Hidden Treasures

*

The service was a good and simple one. Apart from a mild hiatus when Pete and Polly were called out to an emergency heart attack in Trevay, it went smoothly. Helen hadn’t taken communion for many years and was surprisingly moved by the gentleness of Simon’s touch and the blessings as he gave her the bread and wine.

When it came to giving the sign of peace, he made a beeline for her and held her hand a fraction longer than necessary while asking if she’d care to come over to the vicarage after the service to have a glass of sherry with several of the other parishioners. Helen felt she could hardly refuse in front of so many expectant faces.

‘Thank you. Just a quick one.’

Simon visibly relaxed and went on to shake hands with the rest of the throng.

*

‘Come in. Come in.’ He ushered his eight or so guests in to the sitting room. Helen could see that it hadn’t benefited from a woman’s touch for several years, but she noticed the flowers on the piano and the same musky smell that Simon carried with him. He’d tried hard to make it welcoming. She offered to help him hand around the sherry and small cubes of cheese sprinkled with paprika, from which he’d just taken the cling film.

She was surprised to find she enjoyed herself much more than she’d expected. Everybody was so kind and interested in her. She was definitely the celebrity of the day!

‘How do you know the vicar then?’ an elderly man in tweed and corduroy asked her.

‘Well, it’s a very funny story actually.’ Simon hovered with a bowl of cashews. ‘Tell Jack, Helen.’

As Helen told the story, the room fell silent as all eyes hung on every word. ‘I’m glad it was only his shin that I kicked,’ she finished.

‘So’s the vicar,’ laughed Jack, elbowing Simon in the ribs.

Within an hour everybody was heading off for their lunch, or to the pub, and Simon accepted Helen’s offer of collecting the glasses and washing them up in the sink.

They chatted comfortably about nothing in particular, Helen enjoying his friendly chatter and Simon enjoying the rarity of female company.

‘When did you decide the clergy was for you, Simon?’

‘It wasn’t a road to Damascus moment, I’m afraid.’ He smiled. ‘I was going to be a vet at first, then maybe a PE teacher, but my heart kept telling me it was people’s souls I needed to attend to, not their animals or their bodies. And I have never regretted my decision.’

Helen dried her hands and looked at her watch. ‘Golly, it’s a quarter to one. I must leave you to the rest of your day.’

As Simon led her back through the dark hall to the front door, she glanced into his office. Books were crammed into the floor-to-ceiling shelves and an ancient swivel chair with a squishy chintz cushion stood in front of a disordered but charming oak desk, which had a view over to the church. Leaning up against the adjacent window was an enormous surfboard.

‘Simon! Are you a surfer?’

‘A bit. We Cornish boys have to, by law.’ They both smiled. ‘I might go out this afternoon, actually. The tide’ll be coming in about two p.m., so just right.’

‘The sea must be freezing.’

‘Surprisingly warm right now. October is usually the warmest month. I have a good winter wetsuit though. Boots, gloves, helmet – the lot.’

‘Well, Reverend Simon Canter, I never had you down as a surf dude.’ He looked at his feet and scuffed one shoe over the other.

‘I-I’d be happy to take you, if you wanted to come.’

‘I can’t surf.’

‘I’ll teach you. I’m very patient and by next summer I’ll have you ready to enter the World Championships down at Fistral Beach.’

She laughed aloud and he smiled back, glad that whatever signals he was sending, they seemed to be working.

‘Great,’ said Helen. ‘Let’s go this afternoon.’

*

Helen nipped home to get her swimming costume and a towel and quickly made a flask of tomato soup to warm them up afterwards. This was fun. A friend to play with at last. She loaded up her beach bag and added a packet of custard creams, just in case.

Simon was parked outside, his surfboard on the roof rack. She hurried down the garden path and hopped in next to him. As he pulled away, he tooted his horn merrily at Polly, who was weeding her front garden with Pete. The pair of them straightened up and waved.

Their first stop was the Trevay Surf Shack, a shop devoted to everything surfy. Helen was poured into a skin-tight wetsuit and fitted with a beginner’s board, both of which she could hire for the day.

‘You’ll be wanting these as well, girl,’ said Skip, the Kiwi shop owner. Flattered at being referred to as a girl, Helen gladly took the boots, gloves and helmet he proffered.

*

‘Right. These are the rules.’ Simon was kneeling on the beach with his wetsuit pulled up only to his waist. Helen looked appreciatively at his strong, hairy chest.

Who’d have thought he’d have a bod like that? she thought to herself.

‘The water likes to find a deep part of the beach to suck itself back out to sea. Look at it now. You see where the smooth water is? Well, that’s usually where the rip or undertow is strongest. Always swim where the water is breaking. It’s safer. Once you’re strong enough, we’ll use the rip to get out to the back of the waves. OK?’

‘Is this knowledge something you Cornish boys are born with?’

‘No, I used to be a lifeguard.’

‘You’re kidding!’

‘Before I finally chose my vocation.’

‘You are full of surprises! Is that how you got those abs?’

He looked down at his body. ‘Well, I run a bit as well.’

He stood up and swiftly pulled his wetsuit on.

‘Can I just get my balance by holding on to your arm?’ Helen asked as she wriggled first one leg then the other into her suit.

Simon was so unused to this kind of interaction with a woman that he accidentally brushed her bosom as he tried to hold her elbow.

‘I’m so terribly sorry.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ laughed Helen, ‘Can you zip me up?’

Her slender back was also sprinkled with freckles and his hand felt weak as he pulled at the zip. Please, please, God. Is this IT?

Helen was all for jumping straight into the surf, but Simon held her back.