[Escape 01.0] Escape for the Summer

by Ruth Saberton

  “I’ll do it,” she said quickly. “Thanks, for the offer.”

  Triumph flared in those shark’s eyes. “Great. I’ll let my caterers know to expect you at about four tomorrow.” Her gaze flickered up and down Andi’s body and her lip curled. “Wear something smart, though, won’t you?”

  “Sure.” Andi thought she’d have to borrow something from Angel, although heaven only knew what she’d find in her sister’s overflowing wardrobe. Angel wasn’t big on sensible clothes and she didn’t think Jax would appreciate her serving nibbles all TOWIEd up in a catsuit or bandage dress. Maybe she could belt in a pair of Gemma’s black trousers?

  Satisfied that she’d managed to put Andi well and truly in her place, Jax turned her full attention back to Jonty. She beamed a dazzling white smile up at him.

  “Now, I think you and I need to catch up properly,” she said firmly. “And probably better that we do that alone, don’t you think? Although, I’m happy to chat here, if you like?”

  Jonty said nothing. Even Mel was silent. Andi looked from one sibling to the other, and felt more at sea than the boats beyond Rock. Why didn’t they just tell Jax to get lost?

  Maybe, said the annoying little voice, because Jonty doesn’t really want to tell her that?

  “We’ll leave you in peace to get on with your work,” Mel said finally when it became clear that her brother wasn’t about to speak. She jangled her car keys. “I’m popping into town to get some bits for our barbecue later, so feel free to use the house, Jonty.”

  “Or come to mine? We can be alone there,” Jax suggested. Andi was impressed. This woman really was the Velcro of the relationship world. “Shall we?”

  “I’ll catch you later?” Jonty said to Andi. “For that boat trip?”

  But Andi wasn’t going to get herself caught up in whatever was going on with him. Lovely as Jonty was, he was clearly a guy with big issues. She had enough of her own crap to deal with.

  She shook her head. “Actually, I have a few things I need to do tonight. I’ll catch you another time.”

  Jonty stared at her. The expression on his face was hard to read.

  “Fine,” he said eventually. “Another time.”

  Andi watched as he and Jax crossed the lawn back to the pool house. They were talking in low urgent voices and Jax had threaded her arm through his. Feeling like Cinderella, she returned to her work, but the figures refused to cooperate, jumping about all over the page and sticking numerical tongues out at her just when she thought she had cracked it. It was hopeless. Instead of lines of numbers and calculations, all she could think about was Jax winding those slim arms around Jonty’s neck and twining her way back into his affections, tenacious and determined as bindweed. She sighed and pushed her work away. The woman was gorgeous, rich and clearly crazy about him. They had history too and it must have worked once between them, so why not again? If Jonty had wanted to, he could have told Jax to leave – but he hadn’t. They were probably in the pool house and making up right now.

  Andi pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes until stars danced across her vision, but still the image of Jax and Jonty remained. What was happening to her? Was this some kind of weird delayed reaction to the trauma of the early summer?

  When the new pay-as-you-go mobile that Simon had pressed on her beeped with a message, it was the welcome distraction she needed. Today’s hours at Ocean View were going to have to be made up tomorrow. Unlocking the phone’s screen, Andi was taken aback to find a text from none other than Travis Chumley, asking her out to dinner. He’d been pestering for days and Angel must have passed her number on, which was typical – her sister never took no for an answer.

  Andi checked her watch. It was almost noon. The sun was out, the town was bustling and she’d decided to give up on work for the day. Jonty was with Jax, Gemma was out and Angel was heaven only knew where with Laurence. Nobody else wanted to spend time with her, it seemed, so why not go for dinner with a keen if dim multimillionaire? At least Travis didn’t just see her as somebody to do the sums, scrub the dishes and pass the time until his glamorous ex arrived back on the scene. Travis wanted to spend time with her.

  She took a deep breath. OK, pick me up at 7, she typed. For a moment her thumb hovered over the green send key. If this were Jonty, would she hesitate? The answer to that was pretty obvious.

  But it wasn’t Jonty, was it? And never would be. He was preoccupied with Jax.

