I chortled.
Once quickly dressed in a pair of crumpled Levis and a white cotton sweatshirt, I slipped on my loafers and followed him into the bathroom. He was standing in the bath under the shower, with the curtain pulled back. I sank onto the edge of the lavatory seat and watched him lather himself, his practised hands running over that hard firm body, his rippling muscles wet and gleaming in the steam-laden air.
I followed the movement of his hands across the broad chest, through its tangled mass of hair, and over the flat plane of his stomach to the solid muscular thighs that flexed as he raised each one in turn.
I swallowed hard and said, “Need any help in there?”
Laughing, he turned to face me, facecloth in hand, and threw it at me. “What part of ‘I need to get a move on’ didn’t you understand?”
The facecloth missed its mark as I ducked away and hit the wall behind me.
I feigned a loud sigh of dismay and said, “It was worth a try.”
“And, anyway, don’t you have some work to do?”
This time I groaned for real. My publisher was spitting fire after another missed deadline. “Great. Thanks for reminding me. That’s all I need.” I reached behind me, grabbed the wet facecloth and threw it back at him. It hit him square in the face.
He growled as it fell away and dropped into the bath. “So that’s how it’s going to be?” he said, a gleam in his eyes. “You’re throwing down the gauntlet, eh?”
“Er, no. It was a facecloth.”
“Near enough.” He reached for the shower hose.
It didn’t need a genius to see where this was going. I pushed myself up and leapt towards the door as a stream of water hit the lavatory seat where I had been sitting.
“Bastard,” I shouted from the safety of the hall.
A moment later, he appeared in the doorway, pulling his robe around him, a wide grin on his face. “Seriously,” he said, “you need to get on with your work.”
“I’m already way behind,” I said. “What’s a few more days?”
“It’ll give you something to do while I’m away. And I asked Lowe to dig out that case file you wanted to see. Something else to keep you busy.”
I followed him back into the bedroom and sat on the end of the bed while he dried his hair on a hand towel. “What time will you be back?”
“Sometime this evening. Think you can survive till then?”
“You can make it up to me by buying dinner.”
He turned towards me, laughing, and said, “It’s a date.”
For a moment, he stood where he was, the towel hanging loose in his hand. He looked down at me, his eyes wide and full of warmth, and the broad grin faded to a gentle smile. “It’s so good to have you home again,” he murmured.
I caught his look and held it.
And in his eyes, I saw the man behind the mask, behind the rough and ready exterior, the man I rarely saw, vulnerable and tender.
And a tightness spread across my chest.
“Where else would I be?” I said and held his gaze a moment longer.
And then, from somewhere in the street below, the harsh metallic blast of a car horn cut through the silence, interrupting the distant hum of traffic.
And the moment passed.
Nathan went back into action-man mode. He threw the towel onto the bed, grabbed some underwear from a nearby chest of drawers, and flung open the wardrobe doors. “Come on,” he said, “or I’ll be late.” He ran his hands along the clothes rail, picked out a shirt and a tie and a suit, and laid them out on the bed.
“I’ll drop you off at the Fairview on my way,” he said as he struggled into a pair of briefs.
I watched him dress, buoyed up by his lively nature, by his energy and verve and zest, his strong physical presence.
My breath caught in my throat, and I sent out a silent prayer to my personal gods, thanking them for their blessings and my great good fortune.
Yes, it was good to be home.
CHAPTER THREE
It was supposed to be a chance to catch up with an old friend. But it hadn’t gone as planned.
Nathan had dropped me off at the Fairview as promised and, once I’d waved him off and made my way out to the terrace to meet up with Karen, the morning had passed pleasantly enough.
Right up until lunchtime.
Until some bozo with an attitude had spoiled it.
And what had started, for me, as a chance to relax and take some time out had escalated into an ugly scene with an inebriated knucklehead oblivious to the spectacle he was making of himself.
He was standing by the steps leading down to the Esplanade. Loud and angry. Shouting into the face of the woman he was manhandling.
And I didn’t much like guys who got physically aggressive with women.
I headed towards him.
“This ends now,” I said and grabbed his arm. He was one of those city types; all capped teeth and cologne.
He twisted toward me, face red with rage, still holding on to the wrist of the woman struggling to escape his grasp.
He didn’t look much of a challenge. But he was drunk and looked too far gone to know when he was on the wrong end of a bad deal. I wasn’t looking to get into a brawl, but I wasn’t about to back down either.
Around us, the hum of conversation died away, as other patrons, sheltering from the sun under canopied tables, waited to see how the drama would unfold.
“Let her go,” I said.
Before he could respond, his victim pulled herself free, stepped away from him, and rubbed the angry red mark where his fingers had dug into her skin.
He snarled, eyes blazing, and wrenched his arm from my grip. “Not your concern, fella.” His hands curled into fists.
I braced myself, muscles tensed, ready for action. “I’m making it my concern.”
He was shorter than me, about five-ten, and of a stockier build with a florid fleshy face under an ivy-league hairstyle.
Swaying, he fixed me with a hard stare and seemed to consider his options as we sized each other up.
