What Happens In Cornwall...

For a very British holiday…

When archaeologist Sam realises her relationship is as dead as the skeletons she’s exhuming, she knows it’s time for a girl to make a change. But with bills to pay and a surrogate cat to support, her options are limited… until a discovery on the mysterious Rock Island in Cornwall gives her a reason to escape the drudgery of daily life and seek sunshine somewhere new…

Head to the Cornish coast!

Down in Cornwall, new questions are thrown up at every turn: who is the glamorous, secretive owner of Rock Island – and why are the paparazzi so interested? How has irresistibly brooding, impossibly arrogant history professor James Courtney managed to get so far under Sam’s skin? And will it ever stop raining for long enough for Sam to lose the cagoule and sip a cool drink in the shade? One thing’s for sure: there’s never been a holiday quite like this one!

Enjoy a summer of romance and scandal with What Happens in Cornwall… the perfect retreat for fans of Fern Britton and Lucy Diamond!

Also by T A Williams:

Dirty Minds

The Room on the Second Floor

When Alice Met Danny

What Happens in Tuscany

What Happens in Cornwall

T A Williams

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2015

Copyright © Trevor Williams 2015

Trevor Williams asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2015 ISBN: 9781474036580

Version date: 2018-07-23

TREVOR WILLIAMS

lives in Devon with his Italian wife. He lived and worked in Switzerland, France and Italy, before returning to run one of the best-known language schools in the UK. He has taught people from all over the world, among them Arab princes, Brazilian beauty queens and Italian billionaires. He speaks a number of languages and has travelled extensively. He has eaten snake, live fish and alligator. A Spanish dog, a Russian bug and a Korean parasite have done their best to eat him in return. He has written historical novels, humorous books and thrillers. His hobby is long-distance cycling, but his passion is writing. You can follow him on Twitter, @TAWilliamsBooks, find him on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/TrevorWilliamsBooks or visit his website: www.tawilliamsbooks.com.

With thanks, as always, to my lovely editors, Clio Cornish and Charlotte Mursell

To Mariangela and Christina with love. Thanks for all your support and patience.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Epilogue

Extract

Endpages

About the Publisher

Prologue

‘They say you can tell the old married couples in a restaurant by the fact that they don’t talk to each other.’

‘Mmh.’

‘I said, couples who’ve been together for ages stop communicating.’

‘Is that so?’

Samantha took a deep breath. He was still shovelling curry into his mouth. She had finished eating ages ago, but he was still hard at it, to the exclusion of all else. She sat back and looked around the room in frustration. It seemed to her as if all the other tables were full of people talking, laughing and enjoying themselves. Everybody except Neil and her. Although they were neither old, nor married, this was the way their relationship had developed over the past year. She sighed inwardly.

Then he paused, laid down his fork and looked up. She felt pleasantly surprised until she saw him raise a finger and call the waiter over.

‘Another pint of lager, please.’ The waiter nodded and went off.

‘You could have asked if I wanted something.’ She knew she sounded petulant, but she was powerless to hide it.

Neil had already picked up his fork again by this time, but he hesitated, shooting her a glance. ‘Well, do you want something?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Oh for Christ’s sake…’ He returned to his chicken madras. She returned to her thoughts.

She and he were only thirty, but there were times when it felt to her like they were a couple of pensioners. They had been together now for almost four years, living in a microscopic flat while they both finished their postgraduate studies. She had another year to go until she finished her doctorate, but she was rapidly coming to the conclusion that their relationship would be over long before then. A thought crossed her mind.

‘Have you got your suit cleaned, ready for the wedding a week on Saturday?’ This, at least, caused him to interrupt his meal. He looked up and the expression on his face wasn’t happy.

‘A week on Saturday? You mean the seventeenth? But I’m supposed to be going to the races with the boys that afternoon.’ He caught her eye. ‘I told you about it weeks ago.’

‘You did? Well I told you about Moira’s wedding months ago. And I’ve been talking about it for days now. I only bought my dress this week and showed it to you.’ He was looking a bit shifty now.

‘Yeah, well, I didn’t know it was that Saturday.’ He gave up on the curry and laid down his fork. ‘But Guy arranged this races thing ages ago. Do I really have to go to the wedding?’ Now it was his turn to sound like a grumbling teenager.

‘Yes you do, Neil. We replied to the invitation saying we would both be going, so we both go.’

‘You replied to the invitation.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Neil, grow up, will you? We’ve been invited, we’ve accepted, and we’re going. And that’s the end of it.’