  Oh, sod it, thought Andi. It was only dinner. What harm could it do?

  Her thumb swooped down and hit the send key. There. It was done. For better or for worse, she was going on a date with Travis.

  Chapter 35

  “That’s it, that’s fecking it. I have had enough of this. It’s a fecking joke.”

  Cal’s foot pressed down hard on the gas and the Range Rover tore out of the car park and towards the A30. Gemma had barely time to shut the passenger door and buckle up before the tyres were smoking on the asphalt and the speedometer was hitting sixty. The A-Team had nothing on an upset Callum South.

  “Are you all right?” he asked as the car shot onto the main road and picked up even more speed. Gemma grabbed the seat and clung on for grim death as they hurtled past the startled holidaymakers in their luggage-laden cars.

  “Shit.” Cal said. “I can’t believe this.”

  Gemma couldn’t find the breath to reply. Cal was much fitter than he gave himself credit for; he’d raced out of McDonald’s so fast that she’d only kept up because of his fingers locking with hers and pulling her after him. At one point she’d thought the joints were going to pop, so insistent was his tugging of her from the restaurant and towards the car. So all she could do for the moment was nod and try to slow her racing heartbeat; there was no way she could speak.

  “Jaysus, what a nightmare.” Cal exhaled slowly, relaxing a little as they put a few miles between themselves and McDonald’s. “That’s probably the last straw for me. Those pictures will be all over Twitter by now. Mike will freak and ITV2 will probably pull the plug. Leopard TV will sue my sorry arse.”

  Gemma felt terrible. “Cal, I’m so sorry.”

  “This isn’t your fault,” Cal said. “Sure, and wasn’t it my idea to go for a burger? It was hardly as though you forced me. Anyway, I loved every mouthful. What’s the point of it all if you can’t even have a Maccy D’s?”

  “But your image! The show!” Gemma could have wept. She knew how hard Cal had worked to promote his career and just how much he needed the money. That it could all be swept away just because they’d fancied a Big Mac seemed terribly unfair. “And what will Mike say?”

  “That I’m a fecking eejit, probably, and he’s right,” Cal admitted. “But, Gemma, can you see what it’s like for me? I don’t think I can handle living like this much longer. I’m going to have to either get my eating under control or give up the telly.”

  “Your eating is under control,” said Gemma hotly. “Cal, you’re a six-foot man. You have to eat! What’s screwing it up is constantly having to analyse and control it. That’s enough to drive anyone round the twist. I should know.”

  Cal nodded. “But you don’t depend on your weight for your living, Gemma. You have a talent. You can act – no don’t pretend you can’t,” he added when she opened her mouth to protest. “I’ve seen you in rehearsals and you’re brilliant. Thin or fat, you will always have your talent – whereas me? I blew it going on the piss and tripping up. The only thing I’m famous for now is my weight and my action sports. That’s why I have to keep playing this game. I’m stuck.”

  “So do something else,” Gemma said. She knew as she said it that she was being a total hypocrite. After all, hadn’t she had this very conversation with Angel and Andi at least ten times? “What else are you good at?”

  Cal gave her his slow and cheeky grin and Gemma felt her heart somersault. All the excess flesh couldn’t disguise the pure sexiness of his smile and the glitter in his brown eyes. Oh God, it would be so easy to fa
ll for him…

  “Apart from that,” she admonished, her cheeks hot – and not from the afternoon sunshine.

  “Spoilsport! OK then, eating?” he said.

  “That’s what’s got us into this mess,” she pointed out dryly.

  “Fair enough.” Cal turned off towards Padstow. His brow crinkled with concentration. Then, suddenly animated, he cried, “Baking bread! I’m bloody brilliant at that!”

  “That’s great, Cal, but I think Mother’s Pride probably have it covered.”

  “Not white bread, you heathen. Proper artisan bread. Hey! Why don’t we stop off at Tesco, buy the ingredients and I’ll show you? My sun-dried tomato and Parmesan loaf is to die for.”

