AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Calm down, she told herself. You’ve seen Simon. Spoken to him. You don’t have to do that again. By now he’ll be gone. Tomorrow there’ll be a mad rush to get everything done, and avoiding him should be pretty easy. The trick is not to make it too obvious, or Carrie will notice and wonder.
Tonight, you’ll simply be—pleasant, speaking only when spoken to. You know how to do that. God knows, you’ve had plenty of practice over the years, right here in this house, where you’ll always be the interloper. The unwanted guest.
And when dinner’s over you can yawn, say you’re tired after the journey. Make that your excuse for an early night.
But above all you will not—not—cry. Certainly not now. But not even tonight, when it’s dark, and you’re lying on your own, thinking of—him. Trying not to want him and failing miserably. Just as you’ve done for so many nights in the past. As you’ll want to do for the rest of your life.
Having composed herself with an effort before venturing downstairs again, it was something of an anti-climax to walk into the drawing room, her head high, and find it empty.
But the rest of the party were clearly expected, because a tray of drinks, including large jugs of Pimms and home-made lemonade, plus a cooler containing white wine, had been set out on a side table.
The French windows were standing open, and the evening sun was pouring into the room like warm gold, accompanied by the faint whisper of the sea like a siren call.
Rhianna took two steps towards the open air, then paused. However pressing her desire to escape, she was hardly dressed for scrambling over rocks and sand, or for paddling through the creaming shallows of the tide, she reminded herself drily. Far better to stand her ground and hope the evening would pass quickly.
She wandered back towards the wide stone fireplace, and stood looking up at the portraits which flanked it of Tamsin Penvarnon and her Spanish husband.
Carrie had told her all about them one afternoon, when they’d been alone because Simon had been dragged unwillingly to Truro, shopping with his mother.
‘Several years after the Armada there was a Spanish raid on Cornwall,’ she’d said. ‘They burnt Mousehole and Newlyn, but as they were getting away in their galleys there was a fight, and one of their marine captains, Jorge Diaz, was wounded and swept overboard. He was washed up in our cove and Tamsin Penvarnon, the family’s only daughter, found him there, half drowned. She had him carried up to the house and nursed him until he recovered.’
She gave an impish grin. ‘Then Tamsin found she was having a baby. So she and Captain Diaz got married—only the family put it about that he was really her cousin, one of the Black Penvarnons from near St Just, in case anyone asked awkward questions. He took the family name, but he and Tamsin called one of their sons Diaz, and the tradition has kept going ever since. So when Uncle Ben and Aunt Esther had a boy, everyone knew what he’d be christened.’
She sighed. ‘It’s a wonderful story—especially as it turned out that Jorge Diaz’s father was one of the conquistadores who went to South America and won lots of land and masses of gold, which he left to Jorge’s elder brother, Juan. But Juan Diaz got fever and died too, so everything came to Jorge and Tamsin, which is how the Penvarnon fortune started. And, to add to it all, they found enormous mineral deposits on their estates in Chile. Which is why my cousin Diaz is a multimillionaire and we’re the poor relations,’ she added buoyantly. ‘Only Mummy doesn’t like me to say that.’
Rhianna digested this. ‘Is Mrs Penvarnon—your aunt—dead too?’
‘Oh, no.’ Carrie shook her head. ‘She lives abroad. She just—doesn’t come back here.’
‘Why not—when it’s so beautiful?’
Carrie shrugged. ‘I asked Daddy once, and he said that though Mummy and Aunt Esther were both Londoners, some people didn’t transplant as well as others. Although Jorge Diaz seemed to manage it,’ she added. ‘He and Tamsin had their portraits painted when they got rich, and she’s wearing the Penvarnon necklace, all gold and turquoise, that he had made for her. Their pictures are in the drawing rooms. One day when no one’s around I’ll show them to you.’
Carrie had been as good as her word, Rhianna recalled, and she’d stood enthralled as she gazed up at the long-ago lovers—he with the kind of saturnine good-looks to die for, and she a red-gold beauty with vivid blue eyes.
Now, as she took another look, the resemblance between Diaz Penvarnon and his Spanish ancestor was truly amazing, she acknowledged with reluctance once again. Shave the black pointed beard, replace the snowy ruff with an open-necked shirt and substitute a mobile phone for the sword Don Jorge’s hand was resting on with such stunning authority, and they could be twins.
