Page 12 of Mirrors of the Past

Chapter Five

Present

The next day, Tegan woke up in the unfamiliar bed to a sunny late-September morning. She stretched out, then rolled over so she was facing the window. She hadn’t closed the curtains last night — she just loved sleeping with them open. There was something nice about looking out there, whatever time it was, and seeing a velvety dark night full of twinkling stars, or a deep rose-coloured sunset, or a golden sunrise — just like the one out there today.

She took a moment to appreciate the sunlight, then slid out of bed and padded over to the kitchen counter. She never bothered with breakfast and a strong black coffee was all she needed to set her up for the day — her first day in her new job!

And wow, what a great commute it was. She got showered and dressed, pulled her hair back into a smooth, high ponytail, dressed in what she felt was an appropriate outfit — black cigarette pants, white cut-off top, wedge-heeled sandals — and left the apartment. Then she headed along the corridor towards the Grand Staircase.

‘Not using the servants’ staircase today,’ she said to nobody in particular. ‘It’s my first day and I’m making an entrance. Maybe tomorrow I’ll do the other stairs.’ She knew, of course, that she would not be using the other stairs at all, no siree. Wait, what? She smiled. She wasn’t in the habit of using Americanisms — she’d obviously spent too long in Sicily with the group of lemon pickers who’d come from all areas of the world. There’d been a particularly nice couple from California, Meg and Jo. They’d laughed about their names the first night they’d all been there, sitting outside the accommodation block around a fire pit, drinking Aperol spritz and bottles of birra. Little Women was one of Tegan’s favourite books. She’d studied it for a degree in Literature, before she’d decided after the first year that the course hadn’t been for her and she’d rather travel.

‘We just need to befriend a Beth and an Amy,’ Meg had said with a laugh. ‘And we’ll have all the main characters.’

‘Oh, I hated Amy!’ Tegan said. ‘She stole Laurie from Jo!’ The Jo she was with joked she’d probably be more interested in a “Laura”, and they all found that hysterical. But Tegan stood by her conviction, even though Jo March was much better suited to Professor Bhaer than Theodore “Laurie” Laurence. ‘And even though everybody thinks it was best for Laurie!’

Today, at Pencradoc, Tegan smiled at the memories, recalling, as well, Angelo — a dreamy, dark-eyed musician who had been part of their group. All she’d originally wanted was a holiday romance, something to enjoy while she was in Italy, and Angelo had ticked all the boxes. But to her surprise, she had felt herself falling under a sort of Sicilian spell and finding it all becoming a little more serious. They’d begun to talk about her staying there, of her moving in with the charming, dark-haired, olive-skinned man and making a life in Italy.

And then one day, over her breakfast coffee of all things, she had, unaccountably, started to overthink things. Was she ready for that sort of commitment? Was she ready to settle down to days and evenings with the same person for, quite possibly, the rest of her life? She knew it happened, that instant connection with people — that feeling that you had found the other half of yourself. And while Angelo and Sicily had been a nice fit for now, that’s how it had suddenly felt that morning — nice “for now”. It had almost seemed as if there was something missing; the other half of her whole.

But what it was, she wasn’t quite sure about. And certainly when Angelo had come in from the garden, smelling of fresh cigarette smoke and a lingering hint of weed and campfires from the previous evening and he’d kissed the back of her neck, she’d metaphorically shaken herself and told herself not to be so stupid.

Luckily, she hadn’t expressed those doubts to anyone else, but when the chance had come up to work at Pencradoc, for reasons best known to her psyche, she had offered to take up the position.

It would, she’d told herself, take her away from this summery dream she was living in Sicily, plonk her back in the UK and force her to take stock of things in her own way.

Cornwall was, of course, a beautiful area to take stock in — especially the area where Pencradoc was. Bodmin Moor was wild, untamed and freeing. The Hurlers neolithic standing stones were there, along with abandoned pumping-engine houses and miles and miles of walks, pools and incredible geology.

And maybe Angelo and Sicily, the scent of suntan lotion and citrus fruit, and the sticky, sweaty feel of temperatures only experienced in the Med, might then end up seeming like prospects she wanted to be part of. If it was meant to be, it would be. They had, after all, been in touch quite frequently over the last few days, so that was good, right?

‘I miss you,’ Angelo had told her, just last night via FaceTime. Although his smiling face filled the screen, she could hear chatter around him, the clinking of glasses and faint music.

‘Are you somewhere fun?’ she asked, settling back onto the bed.

‘Nowhere is fun without you!’ Angelo laughed. ‘I am drowning my sorrows. Is that what you call it?’

‘I guess.’ She smiled at him and her heart skipped a beat as his handsome face mirrored her expression. ‘I went for a pizza earlier. There’s a really nice restaurant in the village. Family-run Italian place. Checked tablecloths and everything.’

‘Ahh! You miss real Italian food that much, yes?’

‘I do! It wasn’t the same, though.’

‘But there was good red wine, yes?’

‘There was indeed.’

‘Then it was authentic.’

‘As good as,’ she said.

‘It would have been better had we been together. Here. In Sicily,’ he said, and she did feel as if she wanted to agree . . .

But she wasn’t in Sicily, she was here, in Cornwall, ready to try something different, and, although she didn’t want to admit it, she knew deep down she was here to decide what she really wanted.

Thoughtfully, she walked down the Grand Staircase, then made herself concentrate more on the moment and look around her. This was, actually, the first time she’d been down these stairs, but she remembered that she had to watch out for that snaggy bit of carpet or whatever it was, five stairs from the bottom . . .

‘Woah!’ She stopped, foot hovering over the offending stair. The carpet looked to be perfectly fine. But even so, she stepped cautiously onto it and stood for a moment, trying to sort her thoughts out.

Then a cheerful greeting rang out in the hallway, and she heard someone call her name delightedly.