‘So who gives you the right to decide what I can and can’t do?’ His face bore the familiar stubborn, irritable expression she had been seeing more of lately. ‘It’s not as if we’re married, you know.’

‘So you’re saying that if we were married, I’d be able to tell you what to do?’

‘No bloody way.’

‘Well, don’t worry, that’s not going to happen.’

‘Damn right.’

The arrival of the waiter to remove the plates temporarily interrupted their argument.

‘Some ice cream?’ He was a friendly-looking man with terrible teeth. ‘Or some lychees, maybe?’ He balanced the plates on his arm and waited for a response.

Neil didn’t even glance across at Samantha. ‘No, thanks. Just the bill please.’

Chapter 1

‘You know, Sam, there was something really sexy about the Vikings.’

Samantha looked up from the tray of silt, gravel and slime before them on the table and smiled. ‘You really need to find yourself a boyfriend, Becky. And soon.’

‘I don’t mean this stuff here. I mean real muscle-bound, bearded, helmet-wearing Vikings with long blond hair blowing in the wind. You know, with horns, hammers and longships. They must have been quite something.’ She sighed at the thought. ‘Wouldn’t a big, hunky Viking appeal to you, too?’

‘I’ve already got my own Viking. I’m not sure I’d like another one.’ Samantha glanced down at her black fingernails and muddy hands. ‘Although somehow I don’t think Neil would have been up there wielding a sword in the vanguard. He’s not really a rape and pillage sort of guy these days.’ She caught Becky’s eye and sighed. There was no need to say more. Both of them knew the relationship was, like the Viking longboats, sailing up the proverbial creek. Samantha completed her sweep of the contents of the tray. ‘Nothing here. I’ll sling this lot if you want to get another bucketful.’

While Rebecca reached for the next load, Samantha picked up the tray and carried it across to the spoil pile. The heap was getting bigger and bigger, but all they had to show for their day’s work so far was what might have been a piece of belt buckle. She looked up at the sky. Grey clouds were building on the horizon and it looked very much as though the forecast rain was not far off. She knew all too well what that would mean. Tomorrow the site would be a quagmire, and the trench most probably half-full of water. She sighed. It was July, for God’s sake!

‘Sam, Becky, it’s five o’clock. Time to head for home.’

They both looked up at the sound of his voice. There weren’t many men on this particular dig and Andras, the visiting expert from Uppsala University, was far and away the most presentable. Becky made sure she sat next to him on the way back in the minibus. Sam took a seat alongside her supervisor, Virginia.

‘Exciting day, Sam?’

Sam nodded, but the truth was she hadn’t had a really exciting day for a long while. Her life over the past few months had settled into a fairly monotonous sequence of archaeological digs, study… and more study. Not forgetting regular visits to her mum which exhausted her mentally and emotionally. She and Neil rarely went out together and her days were highlighted by occasional runs along the riverbank or a visit from the next door neighbour’s cat. The arrival of a longship full of hairy Scandinavians would probably make a welcome break.

By the time she finally got back to their flat, the rain was just starting and it was almost half past six. She closed the door behind her and retrieved a letter from the gas company and a couple of circulars from the mat.

‘Neil. You there?’

There was no reply. She did a rapid calculation and realised it was Tuesday. Tuesday nights were rugby training, so she probably wouldn’t see him till late. She felt weary, dirty and lazy; so lazy in fact that she didn’t head for the bathroom for her usual post-dig shower. Instead, she went into the kitchen, washed the worst of the mud off her hands, and then opened the fridge. There was still the remains of a bottle of Pinot Grigio in there, so she pulled it out and poured what was left into a mug. The piles of dirty dishes, including all their glasses, were still waiting for somebody to wash them. Although it was Neil’s turn, she knew in her bones that if she didn’t do it, it wouldn’t get done. She took a sip of the wine and sat down at the laptop to check her emails.

Predictably, there was a long, rambling email from her mother. Since Samantha’s father had walked out of the family home without warning a year ago, her mum had been suffering bouts of deep depression. Sam and her sister had been taking it in turns to provide support and reassurance, but it wasn’t easy. The two weekends a month she spent with her mother reduced Sam to an emotional wreck by the time she got back home again. She took a deep breath and read the email all the way through, finding little to cheer her. As ever, it ended with the exhortation to study hard and always wear clean underwear. At the age of thirty, that somehow felt to Sam like an unnecessary intrusion into her private life, such as it was. She shot off a one line reply with a smiley face, telling her mum she would give her a call later on.

As the first flurry of rain beat against her window, she swallowed the last of the wine and headed for the bathroom.

