CHAPTER 2
THE MUDFLATS, SALTACRES STRAND
‘Forlorn the sea’s forsaken bride
Awaits the end that shall betide.’
John Davidson
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‘Didn’t we see you in the pub just now?’
‘Probably. I was there.’ Palgrave had been aware of a fresh young voice coming from one of the alcoves, for the inn was furnished with settles which had facing seats like miniature railway compartments. He himself had taken one of the high stools at the bar, and the voice had been his only clue that he and the barmaid and the landlord had not been the only occupants of the place. ‘I had a ploughman’s lunch before I decided to push on.’
‘Where to? Where are you going?’
‘I don’t really know.’
‘We thought we heard you asking about finding somewhere to stay.’
‘Yes, I did speak to the landlord when he came to relieve the barmaid. I rather fancied this village for a stop-over, but there doesn’t seem any chance of it. He doesn’t let rooms.’
‘How would you like to muck in with us? The others sent me chasing after you to find out. We’ve got a cottage here. We could put you up, if you like.’
‘But you don’t know anything about me.’
‘What does that matter? We’re all human.’
‘According to some of the things I read in the papers, I’m not too sure about that, apart from the fact that I’m a keeper in a blackboard zoo.’
‘A schoolmaster? I should never have thought it.’
‘I hope that’s a compliment. I’m also what they call a rising young novelist.’
‘Published?’
‘Certainly. As a matter of fact, I’m collecting material for my next book. That’s why I thought this place might give me what I’m looking for, a setting.’
‘Well, you’ve had my offer. Take it or leave it, only make your mind up so that I can let the others know. We’ll have to get in some more bacon and eggs and things if you’re coming to stay.’
Palgrave glanced sideways at the girl. Not more than sixteen or seventeen, he thought. He was not enamoured of the conclusion that he was being invited to share a holiday cottage with pop-enthusiastic and probably guitar-playing and certainly record-playing teenagers. To have them in school was bad enough. He certainly did not want to spend part of his vacation with them.
‘What others?’ he asked.
‘Only Adrian and Miranda. Adrian designs wallpapers and paints flowers and things on cups and plates. Miranda teaches part-time at the art school and paints seascapes. They’re married and quite old - in their thirties, I think. I’m sure you’d have a lot in common with them.’
‘Thanks. I’m twenty-six.’
‘And a bachelor?’
‘For what it’s worth, yes.’
‘Wouldn’t she have you? You look a sort of one-man-one-woman type to me.’
‘As a matter of fact, I broke the engagement.’
‘Did she play fast and loose? You should have given her a beating and told her to behave herself.’
‘I broke the engagement because I wanted to write, that’s all.’
‘Under your own name?’
‘Certainly. I’ve a very appropriate name for a writer.’
‘Yes? Tell me, and then I can introduce you properly to Adrian and Miranda when you meet them and I can also ask for your books at the library.’
‘I’m Colin Palgrave.’
‘Camilla Hoveton St John.’
‘That’s a village, not a surname.’
‘I know. It sounds nice, though, doesn’t it? When my parents died I adopted it. You don’t get far in the art world calling yourself Thomasina Smith.’
‘You’re an artist, then, like your friends?’
‘Art student only, but I persevere. Well, are you coming back with me to meet the others?’
‘I – well, look – I don’t want to commit myself to anything.’ He stood still and looked about and around him. Behind was the village, mellowed by distance to a not unpicturesque jumble of brown, grey, white and dirty red; above him a limitless expanse of sky; all round him the grey-green level of the sea-marshes; before him the marram-topped mounds and undulations of the sand-dunes, and beyond them the pebble-ridge, the muddy-looking beach and the gently moving green, blue, silver of the glittering, sun-warmed sea. He turned to the girl and, as their eyes met, she laughed.
‘All right, Mr Cautious,’ she said. ‘You haven’t committed yourself to anything – yet. Come on. You never know your luck.’
He took to the married couple at once, especially to Miranda. She was plump, comely and kind, a blonde who would be prettier, he thought, if she could contrive to lose a little weight. As though to redress the balance, Adrian was very tall and noticeably thin. He was a quiet man, soft-voiced and courteous, but although he and his wife welcomed Palgrave, no mention was made of a bed for him at the cottage. It was clear that the girl had been lying when she had told him that the others had sent her chasing after him.
Just as he was thinking of taking his leave and driving to the next town to get a room for the night, an opening came and Camilla took immediate advantage of it. Miranda asked where Palgrave was staying and he replied that he did not know.
‘He would like to stay in this village,’ said Camilla.
‘But at the pub they held out no hope,’ said Palgrave, ‘so I had better be pushing on.’
‘Can’t he stay here? There’s the studio couch,’ said Camilla.
‘Stay here? Well, yes, if he doesn’t mind our rough and ready ways and people having to pass through this room to reach the front door,’ said Adrian, looking at Miranda. She nodded.
‘It will be good for you to have another man for company,’ she said.
‘Good for me, too,’ said Camilla pertly. ‘Besides, he will pay a quarter of the rent and help with the chores.’
‘Oh, hang it all!’ said Palgrave. ‘I can’t impose myself on people I’ve only just met.’ He was embarrassed by the way this extrovert girl had taken charge of the situation and committed the married couple to a course which probably they had no wish to follow. Miranda reassured him.
‘We shall be delighted to put you up. Can you pay ten pounds a week? That would be for bed, breakfast and supper. We have a snack at the pub if we bother about lunch at all, so that would be extra.’
‘Well, it’s awfully good of you. Could I stay for a fortnight?’
‘Not quite a fortnight,’ said Adrian. ‘My lease of this cottage is up on Saturday week, but you could stay until then, if that would suit you.’
‘So ten pounds for a full week, and one pound fifty a day for the rest of the time,’ said Miranda in businesslike tones.
‘Profiteering!’ said Adrian, laughing.
‘It’s awfully good of you,’ said Palgrave. He took out his wallet and produced the notes. ‘I’ll go to my car and get my things, then.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Camilla.
‘What are we to call you?’ asked Miranda.
‘My name is Colin Palgrave.’
‘Colin, then, and our name is Kirby, but to you, please, we are Adrian and Miranda.’
‘And I am Camilla,’ said Camilla, taking his hand and leading him towards the door. ‘Where will you park your car? There’s a wide bit of the road a little further on. You would find it handy unless you want to leave it where it is.’
‘I’ll get the bed made up while you are gone,’ said Miranda.
‘You know,’ said Palgrave, when he and Camilla were outside the cottage, ‘you had no right to wish me on to those people.’