There had never been anyone else for long, for Kyt. Mamm had always liked Penny and understood why the situation had become untenable. There was no blame, except upon the Flamgoynes who had caught and kept Kyt in their treacherous net, until they regarded him as no longer fit for their purposes.
But now the Flamgoynes were no more.
‘You think there’s hope, Clem? He could get ’er back?’ Flossie asked her husband one night.
‘I don’t know, flower. Penny’s got a life up in London now with ‘er gallery and friends and Amelia. Can’t see ’er wantin’ to give it up and come back here. Not so many wealthy people for customers. Our Kyt’s got ’is business ’ere. Not like ’e can move all the ’oliday cottages up to London!’
‘That’s true, love, but there’s galleries in Cornwall. Must be opportunities,’ replied Flossie optimistically.
‘Now don’t you go investigatin’.’
‘Oo, just online. No ’arm in that.’
‘Hm.’
Every Sunday lunch was an opportunity to look for any hints that a reconciliation might be in the wind. But this Sunday, there was an even more interesting prospect in view: Miss Cadabra. And right now, here she was standing in their hallway.
‘There now, Amanda,’ Gran Flossie bade her kindly, ‘just you make yourself comfortable with your, er, friend — Tom did say you might bring your kitty with you — in the sitting room. Best grab the sofa before the kiddies arrive.’
Ding dong!
‘Oh, speak of the little devils!’ commented Clemo.
Clemo opened the door to his grandson, Gawen and two great-grandchildren.
'Hi Grandad, Gran, hi Tom. Thanks ever so much. Cherry’s waiting in the car.’
‘That’s awright, me ’andsome.’ Gran peered out at the vehicle parked randomly outside and gave a wave, then busied herself with helping the little ones out of their coats and boots.
‘And thanks for the tipoff about the present, Gran,’ continued Gawen, ‘and the voucher. Here’s the money. I can’t have you payin’ for a present for my Cherry.’
‘That’s right, pet,’ replied Flossie, taking the notes he offered.
‘Now just you give ‘er a nice time and remember next year,’ his grandfather bade him. ‘Dependin on ‘ow long you wants to stay married!’
Gawen looked shocked. ‘Till death do us part, Granddad. I promised in the sight of ... well ... Gran!’ Clemo threw back his head and laughed. ‘Told me she’d known Cherry since she were a baban and if I broke ’er ’eart, Gran’d hang me over the side of the boat every day for a week.’
The six-foot hunk of manhood pretended to try to make himself as small as possible, looking out with comically anxious eyes. This was met with by an affectionate hug from his grandmother and an adjuration not to be a muppet.
At the time, this exchange made Thomas grin. But later, he wondered. For all her hippy ease, there was a fierceness about his Gran Flossie. Fierceness in the cause of right but then ... what was ‘right’ in the circumstances? If Gran had got wind of children being mistreated somehow at the hands of the Dowrkampyers ... she might have ... she was the right age. Surely not. That was a witch-clan matter. It was unthinkable. Yet as a policeman, he must consider it. But no ... surely not.
Amanda meanwhile, retreated from yet more strangers to the sitting-room. Tempest glanced around the room then made off to the kitchen where he would, inevitably, be suitably indulged by the mistress of the establishment.
Sitting on one end of the sofa, Amanda looked around for something that might grant refuge to her mind. Her eyes were drawn to a jauntily-coloured oil painting on the opposite wall – a fishing boat, bright in the setting sun, coming safely home to harbour. On the horizon was a storm, but a rock in the middle ground ... was that a ... mermaid?
Polly, a pale strawberry blonde of some seven summers, put her head around the door. She was unnoticed by Amanda, staring at the painting. This distraction emboldened the little girl to come further into the room.
‘D’you like it?’
Amanda, slightly startled out of her reverie, looked around.
‘Hello. Yes, I do. Do you?’
‘I like the mermaid,’ replied Polly.
‘I did wonder if there was one there.’
‘She’s magic so not everyone can see her,’ Polly explained.
‘But you see her,’ remarked Amanda, with a smile.
‘Yes. You too,’ observed the child.
Polly was carrying a large, knobbly calico drawstring sack which she now deposited on the battered coffee table, declaring,
‘I’ve got Lego.’
‘You have? I love Lego. May I see?’
And it was done. The connection was made. Nine-year-old Wella joined them, and shortly Trelawney found his partner-to-be, his niece and nephew on the floor in the midst of a construction site.
It wasn’t a maternal scene. Amanda, on her stomach, carefully placing a small brick in place, was clearly one of them. And they knew her for one of their own.
Chapter 34
What Amanda Saw
So immersed were Polly, Wella and Amanda in their Lego projects, that Thomas almost stepped out of the room. However, he was spotted by Wella.
‘Uncle Tom. Look!’
‘Is this a ship?’
‘Yes, the Mary Celeste, and these clear bricks are the ghosts,’ Wella added with relish.
‘I thought it was the Marie Celeste?’
‘That was its name in a story,’ Wella informed him patiently.
‘Ah, and this round thing?’ enquired Thomas.
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ asked Polly.
‘Not yet, I’m afraid.’
‘It’s the Millennium Falcon,’ she replied, as though it should have been the most obvious thing in the world to someone of her uncle’s
