting. But I suppose you haven’t been exposed to the sinister underbelly of the bay yet.’
‘You make us sound like Tijuana or Cape Town,’ Rory said, with a chuckle.
‘Ah, you mock, my dear. I’m not talking murders here. That’s too simple. I’m talkinggossip. We’ve all been guilty of it. I know I have.’
Peggy froze.Gossip.The word now struck terror into her veins.Does he know something?Because Quentin seemed to know everything.
‘Like what, specifically?’ Ted asked. Peggy thought he looked uneasy and she held her breath.
Quentin shrugged. ‘Well, take this morning, for instance. I was outside the deli, sniffing Jake’s tomatoes and being reminded, delightfully, of my grandfather’s greenhouse. And I heard this couple at one of the tables debating– loudly it must be said, they had no shame– whether Emerald was cheating on Tina with the pretty young thing from the bakery. But what brought me up short was the delight they were taking in the speculation. Speculation about something that would cause dear Tina considerable heartache, I assume. But I’m probably making something of nothing,’ he added quietly.
‘That’s mean,’ Peggy said, with feeling, imagining herself in Tina’s shoes, the gossip swirling just out of reach, but whiffs of it perhaps reaching her ears and worrying her.Was this what Tina meant when she called Emerald a bitch this morning?she wondered.
‘Quite,’ agreed Quentin. ‘Complete nonsense, anyway. Emerald is, without doubt, a piece of work. But the girl inquestion– I think her name is Leah– I happen to know on good authority is taking horizontal refreshment with Gary from the post office’s eldest boy. All quite above board.’
Everyone burst into laughter.
‘Good to know you keep a firm finger on the village pulse, Quentin,’ Ted remarked.
Quentin gave him an amused wink. ‘Hands up, dear boy, I’m a terrible old gossip. But not a mean one, I hope.’ He paused. ‘No doubt they say much worse about me, silly old cripple that I am.’
No one responded at first. It was said with such feeling. And Quentin sounded so sad.
‘Spiteful tittle-tattle is hardly exclusive to the bay,’ Rory said firmly, giving his husband’s arm a reassuring stroke. ‘This is a great community. We totally support each other… alongside the occasional bitching.’
Quentin raised his glass. ‘Of course we do. To friendship, then. And to the magic of Pencarrow Bay.’
Peggy lifted her glass nervously. The conversation was way too close to the bone. She felt exhausted now and hoped their guests would soon go home. It seemed an eternity since she’d stood chatting with Tina at the crab shack, unaware that her day was about to explode in her face.
Suddenly Bolt shot up from his basket by the sofa and rushed to the front door, skidding on the parquet floor until he reached the mat, barking like crazy.
‘What on earth?’ Ted asked, getting up from the table.
Peggy watched as he opened the door. There, in the porch, stood her son, Liam.
18
‘Boy, am I glad to be here,’ Liam said, looking relieved as he stepped past Ted, a canvas and leather holdall slung over one shoulder. Peggy leaped to her feet and went over to hug him. Her son had sent the odd, rather unsatisfactory, reply to her queries about how he was getting on since the birthday party the weekend before, but had given no indication that he intended to pay them a visit– although Peggy had urged him to. ‘Hi, Mum,’ he said, grinning as he returned her hug. ‘I was worried I’d got the wrong house. There’s no name on the gate and it’s black as pitch out there. Drove up and down a load of times before I found it.’
