Free A Cornish Stranger by Liz Fenwick

secure the boat for the night.’ He smiled. ‘And many thanks for allowing me to use the quay.’
    Gabe just stared at Jaunty. There was nothing else she could do.
    He turned to Gabe. ‘Thank you for the sausage.’
    â€˜Um . . .’ How was she supposed to respond to that? ‘Thanks for helping my grandmother.’ She looked at him then turned away from his questioning glance. He nodded to Jaunty then disappeared down the path, Gabe watching his dark figure until it was out of sight. The wind blew in from the east, ­rustling the trees, a sure sign the weather was about change, and when Gabe went into the cabin again, Jaunty had dis­appeared. Gabe found her in her room.
    â€˜What was all that about?’
    â€˜What, dear?’ Jaunty stifled a yawn. ‘So tired. Must be all the fresh air.’
    And the wine, Gabe added silently. ‘How are you feeling now? I’d like to call the doctor.’
    â€˜I’m absolutely fine,’ Jaunty said firmly. ‘Do not call the doctor. I am fine, just old.’ She began to undress, but when Gabe didn’t move she said even more firmly, ‘Good­night, Gabriella.’ She pointed to the door. ‘Close it behind you.’
    Gabe followed the order but then stood staring at the door.
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 

 
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Four
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    G abe paced the sitting room, glancing at the phone. Jaunty had been adamant that the doctor should not be called, but Gabe wasn’t so sure. The peace of the evening had been shattered by the arrival of the man, and he had certainly been a help – Gabe would have struggled to get Jaunty up to the cabin – so she couldn’t pinpoint why, but unease filled her. The stranger’s dark eyes came to mind.
    She went into the kitchen to do the dishes and saw there was some wine left in the bottle. Pouring it into a glass, she walked to the big window in the sitting room. Rain had ­arrived without warning, lashing the windows, and the winds assaulted the Monterey pines on the point. The eerie half-light that preceded lightning softened the details of the landscape and added to the tension in the air. Gabe sipped the wine, then took a few deep breaths, trying to loosen her shoulders. It didn’t work. She jumped when lightning heralded the thunder that swiftly followed. She remembered the storms of her childhood, how even at sixteen she had crawled into Jaunty’s bed seeking reassurance. After a few tut-tuts, Jaunty would wrap her arms around her and pull her close. And it had been a night like this when they had received the phone call that had brought them news of her father’s death. She hadn’t cried. She couldn’t – it hurt too much.
    Gabe shook her head. That was a long time ago. She knocked back the wine in one gulp then coughed. Not a good idea. Placing the glass on the table, she decided she’d do the dishes in the morning. Rain pelted against the windows and rattled the frames. In the wind she heard a note and thought of Hannah. The girl had talent, but it was early days. At sixteen Gabe had been full of promise too. At least today she had sung. Her throat hadn’t closed, killing her voice. She should be thankful, but instead she was restless. So much had been lost.
    Thunder boomed. The storm was growing. The trees, with their leaves still on, were at risk of being uprooted. The next flash of lightning revealed one almost bent in half with the force of the gust. Gabe counted fifteen seconds. The storm was still some way away, probably over Falmouth, wreaking havoc with the boats seeking shelter in the bosom of the harbour. But maybe it was further away than that. She counted the next interval. No, it wasn’t moving. It was content to release its fury in one spot for the moment, and it was building the tension inside her. She waited for the next crescendo before she checked on Jaunty. Her grandmother was