‘Hi,’ she said, shielding her eyes from the sun. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
He grinned. ‘I know – total shock, right?’ Still smiling, he turned to Gina’s grandmother. ‘Good morning, Mrs Ferrelli.’
‘Oh please, call me Elena,’ she said, returning his smile. ‘We are all friends now.’
Ben nodded. ‘Okay – good morning, Elena. Enjoyable session?’
Gina felt her cheeks begin to grow warm; she hoped he hadn’t seen her humiliating tumbles into the sand. But there was nothing in his expression except interest – no hidden spark of amusement.
‘Of course,’ Elena replied. ‘Yoga is good for the mind as well as the body.’
‘You’ll get no argument from me,’ Ben said easily. ‘Most of the surfers I know practise yoga – balance is something you need plenty of when you’re surfing. In fact, they even do yoga on stand-up paddle boards over at Newquay harbour – me and the guys sometimes go.’ He glanced at Gina. ‘You should come along next time.’
She laughed. ‘Not a chance – remember what happened the last time I let you talk me into getting on a surfboard?’
She’d belly-flopped into the sea, aged fifteen, in front of what felt like every surfer on the Cornish scene and had vowed never to set foot on a board again. ‘Come on, Gina, that was sixteen years ago,’ Ben said, his lips quirking. ‘We were just kids. You’ll be much better now.’
‘Don’t count on it,’ Gina muttered under her breath.
Elena’s eyes gleamed. ‘You should go. It will be good for you.’
There was a mischievous twinkle behind her smile and Gina couldn’t tell whether her grandmother was picturing her falling into the sea or trying to force her into spending more time with Ben; either was possible.
‘No,’ she said firmly.
‘I could give you a surf lesson or two beforehand,’ Ben suggested.
‘If you don’t think Max would mind,’ Elena cut in.
If only you knew, Gina thought ruefully. It wasn’t as though she wanted to go surfing, and yet Nonna’s comment had riled her a little; Max didn’t tell her what she could and couldn’t do and she didn’t like the implication that he did. ‘It’s got nothing to do with him.’
Elena raised her eyebrows. ‘Then you are afraid.’
‘I’m not afraid,’ Gina said, staring in exasperation. ‘I don’t want to, that’s all. Surfing isn’t my thing.’
‘If you are too scared to fail then you will never grow,’ Elena said with a faintly dismissive sniff.
‘I’m not afraid to fail,’ Gina said, stung. She turned to Ben. ‘All right, you’re on. Tell me where and when and I’ll be there.’
He looked back and forth between her and Elena, then shrugged. ‘Okay. I know a little bay not far from here – the waves don’t get very high so it’s not popular with other surfers. How about seven o’clock tomorrow morning?’
Aware of her grandmother’s doubting gaze, Gina raised her chin. ‘Fine. You’ll need to lend me a board, though. And a wetsuit.’
‘Leave it with me,’ he said. ‘I’ll pick you up just before seven, if that’s okay?’
‘Perfect,’ Gina said. ‘See you then.’
As she turned to walk away, she saw Ben and Elena exchange a conspiratorial look. Was it her imagination or did her grandmother actually wink? What had she let herself in for?
Ferdie seemed unsurprised when Gina described her suspected entrapment at the beach. He leaned back against a stool in the dairy, crutches resting against the stainless-steel work top, and shook his head.
‘Your grandmother is a wonderful woman but I often think she missed her true calling,’ he said. ‘Still, MI5’s loss is our gain and it’s not as though you won’t enjoy the lesson.’
The idea of Elena as a spy caused the last vestiges of Gina’s irritation to melt away; she could picture her petite, raven-haired grandmother telling all the other operatives what to do and feeding them biscotti. She stirred the vast saucepan of vanilla custard and sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘Speaking of enjoyment, what are you doing next Monday afternoon?’
Gina summoned up a mental image of her diary. ‘Nothing much. Why?’
Ferdie fixed her with a thoughtful look. ‘There’s a shop to let on the harbour in Newquay. I thought we could take a look together.’
‘A shop?’ Gina said, almost dropping her spoon. Nonno was famously resistant to any kind of change – why did he want to look at a shop? ‘Okay – who are you and what have you done with my grandfather?’
