A story inspired by my holiday visit to Cornwall.
This is going to be very much an old fashioned story. It is the late fifties, the days when couples 'were courting' or 'walking out'. If Randall was 50 at the end of the fifties, he would have been born before the First World War. At the time of the Spanish Civil War and the beginning of World War Two he would already be 30. Bel would have been roughly 10 in 1939. I have always imagined the young Randall as looking like Claude, in the Poirot story, 'Wasp's Nest', which Peter starred in, and was set in about 1937. (He was roughly the right age too).
Anna Chancellor played Virginie in the Poirot story, 'The Chocolate Box' set round about the same time, and her right age in real life, to be the model for the young Lix.
Randall Brown has left The Hour, and Bel doesn't know why, he has retired from the world completely. Lix has also moved on. Freddie died from the beating he received at the end of Series Two. A year has passed and Bel is seeking him out, with a television offer.
TO THE LIGHTHOUSE.
CHAPTER ONE. THE MEETING.
Bel turned off the main road, heading for the remote headland. She wound through the little Cornish villages, houses made of local stone, with pretty twee gardens, full of flowers in front of each one. A rusty signpost, which she almost missed, pointed to a track on the right. It was barely wide enough for her Morris, with shale stone walls topped with a gnarled hedge on either side. Tufts of thrift and speedwell bobbed in the strong breeze, and here and there, lazy sheep cropped the grass or sheltered close to the walls. Honking her horn they scattered in all directions as she passed. Hoping she didn't meet another car coming the other way, she honked again, as she reached a blind bend. But there was nothing coming, no one ever came up this god forsaken pot holed track, in the middle of nowhere. God, she hoped her motor didn't break down out here, she'd never see the light of day again.
Off to the left now was a sheer drop, onto the ruined remains of old quarry. Dark granite boulders marked the roads edge. She could see the top of the light tower now, painted brilliant white against the blue of the sky. The stiff breeze whipped up the waves below, hurling them against the rocks. Sea birds hung, effortlessly, as if suspended on wire, just above the headland, the mew and cry they gave, like a woman's scream.
Rounding a last bend, she came across an iron gate, straddling the road. Stopping the car, she jumped out and propped it open, before driving through.
The track opened out into a wide courtyard, paved in the same dark stone. Two small cottages, one on either side of the lighthouse, seeming to cling to the rock ledge, looking directly out over the boiling sea.
Why had she agreed to come here? She must be mad. It was a fools quest, and she knew how things would pan out, before she even walked up to the doorway.
The green painted door opened to her knock. From inside she could hear the deep barking, of what sounded like a large dog.
And there he was, standing on the threshold, his long fingers curled around the side of the door. He hadn't changed much. Hair still combed back from his forehead, slick and neat. Dark rimmed glasses, perched on his beaky nose. Perhaps he looked a little thinner, more gaunt, but otherwise, much the same.
He regarded her impassively with his bright blue grey eyes, and stood back to allow her to enter.
Gone was the crisp suit, the tie with the neat Windsor knot, the starched white shirt. Instead he wore slacks and a fine knit collared sweater.
Randall Brown, once renowned in television circles, highly regarded by those who worked alongside him, the man to whom most others deferred, the place where the buck stopped, now had the air of someone defeated, or deflated...or both.
The mystery surrounding his leaving The Hour, had been the topic of conversation for many a week. No one really knew what happened. He was there...then he wasn't.
Lix Storm, whom Bel thought she knew well, had disappeared almost as quickly, a few weeks previously. Not a word had been said. One morning, she just didn't turn up for work, and that was that. Speculation was rife, that something was going on between them, but Bel wasn't sure she believed it. Randall just didn't seem Lix's type somehow. He was so quiet, so reserved, so uptight. But what did she know?
Bel herself, no longer worked for The Hour. Somehow, after Freddie's death, her heart was no longer in it. Many months passed before she really felt that she was either ready or able to move on. She now worked on a new style Magazine programme, which had proven very popular, but Freddie was always at the back of her mind. An opportunity missed, a chance wasted. She hadn't dated anyone since.
"Nice to see you again, Randall."
He gave a curious half smile, as he ushered her inside. The cottage was small, with an oddly shaped three corner kitchen, and tiny bathroom. Up two steps, a door opened onto a dining room, and through to a living room with a dark brown leather suite and a wood burning stove, and two bedrooms. The place was impossibly neat and tidy. Every book in its place, arranged in height order on the shelf. Chairs evenly spaced around the table. Cushions on the chairs placed just so.
"Tea?" he enquired with a slight raise of one eyebrow.
Bel took a seat, and he shortly brought in a tray, laid with a white linen cloth, tea cups and saucers, milk jug, sugar bowl and a brown earthenware tea pot.
"So, how have you been?" She watched his exquisite hands, as he arranged the tea things, and poured, using a silver tea strainer.
"Oh, you know," she replied, shrugging her shoulders in a noncommittal way, as she did not really have an answer.
