The Cornish Affair Read Online Free Page A

picnic, an’ I got yer prawns in the van. Shall I put ‘em on the bill?” Richard asked.
    I thanked him and switched the kettle on. The boys usually stopped for tea and a chat, but it seemed that Richard was in a hurry. Well, as much of a hurry as anyone was in Cornwall. Perhaps we were all twinned with a county in Mexico where the manana philosophy ruled supreme. It was fun to watch visitors from London get twitchy in shops here, as they had to wait for the shop assistant to finish a leisurely conversation with a friend before they got served. Some visitors seemed on the verge of having a stroke as they waited for the interminable (and mainly indecipherable) chat to finish. But it was hard to complain as the shop assistant invariably turned with a big guileless smile on their face, innocence radiating from their eyes and said, “Now then my lover, what is it you’m be wantin’?”
    Before Richard left, he jerked his head towards my office, and looked enquiringly at me.
    “Oh, go on then,” I said, as I watched him squirm slightly.
    Richard had been using my computer for some time, going on the internet. Other than assuring me that it was nothing ‘smutty’ I had no idea what he was doing on there. I suppose I could have found out, but I wasn’t that curious. If pushed I would guess he was in some chat room or something. Hell, what did I know? He could well have been looking up Wall Street stocks and bonds, although with a limited income from flogging fish it seemed unlikely. This time he was very quick, just about long enough to send an e-mail.
    “Cheers then, Fin. See you at the picnic.”
    I waved him off, and settled back to the cookery book.
    The boys were my lifeline to the world outside that sold any ingredient that couldn’t be found in the Port Charles store – which meant practically anything. The store was a dismal place, it doubled as a post office, and seemed only to stock plastic bread and sweaty processed cheese. Oh, and of course, pre-packaged pasties for the tourists, as they would certainly be the only people who bought them. So the boys were essential. They were the stars of my work really. They left no stone unturned to find exactly what I needed. I suppose with modern technology I could have ordered on-line and had obscure spices delivered to me straight from Fortnum and Mason, but it wouldn’t be the same.
    I got the gossip with the boys, as well as a feeling of continuity. I wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Penmorah was still considered to be the ‘Big House’. Certain things were expected of us here… even though we no longer sat in the named pew for us in the church, all of that had died out with my grandparents. We didn’t even employ anyone from the village any more, although my parents had kept a skeleton staff here, they had long gone. When I was a child, I was addresses as Miss Fin, but that too, thank God, had died out. Everyone knew in the village of the appalling debt I had inherited and had been kind beyond words. But there was still a tattered remnant of expectation from me. I had shrunk from it, till I realised that it was something I just couldn’t shake off. If my parents were still alive it would be different, well, everything would be, but they weren’t, and I just had to get on with it.
    I pushed the book back on the shelf, and went to find Nancy. I wasn’t in the mood for onions.
    I eventually tracked her down to the library, a room we rarely used. We still call it that, even though the majority of the books are gone, long sold to a dealer in Falmouth to help pay for a new damp course. The empty acres of mahogany shelves looked reprovingly at me.
    She was lying on her back, breathing heavily.
    “Nancy, what are you doing?” I asked in alarm. It looked as though she was recovering from some strenuous activity, but I couldn’t imagine what.
    “Just finishing off my deep breathing after yoga, you must try it Fin, it’s so invigorating!”
    Nancy was twice my