‘Ferrelli’s is doing well so it seems like good business sense to think about expanding,’ he said, shrugging. ‘But it’s just an idea.’
It was an excellent idea, Gina thought, and one Nonna had been encouraging for years. But no one had ever expected Ferdie to agree, let alone take steps to make it happen. ‘I’d love to come,’ she said. ‘As long as I survive the surf lesson tomorrow.’
He smiled. ‘You’d better. We have a large order of Triple Chocolate Delight to deliver by the end of this week.’
Gina started to stir the custard again and gave a wry shake of her head. ‘I’m glad you’ve got your priorities straight, Nonno.’
Corlyn Cove was less than a twenty-minute drive from Mawgan Porth. The sun was still low in the sky when Ben and Gina arrived, bathing the tops of the surrounding cliffs in a golden glow and causing the ocean to twinkle as though it was spread with a million tiny lights.
The bay itself was half-shadowed as Gina waded into the shallows in her borrowed wetsuit.
‘The trick is to start small,’ Ben said once the water was over their knees. He laid his surfboard flat on the gently lapping waves. ‘Hop on and get used to paddling around.’
Gina did as she was told. She lay flat on the board, feeling it rise and fall with the tide, and tried not to remember the last time she’d attempted surfing. She’d been too impatient to bother with this stage back then; she’d wanted to stand up and ride the waves like Ben did and she’d refused to listen when he’d told her to take things slowly. It wasn’t a mistake she intended to make again.
‘Now use your hands to move further out,’ he instructed. ‘The tide will try to push you back to the shore so you’ll need to be stronger.’
Gina quelled a sudden flutter of anxiety. Cupping her hands, she dipped them into the sea and paddled. The tip of the board rose as she crested each small wave and it felt as though she was going backwards faster than she could push forwards. Gritting her teeth, she paddled harder.
‘I’m not going to need a gym session after this,’ she said, as her arm muscles started to burn.
‘No,’ Ben replied. ‘It’s a surprisingly good workout. Okay, that’s far enough. Now turn the board around and let the tide carry you back to the shore.’
Using one hand, she turned and was gratified to see how much distance she’d covered; the shore was a good twenty metres away. But the next moment, the board was caught by a wave that carried her back to the shallows. She slid to a graceful halt as it ground smoothly against the sand.
‘Good work,’ Ben said, splashing back to her. ‘Let’s try that again.’
They repeated the same actions several times, and Gina realised with a jolt that she’d forgotten to feel anxious; in fact, she was enjoying herself. Ben was a good teacher – patient and calming. She was in safe hands with him.
‘Ready to take things up a notch?’ he asked, looking pleased with her progress.
‘What do you mean?’ she said warily.
He grinned. ‘Don’t look so panicky – I’m not going to make you flip a 180 just yet. But you could try kneeling on the board if you want to.’
Gina scanned the beach – it was empty. There was no one there to watch her fall off. She swallowed. ‘Okay.’
Ben showed her what to do. Instead of staying flat on her stomach as she rode the board back to shore, she needed to kneel up as soon as she’d turned it around. Her fingers turned white with the eff
ort of clinging to the board but she managed it and the rush of satisfaction when she stayed on was immense.
‘All right!’ Ben said, wading through the shallows to join her. ‘That was great. How are you feeling?’
‘Good!’ she said, beaming at him. ‘I can see why you love this so much.’
His eyes sparkled. ‘Wait until you grab your first air. Then you’ll really be hooked.’
‘Let’s not get carried away,’ Gina said, laughing. ‘I can’t even stand up at the moment.’
She practised kneeling on the board until she felt steady enough to leave her hands flat against the board’s surface instead of gripping the sides. She was almost disappointed when Ben told her it was time to call it a day. ‘The wind is getting up,’ he said, pointing to the white-tipped waves rolling in from further out to sea. ‘You don’t want to get out of your depth.’
‘But I haven’t even stood up on the board,’ she objected.
He smiled. ‘Well, I’m hoping we can save that for another day. If you’re up for another lesson, that is?’
