Wreckers Island (romantic suspense) Read online

  ‘We’ll have plenty of time for staring at the view and reading books – or Kindles – tomorrow when our little island is lashed with rain,’ pointed out John.

  ‘Oi, less of the ‘our’, remarked Louise, feigning a scowl. ‘This island and its worldly goods belongs to me, remember!’ she added, a mischievous look in her eyes. ‘Well, my mum and dad anyway. Mind you, it is nice to share it with you all.’

  ~~~~~

  ‘All aboard!’ cried Louise a few minutes later when her three guests finally heaved themselves from the breakfast table and out to her boat, waiting patiently for them at the jetty.

  ‘For a minute,’ gasped Emma, ‘you feel like you’re coming out of an ordinary door and stepping onto a pavement with houses all around don’t you, then it hits you that you’re actually in a lighthouse on a little island surrounded by the sea. It’s mind blowing.’

  Louise smiled at her. That is exactly how she felt about this place and she was pleased Emma shared that sense of awe and delight which seemed to be overcoming her initial apprehension. Louise’s boat was a sailing dinghy with a small outboard motor attached. For the purposes of getting the short distance to the shore, it was easier to use the motor, although usually she preferred to rig up the sails. The others watched in admiration as she deftly weaved her way round the rocky outcrops poking out in the bay – rocks which could cause so much misery to less experienced sailors. Louise cut the engine as they came into shallow water and rowed herself to the jetty.

  Beyond the beach was Porthlevnack, the sort of timeless Cornish fishing village that you might have thought had disappeared long ago. It was good to see that such places still existed. On a hillside above were the ruins of an old castle, which added its own atmospheric touch.

  Louise, John, Dan and Emma spent the morning ambling around. Louise knew every inch of the place but for the others it was somewhere new to explore. They enjoyed strolling along the narrow, winding lanes overlooked by quaint, whitewashed cottages perched on steep slopes overhanging a harbour dotted with colourful fishing boats.

  ‘You know,’ said John to Louise, ‘this is a simply enchanting place to come for a holiday. To have an island to call your own, with its own lighthouse and this wonderful little village on your doorstep, you are very lucky.’

  Louise nodded. It was wonderful, but it was extra special with friends there to share it. The others didn’t know but she had often been on her own, growing up in rural mid Cornwall with few people her own age to mix with.

  John’s existing strong feelings for Louise were deepening in these surroundings and the smiles she gave him encouraged him to hope that possibly, just possibly, there might be a chance of them getting together. So often during the academic year he had planned to ask her out but he rarely got to spend any time with her alone.

  Meanwhile, Dan was seizing the chance for a one-to-one chat with Emma. Yet Emma, despite her ebullient spirits that day, kept flicking her blonde hair in a distracted sort of way while shooting several glances towards John, on whom they were wasted.

  They finished up in a small, 17th century café for coffee and cakes. From their seats in the large bay window set in thick stone, they could see the harbour and just about, in the far distance, their lighthouse on its meagre scrap of land. They paid the bill and went off to the general stores for fresh food and milk and some snacks for a picnic before returning to the boat.

  ‘Right off we go, bound for Wreckers Caves,’ declared Louise as she pulled the starting cord on the engine. The boat roared away from the shore of Gunwalloe Cove. They swung to the right and round a promontory. The coastline was extraordinarily jagged here. No sooner did you go round one jutting out headland, than you found yourself turning hard back, heading into natural inlets and mini-harbours, often sheltered from the fresh sea breeze where the sea was as calm and flat as pond water.

  ‘There’s a type of lagoon here in between those two sandbanks,’ said Louise, pointing, where the water is almost as warm as the rock pools on my island. Why don’t we anchor and do a spot of swimming, then have our picnic lunch?’

  That sounded a good idea and the four had already put on their swimwear that morning before setting out. Louise cut the engine and let down the anchor. They stripped off their clothes and leapt overboard.

  ‘It’s amazingly warm,’ enthused Emma as she sank into the water, a rich turquoise under the summer sun. John and Dan swam to the sandbank and hauled themselves onto it. They stood on the sand bar protruding from the water pretending to be shipwrecked sailors.

