Palmer-Jones 05 - Sea Fever Read Online Free Page A

days. She seemed not to notice his churlishness, though, and when he made an excuse to go to Porthkennan, she greeted him with her usual good temper.
    He had moved to Cornwall when he was in his late twenties. He was a graduate in electronics, and before the move he had held a responsible post with a high technology company near Bath. He had come to Cornwall on his way to Scilly, as many birdwatchers did every autumn. The idea of moving there had begun as a romantic fantasy. He dreamed it would solve all his problems but at first did not take the idea seriously. It was true that he hated the tedious and undemanding work of the factory. He hated Wiltshire, too—it was so full of people and so bad for birds. And he hated the people he worked with—or perhaps he envied them their cosy family lives, their friendly games of squash, their girlfriends. It had always been hard for him to keep girlfriends. It was because he was too honest, he told himself. He refused to put on the airs and pretensions of these southerners. These southern women, with their soft ways and their poses, never appreciated honesty. He was a Yorkshireman and proud of it.
    It occurred to him on one of his holidays that he could work for himself there. It might be beneath him to mend televisions and washing machines, but he could earn his living. Yet still he was reluctant to leave the security of employment and move to the south-west. It was only when an uncle died and left him some money that he decided quite suddenly to move and to set up in business for himself. The fact that he had taken such a risk still surprised him. When Matilda was born, he had lived in Cornwall for twelve years.
    Some of the more open-minded birdwatchers trusted him sufficiently to give him information about rare birds in the country.
    Gerald and Rose met through birdwatching. Now, after the baby’s birth, he used it as an excuse to go out with her. He would phone her to tell her about rare birds in the southwest, and he, Rose, and Matilda would travel together to see them. He was proud to be seen in their company. It showed that he was not like the other maladjusted lonely birdwatchers who had to go to Thailand or the Philippines to buy themselves women. It made him like everyone else, a part of a cosy family.
    Rose had persuaded him to book for Rob Earl’s pelagic trip. “It’ll be great,” she said. “ You’ll love it. And it’ll be good to have you around here while the party is staying.” So then it was impossible for him to refuse.
    “I can’t spare the time,” he said, weakening. “ Not a whole week.”
    “Come just for the boat trip, then.”
    “Will you come out on the boat with us?” he asked.
    But she had laughed and refused to commit herself.
    Jane Pym wanted a drink. It had been a long day. In the morning a client who had discharged himself from psychiatric hospital slit his wrists in the waiting room. This was not an unusual occurrence—his hands and face were covered with evidence of self-mutilation—but it made a mess, and there was a new receptionist who overreacted, so the whole day was disrupted, and later interviews were conducted to the background noise of her tears. Jane Pym was forty, an experienced probation officer, but today she felt she was only keeping control of her work by an immense effort of will. There had been other days like that, and they had always ended in disaster.
    Perhaps she should plead illness and go home. But Roger would be at home, and she was more disturbed by him than by her clients. She made a large mug of instant black coffee and began to see the people who were waiting for her.
    The first client was a young man, a heroin addict who asked to be referred to the drug dependence unit of the hospital which had previously housed the wrist-slitter. Jane listened without sympathy or involvement. She was good at her job, but she had seen too many young addicts. Now they bored her. She no longer believed in their