Plotted in Cornwall Read Online Free

was typical of his father’s attitude. A staunch right-winger and a bigot, that’s what he is, Joel had thought, and still did, not understanding him.
    ‘It’s what I want to do.’
    ‘Plenty of time to decide, Joel. Let’s not rush things.’
    That had been a year ago but his mother had said the same thing tonight. Each time he mentioned it the response was evasive or along the lines that he’d never be able to afford to keep himself.
    He looked at his father’s implacable face as he sat at the farmhouse table at the other end of the kitchen and read his mood. There would be no discussion that night, Joel’s views would not be countenanced.
    Roger Penhaligon’s skin was flushed and his jowls quivered as he gave Petra a brief outline of what had taken place that evening.
    I don’t understand it, he didn’t make any fuss about the evening classes, he even paid for them, Joel thought. Maybe he hoped they would get the idea out of my system.But they had only made him more determined to persevere. ‘I’d like you to meet someone,’ Joel said abruptly
    ‘What, now?’ Roger looked around the kitchen as though there might be a person in their presence he had not noticed.
    ‘No. Soon.’ Don’t let me down, he prayed. He rarely spoke to his tutor, except about his work, but there was something about her which suggested she would help if she could.
    ‘A girl?’ Roger grinned. That was an interest he could understand.
    ‘A woman, actually. I’ll let you know when I’ve made the arrangements. I wanted to make sure you’d both be here. How about Friday, around five?’ Head averted, he was still aware of the glance exchanged between his parents. Let them wonder, let them think what they liked. One day he would show them. One day they might even be proud of him.
    ‘Suits me,’ Roger said with a shrug of bafflement.
    ‘Good. Thanks. I think I’ll go up now.’ He put his plate in the dishwasher and said goodnight. He was tired, pleasantly so, and his stomach was full. He knew he would sleep soundly. There was the clink of abottle on glass as he left the room. Whisky for his father.
    His mother’s cat, a long-haired pedigree, sat on the second from bottom stair washing itself. As Joel passed it it hissed. He ignored it; the dislike was mutual. Upstairs he walked to his bedroom at the end of the gallery. It was large, as were all the rooms in the house which had once belonged to a high-ranking naval officer with five children. The place was an extravagance for three of them but at least it ensured privacy. His parents enjoyed entertaining but Joel never invited anyone back. His mother would fuss and his father embarrassed him, although he didn’t know why.
    In bed he studied what he had drawn earlier that evening, holding the sketch-pad at arm’s length. They had been working on figures, the human form. He had drawn a seated girl, her hands clasped around drawn-up knees, her head on one side. It was good. It was Miranda. He had drawn her from memory. He smiled. His poor tutor. He had seen the efforts of two of his fellow classmates and knew she was wasting her time with them. ‘It doesn’t really matter, though,’ he said aloud. ‘They’re enjoying themselves anyway.’
    Reaching out he switched off the bedside light and lay down beneath the warmth of the duvet, his hands cupped behind his head. The room was in total darkness. There was no moon, and no streetlights that far out in the country. Joel liked the dark, it enabled him to think. And think he must if his parents weren’t going to finance his future studies. There were student loans, of course, and he could always get a part-time job. He listened to the wind as it moaned through the trees and the familiar, sometimes irritating tap of a branch on the window.
    It was at such times that he missed Miranda, his cousin who had been more like a sister. It was over a year since she had disappeared and no one had heard from her since. It hurt Joel that she