Around nine o’clock she was interrupted by a familiar sound. She looked up from her reading as the noise came again. A glance across at the window showed her that she had a visitor. She saw the cat’s mouth open wide as it mewed a greeting. She smiled to herself. She had been looking forward to seeing him, although it had often occurred to her that when the highlight of your day is the appearance of a disdainful tabby in search of a free meal, you know there could be more to life. That said, she readily admitted to herself that the arrival of this little creature cheered her more than the appearance of Neil these days.

Tucking a card into the book to mark her place, she went over and opened the window. It was pitch black outside, but the rain appeared to have stopped, at least for the moment, and the cat was dry.

‘So you’ve come for some salmon, have you?’

All she got in return was another plaintive meow. Ignoring her outstretched arms, the cat jumped lightly to the floor and strode into the kitchen. Samantha headed for the cupboard and took the top tin of salmon from the stack. She tipped the contents into a bowl and set it on the floor. The cat wasted no time in setting about the fish.

‘There must be more to life than tinned salmon.’ It was just an observation, but the cat ignored it anyway.

She went over to the sink and filled the kettle. A cup of tea was what she needed. She took a seat at the little table while she waited for it to boil. She swilled the mug she had used for her wine earlier and set it down on the draining board. She noticed that the pile of Neil’s dirty laundry had overflowed the laundry basket by now. During their most recent argument she had told him she was no longer going to do all the washing. The exact expression she had used was that she wasn’t going to be his slave any longer. If he wanted clean clothes from now on, he would have to wash them himself. Since then he hadn’t touched the washing machine and she was beginning to wonder how long his stock of clean stuff would last.

‘So are you coming to say thank you for your meal?’ The cat had finished the salmon, all bar a tiny piece that he left as if to say, I don’t need this food. I just come because I know you want to see me. Sometimes after eating he would make straight for the window and demand to be released. Tonight he decided he might grace her with his company, at least for a while. He arched his back into a long stretch and then jumped onto her lap, purring noisily. As she stroked him, he started the familiar bread-kneading action with his claws that was slowly ripping the knees of all her jeans. As always, she felt privileged to be chosen.

The kettle boiled, but she stayed seated for as long as the cat decided to stay on her lap. Within a few minutes, her phone started to ring. The cat raised its head and gave her an affronted look, clearly accusing her of being responsible for disturbing his rest. She picked it up and checked the caller ID. It was Becky.

‘Hi, Becs. Not out with Andras?’

‘No such luck.’ Becky sounded a bit despondent, but she rallied as she told Sam her news. ‘He’s got some work thing he’s got to do. Anyway, listen, Sam, I’ve just had a call from a friend. She asked if I fancied coming down to Cornwall for the weekend. She and a bunch of other girls from medical school in London have rented a house for a few days. Apparently two have had to pull out and there’s a spare room. And it’s all paid for so it would be free. How about coming with me?’

Samantha’s eyes strayed across the kitchen to the pile of dirty dishes and the bigger pile of Neil’s dirty clothes. It would be good to get away from here and away from him for a few days. She didn’t hesitate. ‘Becs, that sounds brilliant. I’m not sure what the weather’s going to be like, but a change of scene would be really good. I’m in.’

She was smiling as she put the phone down. She glanced at the cat who was purring quietly on her lap.

‘See, cat, there is more to life than salmon.’

As ever, the cat ignored her.

Chapter 2

The village of Tregossick was tucked onto the south coast of Cornwall, not far west of Plymouth. A jumble of slate-roofed houses, most of them with stone walls, squeezed onto the steep sides of the valley that descended into the sea alongside the tiny fishing port. The coastline consisted of tree-covered hillsides that sloped precipitously down, ending in vertical cliffs that dropped away to rocks, sand and shingle as far as the eye could see in both directions. Right in front of them, as the bus cautiously navigated the steep, winding and frighteningly narrow road into the village, was the beach, dotted with figures enjoying the evening sun. In spite of the weather forecast, the sky was clear and the sea calm, although a bank of clouds on the far horizon didn’t bode well for the next day.

The tide was out and a host of rock pools were dotted with hopeful children, equipped with nets and buckets, doing their best to catch little fish, crabs and some of the host of crustaceans that the sea had deposited there. Beyond them, a magnificent island stood out against the evening sky, the grey stone walls of a forbidding old building occupying the whole landward side of it. The huge construction stretched upwards from the sea in tiers, like a massive wedding cake. Its sheer stone walls culminated in a tower, making it look like a fortress, grafted onto the vertical cliffs. The closer they came, the more formidable it looked.

