As Zuhrah cast her eyes over the sea view she was charmed by the small Cornish cove, the stillness of the cool water, and the black and grey shadows that cut precision slices over a confusing array of planes of rocks, the angles and depths of which could not be apprehended with any definiteness under the brightness of the light. The mathematical uncertainty of the vision, however, did nothing to detract from the sense of delight the scene inspired this happy morning, which marked the beginning of the real holiday.
She sipped with curved lip the froth of her cappuccino, a familiar ritual circumferencing a segment of the day for general immobility of body and pleasure of palate. The provocations of the evening before at once took a softened aspect, as the sensations of milkiness eased her temperament. Tall Mark, one of the other guests at the house, had made some nerve-jangling remarks, unwelcome at her moment of arrival, unpacking and arranging herself into the new company and accommodations. The irritation now faded substantially in the memory, and new perceptions presented themselves in the wide vista, fresh scents and luxuriant unfurling of a new day with as yet little to fill it.
Down below another guest - was it Anne? - could be seen tenderly stepping to the edge of the clear water, her lithe limbs bright in the sun, her bare feet careful on the prickly rocks. Zuhrah noticed with admiration the melody of her subtle movements, then how the rippling water surrounded her in soft chorus.
Zuhrah turned expertly in her mind to recollect the pocket she had placed the telephone number of the Pilates instructor somewhere not too distant from their quiet cove retreat. She then decided against the idea. Pilates today would not do. Instead, she resolved on a run - that would be altogether more energising and interesting and would have the added advantage of providing her ownership on this new terrain. She would return victorious, not only in further developing her strong, athletic physique, but also in knowing what lay around the headland. Besides, Mark would doubtless smile a little knowingly about a Pilates class, but would have no ground to stand on in wry objection to a 10k along a cliff-edge. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, she thought.
Having put Mark's provincial masculinity back in a box, her thoughts drifted back to her husband in Italy, James. The idea of coming to Cornwall on a 'creative retreat' at Cove House had been her own enthusiasm at first. It was not long before James' enthusiasm matched and perhaps even began to outstrip her own. His red trousers crossed affably, he had felt it was exactly the development she needed. The interesting fact that Cove House had been a film location about a decade ago lent it a sheen of approval and measure of media romance that was necessary for a stay there to be weighted as consequential with her large circle of acquaintances and friends. Amanda, who lived in a nice flat in Marylebone with her husband Peter, Zuhrah’s editor, had gone there last year and raved about it. Meanwhile, it would be a good opportunity for James to take their daughter Hedria to Italy. Hedria was now twelve and, at home in London, could not be the least interested in museums or anything of cultural significance, but perhaps in Italy, she might be induced to see something and broaden her range of engagement with the world. It would be a Michaelangelo-and-gelato-mixed experience for her at this awakening time of life that clearly required greater inspiration than the museums of London and laptops currently afforded. Hedria had looked vacant at both the fresh terms "Michael Angelo" and "gelato", but was moved to a smile by her father's graceful kisses on her cheek. Further, Zuhrah was feeling she needed to get a new project off the ground. Given all the planets and stars were thus aligned, it was decided that Zuhrah would go to Cove House for two weeks and James and Hedria would go to Rome and Florence. Everyone was sure to return a better person.
As Zuhrah wondered what Hedria might be doing this moment, she felt a cliff-like precipice of separation that she had not felt since Hedria was a baby and she had spent her first weeks back at work. Hedria's soft cheeks and spangly legs pulled, cave-like, on her heart as she looked out towards the cobalt horizon.
Anne below, now curled and lithe as a musical note, poised at the water’s edge and took a clean dive. Zuhrah wondered at Anne's childless figure as she sprung so deftly into the deep. She resolved on a 10k. One offspring had altered Zuhrah's figure but little, and her natural athleticism and mental determination kept her in excellent shape. However, the ethereal springiness and lack of attachment to anything at all on land instantly revealed in Anne's darting movement into the sea seemed altogether different from her own.
Two other guests, Mary and Sally, whom Zuhrah had already noted as generationally completely distinct, another tribe, emerged from the house in sensible shoes and cotton hats and a veritable blur of pastel shades. Zuhrah denoted them the lavender ladies and watched them bustle their way up the path, part-irked and part-amused that the refinement of the creative retreat was to be thus eroded in its esotericity by the presence of such contented, purple-hued boomers. Having stopped to secure the fastenings on their sandals and sun hats, they pootled up the hill, disappearing at last into the bramble bushes. Zuhrah waited until the last of the sunhats disappeared from view and then commenced her run in the other direction.
This is the opening to a short story I’ve been writing. I’ve not decided whether to continue posting here - but anyway here is the opening snippet!
Very engaging - and lovely prose! I’m looking forward to the next instalment.