“I’ll certainly clear the plates, but you’ll need to fetch your own drinks,” she said.
Teddy’s lip curled. “We’ve spent enough here tonight to have table service. Get us another bottle of Bolly. It’s what you’re here for.”
Issie felt her temper start to rise. “Get it yourself.”
“I thought that was your job?” Teddy asked, while his cronies sniggered. “Let’s be honest, you’re from a family of servants, after all, so you should be good at it.”
His friend plucked a fifty-pound note from his wallet and threw it in Issie’s direction. The note drifted onto the floor.
“Pick it up,” he said. “It’s the closest you’ll get to one of those if you lose your job.”
“Are you threatening me?” Issie demanded. Anger was starting to pop behind her eyeballs. She was extremely tired, and she’d had just about enough of having to listen to their snide comments all evening. “You’ll be sorry if you are,” she said, close to snapping.
“I’m so scared,” sneered Teddy, throwing back his head and laughing.
His laughter stopped abruptly when he found himself wearing Mickey Davey’s leftover fish pie, though.
“Oops,” said Issie. “Clumsy me.”
“You stupid bitch! Look what you’ve done!” Teddy spluttered, dabbing frantically at his Ralph Lauren shirt.
“Oh dear. Maybe you could get one of your servants to wash it?” Issie replied.
“What’s going on here?” Having a landlord’s instinct that could detect trouble at ten paces, Adam Harper now loomed over the table and glowered at them all.
“I tripped,” Issie said. “Honestly, Adam, balancing all these plates is really hard.”
“She didn’t trip! She bloody well threw it at me!” raged Teddy, still mopping his shirt and oblivious to his mashed-potato hat. “My shirt’s ruined!”
“I do hope the stains won’t be a haddock to get out?” Issie said sweetly. “Being designer, it cod be difficult to wash.”
“Stop taking the piss!” wailed Teddy. To Adam he added, “Are you going to let her speak to me like that? And assault your customers? After we’ve spent a fortune here tonight?”
“Issie?” said Adam.
“It was an accident!” Issie widened her eyes, the picture of innocence. “I was coming to collect your plates, like you asked me to, and I tripped.”
Adam shot Issie a look that told her he had his suspicions, even if he couldn’t prove them. Promising Teddy a substantial discount, he clamped a hand down onto his errant barmaid’s shoulder and frogmarched her away.
“Tripped, my arse,” he said darkly.
Luke Dawson abandoned his reading and joined them at the bar. He glanced at Teddy and his cronies with utter contempt. “Are they causing trouble, Issie?”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Issie answered. Teddy was still glowering at her, his face crimson with rage – but when he saw Luke his expression grew murderous. Oh dear. Twice now she’d humiliated him in the local pub. Recalling Alice’s warning that Teddy had a mean streak, Issie felt a quiver of misgiving. Why couldn’t she have just ignored him?
“They’ll calm down in a bit, now that I’ve promised them a discount,” Adam said wearily. “It’ll come out of your wages, mind,” he added to Issie.
Great. She’d need to find Black Jack’s treasure just to pay for Teddy’s champagne and oyster supper.
“Let’s get you out of their way for a bit. The Pol Brew’s gone, so you can nip down to the cellar and change the barrel,” Adam continued. “Don’t look at me like that. And don’t try telling me it’s your worst bar job, either, because right now I don’t give a toss about that. Any more trouble and you’ll be getting the sack – and I mean it this time!”
Issie groaned. Adam was right: changing barrels was the task she hated the most. The barrels were heavy and awkward to fit to the pipes, and the cellar was a cold and gloomy place. Adam must really want her out of the way.
“I could give her a hand, if that’s OK?” Luke offered.
“Be my guest.” Adam lifted the hatch to the cellar and a gust of cold, damp air swirled around their ankles. “If you can keep her out of trouble you’re a better man than I am.”