‘I wouldn’t want to have to scale that cliff face.’ Samantha caught Becky’s eye. ‘That’s quite a place, far more impressive than I imagined. And the village is sweet. Although I’ve been in the South West for years, I’ve never been down here before.’

Becky shook her head. ‘Me neither. Mind you, I’m from Nottingham and I know bugger all about Cornwall to be honest. Did you know they call it Kernow in the old Cornish language? Until I saw the Welcome sign, I had no idea. I hadn’t even heard of Tregossick until Clare called the other day. The island out there’s called Rock Island. You can see why. Woah…’

The bus driver jammed on his brakes and squeezed the vehicle terrifyingly close to the low wall that was all that separated them from a hundred foot drop to the beach. A large 4x4 pulling a caravan inched its way up the road and past them. The driver even had to open his window and fold in the wing mirror to avoid them touching. Low muttering came from two old men in the seat in front of the two girls. Sam and Becky listened carefully. The meaning was clear, even if some of the words being used were not. ‘Bloody emmets’ and ‘Stupid damn grockles’ were just a few of the more repeatable comments. Sam and Becky exchanged glances. Sam lowered her voice to a whisper.

‘The natives are unimpressed.’

Becky was unsympathetic. ‘Fancy bringing a caravan down a little lane like this. They’re bonkers.’

The caravan finally disappeared past them and the bus was able to continue down the hill. Sam transferred her attention back to Rock Island and the massive stone building.

‘The building’s an old abbey. They say it’s one of the best-preserved Cistercian abbeys in the country. But I only found that out by looking on the internet. You’d have thought it would be part of the Medieval Studies course, seeing as it’s just down the road from the university.’ She paused, admiring the sheer scale of the place. ‘But it’s privately owned. Maybe they don’t like visitors.’

Becky lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Like some of our travelling companions!’

‘We’ll have to see if we can get closer to it tomorrow.’ The bus emerged onto a relatively straight promenade alongside the beach that terminated in a dead end with a mini roundabout. The bus swung all the way round and drove back up to the final stop, right outside a pub called the Smugglers Arms. The door hissed open and the driver turned off the engine. Becky pointed at the pub. ‘Well, that answers the question of where we eat tonight. Come on, Sam, the house should be just along the road from here.’

The next day dawned unexpectedly bright and sunny, although cloud cover was building from the west. The others in their party were all mad keen surfers and they had spent most of the previous night moaning about the lack of waves. Samantha didn’t mind. She had awoken early, after an unusually good night’s sleep, for once not disturbed by worry about Neil or her mum. She decided to go for a run along the promenade and up onto the cliff top. She was still very fit, and ten years earlier, she had even dreamt of being an Olympic athlete. She had given up everything for it; boyfriends, social life, a place at university – training almost every day of the year, running miles and miles every week. Then the accident had come along. A banal trip going down the stairs had broken her leg in two places and destroyed her hopes of glory in the 5000 metres. Her leg had long since stopped hurting and she was still running, but her Olympic dream was long gone.

The view was spectacular and, from the highest point, she found herself looking down onto the island in the bay. The water as far as the eye could see was an intense blue, worthy of a South Sea island, and gentle waves lapped against the rocky shoreline. While she watched, a helicopter approached, hovered and then descended out of sight behind the roof of the abbey. Less than a couple of minutes later, the roar of the engine told her the helicopter had left again. Presumably the owner of the island was wealthy enough not to need to take the bus.

After a late breakfast, Sam and Becky spent the rest of the Saturday morning walking round the village, taking in the scenery. While Becky paddled in a rock pool, Sam sat down on a rocky outcrop overlooking the beach and phoned her mother. She told her all about Tregossick and even detected a few sounds of interest on the other end of the line. As always, her mother asked how things were going with Neil and, as always, Sam told her everything was fine. She felt sure that the news that the relationship was struggling would be a massive blow to her mother, who constantly told Sam how well suited she thought they were. As she hung up, she reflected, not for the first time, that her fear of the effect this could have on her mum was just about all that was stopping her from dumping Neil and moving on.

Apart from the double yellow lines everywhere, telling drivers it was forbidden to park, the predominant colours were grey, white and blue. Most of the houses were white, the sea and the sky were shades of blue, and the roofs, the rocks and the sand were grey. There was only one shop in the village – a combined post office, grocery store and gift shop. It appeared to stock everything from Cornish ice cream to condoms, which was just as well as the nearest supermarket was at least twenty minutes drive away up over the cliffs. They decided against ice creams so soon after breakfast and went for a walk along the beach, before settling down in the garden outside the Smugglers Arms for lunch.

