A Good Catch: The perfect Cornish escape full of secrets. Fern Britton
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her rescuer a hug, leaving him breathless on many counts.
She turned to Greer. ‘Has it all gone?’
‘Yes.’
‘Maybe I’ll try an indelible ink next time.’
‘Best not,’ murmured Greer.
Mickey muscled in and grabbed Loveday’s arm. ‘Have you eaten your tea?’
‘Only a bit. Mum did shepherd’s pie earlier. But I could do with some chips.’
‘Come on then.’ And, taking her hand he ran down the hill, forcing Jesse and then Greer to run after them.
*
Edward Behenna had been in the Golden Hind since he and Spencer had finished on the boat. Edward was full of beer and the memory of the row with Jan was disappearing as fast as a sea mist on a warm morning. The beer had warmed his heart and his humour. ‘Spence, you’ll ’ave another before ’e go.’
Spencer removed a battered tin of tobacco from the front of his canvas smock and nodded. ‘Aye.’
‘Good man, Spence. Good man.’ Edward lumbered heavily to his feet and clapped his friend on the back, dislodging the scanty twigs of tobacco from the near transparent cigarette paper that Spencer was balancing between thumb and grimy index finger. He hailed the landlord. ‘Same again, Pete.’
Pete, a very tall man with a stomach straining against the buttons and belt of his shirt and trousers, bent down so that he could see through the forest of pint tankards hanging from hooks on a shelf above the bar. ‘Skinner’s?’ he asked, reaching for the empties Edward had placed on the damp counter.
‘Aye.’
Without anyone taking much notice, the door of the pub opened and a slim man in his early forties entered. His quick, bright blue eyes skimmed the familiar faces and he nodded at those who acknowledged his arrival. His prey was at the bar, delving into a handful of change to pay for the two waiting pints. He walked lightly and quickly towards him. ‘I’ll get those, Pete, and a Scotch for me, please.’
Edward turned to see who was buying his pint. ‘Bryn Clovelly, you’re a gentleman.’ He turned his eyes to where Spencer was sitting. ‘Spence, Mr Clovelly bought you a pint.’
Spencer had rolled his cigarette; its smoking fragrance drifted towards the bar. ‘Thank ’ee, Mr Clovelly.’
Bryn ignored him and spoke to Edward. ‘So, Edward, when are we going to do business?’
Edward looked down at his feet, uncomfortably aware that Clovelly was completely sober.
‘Bryn, I’ve ’ad a drink. Me ’ead’s not straight for talking business.’
Bryn pulled up an empty bar stool and indicated for Edward to do the same. ‘It’s not business as such, is it?’ He unhooked the casual blue jumper he had knotted round his shoulders and draped it on the back of the stool. ‘We’ve known each other a long time, haven’t we, Edward?’
Edward rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin. ‘You’ve gone up in the world since we were nippers though, ain’t you, Bryn?’ Edward looked at Bryn’s clean hands. ‘Look at you. Smart clothes, smart way of talkin’, smart car outside. You’re different now, Bryn.’
Bryn placed his right hand on his chest. ‘Not ’ere. Not in my ’eart. I can still talk as Cornish as you, boy, and don’t ’e forget it. There’s nothin’ wrong in doing well and earning a little cash, is there?’
‘No,’ Edward agreed reluctantly. He had given more thought to Bryn’s continued insistence that their businesses were stronger together than he wanted to let on, but it didn’t do to show your hand too early where Bryn was concerned. Besides, what Jan and Jesse had said also nagged at his thoughts. Now that Bryn was sitting here in front of him, in his flash clothes and with a conceited look on his face, Edward’s doubts had once more risen to the surface.
‘I don’t know whether I want more. I’m happy with the boats and passing them on to Jesse.’
‘Not Grant then?’
‘No. ’E’s happy in the Marines. Best place for him.’
‘Is he settling well?’
‘Think so. Better to get all that anger out of ’im in hard training than ’ere in Trevay.’
Bryn placed his hand on Edward’s shoulder. He knew that Grant was a worry. A drinker with a short fuse and handy fists. ‘Maybe the discipline is just what he needs,’ he said.
‘Aye.’
Bryn remained silent, watching as Edward took a long mouthful of beer. Then he asked, ‘What does Jan think?’
‘With women you’ve got to pick your moment.’
‘So you haven’t told her about the offer that I’ve put on the table?’ Bryn leant closer to Edward. ‘’Tis a good offer, Edward. You know that these EU quotas could be the death of the Cornish fishing industry. We need to diversify and open up our markets if we’re to survive. We’re better together – you’ll never get an offer like this one again. The future of Behenna and Clovelly will be settled.’
‘But you getting fifty-one per cent: you’d have the controlling interest then. You might leave me high and dry.’
‘Look, Edward,’ Bryn leant in closer. Edward could smell the scent of cigars on his beautifully laundered Pierre Cardin shirt. ‘I’m prepared to sell you a share in the fish market, if that would sweeten the deal. We’d both sit on the board of Behenna and Clovelly and each have a fair shout on how the business is managed.’
Edward frowned and rubbed his chin. Bryn looked appraisingly at him.
‘When did you and Jan last have a holiday?’
‘What do we need an ’oliday for?’
‘You’ll need a holiday from all the hard work we’ll be putting in running the new business together. Imagine. You could go up country and see the sights of London. Catch a plane to Italy or Greece. Or maybe have a week in New York.’
‘Who’ll look after the boats while I’m away?’
‘Me. And you’ll look after the fish market and the refrigeration factory for me when I’m away with my missus.’
Edward shook his head. He’d been thinking about Bryn’s ‘business’ plan since the idea had first been floated. It was all very well for Bryn to talk about them joining forces but, as the months had gone by and Bryn had kept on about Jesse and Greer getting married, it felt more and more like Bryn was leading them all down a road that led in one direction, where there was no turning back. As a reality, he knew where his moral compass was pointing.
‘No, no. The boy has his own life to lead, and that’s with me at Behenna’s Boats. The fishing fleet was built up by my dad and I’m building it now for Jesse. ’Tis enough.’
‘And I’m building the fish market business for Greer. But when she’s married she won’t want to work. She needs a man to run it all …’
Edward looked at Bryn sharply. ‘I’ve told you before. Jesse has to make his own decisions. I could no more make Jesse marry Greer than I could get Spencer over there to stick on a tutu and pirouette off Trevay harbour wall.’
Bryn laughed and picked up his Scotch to take a sip. ‘I was going to say partner, not husband. Someone bright. Someone we can trust and – yes – Jesse would be ideal.’ He took another deeper draught of his whisky. ‘It ain’t a case of forcing anyone. My Greer’s going to grow up to be a fine wife and mother. She’s refined; a good catch. Anyone can see that – your Jesse just needs a bit of encouragement.’
Bryn Clovelly reached into his pocket and took out a brown envelope and placed it on the table between them.
‘You’ve