  He looked so happy at this idea that Gemma’s kind heart nearly broke. “Because, Cal, I don’t think Mike will be up for the idea of a bread-baking marathon when you arrive back. He’ll be wanting to do all kinds of damage limitation and PR work. You’ll probably have to run a half marathon with Emily or something.”

  “Jaysus, take me now,” said Cal, and thumped his head on the steering wheel. “I know! Maybe Richard and Judy could meet me at Talland and I could do an interview with them and talk about my food issues? A confessional exclusive? Maybe I could write a book too and they could put it in their book club?” He brightened at the thought. “And Richard’s a great cook. He does this brilliant tuna and crisp bake.”

  But Gemma was too busy scrolling through Twitter to be interested in A-list cuisine. Already Cal was trending and blurry pictures of them both ramming fries and thickshakes down their necks were all over Instagram and Facebook. God, did she really have that many chins? And how come Angel and Andi had never let her know that her legs looked so awful in these denim cut-offs? Weren’t friends supposed to tell you stuff like that?

  She was seriously going on a diet. At some point.

  They continued to drive back to Rock in despairing silence. Gemma looked miserably out of the window as the Cornish countryside sped by in a blur of khaki scrub and crumbling mine workings. Although it was another beautiful sunny day, she didn’t think she’d ever felt more miserable. What was it about her that everything she tried to do always ended in tears? She only wanted to make everyone happy. If she’d left Cal in peace none of this would have happened.

  “You OK?” Cal asked, reaching across and squeezing her hand.

  Gemma was about to reply but at that very second Cal’s mobile started to ring. In his car everything was Bluetoothed to the stereo (which was safer than the illegal tucked-under-the-chin technique she usually employed in the Beetle), and the name Mike now came flashing up across the dash in accusing neon-blue letters. Cal and Gemma stared at each other guiltily as the call went through to answerphone.

  “I’d better listen to that,” Cal sighed afterwards. “I’ll pop it on loudspeaker; then you can hear me get a bollocking. Share my pain.”

  Gemma grimaced. She wasn’t convinced pain was her thing, but before she could protest, Cal was playing back the message.

  “Cal! Why aren’t you picking up the phone? I know you’re there,” barked Mike.

  There was a pause and then Cal’s manager said wearily, “Look, ignore me if you have to, but I’m telling you, bud, this isn’t going away. I’ve just had a call from the network. Apparently you’re all over the social media sites stuffing burgers down your neck. Well done, mate. Sheer genius. I’ll have to really grovel to get a good PR team to take this one on. And who was the big bird? Was it the one with the cake? Gemma something? That’s what I’ve seen on Facebook.”

  Big Bird. Not something yellow and fun from Sesame Street, but her. The words hit Gemma like a slap. That was all she’d ever be to some people, wasn’t it? A body that was too heavy to fit what was deemed to be perfect. A joke.

  “Ignore him,” said Cal quickly when he caught sight of her stricken face. “The man’s a knob, so he is. You’re not fat: you’re voluptuous and gorgeous.”

  At this point Gemma’s iPhone decided to join in the debate by pinging into life with a text message. When she saw that it was from Chloe, Gemma nearly hurled her Mac lunch all over the luxurious cream leather seats. With a trembling thumb she unlocked the screen and retrieved the message. When she read it and all her worst fears came true, it was almost a relief. Either from hysteria or from the irony of being dumped for finally acquiring the media attention Chloe had been demanding, Gemma started to laugh.

  “What can possibly be funny at a time like this?” Cal asked.

  Gemma flung her phone onto the back seat and pushed her hair behind her ears. It was so weird, but now that the worst had happened – she was agentless and her acting career was in the trash can of life – it no longer felt like such a big deal. So Chloe didn’t want to represent her anymore? What had actually changed? She was still working with Dee, and next weekend she’d be headlining in the Rock Players’ production of Twelfth Night. She had the caravan to live in and friends who loved her. All that had changed was that she no longer had to put up with somebody who didn’t accept her as she was, didn’t support her, and made her feel like crap. This was something to celebrate!

  “My agent just let me go,” she told Cal, who instantly looked mortified.

