THE NEXT MORNING

Anneke is gathering up the plates, mugs and glasses that lie scattered on every available surface around the kitchen, when the back door opens and John comes in from the driving rain. The dark, weary expression on his face lifts a little as he sees her. He peels off his wet jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair by the Aga.

He says, ‘Are you okay? You’re up very early.’

Anneke sighs. ‘I couldn’t sleep and besides, there’s so much to do.’ She glances round at the mess and then bursts out: ‘It’s just all so sad.’ She sounds more angry that upset. She presses her lips together tightly, jutting her chin and refusing to cry.

John moves towards her but she turns away to fill the kettle at the sink. With her back to him she says, ‘It’s strange, you know? I’ve really started to think of Trevow as home. I’ve never felt like that about anywhere before. I shall miss Tregethlan very much.’

‘What?’ says John, but at that moment the door from the hall opens and Jo comes in with Mouse at her heels.

She must have overheard Anneke because she says, ‘You’re not thinking of leaving, surely? There’s so much to be sorted out.’

Anneke turns to face her. ‘Of course I shall stay while you need my help. And I should like to go to Mrs Clemens’ funeral before I leave, but I must find another job.’ Anneke cannot look at John, but sense him staring at her intently, brows furrowed.

‘Frankly, I don’t think I could cope without you right now,’ says Jo, pulling out a chair and slumping down at the kitchen table. ‘You were great last night. Thank you for everything you did. It was kind to make me up a bed here as well – I couldn’t face going back to the boat.’

‘That’s what I came to tell you’, says John, gruffly. ‘Iolanthe took a bit of damage last night. A lot of the boats did. She’s going to need a lot of time and money I’m afraid.’

Jo shrugs. ‘I think I need to stay here at Tregethlan for now anyway.’ She looks up at him. ‘I was on my way back to check on her lines yesterday when all the drama kicked off on the beach – and then afterwards …’

She lapses into silence, staring out of the window. The wild storm of last night is over but the rain still beats relentlessly on the glass and the big old house feels chilled. Jo eyes are dark smudges in her pale face, the skin stretched taut across her cheekbones. She shivers.

‘Are you warm enough? Can I get you something to eat?’ Anneke asks her gently.

Jo shakes her head. ‘I’m okay. Just coffee, thanks.’

She is still wearing the faded nightdress that Anneke lent her and has pulled her own brightly coloured cardigan over the top, yet she is still utterly beautiful with her auburn hair tousled and spiky.

With coffee in hand Jo begins to make a list of things to be done.

‘I’ll contact Davenport Enterprises this morning about the cancellation of the festival and the insurance. John, can you liaise with all the local businesses? They’ll need to assess their losses. I’ll get quotes for repairs to the house but something will have to be done pro-temps to make the place weather-proof. And in the meantime, I’ll contact our own insurers, the bank, the lawyers and God knows who else.’

She turns to Anneke and says quietly: ‘Could you speak to the vicar and the undertakers for me? I need to think about Mum’s funeral.’

Anneke has never heard Jo call her mother Mum before. ‘Of course,’ she says, ‘I’ll do anything I can to help.’

Jo smiles wanly at her. She has started to nibble at a slice of toast Anneke placed before her, and a hint of colour is returning to her cheeks. Turning to John again she says: ‘I’m really going to need your help and advice over the coming weeks.’

John nods. Their differences seem to be patched up. ‘I’ll go and check out the damage to the ballroom now it’s daylight.’ He leaves the room without glancing at Anneke.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Jo turns to Anneke.

‘You can’t seriously mean to leave? It would completely destroy John.’

Anneke wrinkles her brow. ‘I don’t know what to think,’ she says. ‘I thought he liked me but then I thought maybe you two were together?’

‘Us? Why on earth should you think that? We’ve barely spoken for months.’

‘I know, but …’

‘We’ve been mates for years and I was a total idiot to fall out with him. I’ve been so miserable since. But we’re not an item. No. It’s you he cares for, anyone can see that.’

‘Oh,’ says Anneke colouring. She fiddles with the spoon in the sugar bowl.

‘For goodness sake, go and talk to him.’

After a moment’s hesitation, Anneke puts down the spoon and hurries after John. Jo continues to sit at the table, absently caressing Mouse.

‘Well my sweet, it’s just you and me now,’ she tells him.

OBITUARY IN THE PORTGLAS HERALD

September 2015

Margaret Clemens 1944 – 2015

Margaret Clemens, nee Stevenson, died suddenly when Storm Amy hit the West Country in August. Margaret was the daughter of the late Sir Harold Stevenson, of the dynasty of pioneering engineering and aircraft manufacturers. As a young girl she trained for a career in ballet, but that was not to be and she finally gave up all ideas of a career when she married Edward Clemens in 1973. She devoted herself thereafter to her family and to refurbishing Tregethlan, the Clemens family house and estate, in the village of Trevow in Cornwall.

Margaret’s charm and practical energy fitted her well for the role of hostess in which she cast herself. She soon established Tregethlan at the heart of the social scene in Cornwall and beyond. The house, with its redecorated ballroom, became a fitting, almost fairy-tale setting for the private parties and fund-raising balls which Margaret had such a remarkable talent for staging.

After Edward Clemens’s death in 2011, the demands of the historic building ultimately prompted Margaret to raise funds for the necessary refurbishments, and she decided to allow a two-day music festival onto the estate in August this year.

During the festival, tragically, lightning struck an ancient cedar tree beside the house when Margaret was opening up the old ballroom to receive people sheltering from the storm. Margaret was by the window when a great branch smashed into the house, causing fatal injuries. Margaret’s daughter was in the house and was with her mother at the end.

Margaret’s life was overlaid by tragedy. Her only son, Thomas Roland (b 1984) died in a car accident in 2002. Edward Clemens died at sea while sailing in the Caribbean in 2011. Margaret is survived by her daughter, Josephine Clemens. The future of the Tregethlan estate is yet to be decided. It is understood that the house and the estate are likely to be sold.

Chapter 46