Page 57 of Coming Home to Sturcombe Bay
“That’s right. And they can dive very, very deep. Or sometimes they jump right up out of the water. I’ve seen them do that, but I’ve never managed to photograph one.”
“Do they have babies?” was the next question.
“Yes, they do. They’re called calves.”
Robyn giggled. “Like the calves on Uncle Tom’s farm!”
“Well, a lot bigger than that. The calves take about a year to come, and when they’re born they’re more than twenty feet long already.”
“Oh . . . !” Robyn’s blue eyes widened.
“And they grow very quickly. They stay with their mummies for about six months, but when they get to about fifty feet long they swim away. But they often stay together in families, at least for some of the time.”
Robyn was scrolling eagerly through more photos, and came to some of elephants and giraffes. She’d only ever seen them on television, and was thrilled that Cassie had seen them in real life.
Liam laughed. “I can see she’s going to want to follow in your footsteps when she gets older.”
She slanted him a look of apology. “Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to encourage her to leave.”
He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. If that’s what she wants, I wouldn’t try to stop her.”
As I didn’t try to stop you.Though it was hard to let you go.
Maybe he should have guessed what she had been thinking back then. There had been clues, if he had been perceptive enough to see them. Her love of travel programmes on television, her eagerness to chat to anyone who came from another country.
And sometimes there had been a look in her eyes when she had stood at the edge of the sea, gazing out as if she could seefar over the horizon to some distant land beyond. If he had ever mentioned it to her, she would just laugh it off, say she was just thinking about her next essay or what was for dinner. So he had never pursued it.
And now? Listening to her lively stories of her travels, he had little doubt that she would leave — probably sooner rather than later. And he would have to let her go again.
* * *
It was time for the speeches. The waiters had come round again to refill everyone’s champagne glasses as the guests gathered around the buffet table which had now been cleared apart from the bowls of punch and the wedding cake.
As Debbie’s dad had died when she was a baby, Cassie — like everyone else — had been wondering who would take his place. Kate was surely too shy to speak in front of everyone? There was a murmur of surprise when Vicky Marston stepped forward.
“I hope you won’t mind this little break with tradition,” she began, smiling. “I’ll keep it short. When I used to come down here to Sturcombe when I was little, to stay with my Aunt Molly, Debbie was my best friend. We used to play together on the beach and build wonderful sandcastles. When I came back, I felt so lonely at first, but Debbie remembered me and it was as if I’d never been away — though these days she makes the most delicious cupcakes instead of sandcastles.”
There was a small ripple of laughter and nods of agreement.
“So I’m so delighted to see my lovely friend so happy, marrying Bill at last. I’m sure he deserves her. And if he doesn’t,” she added sternly, “there’s me and a large herd of black-and-white cows to sort him out.”
More laughter.
“So, ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming. I give you the toast — Debbie and Bill.”
“Debbie and Bill.”
Then it was Bill’s turn, though he was too shy to do more than mumble his thanks to everyone and smile down at Debbie as he raised his glass, which everyone accepted as his proposal of a toast.
It was left to Tom Cullen, as Best Man, to bring the jokes, with stories about how devoted Bill was to the cows, especially when they were pregnant. “I call it OCD — obsessive calving disorder.”
Most of the stories involved copious amounts of cow dung, but these were country people and were used to that kind of thing.
“So Debbie, if he starts talking in his sleep about Betty or Clarissa, you’ll know you have no need to worry. He won’t be talking about a mistress — he’ll be talking about a half-ton black-and-white prime Friesian cow.”
That produced a round of laughter. Tom proposed the final toast, then it was time to cut the cake.
“It’s so beautiful,” Debbie sighed. “I can’t bear to cut it.”