"They've sent me to make you an offer," she continued, "they would like you..."
"I'm not interested! " he cut her off mid sentence," you've had a wasted trip, you've come all this way for nothing."
"You haven't heard the offer yet, it's a generous one."
"I'm still not interested!" He replied curtly.
"How do you even survive here, all alone, after being used to so many people around you?"
She said, changing the subject. Her eyes sweeping the room.
"It suits me." He handed her the tea.
Taking a seat opposite her, his long legs somehow folded to one side, his saucer resting in his open palm, he regarded her with an expression of polite enquiry.
She looked a little older perhaps, certainly less fresh and carefree as she had once. Figure a little rounder and fuller than before. Blonde tresses tamed into a neat French pleat. Still beautiful. She was aware of his quiet scrutiny, but said nothing. Sipping her tea noiselessly.
He mused on a scolding that Lix had once given him. On hearing him tell her not to work too late, she had admonished him...
"Old enough to be her father Randall..."
He smiled slightly to himself at the memory.
A whine and scratching sounded, from somewhere outside.
"Excuse me a moment."
He rose with a graceful ease from the armchair, placing his cup and saucer on the low table with careful deliberation. Moments later a black labrador dog bounded into the room, tail wagging in excitement. At a word from his master, the hound lay down beside the armchair obediently, Randall resumed his seat.
"I received the letter," he remarked.
"But you didn't reply," Bel said, "that's why I was sent."
"You're not even on the telephone," she continued, " you are a difficult man to contact and even more difficult to find."
"That's the way I like it." His hand reached down to fondle the dog's soft ears as he spoke,
"I don't want to be found. I want to be left alone. That's why I came here to live. I'm sorry but you've wasted your time."
"Don't be, it isn't my time, as such. I'm just the messenger! I told them you wouldn't be interested...but...!"
She finished her tea, and rose to leave.
"It was nice to see you again Randall. Take good care of yourself."
She held out her hand and he took it briefly, fingers clasping hers lightly, thumb soft against the side of her own. The touch was electric, and she withdrew as if burned.
She raised her eyes to his, ice blue meeting steely grey, she gave him a shy smile.
"I'm staying in the area for a few days, if you change your mind and want to talk. Here is the address of my hotel." She handed him a small card, and turned to leave.
"I won't change my mind," he said quietly, "but I may come and see you."
For a moment Bel was caught off guard by this curve ball, but she rallied quickly.
"You do that!"
She turned away, walking rapidly to her car. He crossed the courtyard, the dog following close at his heels, and opened the gate for her, standing aside as she drove through. She watched the languid ease of his walk, he looked taller and leaner than she remembered, and somehow more angular and handsome. She waved as she passed him, but he did not respond. In her rear view mirror, he shut the gate behind her, calling the dog to his side, he returned to the house, without looking back.
As the crow flies, Bel's hotel was only a couple of miles from the Lighthouse, in fact, at night, she could see its beam, endlessly sweeping across the sea, from her window. By land and the narrow Cornish lanes it was more like five or six miles.
The weather was fine, but the wind seemed to blow ceaselessly, giving an uncomfortable nip to the air. Taking her morning coffee out onto a sheltered terrace, she sat alone staring into the distance.
A wide expanse of yellow sand formed a bay here, which curved around in a crescent, disappearing away to the left and right. It was early in the year for holidaymakers. There were very few people about at this hour anyway.
She spotted the dog first. A black shape, loping along the strand, running out to the waters edge, before turning and running back again. The tide was low, leaving rock pools and seaweed covered granite exposed to the elements. He rounded the cove moments later, walking with his long, confident stride. Tall and very upright, unmistakeable. The dog returned to his side, carrying a piece of driftwood, which it presented to its master. Randall threw with a powerful swinging motion, and the dog pelted away across the mud to retrieve it.
As he drew level with her, he turned his head. Bel raised her hand to him. He checked his pace, then came towards her.
The wind ruffled his hair slightly, was there a little more silver there now? It was difficult to tell. Certainly his cheeks had less pallor than before. While he was not exactly tanned , he'd lost that deathly pale tinge, that, when they'd worked together, made her think he seldom saw daylight.
"Join me?" She waved her hand towards the adjacent chair.
With the slightest twitch of his mouth, he took the proferred seat. Patting his thigh, the dog, still with the wooden stick, tail wagging joyfully, lay down at his feet.
"What's his name?" She enquired.
"Winston."
The dog raised its head on hearing its name, and he rubbed the soft hair there.
She ordered more coffee, and he leaned back in his wicker chair, stretching his legs out in front of him, feet crossed, sighing gently.
"So nothing will make you consider the offer then?"
"You'd be your own boss, able to hire and fire. Maximum authority."
To Bel's surprise, he tilted back his head and laughed. She'd never heard him laugh before, not so much as a chuckle, always so tight lipped, so...so...controlled.