Pushing her disappointment away, Gina nodded. She wasn’t sure whether it was Ben’s expert guidance or the adrenaline rush from riding the waves, however modestly, but she was really starting to understand the appeal of surfing. ‘This has been fun. I’m in.’
Ben looked pleased. ‘Good. And well done – you’re a much better student than you used to be.’
She slid from the board and stood beside him in the shallows. ‘Or maybe you’re a better teacher,’ she teased, smiling up at him.
His eyes flickered with something unreadable. ‘Maybe we’ve both changed.’
They stood gazing at each other for a moment, then a wave buffeted their legs, causing them both to sway. ‘Time to go and dry off,’ Ben said, reaching past Gina to lift his board from the water.
She hadn’t taken more than a few steps when she felt something rough underfoot. An agonising pain shot through the sole of her foot. She staggered on until she reached shallower waters and then sank to the sand to examine it. Red blossomed from an inch-long graze.
‘What’s wrong?’ Ben asked, frowning. His eyes widened when he saw the blood. ‘You’re hurt.’
Gina winced as she prodded the injury. ‘I think I trod on a rock.’
He dropped his surfboard on the sand and knelt to examine her foot. ‘Ouch, that’s a nasty laceration.’ He cupped his hand into the sea and trickled water over the wound. ‘But it looks fairly clean – I can’t see any sand or grit caught underneath.’
She tried not to blanch at the strips of shredded skin dangling from the rest of her foot. ‘It bloody well hurts.’
Ben looked up, sympathy etched on his face. ‘Believe me, I know. Most surfers have feet like leather but I’ve still had plenty of cuts and grazes in the past. We should get you some painkillers and bandage this up – the salt water will be numbing some of the pain but it’s no substitute for ibuprofen.’
Nodding, Gina forced herself to stand up.
‘Here, let me help,’ Ben said, holding out his arm for her to grip. She took it and balanced on one leg, the toes of her hurt foot resting on the ground. ‘Ready?’
‘Ready,’ Gina replied, grimacing as she took a step and her weight shifted onto the injured leg. Fresh blood oozed onto the sand. ‘Ow. Ow ow ow.’
They stopped. Ben scanned the beach ahead of them, as though judging the distance to his van. ‘This isn’t going to work – it’s too far.’ He hesitated then glanced sideways at her. ‘I could carry you.’
It was such a ridiculous suggestion that Gina let out a short, incredulous bark of laughter. ‘No, you really couldn’t. Not unless you want to put your back out.’
Ben tilted his head, assessing her. ‘You’re tiny, Gina. I don’t think my back is in any danger.’
‘You only think I’m thin,’ she said. ‘I’ve been eating Nonna’s cooking for four months – trust me, I am not tiny.’
He bent down to examine her foot once more. Blood dripped from her toes. ‘I don’t think we’ve got much choice. I don’t have a first-aid kit in the van so I can’t bandage it here and you can’t walk.’ His mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘You’re also polluting the beach a bit.’
He had a point, Gina thought, a cold dose of reality washing over her; there wasn’t much choice. She almost groaned at the idea of being lugged like a sack of potatoes up the beach. It was going to be even more embarrassing than the last time she’d tried surfing. ‘But your board –’ she began, launching one final protest.
‘I’ll come back for it,’ Ben said reasonably. ‘And I promise not to drop you.’
Gina stared at him, wishing a giant wave would come and swallow her up. Eventually, she managed a reluctant nod. ‘Okay.’
Bending, he slid one arm beneath her arms and slipped the other around the back of her legs. ‘You’ll – uh – need to put your arms around my neck.’
Oh God, he was right. Hoping her cheeks weren’t burning as much as she thought they were, Gina did as he suggested. Seconds later, he’d swept her easily off the ground. ‘All right?’ he asked, glancing down at her.
‘Fine,’ she said, dying a little at the squeak in her voice as he started to walk. It was a scene straight out of a romantic movie, she thought as her heart thudded in her chest at the thought – An Officer and a Gentleman or From Here to Eternity. Except that Ben was her oldest friend, not a romantic hero. And she most definitely was not a luminous leading lady.
