Page 42 of A Castaway in Cornwall
“What’s that?” Tom asked in a terse voice. “I’ll look behind the shed. You look inside.”
Footsteps approached the open doorway. Laura backed as far as she could into the shadows of the small, smelly shed.
Would he see her? Call for Tom?
She didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. By the moonlight outside, she could make out Treeve’s outline in the doorway. For a moment she glimpsed the whites of his eyes. It seemed he was looking directly at her.
Tom returned and asked, “Anything?”
“Just a cat,” Treeve said. “It ran off.”
“Good thing.”
The men walked away, and Laura slowly released a long breath.
She crept across the shed only to freeze in terror. A man in a hooded cape stood within the shed beside the door, stick raised over his head like a grim specter. Standing there, he would have been out of sight of Treeve, and had been invisible to her in the darkness, until now.
A scream caught in her throat, while her panicked heart drummed loudly in her ears.
The man slowly lowered the stick. “Shh...” he murmured. “It is me. Alexander.”
Laura released a second relieved breath in as many moments.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
“Preparing to strike should either man try to hurt you or detain you.”
“How did you get here?”
“I followed you. I saw you leave the house alone at night and was worried about you.”
“Th-thank you,” she whispered.
“I stepped in here just before you did and was about to make my presence known when those two approached.” Alexander limped out of the shed and looked both ways. “The coast is clear.”
Walking stick in hand, he turned and offered her his other arm. “May I walk you home, Miss Callaway?”
She managed a tremulous smile. “Yes, please.”
They walked in silence for a while, but as they passed an abandoned quarry, a screech owl cried to its mate, and Laura jumped.
Alexander said soothingly, “Why don’t you tell me a favorite memory of your childhood while we walk?”
She glanced over at him in surprise, studying his profile by moonlight. Beyond him, the moon shone on the Atlantic below, and with that glimpse of shining water, a memory washed over her like a gentle wave.
“That’s easy,” Laura began. “Papa took us all to the seaside once. Weymouth.” In her mind’s eye, she saw the wide sandy bay, the elegant seafront terraces, the colorful umbrellas, bathing costumes, and bathing machines. She recalled the artists with easels and vendors selling cold drinks, confections, and ices.
“What a wonderful time we had,” she said. “My whole familyall together. I can still see my brother, Charles, as a toddler, sitting on the shore, splashing his chubby feet in the water, giggling with glee. Papa carefree for once, having left his practice in his new partner’s hands. Mamma happy and relaxed. It was magical.”
Feeling self-conscious, she sent him a shy glance. “Your turn. What is your favorite memory?”
He tilted his head thoughtfully. “You will think me not very original, but mine is also a seaside memory. My family used to rent a house at ... well, near the sea, and we all stayed there together, my grandparents, parents, me, and my brother, Alan. ...
“I can still see my parents standing in the surf—her with her skirts tied up, him with his trousers rolled to his knees—holding hands and laughing like children or lovers. Papa wrapped his arms around Mamma’s ample waist and gave her a big kiss right there in front of God and for the whole world to see.”
Alexander inhaled, then released a long sigh. “They loved each other very much. It was incredibly hard on him when she died. Hard on us all, but he misses her most of all.”
“How long ago did she die?” Laura asked softly.
