The Final Seduction

by Sharon Kendrick

  She walked until she was pink-cheeked and glowing and told herself that she was free to explore where she wanted—and that if her path took her through the sand-dunes and past the old coastguard’s cottage, then so be it. Drew might own half the Westward but he didn’t own the beach yet!

  As she approached, she thought that it was a little like childhood in reverse. Instead of being smaller than she remembered, the cottage looked about twice the size, and closer inspection soon showed her why. It was twice the size, but the extensions had been so carefully constructed that the entire building somehow retained that look of being there for centuries. Clever, she thought grudgingly. Very clever.

  It was long and low and whitewashed, and the window frames were all painted a deep delphinium-blue. The garden was beautiful—with tall, billowing grasses and the blue-green blur of lavender bushes which blended so well with the landscape. The pale frothy flowerheads of hydrangeas blew gently in the sea breeze and she could see small, silver-leaved plants and the maroon fronds of a Tamarix.

  But there was no sign of Drew.

  She told herself that she was relieved not to have seen him as she walked slowly back to the village centre and pushed open the door of the general store. And she told herself that again as she looked around her appreciatively.

  The shop had been deliberately designed to look as though you were stepping back in time—to a time when provisions were wholesome and processed foods rare. Except that it now sold olive oil from Tuscany, which was comparable to the fruity blend she used to buy in her local market in Italy! On the floor were great sacks of coffee beans, filling the air with their dark, bitter scent—along with all kinds of dried mushrooms, and boxes of exotically flavoured biscuits. And bread which looked hand-baked, and cheeses from local farmhouses—not the tasteless blocks she had been used to as a child, which had looked like soap and tasted like soap!

  The man who served her was called Charlie Palmer, and he chattered away and told her that he owned the shop. He looked about thirty-five, and wore the wedding ring and comfortable smile of the happily married. He filled up three boxes with all the basic foodstuffs she needed, then added fresh eggs and some organic meat which he had talked her into buying.

  ‘Oh, heavens!’ groaned Shelley, wondering how she was going to carry everything home. ‘I’ve bought more than I meant to! And I haven’t even started on my fruit and veg yet!’

  ‘I trust you’re buying them next door, and not from the out-of-town superstore?’ He gave her a humorous frown.

  ‘Oh, I am! Definitely!’

  ‘Well, if you bring it all in here, I can deliver later, when I shut up shop.’

  She smiled at him. ‘That would be wonderful! And very kind of you.’

  He smiled back. ‘It’s a calculated kindness. That sort of service gets me custom. People don’t mind paying a little bit more if they get the personal touch—and who in their right mind would want to do their shopping in a place the size of an aircraft hanger?’ He pulled a face. ‘Where do you live?’

  She told him.

  ‘Next door to Jennie Glover?’

  Shelley nodded. ‘That’s right. Do you know her?’

  ‘My wife does. We’ve got a baby the same age as Ellie. And, of course, I know her brother.’

  ‘Do you?’ asked Shelley casually.

  ‘Yeah—I supply coffee and chocolate to the hotel.’ He grinned. ‘Oh, and Drew thrashes me at tennis occasionally, too!’

  ‘Really?’ Shelley decided to risk it. ‘I didn’t know that Drew played tennis?’

  Did she detect a twinkle in Charlie’s eyes? Was he, as his sister had once been, familiar with women asking him sneaky little questions about Drew?

  ‘He only took it up a couple of years ago, apparently—and he’s sickeningly good!’ He wrapped a piece of cheese in greaseproof paper and looked up. ‘Friend of yours, is he?’

  Shelley spoke from the heart as she remembered the harsh way he had left her, and the bitterness of his parting words. ‘Oh, no! No.’ She saw Charlie looking at her as if she were slightly deranged. Or lying. ‘Not buddy-buddy, not really. I just knew him way-back-when.’

  ‘You grew up round here, then?’

  ‘That’s right. I’ve just…’ She hesitated, having no desire to tell this man, however nice, her whole life story up until now. ‘Come home,’ she said simply.