Bravado must have lost out to common sense, and he backed down, relaxing his stance.
“Just a private discussion,” he said. “No big deal.”
“Didn’t look it from where I was standing.” I turned my attention to the woman. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, continued to rub her wrist, and offered her thanks. “Just a bit shaken but I’ll be okay.”
She was tall for a woman, not much shorter than him, willowy with a proud erect posture. Short brown hair framed a carefully made-up face with bright red lips, long dark eyelashes over hazel almond-shaped eyes and a tan that was too even to be real. She smelled expensive.
I said, “Would you like me to call the police?”
“No.” She spoke the word sharply as if it was the last thing she wanted. “It was just a silly argument that got out of hand.”
“It’s nothing to do with the police.” City boy was getting belligerent again.
Another voice came out of nowhere. “It’s everything to do with us.”
From somewhere behind me, Richard Lowe appeared, announcing his presence with a sharp rebuke, the craggy features marred by a scowl.
Richard Lowe, Police Sergeant with the local force, was engaged to my close friend, Karen Dyer, owner of the Fairview, and I guessed he must have been on the premises. He had a habit of dropping by on his breaks if he was in the neighbourhood.
As he approached, he reached into the breast pocket of his uniform for a notebook. “You wish to make a complaint, madam?”
City boy looked both surprised and aggrieved but said nothing, his jaw clenched.
The woman declined to take up Lowe’s offer, making light of the situation, and pleaded the need to leave for an appointment.
“I really don’t want to make an issue of it,” she said.
“You’re free to go then,” Lowe said, stepping back to let her pass.
She clattered down
the steps on gravity-defying heels and made her way towards a Porsche on the far side of the Esplanade.
City boy was about to follow, but Lowe held up a restraining hand. “Not you. I’m writing this up in the incident log. I’m going to need a note of your personal details.” He took a pen from his pocket. “Let’s start with some ID shall we?”
I nodded a curt greeting, and left him to it, making my way back to the table I had been sharing with Karen before the disturbance had flared up.
We had been enjoying each other’s company and catching up on old times during the post-lunch lull. Most of the guests - those who weren’t on the terrace or propping up the bar inside - had gone out for the rest of the day and it was an opportune time for Karen to take a break before the evening rush.
As I dropped into my seat, the hum of conversation started up again, louder and more excited than before.
“You didn’t tell me you were running such a disreputable dive these days,” I said.
Karen pulled a face. “He’s not usually that bad.”
“You know him then?” I asked, turning my head to keep a wary eye on Lowe and the subject of our discussion. City boy was looking decidedly less aggressive now.
“Marcus Farrow. He works up in London during the week. A banker, I think. He’s often in the bar at the weekends, but he usually holds his drink better than this.”
I shifted the position my chair slightly to keep him in my line of sight. “And the woman?”
“Ah, now.” She leaned forward and looked around to make sure we were out of earshot. “Bit of gossip there.”
I snorted, my gaze still fixed on Lowe and Farrow. “What is it with this town? Can’t anyone keep a secret here?”
Taking part in small-town gossip was way off my agenda. Still a sore point with me. It was the local gossips that had helped drive me from here in the first place.
Karen slumped back into her chair. “Well, if you don’t want to know.” She ran her fingers through her flame-hued untamed hair and, with a disdainful flick of the head, swept it behind her.
Before I could respond, Lowe dismissed Farrow with a terse reminder about the need for public order and headed in our direction, sliding the notebook and pen back into his pocket.
Farrow glared back at us and headed off in the opposite direction and down the stairs as Lowe sank into the other chair at our table.
Lowe grinned and said, “You’ve been back - what? Two days? - and you’re already getting into scrapes.”
I gave him a thumbs up. “Never was one for the quiet life.” Tipping my head in the direction city boy had taken, I said, “So what’s the story here?”
Karen said, “So now who’s gossipping?”
“This isn’t gossip,” I said, grinning. “This is intelligence gathering.”
She snorted and raised her eyes in mock despair.
Lowe laughed and filled me in with the details. “She’s Lydia Carrington, engaged to John Farrow, Marcus’s father.”
I did some quick mental maths and raised an eyebrow. “City boy must be fiftyish, and she’s obviously much younger.”
“Quite,” said Karen. “Lydia’s got herself a sugar daddy. He’s at least thirty years her senior. And by all accounts, she’s milking him for all he’s worth.”
Lowe interjected. “No fool like and an old fool, eh?”
Another well-worn quote came to mind. ‘A fool and his money are soon parted.’ And, given what I had just witnessed, I had an uneasy feeling that Marcus Farrow wasn’t the type to sit around and let that happen.
Karen interrupted my thoughts. She squeezed Lowe’s arm and said, “Just as well you were passing, hon. Could have been much worse otherwise.”
“I can take care myself,” I said.
“It’s not you I was worried about.”
Lowe laughed and said, “Always happy to help out. But, much as I enjoy seeing you, my love, I wasn’t just passing.” He leaned over and planted a kiss on Karen’s forehead. “This time, I dropped by to see Mikey.”
