Framed in Cornwall - Janie Bolitho Page 0,1
without pattern. On some days a jumble of masts could be seen, on others there were few. It was landing day. The tuna season was over but she had returned from the fish market with two large monk tails which had cost her next to nothing because she knew most of the fishermen.
In the kitchen she rinsed out her mug and inverted it on the draining-board. Through the window which looked out over the sloping garden she could see more and more patches of blue appearing between the clouds but, knowing the inconsistencies of the weather in West Cornwall, she decided to take a waterproof jacket anyway.
Leaving the house by the side entrance which led directly into the kitchen, Rose got into her Mini which was parked on the steep narrow drive beside the house. It started first time because it had recently been serviced. Trevor, the husband of her best friend, Laura, fished out of Newlyn. He had his engineer’s ticket and could make sense of any machinery. Rose’s car was child’s play to him. As he refused payment Rose had bought him a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a packet of his favourite tobacco. Despite the service Rose knew it was time for the Mini to go. For a painter a vehicle was not indispensable, but in her other role as a photographer it was essential. Her equipment with its heavy lenses was impossible to lug around on foot or by public transport.
She backed down the precarious drive with the ease of years of practice, negotiated the bend at the bottom and waited for the Mousehole bus, along with a stream of cars held up behind it, to pass. When it was safe to do so she pulled out and drove down into Newlyn village and turned left for Lamorna Cove.
She was fully aware of her hesitation in changing the car. David had bought it for her. But David was dead and although he had died five years ago it would seem like a betrayal of sorts. He would have wanted you to be practical not sentimental, she told herself, recalling how very different they had been – yet the marriage had worked, had been happier than most.
Rose planned to make some sketches of the cove. She had been commissioned to do a series of watercolours of some of the small Cornish bays. Once complete they would be reproduced on the front of notelets which would be packaged along with envelopes, ten to a box. She had decided to depict each from a high vantage point so that she could include the granite cottages which sloped down to the bays. It did not matter at this stage if it rained for Rose would only be concentrating on the outline and scale.
The car-park on the quay was busy. Lamorna, with its one hotel and its one pub, the Lamorna Wink, was always popular with holiday-makers and walkers. There were still plenty of people around although the children had gone back to school. In the gently moving water protected by the harbour wall were several divers. Sitting on the wall, legs swinging into the void, were others, their wetsuits gleaming.
Rose turned and began walking. In the distance three people could be seen making their way up the steep cliff path which led back to Newlyn. Glancing at her watch she saw that she had two hours before she was due in Penzance. She slung her canvas bag over one shoulder and began the ascent which would make her calves ache but would lead her to a sheltered vantage point. Her hair, the lighter strands mingling with the auburn, was tied back against the breeze which became stronger the higher she climbed. Twice she stopped to allow walkers to pass in single file.
Between two boulders covered with rough green and yellow lichen, Rose laid down a waterproof sheet and removed an A5 sketchpad and pencils from her bag. She wriggled into a comfortable position, resting her back against a smooth patch of the cliff. The drawings would be smaller than the paper size so she made the necessary allowance. Dressed in old jeans which were faded and threadbare at the knees and a thick checked shirt which had been David’s, she was warm enough in the lee of the rocks towering above her.
The patches of blue had all but disappeared and within half an hour the sky was a uniform grey but the rain held off. Herring-gulls glided overhead and occasionally