A Deep Deceit by Hilary Bonner Page B

family that was about as far as he ever went. There was a lot of pain there for Carl.
    None the less I knew this unique and crazy city, closer to Havana than Miami, shrouded in history and mystery just like Cornwall, still held a place in his heart, otherwise he could not have made it so special for me.
    â€˜Cayo Hueso,’ he whispered to me. ‘Island of Bones. That’s what Key West was first known as. They reckon the Caloosa Indians used it as a burial ground. From a cemetery to a playground for presidents, that’s Key West. Built by fishermen, poets and pirates, sailors, soldiers, rum runners and treasure salvagers . . .’
    â€˜Treasure salvagers,’ I interrupted him. ‘Is that American-speak for wreckers?’
    He grinned. ‘I guess.’
    The more he told me about Key West, on the southernmost tip of America, the more it reminded me of Cornwall, on the southernmost tip of Britain.
    â€˜I know,’ he agreed. ‘I think it’s what drew me here, from the moment I came to the UK I knew I wanted to end up here. I can’t explain, just something about this county . . .’ He paused. ‘The people are the same, you know, I swear it.’
    I laughed. That could be going too far, I reckoned.
    â€˜No, I mean it,’ he said. ‘There’s the artists and the deadbeats, of course, plenty of those in both places. But Key West folk, they’re different from other Americans, like the Cornish are different. In 1982 Key West declared independence, you know, founded the Conch Republic, created a flag. They celebrate their own Independence Day every year.’
    It was my turn to laugh. ‘A joke, I assume,’ I said.
    â€˜Maybe,’ said Carl. ‘But don’t tell me the Cornish wouldn’t be quite capable of doing something like that.’
    I had to admit he was probably right. In any case I loved his stories, and I pretended to myself that one day I would be able to go there and see it all for myself, with Carl by my side. I did have good dreams as well as the unspeakably bad ones and Key West often featured in the good ones.
    I would picture myself standing on Mallory Dock at sundown, along with the jugglers, mime artists, musicians and the dancing, jostling crowds Carl told me gathered there every evening to celebrate. I imagined myself holding Carl’s hand and drinking exotic cocktails while we watched the sun sink into the Caribbean sea just eighty miles away from Cuba.
    I knew why Carl had left his homeland and why he felt he could never go back, but I also realised how much he still missed it. Carl had been married before and his wife had left him for another man. I could not understand how anyone could leave so loving and caring a person as Carl, and I knew that this betrayal still broke his heart. It was, he said, the reason he had sought a new life in a new country.
    Simple, straightforward and a big overreaction, some might think. But Carl was like that. I knew well enough the extent of his loyalty, the lengths to which he would go for someone he loved. He would naturally expect that kind of commitment the other way round and for it to last for ever. I knew that was what he expected from me, and it was what I wanted to give him.
    Although Carl was so strong in so many ways there was also an insecure side to him, which I believed stemmed from all that had happened to him before our time together. I understood that all right. Few of us can ever truly escape from our own pasts. And how I wished that I could escape from mine.
    But Carl had given me a new life, and six years I could look back on with joy. I loved him with all of my heart and mind, and I really would not have known what to do without him there to guide me. Among the sweetest of my memories was the moment when we arrived in St Ives together for the first time. It was a beautiful late-September night and he had driven straight to the harbour. We parked the