  She spent the next week in a flurry of activity, pruning the hedges at the front of the house and cleaning out all the cupboards inside. The garden at the back needed very little attention—thanks, she realised, with an odd little beat of her heart, to Drew. She stared out of the window at the Michaelmas daisies which were the exact colour of the curtains of the Lilac suite, and sighed.

  She was persuaded by Jennie to go down to the boatyard at Milmouth Waters to see Jamie hard at work. And to see the boat which he was desperate to buy.

  Shelley had grown up by the sea, and recognised a beauty of a vessel when she saw one. Inside the cavernous interior of the boatyard, the Misty Morn was strong and hunky and yet elegant, too. True, she had been allowed to run down into a state of disrepair, but there was nothing that lots of hard work and love wouldn’t cure.

  She spotted Gerald O’Rourke straightening some rigging, the unlit butt of a cigarette clamped between his lips. He had been working round boats at Milmouth since the beginning of time—or so it seemed.

  Shelley waited until Jennie had gone to chat to Jamie and give him a pack of sandwiches before she wandered over to speak to Gerald.

  ‘Jamie seems to like boats,’ she observed.

  Gerald shot her a shrewd look. ‘You an investor these days, then?’

  She looked at him in surprise. ‘No. Why d’you ask?’

  He squinted his rheumy old eyes. ‘He needs one, that’s why. Wants to buy the Misty Morn, and she won’t wait for ever.’

  ‘But is he any good?’ Shelley found herself asking.

  ‘Hardest-working lad I’ve ever known,’ said Gerald, shrugging.

  So Drew was simply being stubborn about the money, was he? Shelley screwed up her nose in disgust, before reminding herself that it was none of her business. None.

  She took the car to the large cathedral town of Southchester further up the coast, and bought tins of bright paints and brushes with a definite air of excitement. Giving the house a brand-new look would not only cheer her up in the short term, it should prove useful if she did decide to sell up.

  She came back loaded with bags of shopping, including a pair of regular blue denims and a few cotton slouch sweaters which she’d actually bought in colours, having decided that maybe it was the time to stop wearing only neutrals. Here, against the sea-fresh atmosphere of Milmouth, the greys and blacks she had worn in Italy now seemed dull and self-limiting! And she had forgotten just how much she loved wearing blue!

  She was out in her front garden planting spring bulbs in a large terracotta tub one morning, when Jennie came out of her front door and leaned over the fence.

  ‘I haven’t seen you all week!’ she accused.

  ‘Well, I’ve been here.’

  ‘Why didn’t you pop in?’

  Shelley shook her head, and pulled a face. ‘I’d hate you to think that I was the neighbour from hell—looming up on the doorstep every time you wanted a quiet five minutes!’

  ‘Oh, come on! You know very well I wouldn’t mind.’ Jennie gave her a searching look. ‘Is it because of Drew?’

  Shelley’s heart blipped. ‘Is what because of Drew?’

  ‘Is that why you won’t come round? Because the two of you can’t seem to make your minds up whether you want to kill one another or kiss one another.’

  ‘But Drew doesn’t live there, does he?’ Shelley brushed some compost off her nose with the tip of her thumb.

  ‘No, he doesn’t! And please don’t forget that!’ Jennie seemed about to say something else, but looked down at the bulbs instead. ‘They’ll look lovely in spring.’

  ‘I hop
e so.’ She wondered whether she would be here to see them flower, or whether the reality of seeing Drew living his life without her would be too much to tolerate. ‘My mother loved these tiny daffodils.’

  Jennie nodded. ‘I know she did. Um, Shelley—’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘You know you said you’d babysit for me some time?’

  Shelley smiled. ‘When do you want me?’

  ‘Is tonight too short notice?’

  ‘I’ve not exactly been snowed under with offers of dates! I’d be happy to. Where are you going—somewhere special?’

  Jennie ran her hand through untidy hair which was badly in need of a wash. ‘Jamie wants to take me out dancing—and we haven’t done that since the baby was born!’

  ‘Mmm! Sounds promising. What time?’

  ‘He’s coming round about eight.’

  ‘Well, why don’t I come over earlier—say about seven? Then I can help get the baby to bed, while you glam yourself up.’