It was the first time in her adult life that she’d been entirely lifted off her feet by someone else and she was surprised by how effortless Ben made it seem. She’d expected him to tire quickly but instead he strode easily up the beach, his arms encircling her, and she never felt even the tiniest wobble. If this was a film, she’d rest her head against his shoulder, she thought, and her muscles tensed at the thought.
‘Everything okay?’ Ben asked, picking up on her tension. ‘Am I hurting you?’
She looked up. His summer-blue eyes were filled with concern. ‘No,’ she said, her heart beating faster. ‘Not at all.’
He smiled. She waited until he’d looked away to close her eyes. Being in Ben’s arms was awakening all kinds of feelings she’d fought hard to suppress since returning to Polwhipple. If she lifted her hands, she could stroke the fine blond hair at the base of his neck. If she reached up higher, she could pull his head to meet hers in a kiss. Her eyes snapped open as she struggled to banish the idea. He’d almost certainly drop her if she did that. And all of Max’s suspicions would have been proved right.
She was both relieved and sorry when they reached the van and he lowered her carefully to the ground. Wincing, she tried not to put any weight on her foot; the throbbing pain seemed to have doubled now that she was standing up again.
‘Here, sit down,’ Ben said, pulling the van door open and spreading a towel over the seat. ‘There’s not much room for you to keep your leg elevated but at least you don’t live miles away. Unless you’d rather we went to the Minor Injuries clinic in Newquay?’
Gina shook her head; she didn’t want to waste anyone’s time, least of all Ben’s. ‘It looks worse than it is,’ she said, lifting her legs carefully into the passenger seat foot-well. ‘A plaster and some painkillers will sort me out.’
Ben glanced at the wounded foot, which she’d lifted so that it rested on top of her other knee. ‘I think it’s going to need more than a plaster. Have you got a first-aid kit at home?’
She nodded, easing the hand-towel she’d brought under her foot. ‘I think so.’
‘First order of business is to get you home,’ he said, reaching for the door to close it. ‘We’ll worry about everything else afterwards.’
Chapter Three
It wasn’t until they pulled up outside Gina’s apartment block that she started to consider how she was going to get to her second-floor flat. There was no lift, just four flights of stairs to be negotiated.
Ben saw her worried expression a
nd followed her gaze to the door. ‘I could always carry you again,’ he offered.
Wrapping the hand-towel firmly around the injury, Gina shook her head. ‘The stairs are too narrow.’
He grinned. ‘Piggy-back?’
‘I’ll walk, thanks,’ she replied, laughing. ‘Or take it one step at a time on my bum if I have to.’
She’d almost forgotten they were both still in their wetsuits; when Ben appeared to open the van door she got an eyeful of well-defined ab muscles sculpted in black neoprene. She blinked and looked hurriedly down, which reminded her that she hadn’t changed either. She knew none of her neighbours would bat an eyelid – the block was filled with holiday lets and she’d seen plenty of surfers come and go, tempted by the proximity to Mawgan Porth beach. Most of them had put their wetsuits on before leaving their apartments; it saved them leaving clothes on the beach where they might go missing.
‘Take it slowly,’ Ben said once he’d pulled back the passenger side door. He offered her an arm. ‘Lean on me.’
They made their way into the block. Gina clenched her teeth and tried not to grip Ben’s arm as she hobbled along; who knew a graze could hurt so much? By the time they’d reached the stairs, more blood had started to seep through the hand-towel.
‘Piggy-back,’ Ben instructed. ‘No arguments. The more you walk on that foot, the more damage you’re going to do.’
Gina folded her arms. ‘I’m not five. You are not giving me a piggy-back.’
‘Climb up a couple of steps,’ he said, pointing at the staircase. ‘It’ll be easier for you to get on.’
‘I’m not getting on,’ she insisted. ‘Like I said, I’ll go up on my bottom.’
She sat down and started to push her way up the stairs but stopped when the pain made her cry out.
Ben fixed her with a sympathetic gaze. ‘Look, I know it’s not glamorous, but we need to get you upstairs somehow and no one ever needs to know.’ He made a cross over his heart. ‘I promise I’ll take the secret to my grave – surfers’ honour.’
The Picture House by the Sea Page 27