He turned back to me and said, “The Chief said you’d be here. There’s a case file you wanted to check out?”
“Yes, the Chief said you wouldn’t mind. Is that okay?”
As Head of the Regional Crime Squad, Nathan was Lowe’s immediate superior officer, and I was always careful to use his title in conversation.
“I have it down at the station. So if you want to call by in the morning.”
My heart sank. “That’s great,” I said, hoping I sounded more enthusiastic than I was.
So much for all my well-made plans.
I’d hoped that once I had settled in at the Fairview, Nathan and I could spend some time together, a break from routine for both of us. A chance to get close again.
But it wasn’t to be.
And now an altercation had spoiled an opportunity to take some time out with Karen and relax before getting back down to some serious work. Yet another anticipated pleasure ruined.
The pressures of work over the past few weeks on top of the strain of a protracted divorce settlement were taking their toll. I needed a break. But here I was, already tasked to the hilt, a publisher’s deadline long overdue, and now another case file reluctantly thrust on me.
Yet another well-known quote came to mind. ‘No rest for the weary’.
CHAPTER FOUR
By the time we reached the end of the pier, Karen was flagging. Struggling for air, she bent over, hands against her thighs. “Enough,” she gasped. “I need a break.”
A row of wooden benches lined the edge of the pier against the railings, and she lowered herself into one of them, panting heavily.
Beneath us, the sea swelled, slapping against the wooden supports, and threw spray high into the air.
Karen drew in a deep breath and said, “I’m not as fit as I used to be.”
It was the following morning, and she had jumped at the chance of joining me on my usual run but was finding it hard going.
I settled into place beside her. “Just as well I’m home then. I’ll soon have you back in shape.”
She pulled a face and slapped my arm.
We fell into a comfortable silence, breathing heavily, our backs against the railings.
From along the shoreline at the other end of the pier, the distant sounds of shouted conversations and bursts of laughter caught on the breeze and drifted towards us across the water.
The beach was already crowded as the first of the season’s holidaymakers made the most of the hot spell.
Despite all my recent pressures, personal and professional, Elders Edge was working its magic, and I was starting to relax. I was at peace, and all was well with my world.
“Glad to be back?”
Grinning, I flipped open my water bottle and handed it to her. “You’d better believe it.”
My old hometown had seemed such a dull sleepy backwater to my teenage self. A rundown seaside town, long past its best. And following the rift that had split my family apart, I had left it behind, drawn to the bright lights and golden glitter of London, city of my dreams.
But after twelve years and two ex-wives, the lights had dimmed, the glitter had worn off, and the dream had faded. The less superficial attractions of Elders Edge had drawn me back.
Karen swallowed several mouthfuls of water and passed the bottle back to me. “And the divorce?”
Taking the bottle from her, I groaned and said, “When it comes to the gentle art of squeezing blood from stones, Donna has become quite the master. Or mistress in her case.” I took a generous swig of water and splashed the rest of the bottle’s contents on my face.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to spoil the mood.”
“I’ll get over it. It’s all settled now anyway bar the paperwork. But it does seem to have dragged on forever.”
She adjusted the sweatband on her forehead. “And Nathan? How’s that going?”
“Ask me again when I’ve managed to pin him down. He was supposed to stand m
e dinner last night but stayed over in London. Do policemen ever take time off?”
Karen snorted. “Welcome to my world.”
It was my father’s untimely death three months earlier that had brought me back to Elders Edge and back into Nathan’s company. And it was my renewed relationship with him that would keep me here.
“But everything is working out okay?” she asked.
Her concern was understandable. My on-off relationship with Nathan hadn’t been one of the easiest of rides.
“Early days,” I said.
“And are you, er… are you getting any closer?”
I paused in the process of wiping my face on my sweatshirt and squinted at her through narrowed eyes. “Yes, we are having sex,” I said.
“Mikey!” A sharp rebuke. “That’s not what I asked.”
“Yes, it is. You don’t fool me any.”
Before she could respond, a whistling fisherman walked into earshot, a wicker case and folding stool hanging from his shoulder, and a fishing rod in hand. We exchanged nodded greetings, and he turned aside and set up his equipment nearby.
“Let’s walk,” I said, pushing myself to my feet.
Karen followed my lead, and we trotted back down the pier, passing strolling holidaymakers on the way.
We jogged side by side, and I shot her a sideways glance. “You know how it is with us,” I said. “I let him down big time.”
“But you’re past all that now aren’t you?”
“We’re getting there,” I said, “but he’s still very wary. And let’s face it, he never was one for jumping into anything feet first.”
“That’s for sure.”
“He’s being cautious. And I’m okay with that. All will be well.”
When my father, the local priest, found out about my relationship with Nathan all those years ago, and brought down the wrath of his vengeful God on my head before disowning me, I faced a choice. Either take control of my life and stand firm for what I wanted, or run away.
I ran away.
Dumbest thing I ever did.
I turned my back on the man I loved and left without a word. An act of cowardice that hurt us both, and not something I was proud of.
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