  Jennie started blinking rapidly. ‘I don’t know how to thank you.’

  ‘Hey! It’s nothing—honestly.’ Shelley’s voice was soft. ‘You’re just at the mercy of those wretched hormones again, aren’t you?’

  When she arrived at Jennie’s, the place was in chaos— Ellie was screaming and there was a strong smell of burning—while Jennie herself was looking red-faced and panicky.

  ‘I left a pot of banana custard in the saucepan and forgot to turn it off! It would happen tonight—of all nights! And Ellie won’t stop crying!’ she moaned. ‘I can’t possibly leave her!’

  ‘Nonsense; of course you can!’ said Shelley smoothly, and gave the baby a delicate little sniff. ‘She needs changing, for starters, so I’ll do that first. Has she eaten?’

  ‘Just. Well, I tried—but she wouldn’t take much.’

  ‘Right.’ She looked Jennie up and down with an appraising eye. ‘Have you had a bath yet?’

  ‘No.’ Jennie shook her head. ‘And I don’t know if there’s going to be enough time—’

  ‘Oh, yes there is!’ interrupted Shelley firmly, not meaning to be overly critical, but thinking that this was what friends were for. And only Jennie’s worst enemy would let her go out without washing her hair! ‘Listen, I’ll clean Ellie up and then bath her in the kitchen sink, while you have a shower. And make sure you wash your hair. Spend as long as you like getting ready—I can look after Ellie.’

  ‘You’re very confident around babies,’ Jennie observed, stooping to pick up a rattle.

  ‘Well, Marco had a lot of nephews and nieces and we often went to visit them,’ explained Shelley, realising that Jennie was longing to ask her more. ‘Go on! Leave that!’ she grinned. ‘Go and make yourself beautiful for him!’

  Jamie was late. Not very—just by ten minutes—but Shelley was irritated. Lateness was a power thing, especially if the occasion was important—Marco had told her that.

  When she’d seen him down at the boatyard, he had been showing off his body in a pair of jeans and a singlet, but tonight he was dressed up to go out. And he really was spectacularly good-looking, she thought.

  He had been attractive as a schoolboy, but now he had blossomed into a real head-turner, with an over-long tumble of blond curls and tanned skin—and teeth which were so perfect that they could have been a set of dentures!

  He was also an incorrigible flirt and his baby-blue eyes widened like a cat’s when Shelley opened the door to him.

  Then he made a great show of rubbing his fists against his eyes before looking at her again. ‘Have I died and gone to heaven?’ he said.

  ‘The first part can easily be arranged!’ she retorted. ‘Though I wouldn’t count on heaven as your destination!’

  He laughed. ‘You’re so pretty.’

  ‘No, I’m Shelley!’

  He followed her inside. ‘I didn’t get a chance to speak to you when you came down to the yard. But I know who you are—your reputation goes before you.’

  She turned around. ‘Oh? From school, you mean?’

  ‘No. As the only woman who has ever walked away from dearest Drew.’ He said the name as though he didn’t like the owner of it very much. ‘And I can’t think of anyone more deserving!’

  She didn’t want to talk about Drew with anyone—least of all with Jamie. ‘Do you want to go and see Ellie?’ she suggested. ‘I can tell Jennie you’re here.’

  ‘I can tell her myself,’ he said easily. ‘Is she in the bedroom?’

  Shelley had learnt many things in Italy—and one of them was that a woman should always maintain a certain air of mystery. Which roughly translated meant that it would be better for a woman to run naked in the streets than shave her armpits in front of the man she loved! She also suspected, from the slightly decadent look on Jamie’s face, that he would take great pleasure in going upstairs to make love to Jennie, knowing that someone might be downstairs, listening.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll tell her you’re here,’ she asserted firmly.

  Jenny was sitting in front of the mirror, about to apply a coat of livid crimson lipstick, when Shelley walked into the room.

  ‘Don’t!’ she yelled.

  ‘Don’t what?’ Jennie paused. ‘What is it?’

  Shelley snatched the lipstick out of her fingers and substituted it with a subtle pink sheen she had seen on the dressing table. ‘Try this instead,’ she suggested. ‘It’ll go with your dress and it’s more subtle. Oh, and Jamie’s here—’

  Jennie sprang to her feet. ‘Great!’