Like most of the buildings in Polwenna Bay, The Ship had medieval origins. Nowhere was this more apparent than in its cellar, which had been hewn out of the rock below. Here the walls glistened with moisture and it was so cold that even in the summer the bar staff wore sweaters when venturing down to change the barrels. The only access was down a rickety staircase that was missing two rungs, and it was made all the more hazardous by the fact that the light could only be switched on from the bottom. Issie had been working on and off in the pub since she’d left school and knew the quirks of the place, but Luke’s feet scrabbled on the rungs; several times during the descent she heard him curse.
“Goddammit! Do you Brits have to do everything the hard way?”
“We think it builds character,” Issie said. “Besides, if Hitler had landed, the Nazis would have broken their necks before they got to our beer.”
“Nice to know you guys have your priorities right. We sure were wasting our time trying to bribe you with chewing gum and stockings.”
“You’d be amazed what some of the girls here will do for chewing gum,” Issie said as she flicked the light on.
Luke exhaled, any jokes about stockings forgotten as he surveyed the gloomy space around him.
“Jeez, it’s like something out of Edgar Allan Poe. How do you get the barrels in?”
“There’s a hatch above and the delivery guys lower them down and pull the empties up.” Issie wove her way between the barrels. Where was the Pol Brew? Already cold, she was starting to lose sensation in her fingers. If Adam wanted her to cool off then he’d certainly sent her to the right place.
Shadows pooled in the corners and water drip-drip-dripped onto the rocky floor. It was a dank space but perfect for storing real ale.
“How old is this cellar?” Luke asked, wrapping his arms around himself as his breath clouded the air.
Issie rolled a barrel across the floor. “I reckon it has to be fifteenth century, or at least parts of it are.”
“Wow, that sure is old. Here, let me do that.” Gently putting his hands on her waist, Luke moved Issie aside and lifted the barrel easily. Minutes later, under Issie’s direction the gas was disconnected, the keg coupler had been changed and a new barrel had clicked into place. Luke checked to see whether the float and the gas were working, then winked at her.
“Do I pass the test?”
Issie’s waist was still tingling from his touch. Oh yes. Luke Dawson passed the test, all right. He was also pretty good at changing barrels.
“You’re a man of many talents,” she said. “What else are you good at?”
His face was shadowed in the half-light and his eyes were unreadable. Issie sensed that Luke hadn’t followed her down to the cellar because he loved changing beer kegs. Was he going to make a move? And did she want him to?
“Not drinking warm beer, that’s for sure.” Then he added thoughtfully, “Say, do you reckon the smugglers’ passageway could be under here? It’s wet and damp and not far from the sea.”
Oh. Maybe not then. He was still thinking about history. Surprised by how disappointed she felt, Issie dragged her thoughts back to smugglers.
“If you’re thinking that they rolled kegs of contraband all the way to the pub for a celebration then I hate to disappoint you. The Ship wasn’t always an inn. I think it was a house back then.”
“Even better,” said Luke. “It would be far less risky to store that kind of thing in a private house. Say, how about we have a quick scoot about and see if we can find anything?”
“What, you think you’re going to find a trap door or something?”
“Sure? Why not?”
He wouldn’t be the first person to try searching for one, given that there’d always been rumours about a secret p
assage leading from the beach to the pub’s cellar. Issie had certainly never noticed anything unusual, though. Still, there was probably no harm in having another look. Maybe Luke would spot something everyone else had missed. Issie usually took at least ten minutes to change a barrel. That was why Adam had sent her down here just now, to give her time to calm down. It wouldn’t hurt to poke about a bit. Not that they’d find anything.
While Luke examined the cellar floor, Issie checked her mobile. There was another text from Mark, which she deleted instantly. His texts were becoming far more frequent. Once upon a time this would have made her heart sing, but lately all Issie felt was a curious detachment. Mark and Westchester Uni and all the misery of that time felt like another life – a life she was glad to have left in the past. Some secrets were better forgotten.
