by Jill Mansell
‘How are you doing?’ said Dot.
He’d shrugged. ‘Well, you know, pretty dreadful really. But … can’t complain.’ Because it’s no more than I deserve.
‘No.’ Dot hesitated, then said, ‘And what are you doing for Christmas?’
Lawrence shook his head and watched as a family made their way past, laughing and struggling to carry a twelve-foot Norwegian spruce. It felt like a hundred years since he’d laughed. ‘Same as last year. Nothing.’
It wasn’t even as if he and Aurora had happy memories of Christmas; they’d talked about sharing it, but cancer had intervened. It had never happened.
Dot looked at him. Finally she said, ‘I don’t have any plans either. OK, just an idea, but do you want to come over for the day?’
‘What?’ He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
‘Doesn’t matter if you don’t want to. If you’d rather be on your own, that’s fine, not a—’
‘No,’ Lawrence blurted out before she could withdraw the offer. ‘I’d like to. Really, that’d be great. Thank you.’
‘Right. Turn up whenever you want after midday. I’ll cook the food, you can bring the wine.’ Intercepting the question on his mind, Dot said, ‘No presents. No funny business. I’m not trying to win you back, if that’s what you’re wondering. I just think life would probably be easier in the long run if we could get back to being friends.’
Slowly Lawrence nodded; after forty years of happy marriage, of course it would be easier. Grateful for the olive branch – and the generosity of the woman proffering it – he said, ‘Me too.’
Chapter 17
Lawrence finished his whisky and left the bar. Needless to say, his feelings for Dot had only intensified after that. Having never actually fallen out of love with her in the first place, he’d spent the last decade hopelessly in love with a woman who steadfastly refused to be anything other than friends with him in return. And to be honest, after the way he’d behaved, who could blame her?
Now, retracing his steps along the esplanade, he turned right at the end and headed down to the beach. There was Josh, paddling out on his board to beyond the surf. Lawrence watched as he turned, waited, caught a wave just before it broke and surfed expertly to the shore. Making it all look so easy, even though it wasn’t.
Having spotted him, Josh made his way up the beach. When he saw the troubled look on Lawrence’s face, he said, ‘Hi, problem?’
He knew what had happened, of course, all those years ago. Josh had been as shocked as anyone when his grandparents – held up as an example to all who knew them as the ultimate perfect couple – had split up. Lawrence was endlessly grateful that their own relationship had survived.
‘Antoine Beauvais has booked into the hotel. He’s staying for a week.’
‘I know.’ Josh raked his wet hair away from his forehead. ‘He turned up late last night’
‘But why? That’s the thing. What’s going on?’
‘No idea,’ said Josh.
‘Does Dot know? She’s not working this afternoon. I tried calling her mobile but it’s switched off … she’s hopeless about answering that thing.’
‘Dot knows,’ said Josh.
‘She does? Right.’ Taken aback by this news, Lawrence said, ‘So any idea what he’s doing here?’
‘She hasn’t told me.’
Maybe he could track her down and ask her. ‘Whereabouts is she?’
‘Gone to the hairdressers,’ said Josh.
‘Oh.’ Since Dot generally did her own hair, Lawrence said, ‘Special occasion?’
‘I don’t know about that.’ Josh shrugged and hesitated. ‘But she’s having dinner tonight with Antoine Beauvais.’
It had been another long, hot day, and by five o’clock Sophie was ready to hit the beach. Well, the water. Stripping down to her blue and white striped bikini, she left her clothes and towel on the beach and waded into the sea.
Aaahh, bliss. The water enveloped her, instantly cooling her skin, and she began to make her way out to the diving platform. At this more sheltered end of the beach, the sea was calmer, the waves reduced, and it was possible to swim without getting mown down by an out-of-control surfer.
The diving platform was empty. Hauling herself up on to it, Sophie sat on the gently rocking sun-warmed wood and surveyed the scene before her. It was always great seeing the beach from this angle … the swimmers, the paddling children, the sandcastles close to the shoreline and the sunbathers stretched out on their multicoloured towels. Their voices were muted by the waves, and you could see the surfers in their shiny black wetsuits but not identify them from this distance.