  ‘Get back in, you wusses,’ Louise bawled at them.

  Emma paddled on her back, gazing at John and Dan prancing about under the bright sun. She had never seen them clad only in swimming trunks before. With their lean, muscular frames, narrow hips and tight stomachs they were both a good catch. The sight of them made her tingle slightly. She now fancied John more than ever, although Dan’s graceful, slightly effeminate poise was also alluring.

  She tore her gaze away and forced herself to look at another impressive sight – the fierce, jagged coastline and those strange, cavernous openings in the cliffs. What perfect hiding places they must have made in which to stash smuggled goods or salvage from a wrecked ship.

  Emma swam to the boat and got in. ‘Come on,’ she yelled, ‘let’s have our picnic!’

  The others by now were sprawled on the edge of the sandbank, half submerged.

  ‘I could lie here all day,’ said John, reluctant to move. But Dan and Louise were hungry and they pushed him into the water before swimming off.

  ‘Hey, that’s not fair,’ he cried and tore after them.

  Once they were back on board, they grabbed some crusty bread and made clumsy cheese and tomato sandwiches. Washed down with a can of lager each in that beautifully sheltered spot, the boat rocking gently, it was possibly the tastiest meal they’d had in ages.

  ‘Now for some serious exploration,’ announced Louise, wiping the crumbs off her mouth when the last of the sandwiches had been devoured. She stood up in the boat and scrutinised the coast.

  As she did so, she became vaguely aware of being scrutinised herself – by John, who seemed intent on removing her swimming costume with his eyes. Louise turned in his direction and brought her heels together. Posing in front of the mirror had taught her that doing so accentuated her every contour and curve.

  It intrigued Louise that John seemed taken with her and vexed her slightly that Dan showed no real interest. Emma glanced at John and noticed, uneasily, where his eyes were lingering.

  Get a grip, Emma told herself. This holiday was about the four of them, all good friends, spending a nice, relaxing time together, free from the stress of university life and mounting money worries. It was not an opportunity to go after John – she could do that at Oxford, with the means to keep her distance if things went wrong.

  So what if she had barely a penny to rub together? This holiday wasn’t going to cost her much and anyway, the others were struggling too, if not quite as much. Louise was a party girl who easily let money slip through her fingers, despite generous cash injections from rich parents, while John and Dan were only barely solvent thanks to doing menial part-time work on the minimum wage.

  Louise pulled her jumper and jeans back on and advised the others to do the same. ‘It will be chilly where we’re going,’ she warned.

  With the oars in the rowlocks, Louise channelled her energy into powering them through the water. With swift, strong strokes, she brought the boat beneath the cliffs and through a narrow ravine, just wide enough to take them. It led into the rock face itself then expanded into a large cavern.

  Louise brought the boat alongside an iron mooring ring and tied it up. She stepped out onto the floor of the cavern and beckoned the others to follow. She took a torch from her rucksack and flicked it on. They gasped at the size and beauty of an enormous underground chamber.

  ‘Wow,’ said Emma, her voice echoing. Isn’t this amazing! What a perfect plac
e for smugglers, don’t you think, Louise?’

  ‘It was perfect for them,’ she replied. ‘This was one of their notorious haunts around these parts. As you can see, apart from the sea water pouring in along the ravine, it is perfectly dry and goes back a long way. Can you see the way those great big breeze blocks have been mortared into the walls?’ The others followed the beam of her torch.

  ‘Behind them lie secret passageways used by the smugglers. Some of the tunnels were hewn from the rocks but most were natural, and they lead deep into the cliff-face and into remote underground caves where stuff could be hidden.’

  ‘So why were they blocked up?’ asked Dan.

  ‘In the past, it was to try to put an end to the smugglers’ and wreckers’ activities. Others were closed off more recently, for health and safety reasons I would guess,’ said Louise.

  ‘That’s a shame, I would have loved to go exploring a smugglers’ passageway,’ said John, pressing his hands against the bricked-up walls as if the stones might be possible to dislodge.

