A Cornish Stranger by Liz Fenwick Read Free Book Online Page A

and thinking only of music. As the last note ended she heard a slow clapping coming from behind her. Her throat closed.
    â€˜Hello.’ A man’s voice said.
    â€˜Max.’ Hannah beamed.
    â€˜Sorry, I couldn’t make it earlier but it was worth it to hear you sing.’ He walked up to the piano and extended his hand. ‘Mrs Bates tells me that you are Gabriella Blythe. It was a real pleasure to hear you.’
    â€˜She’s amazing, isn’t she?’ Hannah said.
    â€˜Yes.’ Max nodded. ‘We don’t often hear sopranos of your calibre here.’ He paused. ‘Actually, not just here.’
    â€˜Um, well . . .’ Gabe stood up from the piano and tidied the music. ‘I’m off.’
    â€˜Thank you so much for taking the rehearsal – I really appreciate it.’ The overhead light made his auburn hair seem brighter and it picked out the jewel colours in his brocade waistcoat. His dress sense was . . . unique. Gabe smiled as she looked down at his jeans and Converse high tops.
    â€˜They all sang well. You should be fine for the concert next week.’ Gabe picked up her bag.
    â€˜Will you be coming?’ Hannah hovered by the door watching the two of them.
    â€˜I don’t know.’ Gabe turned to Hannah. The air of fear around her had disappeared. She now leaned against the piano, projecting confidence.
    â€˜Does that mean you live around here?’ Max asked.
    Gabe nodded. ‘I’ve just moved in with my grandmother.’
    â€˜Wonderful news.’
    Gabe walked towards the door.
    â€˜Hannah, shall we buy Miss Blythe a drink at the pub to say thanks?’ Max stood a few steps behind.
    â€˜Brilliant idea.’ Hannah grinned and, linking her arm through Gabe’s, led her out of the door and down the hill towards the pub.
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    A lone yacht with a French ensign motored out of the river, the tide helping it on its way. Jaunty recalled those precious summer days mucking about in a boat before everything changed. The task of fighting – no, working with the wind and tide filled her. The feel of the sea spray and the pounding of the blood in her veins were distant but pleasant memories and she missed the thrill. Now a snail could overtake her as she hobbled back inside the cabin. Gabriella had gone out so Jaunty had space to write. She needed space.
    Removing the notebook from under the mattress, Jaunty picked up the pen.
    My thoughts are rambling, but I don’t think it matters in what order I tell the story, just that it is told. Today, France.
    Jaunty sat back. She could see the flat she shared with Jean but it was hard to remember how they had met. She rubbed her temples. It had to be there in her mind. These things didn’t go away, they were just pushed to the back.
    Paris 1938.
    Jaunty took her pen from the page. She closed her eyes, running through things she did remember about 1938. Her mind strayed to Alex but she opened her eyes again, erasing him with the view of the river in front of her. Of course! It had been Pierre who had introduced them. It had been the first day of her training.
    I walk into the big studio and immediately feel at home with the smell of paint and dust. A woman, nude, sits in the centre of the room on a stool. Light falls on her from the window in the ceiling, creating marvellous shadows. My fingers twitch. I want to paint immediately but Pierre comes to greet me and kisses me three times. He smells of tobacco and wine although it is only ten in the morning. When he releases me I see this elegant woman dressed like a man sitting quietly in the corner. I wonder who she is and if she is painting the nude. I am jealous for so many reasons, but mostly it is her confidence. I love her hair. It is cut in a short bob and is sleek, black and glossy. I touch my own and feel out of date, although I know it suits me.
    Pierre takes my hand. ‘Come and meet Jean. I know you will love her. She is English,