Read Online Shadows Over Paradise by Isabel Wolff - Free Book Online
Authors: Isabel Wolff
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memoir-writing work.
“I advertise in magazines and on genealogy websites,” I replied. “I also put up notices in local libraries.”
“You live in Islington, don’t you?” Beth topped up my coffee.
“Yes—at the Angel.”
“Are you from London?”
I shook my head. “I grew up in a village near Reading, but we moved to Southampton when I was ten.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Klara asked.
“None.” I gave her a quick smile in case she thought meabrupt. “Well …” I put my napkin on the table. “I think I should be getting back.”
“Of course,” Beth agreed warmly. “You must be tired after the journey. Are you okay to walk on your own? Or would you like Henry to go down the lane with you?”
“Oh, I’ll be fine,” I assured her. “I’m not scared of the dark.”
“Well, let me give you a flashlight. It’s pitch-black out there.” As I put on my coat, Beth opened a cupboard under the sink, took a torch out, and handed it to me.
“Good night, Jenni. It was lovely meeting you.”
“Good night, Beth. Thanks for supper—it was delicious. Good night, Henry.” I turned to Klara and smiled. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yes. See you then, dear. Sleep well.”
“Thanks. You too.” I knew that I’d be lucky to sleep at all.
I switched on the flashlight, then walked up the track, raking the ground with the beam. The evening had been fine—I liked Klara, and Henry and Beth had been warm and welcoming. But I’d given too much away. As I turned toward the cottage, I resolved to be more careful.
The blackthorn trees, sculpted by the wind, hunched over the lane. The stars glittered in a blue-black sky. I turned off the torch and looked up. I could see Orion’s Belt, and Venus, and there were the seven points of the Big Dipper. And now, as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could see the pale band of the Milky Way. I craned my neck, drinking in its nebulous beauty. “Wonderful,” I whispered as I gazed at its star clouds and clusters. “It’s wonder—” A sudden jolt ran the length of my spine. I froze, my pulse racing, and listened. The sound that had startled me must have been the wind. I was about to walk on when Iheard it again. Adrenaline flooded my veins. It wasn’t the wind. There was someone there. I couldn’t see anyone, but I could feel a presence; someone was very close, so close that I could hear breathing. I tried to cry out but could make no sound; I wanted to run, but my feet seemed clamped to the ground—and there it was again! So loud that it filled my ears; and now my own breath was ragged, my heart pounding. Then I felt it suddenly slow. I exhaled with relief as I realized that what I’d heard was just the slow gasp of the sea.
Four
I slept fitfully and, as usual, woke before dawn. In my half-asleep state I reached out for Rick, longing for his warm body, then, with a pang, remembered where I was. I lay staring into the darkness for a while, then I showered and dressed and drank a cup of coffee. Steeling myself, I set off for the beach.
I strolled past villas screened by dry-stone walls and fuchsia hedges still speckled with red flowers, then a converted barn that offered B and B. I came to Lower Polvarth, where, set back from the lane, a row of houses stood with pretty front gardens and evocative names—Bohella, Sea Mist, and Rosevine.
I stopped in front of Penlee. I remembered the bank of hydrangeas and that lilac tree—I’d snapped a branch trying to climb it, and Mum had been cross. The bedrooms were on the first floor. We’d had the one on the left, with bunk beds; she was in the room next to it.
Suddenly the curtains in “her” room parted and I saw a woman framed in the window. She was in her midfifties—my mother’s age now. She gazed out to sea but then saw me standing there. I looked away and walked quickly on, past the old red phone box; and here were the stone gateposts of the Polvarth Hotel.
I turned in, my
“I advertise in magazines and on genealogy websites,” I replied. “I also put up notices in local libraries.”
“You live in Islington, don’t you?” Beth topped up my coffee.
“Yes—at the Angel.”
“Are you from London?”
I shook my head. “I grew up in a village near Reading, but we moved to Southampton when I was ten.”
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Klara asked.
“None.” I gave her a quick smile in case she thought meabrupt. “Well …” I put my napkin on the table. “I think I should be getting back.”
“Of course,” Beth agreed warmly. “You must be tired after the journey. Are you okay to walk on your own? Or would you like Henry to go down the lane with you?”
“Oh, I’ll be fine,” I assured her. “I’m not scared of the dark.”
“Well, let me give you a flashlight. It’s pitch-black out there.” As I put on my coat, Beth opened a cupboard under the sink, took a torch out, and handed it to me.
“Good night, Jenni. It was lovely meeting you.”
“Good night, Beth. Thanks for supper—it was delicious. Good night, Henry.” I turned to Klara and smiled. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yes. See you then, dear. Sleep well.”
“Thanks. You too.” I knew that I’d be lucky to sleep at all.
I switched on the flashlight, then walked up the track, raking the ground with the beam. The evening had been fine—I liked Klara, and Henry and Beth had been warm and welcoming. But I’d given too much away. As I turned toward the cottage, I resolved to be more careful.
The blackthorn trees, sculpted by the wind, hunched over the lane. The stars glittered in a blue-black sky. I turned off the torch and looked up. I could see Orion’s Belt, and Venus, and there were the seven points of the Big Dipper. And now, as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could see the pale band of the Milky Way. I craned my neck, drinking in its nebulous beauty. “Wonderful,” I whispered as I gazed at its star clouds and clusters. “It’s wonder—” A sudden jolt ran the length of my spine. I froze, my pulse racing, and listened. The sound that had startled me must have been the wind. I was about to walk on when Iheard it again. Adrenaline flooded my veins. It wasn’t the wind. There was someone there. I couldn’t see anyone, but I could feel a presence; someone was very close, so close that I could hear breathing. I tried to cry out but could make no sound; I wanted to run, but my feet seemed clamped to the ground—and there it was again! So loud that it filled my ears; and now my own breath was ragged, my heart pounding. Then I felt it suddenly slow. I exhaled with relief as I realized that what I’d heard was just the slow gasp of the sea.
Four
I slept fitfully and, as usual, woke before dawn. In my half-asleep state I reached out for Rick, longing for his warm body, then, with a pang, remembered where I was. I lay staring into the darkness for a while, then I showered and dressed and drank a cup of coffee. Steeling myself, I set off for the beach.
I strolled past villas screened by dry-stone walls and fuchsia hedges still speckled with red flowers, then a converted barn that offered B and B. I came to Lower Polvarth, where, set back from the lane, a row of houses stood with pretty front gardens and evocative names—Bohella, Sea Mist, and Rosevine.
I stopped in front of Penlee. I remembered the bank of hydrangeas and that lilac tree—I’d snapped a branch trying to climb it, and Mum had been cross. The bedrooms were on the first floor. We’d had the one on the left, with bunk beds; she was in the room next to it.
Suddenly the curtains in “her” room parted and I saw a woman framed in the window. She was in her midfifties—my mother’s age now. She gazed out to sea but then saw me standing there. I looked away and walked quickly on, past the old red phone box; and here were the stone gateposts of the Polvarth Hotel.
I turned in, my
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