The next moment, as a flash of light caught her attention, she realised that the sun was bouncing off the lenses of a pair of binoculars. What was more, they appeared to be trained on her. One of the black-clad surfers, standing on the beach close to the café, was watching her through them. And he had dark hair. If it were Josh Strachan, she wasn’t sure she liked the idea of being observed from a distance. It felt uncomfortably like being spied on.
Flushing slightly and looking away, Sophie rose to her feet and prepared to dive back into the water. A splash behind her was followed by a sudden rocking movement of the diving pontoon. Turning, she saw someone in red board shorts levering themselves up out of the water. When he raised his head, she saw that the owner of the tanned, tightly muscled body was Josh.
‘Hello!’ Surprised to see her, he signalled towards the beach and said, ‘Sorry, didn’t know you were out here.’
He was breathing heavily, had evidently been exerting himself. Sophie said, ‘Where did you come from?’
‘Just swam around the headland and back.’ Josh gestured a crescent shape with his left hand. ‘Baz is timing me. He bet I couldn’t do it in under thirty minutes.’ Checking his watch, he broke into a grin of satisfaction. ‘I reckon I did it in twenty-eight.’
He hadn’t been sleazily spying on her after all. Neither had Baz, come to that; he’d had those binoculars trained on Josh, not her. Sophie relaxed. ‘How much was the bet?’
‘Twenty quid. Worth the effort.’ Shaking water out of his hair, Josh said, ‘Finished early today?’
Flushing slightly, Sophie looked away, tipping her face up to the sun. ‘That’s the thing with my job. Irregular hours. You work when people ask you to work, do the rest in your own time.’
‘So nothing this evening.’
‘That’s right. But tomorrow I’ll be on a job working flat out from midday to late evening.’
‘Keeps it interesting. OK, looks like I have to go.’
Shielding her eyes, Sophie saw that Baz was now making strenuous beckoning gestures. ‘Why?’
‘He’s looking after Griff. Maybe he needs to get home.’
And there was Griff, she belatedly noticed, dancing around Baz’s legs. Sophie said, ‘I’ll race you back to the beach.’
‘I’m still out of breath,’ Josh protested.
‘That’s why I’m making the bet.’ She rose to her feet. ‘I’m not stupid.’
‘Tenner,’ said Josh.
‘Twenty.’
‘Fine. Go …’
Griff came doggy-paddling out to greet them as they approached the shore. Sophie beat Josh by a couple of seconds.
‘You won,’ he told her.
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Did you do that on purpose?’
‘No way, never.’ He shook his head, clearly amused by her look of suspicion. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it. Anyway, where’s your towel?’
‘Over there.’ Sophie pointed to the little pile of belongings twenty yards away on the sand.
Once she was semi-dried and dressed, he came over and tried to give her a twenty-pound note.
‘Absolutely not. You let me win.’
‘I didn’t.’ Josh smiled. ‘But OK. Maybe you’ll let me buy you a drink sometime instead. Just a friendly one,’ he added before she could protest. ‘Seeing as you don’t do dates.’
&nbs
p; It was time to leave. Josh was heading back to the hotel. Together they made their way across the dry sand with Griff trotting between them. Plenty of people were still navigating the steps on the path leading down to the beach. A chihuahua on a fluorescent pink lead began to yap furiously at the sight of Griff, who looked bemused.
‘Are those dogs going to have a fight?’ said a wide-eyed small boy, watching from further up the path.
‘Definitely not.’ To be on the safe side, Josh bent and scooped Griff up, ready to pass the frantically yapping chihuahua. His bare arm brushed against Sophie’s as they both shifted to one side to allow the boy’s grandmother to make her way down. Sophie did her best not to notice the physical contact.
As they carried on climbing the uneven steps, she moved further over to the left to make room for a woman approaching with a pushchair. Behind them now, the chihuahua was still yapping. Josh was keeping a firm hold on Griff.