“What do you think to this?” Luke was in the far corner, looking intently at the cellar floor. “Does it look to you like something’s been concreted over?”
Issie crouched down and ran her fingers over the rough surface.
“Maybe? It’s hard to tell. People have been using this cellar to store things for years.”
His dark brows drew together. “There’s another layer just under these barrels. See? If we could push them aside it might give us a better look?”
“You can’t do that! You’ll disturb the real ale!” Issie gasped. “Adam will flip. If I haven’t already lost my job, that’s definitely a sacking offence.”
The corners of his mouth lifted. “Jeez, I just don’t get this obsession with warm beer that tastes like socks. OK, honey. I guess there’s no more to see here. Maybe there was an access point to the passage; maybe not. I figure there could be. There has to be a reason they called this place The Ship.”
Issie grinned. “You do know that nearly every coastal town in Britain has a pub called The Ship? Still, I suppose you might have a point about the passage being under the concrete. I could always ask Silver Starr, our resident psychic, to bring her divining rods over,” she suggested, half serious. “Maybe she could tell us?”
“No, don’t involve anyone else. I’ll use my own diving rod, thanks,” Luke said – and then, as her eyes widened at his double entendre, added, “Why are you looking at me like that? I meant my intuition! What did you think I meant?”
Issie’s pale skin flushed rose. “I didn’t think you meant anything!”
“Fibber,” said Luke softly. He stepped forward and took her hand, drawing her against his chest. “Fibber.”
Issie tipped her head back to look into his eyes and what she saw there made her heart race. He smelt delicious, of fresh air and salt and a tangy aftershave she couldn’t place. She could have drunk him in forever. His other hand cupped her face tenderly. Her pulse was running away with her and she could hardly breathe. Then Luke lowered his head and—
“Issie! Issie! What on earth are you doing down there? Brewing the bloody beer? Get up here now! We’re rammed!”
Issie and Luke sprang apart as Adam hollered down through the hatch.
“Nice guy, but his sense of timing sure sucks,” said Luke.
Issie nodded. The moment had been well and truly shattered. She felt like screaming. Until a few seconds ago, she hadn’t realised just how much she wanted to kiss Luke Dawson.
“We’ll have to finish this later,” he murmured, tracing her cheek with a tanned forefinger. “How about you come over to the cottage after your shift?”
Issie’s heart was pounding now. She didn’t think she’d ever been so aware of a man’s physical presence in her entire life. Her knees felt watery and it was all she could do to nod.
“Come on then, bar lady,” Luke said softly. “Better get back to it.”
They crossed the cellar to the rickety stairs. While Luke made his ascent Issie flicked off the lights, plunging the place into pitch black again. It felt eerie now. There were secrets lurking here, she just knew it, just as there were secrets buried deep in her own heart. The question was whether or not they were best left alone. Just how well did she really know Luke Dawson anyway? Dare she trust him with her secrets and maybe even her heart?
As she stepped back behind the bar, Issie was troubled. Luke had only been in the village for a few days, yet already he was closer to her than people she’d known for years. Getting involved with him was madness. He was a total stranger. And yet Issie knew without a shadow of a doubt that the minute her shift ended she would be on her way to his cottage.
Of course she would. Issie couldn’t back off now even if she wanted to. The treasure and Black Jack and even Mark Tollen were all fading into insignificance. Kissing Luke Dawson was all she could think about.
Chapter 16
Issie shivered. It was a cold, clear night lit by thousands of twinkling stars, and a chilly breeze blew straight across the sea. It was almost midnight now and the village was still, the cottages in darkness and the seagulls huddled up on their clifftop perches for the night. Apart from a slice of moon smiling down, the only light came from the beach café, where Mickey Davey must be having a late one with his friends.
