Plotted in Cornwall Read Online Free Page A

had not contacted him, that there hadn’t been a single telephone call or postcard to say that she was well and happy. Had Miranda still been around she would have stood up for him, faced down his father and told him where he was going wrong. Miranda feared no one. Well, he had to rely on someone else now. She’ll come, he reassured himself. She’s the sort of person who keeps her word. But that didn’t necessarily mean she’d have any success.
     
    ‘I liked her,’ Louisa said as she began to clear the dining-room table on Wednesday evening. Her movements created a draught. The flame of the oil lamps flickered behind their yellow glass globes and made her shadow dance on the wall.
    Wendy sipped the last of her wine and got up to help. ‘Mm, so did I. Do you think she’ll do a good job?’
    Louisa shrugged as they carried the dishes through to the kitchen. They washed up themselves, there was more than enough for their cleaning woman to do. Louisa filled the sink and dropped in the cutlery. ‘We can only go by her other work. There’s something powerful about her scenery. She really knows how to capture it. However, we agreed we wanted an unknown in the portrait world. It would be wonderful if we were one of the first to commission her and she becomes recognised. Besides…’ She stopped, and began to scrub a plate vigorously.
    ‘I know,’ Wendy said, touching her arm. ‘I know, Louisa, but we have to try not to think about it. We’ve made a new start here.’
    ‘It hasn’t stopped the memories, though. It’s hard, you know. There isn’t a minutewhen I don’t wish I could turn back the clock and make things have happened differently.’
    ‘You’re not to blame. The situation should never have been tolerated for so long. Be patient, give it another year and maybe you’ll realise that this was all for the best.’ Wendy picked up the warm, dry tea-towel which had been hanging over the brass rail along the front of the Cornish range. Starting anew, getting used to the inconvenience of no electricity had been a way of putting the past behind them, especially for Louisa. But they had adapted and now they were settled and comfortable there was little to divert them except for shopping trips and the odd morning at the hairdresser’s. They were resourceful women, they had hobbies and they both read, but Wendy knew that Louisa still had the nights to endure, nights like this when the wind swept over the moors as if it sought revenge, when only the gnarled gorse with its spiky thorns stood up to it. Yet it had been a hot summer’s day when Louisa’s life had changed and, because of what followed, so had Wendy’s.
    Wendy went from room to room checking that the windows were secure and the fires safely damped down. A local farmer deliveredlogs, a sideline of his, and the coal merchant came once a month. Kindling they gathered themselves, from the moors, which provided little, and from country walks when they drove to wooded areas and filled plastic sacks with sticks and small branches. Wendy smiled wryly. The endless quest for kindling had become almost an obsession. But it gave them exercise and the bending was good for her stiff hip.
    Louisa wiped every surface clean, rinsed out the dishcloth and hung it over the tap. The previous occupants had been responsible for the installation of running water. Without it she would never have considered the purchase. She sighed. There was nothing to do now but to go up and read. They had chosen the oil lamps carefully, ensuring they were heavy and solid-based, not liable to tip over or be knocked over easily. The fire risk was minimal, especially as the house was built from Cornish granite. It was the future which kept Louisa Jordan awake, not regret for the past, that and missing the rest of the family. If only she could have foreseen what would happen she could easily have prevented it. But it was too late and she would never forgive herself for the damage she had done