  ‘Make him wait,’ said Shelley, sitting her back down again, thinking it ironic that she knew exactly how to keep a man interested. And yet wouldn’t dare try any of these ruses on Drew… ‘While I blow-dry your hair for you.’

  Jamie looked suitably impressed when Jennie swung into the room in a cloud of scent, her hair all glossy and neat and providing a perfect contrast to the short black dress she wore, with a sugar-pink cardigan.

  She smiled shyly at Jamie, then turned to Shelley. ‘There are phone numbers in the book,’ she said. ‘The doctor and Drew—both helpfully filed under “D”—but God forbid you need the former!’

  Or the latter, thought Shelley, but didn’t say anything.

  ‘You look great, babe!’ Jamie murmured in Jennie’s ear as Shelley closed the door behind them.

  And, while Shelley felt delighted at the glowy-eyed looks the two of them were sending to each other, a sense of her own loneliness hit her very hard.

  She went upstairs to settle Ellie and found her tossing restlessly in her cot. She seemed a little hotter than she had done earlier. Mind you, the room was quite warm. But that was one good thing about these little houses—they had brilliant insulation!

  Shelley took the blanket out of the cot, turned on the musical mobile, and, leaving the door open, she slipped out of the room and went downstairs to make some coffee.

  But Ellie wouldn’t settle. Shelley kept checking on her whenever she made a squeak. And when she resumed a particularly miserable grizzling she went upstairs and found her lying on her stomach with her little bottom in the air, making a miserable whimpering sound.

  ‘What’s the matter, kitten?’ Shelley whispered to her, echoing her uncle’s favourite pet name.

  Ellie whimpered.

  Shelley carefully snapped the poppers on the sleepsuit and took it off, leaving her wearing just a little vest and nappy. But the baby started to wail loudly, and Shelley scooped her up out of the cot, startled to discover how much hotter she felt in her arms. Her little vest was soaked.

  Oh, Lord—did she have a raging temperature, or was she just hot from crying?

  Shelley carried her downstairs to the sitting room, cradling her over her shoulder. And the baby was violently sick all over her sweatshirt.

  Shelley bit down the panic which rose inside her. She liked babies. She was good with babies. But well babies. Babies who cooed and gurgled and splashed around in the bath a bit and then went to sleep.

  Not babi
es who were hot and bad-tempered and who had just deposited the entire contents of their stomach all over you.

  She could…what?

  Gingerly strip off her top before she bathed the baby? Except that she didn’t want to put her down—not even for a moment.

  Or bath the baby first? But then the baby would get all smelly again when Shelley picked her up in her own soiled clothes. And she was too little to sit up in the bath on her own. Besides which—what if she turned out to be seriously ill? How would she cope then? She wasn’t a single mother—she didn’t have to struggle on her own. She could pick up that phone right now and Uncle Drew would come haring over to help.

  And it wasn’t fair to make the baby suffer, simply because she and Drew weren’t speaking. Was it?

  With one hand on the baby, she punched out his number.

  She thought he sounded sleepy when he answered. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Drew?’

  ‘Shelley?’ Did she imagine the wary note which had crept into his voice? ‘What’s happened?’

  At least he had the sense to know that she would only be calling him in an emergency. ‘Jennie’s gone out with Jamie and I’m looking after Ellie, only she’s sick—’

  ‘Sick?’ He fired out the question rapidly and she could hear someone in the background talking to him. ‘How sick?’

  ‘I don’t know! She’s vomited all over me, and I don’t know whether it’s just an upset stomach, or whether—’

  ‘Stay right there!’ he barked. ‘I’m on my way over!’

  She wasn’t going anywhere! She hugged the baby to her with sheer relief. Because of all the men in all the world who she would choose to cope with any kind of emergency she knew exactly who would be her number one choice. ‘Drew’s coming,’ she whispered against Ellie’s clammy cheek.

  She calculated that it would take him ten minutes at the earliest to scramble up the pebbly beach and into his car, and to drive over here.