  ‘Yes, it would be great fun,’ agreed Louise, ‘but you have to remember that any ill-gotten gains stashed away down here would have been carted off long ago. Even the well-hidden spots have been discovered. The smuggling and wrecking trade was at its peak in the 18th century, so there was plenty of time since to uncover anything that remained.’

  ‘Would there have been smugglers right here, where we’re standing?,’ asked Emma.

  ‘Yes, they were active right along this coast,’ replied Louise. ‘Some places, like Perranporth on the north coast of Cornwall had a smuggling syndicate – even the local clergy were involved. Then there were the famous old smuggling inns where they would plot their next moves.’

  ‘It does sound like the stuff of books, rather than real life,’ said Emma as she walked around the cavern.

  ‘I suppose,’ said Dan thoughtfully, ‘it’s easy for us to romanticise their exploits now, especially when there was treasure of different kinds involved but at the time it was a serious criminal activity. We shouldn’t make these people out to be any kind of heroes. They were wicked.’

  ‘Oh I don’t know,’ retorted John, cheerily. ‘It’s hard to see it as wicked now when it happened a couple of centuries ago. To me, it seems more historic and, well, fascinating, than anything else. Think what it must have been like to be a fly on the wall 200 years ago and see the wreckers and smugglers hauling their cargo into great caverns like this and down those old tunnels far into the hillside. Wooden trunks, brimming with bullion and gold and silver coins!’

  With his wide grin, straw mop of hair and eyes gleaming in the torchlight, John looked rather like an old-time smuggler himself.

  ‘Ooh you don’t half talk nonsense, John,’ giggled Louise. ‘Look, if we’re done treasure hunting here, perhaps we ought to head back to the lighthouse and get the food we’ve bought in the fridge.’

  As Louise skilfully navigated her way through the ravine and out into the bright sunlight of the bay, the four found themselves imagining the comings and goings of centuries past. Dan was right, these people weren’t heroes but as baddies go, they were a colourful lot.

  ‘Do you know what I wish,’ said John, as they approached Wreckers Island. ‘I wish we could find a way into those blocked-up tunnels and follow them deep into the hillside, into caves where no human foot has trodden for 100 years and more. And perhaps find a single overlooked gold coin or something?’

  ‘Not a hope!’ hooted Louise. ‘But you’re a romantic John, and I like that.’

  She gave his shoulder a rub and flashed a smile at him. John grinned and, for a moment, a flash of understanding seemed to pass between them. Emma winced. Why didn’t she have the confidence to flirt with John like that? In any event, it looked like she might already be too late.

  Chapter IV

  That night, Dan volunteered to cook the evening meal and was alone with his ingredients and his thoughts in the lighthouse kitchen. He was feeling somewhat left out so far this holiday, much as he was enjoying it. Dan, with his brooding, slightly nerdy good looks didn’t have the ready charm and gift of the gab like John. Nor did he have Louise’s steely self-confidence and poise.

  He was unquestionably a quieter, more reserved individual – a valued member of any social circle but not exactly its life and soul. That was perhaps in part why he had become so fond of Emma, for he saw much of himself in her.

  He had watched Emma in French classes at university, her fair skin reddening when called upon to speak the language in front of the others. He understood her diffidence and her slightly wobbly, unsure manner, as if she didn’t quite believe in herself. But Dan believed in her, he saw the qualities of intelligence and personality that she possessed. He also saw an attractive woman – an impression confirmed by the sight of her in a swimming costume.

  He had appreciated the way she seemed self-conscious of her body and not seeking to flaunt it. He had noticed Louise’s arch, faintly exhibitionistic behaviour in her tight-fitting swimwear. Emma had been modest, hunching her shoulders over her breasts to minimise rather than display them and often draping her hands nervously over her crotch.

  Dan warmed to Emma for that. So often at Oxford, he had made up his mind to ask her for a date the moment never quite came. He would have to seize his chance during this holiday, it was the perfect opportunity, especially as John was so obviously seeking to woo Louise.