The others had decided to pile into a car and head for the north Cornish coast where the surf was supposed to be better and Sam and Becky were happy to let them get on with it. That afternoon, after a couple of beers at lunchtime, Becky decided she was going to have a lie down. As the temperature was quite warm, even if the sky was now almost completely covered by cloud, Sam decided to try her hand in the kayak that came with the house. She carted it down to the beach and set off at a gentle pace, gradually working her way round the bay. She was quite a long way from the shore when she realised she had got a problem. Or, rather, two problems.

The kayak was cutting through the water remarkably fast, considering she was only paddling gently. She was just beginning to work out that the reason for this was a strong current that had got hold of her, pulling her away from the shore, when the light changed. She glanced up and, to her horror, she saw a bank of sea mist rolling towards her. Frantically she turned the kayak’s nose towards the beach and started paddling hard as the fog closed in around her and she lost sight of the shore. In an instant, she found herself in a featureless grey world where the sea and the sky merged into each other, giving her the impression of being surrounded by cotton wool.

But her cotton wool surroundings were anything but cosy and comfortable. Suddenly, it felt as if the temperature had dropped by ten degrees. Looking down at the bubbles in the water beside her, she saw that the kayak was now moving backwards quite fast. Without being able to get her bearings on anything, it felt as though she was being drawn out to sea. She started paddling hard in the opposite direction, slowing the rate of backward movement, but not stopping it. She realised with a start that she was in a very dangerous situation. Nobody knew she was out here, so nobody was going to miss her until a lot later. She reached for her pocket and then remembered she had left her phone in their room, for fear of dropping it in the sea. She was all alone in the fog. God only knew where she would end up.

The sensation of isolation was so strong she felt a shiver of terror go down her back and tears spring to her eyes. With an effort, she dominated her rising panic and did her best to think logically. Just before the mist rolled in, she had probably been three, maybe four hundred metres from the beach. That wasn’t an insurmountable distance. If only she could get out of the grip of the current, she knew she easily had the strength to paddle back to the shore. In order to get out of the current, she had to go either left or right and try to cut across it, rather than face it head on. Acting on instinct, she swung the boat to the right and dug in.

She carried on paddling across the current for ages, losing track of time completely. Every now and then she had to stop and rest and, in spite of her exertions, she began to feel very cold. She knew she had to find land soon or she would be in big, big trouble. To make matters worse, a cold breeze was getting up and waves were beginning to slap against the side of the hull. She fought her fear and peered into the murk around her, unable to see more than a few metres. Then, she heard something. She stopped paddling and cocked her head to one side, concentrating hard. There was no doubt about it, she could hear waves breaking against the shore. Could it be she had got herself back to the beach? She dug her paddle in again with renewed energy, aiming the kayak towards the noise. Gradually, it grew louder and, as it grew, so did her hopes.

Then, abruptly, the mist before her thinned and she saw something, but what she saw was terrifying. She was heading straight for a rocky reef, around which the white waves hissed and sighed. She spun the kayak around and just managed to squeeze past the rocks without crashing into them. Looming high behind the reef was the dark outline of sheer cliffs. A wave of terror threatened to engulf her and she had to struggle hard to stop herself from crying out in panic. She was completely alone and totally lost. She gritted her teeth and took a few deep breaths. At least she now found herself away from the grip of the vicious current, so she allowed herself a few minutes’ rest, just dipping the paddle into the water from time to time to keep her out of reach of the rocks. However, within a very short time she began to feel very, very cold and this, more than anything else, spurred her into action once more.

She started off again, doing her best to run parallel to the cliffs, loath to lose sight of land, but dreading the prospect of another reef in her way. She paddled on and on, becoming ever more desperate, and then, just as she was beginning to feel very, very tired, she sensed a lightening in the backdrop and she let the waves take her. Another rocky outcrop swept past her, close enough to touch and then, amazingly, she bumped up against a vertical wall and a flight of weed-encrusted stone steps; man-made wall and man-made steps.

She could have wept with relief. She reached out with her hands and grabbed at a metal ring set in the wall, as the kayak scraped against generations of barnacles. Never had the sight of a stone wall been so welcome.

She clung to the rusty iron with both hands and rested her head on her arms. She felt tears coursing down her cheeks; tears of sheer relief that she had reached land. Suddenly, all her worries about her sporting career, her studies, her mother’s mental health and, above all, her relationship with Neil, faded into insignificance. She was alive and that was all that mattered. That, and the minor problem of hauling herself out of the kayak and onto dry land.