The small boy, clutching the front of his yellow shorts, said in a piercing voice, ‘Mum, I need a wee,’ and the woman with the pushchair said distractedly, ‘Ben, wait, you can’t have a wee yet … no, don’t pull your shorts down … oh …’
In her haste to reach out and grab her son’s arm, the woman lost her footing and stumbled, letting out a cry of pain as her ankle twisted beneath her and she crashed to her knees. Her grip was wrenched from the handles of the pushchair, which tipped sideways down the next step and promptly bounced, provoking shouts of alarm from those around it.
Sophie realised she was directly in the pushchair’s path. She also knew there was only one way to stop it careering down the slope to the pebbly bit of the beach. Since there was a baby in the pushchair, she didn’t have much choice. To her right, Josh was holding Griff and otherwise obstructed by an elderly man with a walking stick.
Time appeared to have slowed down, but impact was increasingly imminent. What she wouldn’t give for a crash helmet right now. Bracing herself, Sophie held her arms out like a goalie and prayed this wasn’t about to hurt as much as—
OOF. Fuck … ow, ow, ow …
Blindly she grappled with the weight of metal and now-screaming baby; so long as they both didn’t go crashing head over heels, all would be well. Or as well as could be expected when there was a searing pain in your back and it felt as if you’d just been kicked in the head by a bull.
And now she was sprawled face down in the dusty, stony sand with what felt like warm liquid metal in her mouth and a car wheel pressing down on her head. But both hands – she could feel them, thank God – were still hanging on to the pushchair. Oh please, please let the baby be all right.
The next moment the pressure on her head was reduced and somewhere above her Josh was saying, ‘It’s OK, you can let go now. Let go …’ She felt her fingers being gently prised free, the pushchair was lifted away and the baby let out an indignant wail.
‘Oh thank you, thank you,’ gasped the mother, her voice disappearing somewhere over to the right as the pushchair was carried down to the beach.
Sophie felt Josh’s hand carefully cupping the back of her head, heard him say in a low voice, ‘Are you all right? Can you move?’
She nodded, more out of politeness than conviction, and mumbled, ‘Is the baby hurt?’
That was when she realised the warm liquid metal in her mouth was blood and the question had come out as an unintelligible gurgle.
Josh rolled her over on to one side and she spat the blood into a patch of dusty grass. Ladylike. From the sharp pain on the side of her tongue, it seemed she’d bitten it, which was at least better than having a couple of teeth knocked out. Repeating the words, Sophie looked up and saw him shake his head.
‘The baby’s fine. Thanks to you. You’ve got a lump on the back of your head and a cut on your face. How’s the rest of you?’
‘My back hurts.’
‘Don’t try to move. Stay where you are. I’ll call an ambulance.’
‘No way. I’m fine.’ Other people were crowding around, peering down at her. It was like being a circus attraction. Mortified, Sophie held one hand out to Josh. ‘And I’m not staying here either. Help me up.’
Seeing that she meant business, he did so. Once she was on her feet, a woman in the crowd handed her a pack of tissues to mop up the blood trickling from her mouth and temple.
The mother of the baby in the pushchair called up to her from the beach. ‘You all right, love, are you?’
‘Um, yes …’
‘That’s good. Cheers, then!’ And Sophie found herself on the receiving end of a breezy thumbs-up before the family turned and headed off across the sand.
‘Such overwhelming gratitude,’ Josh said drily.
‘I wouldn’t want overwhelming gratitude.’ Sophie pulled out another tissue and marvelled at the amount of blood a bitten tongue could produce. ‘Although I wouldn’t have said no to an ice cream.’
He relaxed. ‘Come on, let’s get you out of here. Want me to carry you?’
A brief mental image of how that would look. And feel.
‘No. I can walk.’
‘Are you always this obstinate?’
‘I am when I don’t want to look stupid.’
As she slowly limped her way, Quasimodo-style, up the rest of the steps, Josh murmured, ‘Because now you aren’t looking at all stupid.’
And Sophie belatedly discovered that when she shouted with laughter she sounded like Quasimodo too.
Back at the hotel, he helped her into reception. Horrified, Tula said, ‘Oh my God, what happened to you?’
‘He threw me down the steps,’ said Sophie.