  Yet something troubled him slightly. Emma seemed far more attentive to John than to him. She would hang on his every word as he told daft stories and laugh generously at the weakest jokes. And he’d spotted her frowning every now and then when John and Louise shared moments together. Either way, mused Dan as he chopped an onion, he felt somewhat set apart, as if little tendrils of friendship and romance were threading their way around the three of them, but excluding him.

  ‘Ouch,’ he cried, as the onion slipped and the knife plunged into his finger, which welled with blood.

  The merriment in the lounge stopped and the other three burst into the kitchen.

  ‘Are you ok?’ asked Emma. ‘Oh look at your finger, you poor thing. Come and bathe it under the tap.’

  Emma took Dan’s hand and ran cold water over it, washing away the blood. ‘Let’s get you a plaster. Louise? Where are the plasters, don’t tell me you haven’t got any!’

  Unfortunately, Louise hadn’t, so Emma did her best to bandage it with a hanky.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s clean!’ she said.

  Dan’s face winced with pain as she tied the handkerchief tight against the wound.

  ‘Right you clumsy thing, I’ll come and help you, let me finish off that onion.’ Emma’s tone was mumsyish and slightly patronising, as if she was helping nurse a child who had grazed his knee. But Dan was grateful for her efforts.

  Louise and John, having satisfied themselves that Dan hadn’t severed any major arteries, made use of their visit to the kitchen to grab lagers from the fridge, then returned to the lounge.

  ‘You go and join them and relax,’ said Dan, half-heartedly, ‘you cooked the meal last night.’

  ‘No I’m staying to help you,’ insisted Emma, ‘I think you need looking after tonight, you’ve been distracted all day. Your mind keeps wandering off to a different place – no wonder you chopped your fingers instead of that onion.’

  As laughter and giggles rang out with great gusto from the lounge, Emma and Dan busied themselves making the curry – with the help of jars of madras and tandoori paste.

  ‘Mmm, this smells delicious,’ said Emma, ‘I love the aroma of onions and garlic frying. You’re quite a good cook on the quiet, aren’t you Dan? I think you’re a bit of a dark horse anyway to be honest.’

  ‘Please don’t come out with the line that it’s always the quiet ones you’ve got to watch and that one day I’ll end up being a murderer or something,’ said Dan, touchily, nursing his finger.

  ‘Don’t be so insecure, Dan, you know I didn’t mean that,’ re
torted Emma, her pale eyes boring into his. ‘Honestly, you’re like me sometimes, you need to have more confidence in yourself. Come here.’ She put her arms around him. ‘You’re a silly thing aren’t you?’

  Dan reciprocated the gesture, spontaneously embracing her and a second later, recoiling, worried it wasn’t appropriate.

  Emma smiled as if some invisible barrier had fallen away. ‘Come on, cheer up, let’s open a bottle of wine while the curry is cooking and enjoy it round the kitchen table. Chefs’ privilege!’

  Dan did cheer up, pleased to have cut his finger after all – a small price to pay for the chance to be alone with Emma over a bottle of wine!

  He didn’t know it but Emma had an ulterior motive for staying with him – she was listening to the increasingly animated conversation going on in the lounge and guessed, with a chill to her heart, that John and Louise were flirting with each other.

  ‘You’ve gone quiet, Emma,’ said Dan, noticing her changed mood.

  ‘No I’m fine, I’m just curious what those pair are up to in there,’ said Emma, trying to sound reasonably bright. ‘I’m going to go and have a quick peek.’

  She nudged open the lounge door and, to her dismay, saw Louise and John sprawled on either end of the sofa –their legs criss-crossing. Emma returned to the kitchen, sat down and toyed absent-mindedly with her wine glass.

  Dan topped it up. ‘Come on, he said, ‘I thought you were supposed to be cheering me up.’

  ‘Oh Dan, am I really such a useless person?’ Emma wailed.

  ‘Of course not, why do you say such things? We are kindred spirits you and me, we don’t have any self belief, do we?’ replied Dan.

  ‘I did have, Dan, at least I was acquiring some, and then . . . oh I can’t possibly explain.’

  ‘Are we talking about your feelings for someone – feelings which you thought were reciprocated but now your hopes have been dashed, or something like that?’ enquired Dan.