Page 137 of A Castaway in Cornwall
I know so well this turfy mile,
These clumps of sea-pink withered brown,
The breezy cliff, the awkward stile,
The sandy path that takes me down.
—JOHNBETJEMAN, “GREENAWAY”
Chapter 26
Glorious spring weather continued on Jersey. Flowers bloomed even earlier there than they did in the southwest of England. Laura took to walking the beaches of St. Helier as she had at Trebetherick, her eyes keen for treasure. She rarely found anything worth salvaging, besides a seashell or tide-smoothed rock, but the fresh air revived her, and the sand and surf reminded her of Cornwall. Reminded her of home.
How was it that only by leaving a place, could one sometimes learn to appreciate it? To miss it, and those who lived there? But she did.
One beautiful morning, Laura strolled along her favorite beach, amazed anew that she had at last made it to Jersey, the place where her parents had died and her aunt, thankfully, still lived.
She heard a voice and turned to look behind her. In the distance, she saw a man striding toward her. There was no one else around, and she felt a pang of unease at being on this lonely stretch of sand with a stranger. She noticed a greatcoat, tallboots, and beaver hat—the attire of a gentleman. As the man neared, her unease melted away. The face was familiar, in fact, often recalled and dearly missed. Alexander. Her heart tripped, and anticipation needled her stomach.
He quickened his pace to catch up with her. “I hope you don’t mind. Your aunt told me you walk here ... most ... every morning.” His English sounded a little rusty after half a year in Brittany. Or perhaps there was another reason he spoke somewhat haltingly.
“I don’t mind at all,” she replied.
He watched her reaction closely, expression tinged with uncertainty. “I ... hope I find you well.”
“Yes. And you?” Her eyes slid to the black armband he wore. Stomach sinking, she asked, “Your father?”
He nodded. “He died in March. I am glad I was able to be with him at the end.”
“Me too.”
“I suppose you have heard the monarchy has been reinstated?”
“Yes.”
“So Alan got what he wanted in the end, though he didn’t live long enough to see it. The new government is supposedly a democratic monarchy, but we shall see. At all events, the result is my brother did not die in vain, and I take solace in that.”
She longed to reach out and take his hand but made do with lacing her own fingers together. “Again, I am sorry for your losses.”
“Thank you.” He shifted, then cleared his throat. “Sorry. I did not come here to bring sad news.”
“Seeing you again is good news. It was kind of you to come and tell me about your father in person.”
She supposed he was duty bound to go back. After all, hewas his father’s heir and had a sister-in-law and nephew to provide for. And what about his obligation to the French navy? But Laura wasn’t ready to ask him those questions. She needed a little time to steel her heart. “Come, let’s walk awhile.”
Hands behind their backs, the two continued along her usual route.
Several yards ahead on the sand, something caught Laura’s eye—light green glass sparkling in the morning sunshine. Excitement prickled over her, reminding her of former times when she went searching for treasure on the beaches near Fern Haven.
“Excuse me a moment.” She hurried toward the glinting glass and picked it up. A corked bottle. And inside, a whisper of white paper.
Her pulse rate accelerated. Had she finally found something of value on Jersey? She pulled up the cork and worked out the piece of paper with her little finger. Successful, she unfurled the slip and read the words written there:My dearest Laura, will you marry me?
She sucked in a breath and whirled to face Alexander. “How did you...?”
A crooked grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “I could not resist.”
She hesitated. Was he asking her to live in France with him, or...?
