The Cornish Affair by Laura Lockington Page A

homework and had to learn poetry by heart. I was very happy at home, thank you very much. At least I thought I had been.
    There was a short silence, and I could hear spoons tinkling against china, and the faintest smell of coffee.
    “ After all, Fin looks after so many things, I sometimes think that I should go and leave her to her own life-”
    “Don’t be daft Nancy! She adores you, and anyway you don’t want to go, do you?”
    I gripped the door handle so hard I could see the whites of my knuckles.
    I made an impulsive move forward. I didn’t want to hear Nancy’s reply. I moved into the room, and had the satisfaction of watching Harry squirm slightly, whilst Nancy rattled her coffee cup in her saucer. Only Oliver seemed completely unembarrassed that they had been talking about me.
    “Baxter and Nelson are happily settled in,” I said brightly, inwardly cursing Harry and Nancy for talking about me to Oliver. “Now then, Oliver, shall we retire to the kitchen and start some work? After all, I know just how precious your very valuable time is.”
    I swept down to the kitchen, seething, not looking to see if Oliver was following me or not. So, I was lonely and difficult was I? Well, there was a grain of truth there I suppose.
    As I swished around the kitchen like an angry cat, I mulled over Nancy’s words. My parents were undoubtedly odd in the way they had raised me, but I had been so happy it hadn’t bothered me at all that I never went to Bea’s ghastly sounding boarding school. I’d had odd forays into the education system to know that it wasn’t for me. The only drawback that I could see for an upbringing like mine was the terrible sense of loss when it finally disappeared.
    I felt the absence of them more and more each day.
    I roughly grabbed a roasting tray and smeared it with olive oil, ready to try out the damn onions. I felt a great annoyance building up inside me, and cursed Harry for bringing horrible Oliver down here. I sliced the top off an onion, and started to peel it.
    I’d heard Nancy’s slight disapproval when she’d spoken about my parents. Which was daft really, as I know how much she’d loved them too.
    I remembered what it had been like, living here with those two vibrant personalities, Michael and Dorothea. Every day had been a holiday, a laugh, a game, I’d felt enfolded in love. Everything was a pale imitation of that now. Even cooking. And that had always been a solace to me, partly of course, because I associated it so strongly with both of my parents. We would all spend hours faffing round in the kitchen making extraordinary things, time consuming potted shrimps with mace and paprika, dipping rose leaves into melted dark chocolate and peeling them back when cool to reveal perfect chocolate leaves underneath, or making champagne jellies that we suspended the first seasons primroses in, like tiffany jewels suspended in amber.
    I remembered as a child Nancy visiting, and the happy sound of laughter echoing around Penmorah. Nancy and Dorothea had been very close, but perhaps underneath it all there was a bit of jealousy? Dorothea had been more beautiful, more vivacious, somehow more alive that Nancy… and of course, she had married my father.
    I sliced the top off another onion, and pulled away at the pale papery skin.
    Michael had flirted with Nancy and made her laugh, teasing her about her arty ways, and she had loved it.
    I slowly prepped another onion.
    Maybe Nancy and my father… No, surely not. No. I put the thought from my mind and reached for another onion. I had been too young to uncover adult talk that revealed anything other than a close familial relationship, but maybe? Just maybe.
    I jumped slightly as I heard footsteps behind me. Harry was holding the tray of coffee cups, and looked contrite.
    “Sorry Fin, did you catch the end of that conversation?”
    I nodded, feeling tears start in my eyes and truly not knowing if they were tears of self pity, or due to the