Thinking of Mickey reminded Issie of the earlier incident with Teddy. She sighed. By the time she’d returned from the cellar, he and his friends had left – but Issie knew full well that the episode wouldn’t be forgiven or forgotten. Teddy’s sister, Ella, had waited nearly twenty years to get her own back on Mo Tremaine, and Issie had no reason to think that Teddy would be any different. She’d crossed a line with him and Issie knew that she’d better have her wits about her from now on, as well as keeping her temper in check. Pulling pints in the pub wasn’t quite the career path she’d imagined for herself; nevertheless, it just about paid the interest on her credit cards and she couldn’t afford to lose her job. Adam’s patience was running thin and she suspected that if anything else happened she’d be getting her marching orders.
In the meantime, she had more than enough to think about with Luke Dawson and their unfinished business. In a few minutes she’d be knocking on the door of his cottage and then there would be no turning back. Unlike her flirtation with Teddy, this thing with Luke was darker and stronger. Was it fanciful to feel that from the moment she’d first seen him some part of her destiny had clicked into place?
God. Just listen to her. She was sounding like Silver bloody Starr! Just shag the guy and get him out your system, she told herself sternly. Stop mooning over him like a bloody teenager.
It was a plan, she supposed, and with this firmly in mind Issie dug her hands deep into the pockets of her duffle coat and set off down the beach path. She didn’t have far to walk. Luke was renting the last cottage in the village, a small and rather neglected one-up, one-down affair that had been built almost on top of the beach cave. It belonged to an elderly fisherman who’d gone into a care home and who was, according to Ashley, sitting on a fortune in terms of real estate. Issie supposed that with a bit of TLC and some rich city trader’s bonus thrown at it the cottage could be very pretty. It certainly had a gorgeous view across the bay, and it was right next to the beach steps.
“Come in, it’s freezing out there,” Luke said when he let Issie in. “I’m not convinced it’s much warmer in here though.”
He was wearing board shorts and a soft moss-green hoody that matched the flecks in his eyes beautifully. Tanned, barefoot and with his long curls just brushing his shoulders, he could have just strolled off a Floridian beach. It was hardly the typical Cornwall-in-January look, which tended to include long johns and thick socks. Admittedly, the typical look wasn’t exactly sexy, but at least you didn’t die of exposure nipping from the living room to the loo.
“Aren’t you cold?” Issie asked, stepping into the narrow hallway.
He grinned. “I’m freaking freezing! Cold doesn’t even come close. Don’t worry, I haven’t gone mad. I’ve found a solution. Come on, I’ll show you!”
Intrigued, she followed him to the back of the cottage and towards the kitchen. When Luke flung the door op
en a blast of warm air coiled itself around Issie like a scarf. The low-beamed room was wonderfully cosy, with heavy curtains pulled against the night and a nest of duvets, cushions and blankets piled in front of the range. Candles wedged into empty beer bottles and flowerpots filled the place with flickering light, while jazz played from his iPhone and a bottle of white wine cooled in the butler’s sink.
“You lit the Aga!”
He nodded, looking proud. “I found a load of logs in the little shed outside. The old dude must have been stockpiling them for years.”
“I hate to break it to you, but that’s probably just one load to get through the first part of the winter,” Issie said.
Luke whistled. “Christ. How do you guys do it?”
“We don’t know any better? I tell you what though, when the spring comes there’s nowhere better than Cornwall.”
“Yeah? Do you mind if I take your word for that? I don’t think I can risk freezing to death for the next four months while I wait to see if you’re right.”
He opened the wine and poured her a glass while she made herself comfy on the pile of bedding. Hmm. She’d not been in the cottage five minutes and already she was snuggling up in Luke Dawson’s duvet. Pure coincidence? Or was he a smooth operator who’d been planning this carefully?
“Hope you don’t mind the bedding,” Luke said, settling down next to Issie and handing her a glass of Chablis. “I tried moving the old sofa through, but when I heard scrabbling coming from it I decided to give that idea a miss.”
Issie’s nose wrinkled. “Mice, probably. The house smells a bit fusty. How come you rented it?”
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