As Jakob grew stronger he gave recitals to as many people as could squeeze into his king sized bedroom. Others had to stand or sit in the garden below the guest room windows. The ladies handed out refreshments to the delighted audience who were through Jakob's music transported to a different emotional plane. He was the celebrity everyone was talking about at the village market.

"Your home made jam, Dorcus is the sweetest in all Cornwall," Jan gushed lifting his cap in greeting on that salty breezy day.

"My jam, is all that? Really," she smiled sceptically balancing her basket of fresh produce, keeping her eye on the pale sea gulls that flew above watching for any opportunity to be fed.

"Jam is a euphemism for what puts a spring in my step these days. I'm no straight talker like you," he replaced his cap self consciously. "But I wanted to tell you to keep your eyes peeled. The fisher men were talking about the forward foreign woman that came to the house, the night I brought the violin."

"Strangers make people nervous these days. They say an Irish priest was strung up for taking photos of the coast line. A priest, I tell you, has the war made people completely lose their marbles," she crossed herself dramatically as if to deter the evil in the world.

"Oh aye, I think they have. And this Olga Daniloff speaks German. Very suspicious that she is here alone with no men folk to watch out for her."

"Janet would think you sexist if you said that to her," scoffed Dorcus.

"I find it odd that a beautiful young woman leaves her home to come and paint the sea. She stays close to the 'Whistling Duke' guest house."

"Where is that?"

"The guest house? It's two miles off in Polwern, I doubt she will be back here soon."

"That's a relief. Janet and Jill thought she might be interested in Jakob. He makes them both very happy, Jill mostly."

"It might not be for too long, Jakob came to my boat this morning to ask about booking passage to the New World. He might be thinking about resuming his journey."

"He needs to make a full recovery before he thinks of making another journey. Anyway, dinner won't make itself Jan, so I best be on my way."

Joy at Jakob's recovery, his becoming an increasing part of village life led to a feeling of normality that receded Olga Daniloff's existence from memory.

Jakob could rise from bed and hobble about on a crutch, attired in the rather quaint garments of Vice Admiral Widdington, who had died ten years before at the age of seventy three.

The deep coloured shirts and slightly larger jackets added to Jakob's creative artist appearance. It earned the approval of young ladies who admired his devastating handsome features and muscular frame. The handsome local celebrity was difficult to resist.

Jill had helped Jakob's English improve week by week. But what matters the tongue when the heart speaks? The heart of Jill spoke; delicately, timidly, tremulously, in the whisper of the evening breeze, in undertones of the sea tide; her heart spoke all the same.

Their first walks on the heather of the cliff covered in snow drops in spring sunshine was exhilarating. As Janet walked and swum with Wilfred Mead, Jill walked and swum with Jakob. Each day their relationships deepened.

Thus the sisters wove their gossamer webs of romance with Jakob Marowski and Wilfred Mead in the secret recess of their souls. Their hopes for the future were as idealistic and vague as their concept of heaven.

Family life consisted of the four of them and Dorcas. Jakob stayed with them, radiating youth, gaiety, painting, playing his divine music, helping with outdoor work and sometimes he was alone and difficult to decipher. As a full recovery was a long, long way off, their life was a perpetual spring. Why should it ever end?

One afternoon they sat in the sunny garden. Janet was looking through the business accounts, Jill was embroidering furniture covers whilst admiring Jakob's muscled arms play snatches of the most exquisite strands of music on the violin.

The dainty remains of tea stood on a table, and the young man's crutches rested against it. Presently he began to play Tschaikowsky's 'Chanson Triste'. Janet, looking up, immediately recognised Olga Banilof.

"Who is that, Janet?" Jill whispered.

"It is the young woman who was listening under Jakob's window several weeks ago. Remember when Adam Penruddocke first brought his violin?"

Jakob followed their glances, and, noticing a third listener, played to her too. When the piece was finished, Olga nodded politely at them and slowly walked away.

"I know it's wrong to say this but," said Janet, "that young woman is so presumptuous letting herself through the gate to our home and eavesdropping whenever she wants to."

"If Jakob can share his genius with our friends in the village, maybe we shouldn't mind her lack of propriety too much," replied a more understanding Jill. Then she laughed. "I can't help thinking that her large broken nose makes her look a bit like a wicked fairy in a story book."

What if Jakob was attracted to youthful people that had a lot more in common with him? What if she lured him away from her? Although the sisters giggled merrily, Jill acknowledged pangs of jealousy that stabbed at her breast. That night she burned every sense, every feel, every scent of Jakob into her memory as if it was their last night of love making.

Weeks later, Jakob threw aside the remaining crutch and flew beyond the boundaries of home. Like a homing pigeon, he found his way back at dusk. Jill wondered if Jakob made his way to Olga and the two of them talked of Boris Daniloff before making love. The thought made her physically sick.

He often accompanied Jill to the village when she took baskets of provision to those in need. They became a familiar site as they went on long wild rambles or quiet swims in the calm blue sea. They found wonder in nature and each others' company. At night they loved each other and slept to the rhythmic beat of the other's heart. With each tranquil day in Trevannic, Jakob was healing from the horrors of the eastern front.

Sometimes he went alone to the beach and surfed or threw pebbles into the sea watching ripples form then disappear into the calm water surface. The skyline, the sea, beach, cliffs and cove all seemed inexplicably seamless and perfectly connected.

Jakob now resembled the ordinary young man of the day. As nearly as the St. Madoc tailors and hosiers could contrive. He was more attractive with sun kissed skin that covered his well defined muscled body. With his long thick fair hair flowing freely in the breeze he looked the sculptured image of a Greek god.

One fine morning, Jakob took Pendruddocke's violin and set off on a solitary walk in high spirits. When he returned in the late afternoon his face was flushed. A new light burned in his eyes. In his excitement, he described his adventures in German. The sisters were half paying attention. They had a vague impression that, Orion-like, he had been playing his stringed instrument to diving dolphins some miles off along the coastline.

To please him the sisters nodded encouragingly when there was a pause in his narration. There was a look of relief in his face as they smiled nodding at him. He was sure they understood.

Two mornings later, immediately after breakfast, Jakob set out on another solitary walk. This time without the violin. To Jill, who he coaxed to accompany him down the road to the village, he announced Polwern as his destination.

After another bruising, lingering kiss, she lovingly watched his athletic figure disappear behind the bounding cliff of the little bay. She felt a pang of pain as he walked away shaking off an ominous premonition...

November 6, 2015

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