  “Aw feck, this is all my fault. If you hadn’t been papped with me, she’d have never known you hadn’t got down to a size zero.”

  “Cal, look at me! I’m not designed to be a size zero! Chloe knows I can act and she should have seen beyond that and pushed me towards what I’m actually good at. But no, it was easier to try and cram me into the mould rather than look outside it.” She took a deep breath. “And do you know what? If she doesn’t like me for how I am then I’m better off without her. So I might not be a famous actress but at least I can enjoy myself and live my life.”

  He whistled. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

  She nodded. “Totally. The worst has happened and do you know what? It wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d imagined. In fact quite the opposite. It’s liberating.”

  “Unlike going back in there,” said Cal bleakly, pointing towards his house, or rather where his house would be if they could actually see it for the hordes of people and press milling across the tarmac.

  “Bloody hell,” said Gemma. It was easy to forget at times just what a big star Cal really was. When they were shooting the breeze and hanging out he was just a regular guy. The fact that he was best mates with David Beckham and regularly partied with A-listers always came as a bit of a surprise.

  “Bloody hell indeed,” said Cal. “Well, that rules out the going home option.”

  He put his foot down and shot past the gates while Gemma crossed her fingers and prayed that nobody would notice the personalised number plates. For once luck was on her side: they were all far too busy trying to peer through.

  “Great.” Cal looked so downcast that it was all Gemma could do not to reach across and hug him. “Now what?”

  She smiled at him. “Now you drop me off at Tesco’s for ten minutes and then come back to the caravan while this all dies down. It’s nonsense, Cal! Look at it from the perspective of the real world. You ate a Big Mac. Nobody died.”

  “Just my career,” he muttered.

  “Not necessarily.” Gemma plucked her purse from her bag. Twenty quid. Great, Angel hadn’t been on a raid, so there was more than enough for what she needed. “I know exactly how to cheer you up.”

  Again Cal gave her that famous slow, sexy grin that made Gemma feel as though somebody had lit a furnace deep inside of her. Oh no. Not good.

  “Chocolate body paint?” he suggested.

  She sloshed him on the arm and hoped he couldn’t see that her sex drive was dancing a tango. The thought of Cal covering her in chocolate body paint and then licking it off very, very slowly was one that she’d have to save for another time. And she’d have to get a very big vat of body paint too.

  “Much better than that,” Gemma told him. “Callum South, prepare yourself. We are going to d
o some baking!”

  Chapter 36

  Earlier on that same morning, while Andi had already been at work for several hours and before Gemma and Cal had taken their ill-fated trip to McDonald’s, Angel had floated out of a heavy sleep and back into consciousness. For a moment she’d lain still, wondering what had happened to shut up the squabbling seagulls and Gemma’s endless obsession with Pirate FM. She felt less cramped too: her legs weren’t jammed against the melamine of the caravan wall for once, and she seemed to have acres of space. The tip of her nose that poked above the covers was frozen, though, and her fingers could have easily competed with anything from Captain Birds Eye. She yawned and rolled over, burrowing into the heavy blankets before colliding with a solid form: Laurence Elliott, Viscount Kenniston, Lord and master of a huge and crumbling mansion and, as it ironically turned out, as stony broke as she was.

  Yes, it was all coming back to her now. Gingerly, Angel reached out with her foot and, sure enough, her French-pedicured toes brushed against solid male calf. Laurence, fast asleep, reached out and pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tight against his chest. With his touch, Angel’s heart raced as memories of the previous night came rushing back like the Severn Bore. Angel had no idea that her body could do that. Finally she understood what Jackie Collins and Jilly Cooper had been going on about. Even Fifty Shades was starting to make a bit more sense. Penniless or not, she didn’t want to let Laurence Elliott go in a hurry!

  Angel had heard the expression “gobsmacked” before but until the moment Laurence confessed that he was pretty much penniless, she’d never really understood it. For a moment she simply couldn’t speak. What on earth did he mean, he had a cash-flow problem? But that was impossible! He was a viscount! He lived in a house that made Buckingham Palace look like a garden shed. He drove an Aston Martin. If this was a posh guy’s idea of being skint then bring it on.