‘No he didn’t. He wouldn’t do that.’
‘I fell,’ Sophie admitted, ‘and got hit by a flying pushchair.’
‘She needs to lie down.’ Josh handed the other end of Griff’s lead to Tula. ‘I’m taking her up to my room. Do you know how to call the doctor?’
‘I do.’ Tula looked proud. ‘Dot told me about that this morning.’
‘I can call my own doctor,’ Sophie protested.
‘And wait how long before they give you an appointment to turn up at the surgery?’ Josh shook his head. ‘We have an arrangement: any problems and the doctor comes here to the hotel. He’ll check you over, see if we need to get you to the hospital.’
‘Well I’m definitely not going there.’ Sophie was adamant. ‘I’ve got a big job on tomorrow.’
‘You haven’t seen yourself in the mirror yet. Maybe you should think about letting the experts decide,’ said Josh.
Chapter 18
Coming down the staircase at seven o’clock, Dot saw Tula still working behind the reception desk.
‘What are you doing here at this time, darling? You should be off duty by now.’
‘It’s OK, I offered to stay on. I’m enjoying learning about everything that needs to be done. You look nice,’ said Tula.
‘Thanks.’ Dot put a hand up to her hair, re-blonded and professionally blow-dried. ‘Feels a bit weird. Not used to hairspray.’
‘Off out somewhere special?’
‘Kind of.’ Since special didn’t really begin to cover it, Dot said, ‘I’m going out to dinner with my ex-husband’s late mistress’s husband.’
Tula’s eyes widened. ‘Blimey.’
‘I know! Mr Beauvais from room seventeen.’
‘Wow. He’s very good-looking.’
‘I know that too. Not that it’s relevant.’ Dot pulled a face. ‘What with him being the husband of my ex-husband’s dead mistress.’
‘Phew. Well now I get why Lawrence was asking about him,’ said Tula.
‘He was?’ Ha, good. So that explained the calls Lawrence had made to her switched-off phone.
Then the lift doors opened and there he was. Antoine Beauvais. Looking, it had to be said, the very picture of a French film star. Dot wondered if he would even recognise her – they’d only briefly seen each other once or twice all those years ago. This morning he’d left an envelope addressed to her
at reception. Inside, he’d explained that he was staying here at the hotel and would be honoured if she would meet him at seven for dinner. No other explanation, just that simple request. No idea why, either.
In all honesty, though, how could she refuse? Dot had been so utterly intrigued, she had said yes.
‘Dorothea.’ He’d recognised her, thank goodness. Dot found herself being greeted with a Gallic kiss on each cheek. Then Antoine stepped back to survey her. ‘It’s good to see you again. You look wonderful.’
He was wearing the most divine cologne. ‘Nice to see you too.’ She didn’t tell him he was also looking wonderful; he must already know that.
‘I’ve booked a table at the Rose. Is that OK with you?’
‘Of course. I love the Rose.’
‘I thought we’d have more privacy than if we stayed here.’ He passed his room key across the reception desk to Tula before guiding Dot over to the door. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Have a nice evening,’ Tula said brightly.
And Dot, turning to smile at her, saw Tula giving her a massive thumbs-up.
Once they were seated at their table and had been handed their menus, Antoine said, ‘So are you curious?’
‘Very.’
‘It’s eleven years since I left St Carys. My travel agent recommended Mariscombe House and booked the room for me. It wasn’t until I looked at the website afterwards that I realised it was your hotel.’ He dipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘Quite a surprise.’
‘We took it over three years ago. Keeps me busy.’ Dot smiled at him. ‘I love it.’
‘We?’ said Antoine.
‘Me and my grandson, Josh. He put up half the money. He’s been living and working over in the States, but now he’s back.’
‘And … how are things with you?’
‘Really good, thanks.’
‘Not married, I see.’ He glanced at her left hand. ‘Partner?’
Dot shook her head. ‘No. You?’
‘Not currently. There have been … ladies, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Dot murmured. How could there not be ladies?
‘But for now? Unencumbered. And may I ask what happened to your ex-husband?’