But here he was, laughing heartily. Removing his glasses to wipe an eye, head slightly to one side, he looked at her.
"All the more reason to decline! I have all the authority I need right here, here I do as I please. No one bothers me, and that's the way I like it!"
" Did you need to become a recluse, to find that? Shutting yourself away down here. Why did you do it, Randall? You went so suddenly...I missed you." She ended lamely.
"Yes, I regret that," he stroked his forehead thoughtfully.
"So many things happened all at once. My mother passed away, I inherited everything, it was a substantial amount. Then Freddie and...other things. I didn't want any of it any more, Bel. I needed solitude, I needed renewal, I wanted time to reflect...so I came here, and I found I liked it. So I stayed."
"Well, I think it's a waste. A waste of your life." She huffed.
"You say that because you are young, and have your life ahead of you..."
"Right...and you are so old, Methuselah and your life is over?"
"Old enough to be your father! " He said, almost under his breath, that slight smile a whisper across his lips.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Her eyebrows arched.
"Oh, nothing! Just something someone said to me once!"
Belle folded her arms across her chest and glared at him.
"You could give so much, you could DO so much..."
"But not there Bel, not that life, not anymore. My priorities have changed, I don't need that power anymore. I think maybe your priorities have changed too."
He looked at her, face soft and kindly.
"Do you have some sensible footwear?" He asked suddenly.
She raised her eyebrows.
"There's a little place, down the coast aways, that I've found, I'd like to show you. Do you fancy a walk?"
"Give me a minute."
Upstairs in her room she laced her sturdy brown brogues, and tied a silk scarf around her head, knotting it under her chin. Grabbing her jacket, she rejoined him.
He stood patiently, dog at his side, staring out across the dunes.
He led her down a set of rickety wooden steps, onto the beach, and they strolled together side by side.
The sand was strewn with flotsam and jetsam from the previous night's high tide. Piles of bladder wrack seaweed. Cuttlefish and mermaids purses. Dried and abandoned jellyfish, wood and bits of rope, razor clam shells and old fishing net. He pointed out and named things to her, and she found herself smiling inwardly, he spoke to her as if she were a little child.
A narrow path led up from the beach head, and skirted the outcrop, covered at high tide, it opened out into a small inlet.
It was a fairy cove, with a pale, pristine beach, the cliff rising sharply behind.
He reached out a hand to her, as they scrambled over the rocks. She clasped it tight, to stop herself from slipping. There was that touch again, that same electricity, even he seemed to catch his breath.
"Gosh, this is beautiful," she breathed, as she took in the sight. "What a lovely place!"
The sea was calmer here, running in foamy wavelets towards them. They stood shoulder to shoulder, looking across the restless water. The granite wall sheltered them from the buffeting wind, she noticed that Randall's hair, always so severely tamed, now had tendrils of little curls here and there, at the back of his head and behind his ears.
"Come and have dinner at the hotel with me this evening," she heard herself saying," for old times sake?"
Where did that come from? She had no idea.
His mouth twitched imperceptibly.
"I don't think so." He replied and turned away, walking back the way they'd come.
"Randall? Please..."
"You need to go back," he turned sharply to face her again," you need to tell them not to bother me again. You need to get on with your life, Bel. Mourn for Freddie, by all means, but don't let what happened destroy your dreams. He wouldn't want that."
Quite suddenly she felt a wave of emotion hit her. For many months she had been unable to cry, but now tears came unbidden.
"He used to call me Moneypenny, you know?" She said, as she began to lose control.
His arm was around her shoulder then, drawing her in. Head against him, she sobbed. He smelled of a spiced After Shave with a hint of Pears soap, it was a heady mix.
"I miss him!" She sniffed. "I missed my chance. You're right...what you said earlier, my priorities have changed. My career was everything, but somehow it's not so important now."
"We all deal with things in our own way," he said, softly, " my way was coming here, but yours will be to make something of yourself, and make him proud."
"But what if I don't want that? What if what I actually want is totally different?" She wept afresh.
"You'll find what it is you want," he smiled," and when you do, you'll know it."
He released her and she stepped back, wiping her face on the large white handkerchief square, he offered her.
They walked back to the hotel in silence.
"I'll leave you here," he said, when they reached the steps.
"Goodbye Bel and good luck." He held out his hand, formally. But instead of taking it, she leaned towards him and kissed his cheek.
His eyes widened and he took a pace back.
"Goodbye, Randall. Can I come and see you again some time?"
His hand touched the spot on his face where her lips brushed. His eyes scanned her face, searchingly.
"I don't think you should." He responded eventually.
"Please...I want to, I don't like to think of you here all alone. You must crave company sometimes?"
"Well, we'll see...perhaps." He ventured, tone deliberately vague.
Calling to Winston, he crossed the road and walked away along the beach, back towards the Lighthouse.
Bel watched him go, hand shielding her eyes against the sun. This time, as he walked, he turned to look back several times.