by Fiona Harper
He looked again.
Yep, it was a great idea. Mike even had that same little scar on his lip…
‘Jake!’
The flat of her hand hit him hard on the shoulder. Instinctively, he stamped on the brake pedal, suddenly noticing the brake lights of the car in front were a little too close for comfort. He forgot to put his foot back on the accelerator and looked into the back seat.
‘You’re Michael Dove.’
Serena groaned. He looked across at her. The car behind tooted its horn.
‘You’re Michael Dove’s daughter.’
She looked back at him, her brows knit together.
‘I know. Funnily enough, I have been all my life.’
Great! He was going to go all starry-eyed on her. Just when she’d thought she’d found a possible candidate for Mr Serendipity Dove.
Men responded in very different ways to the news that her father was a rock legend, but the outcome was always the same. It was the kiss of death. Whether they pretended not to care, or decided to use the relationship to further their own careers, it changed things for ever.
She looked across at Jake. He was very quiet.
‘But I thought Michael Dove’s daughter was called something freaky, like Stardust or Moonbeam.’
A voice yelled from the back seat, ‘Moonbeam, my—’
‘Dad!’
‘But Mr Three-piece-suit here thinks your name is ridiculous.’
Jake shook his head. ‘There’s nothing ridiculous about being called Serena. I was just saying—’
Serena groaned again. Which was not good. It was a seriously unattractive noise, but she couldn’t stop herself. Earlier this afternoon she’d been a woman of mystery: exotic, alluring…Now Jake could find all the intimate details of her life just by picking up a tabloid newspaper.
‘Who’s Serena?’ her dad muttered.
Jake leant across the gap between their seats and whispered, ‘He must be in worse shape than he looks.’
I wish!
At least then her dad would pass out and save her from any further embarrassment. When she got home she was going to empty every bottle of spirits in their Chelsea townhouse down the kitchen sink. Including the one he kept in his guitar case he thought she didn’t know about. And the whisky that was hidden in a wellington boot beside the back door.
Her father continued to mumble from the rear of the car, more to himself than for the benefit of the other passengers.
‘Elaine named her…she was so thrilled—we thought we couldn’t have kids. Then fortune smiled on us…’
If there was an ejector seat in Jake’s BMW, she was praying fervently it would shoot her through the roof this very second.
‘There’s nothing wrong with Serendipity. It’s a beautiful name. Moonbeam. I ask you…’
Jake coughed. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You heard!’ she snapped.
There was a crinkle in his voice when he spoke next. She could tell he was holding back a snort of laughter, but, give him credit, he managed to arrest it by swallowing hard.
‘It seems you were a little economical with your name, Miss Dove.’
‘Yes, well, so were you, Charles!’
‘Let’s just call it quits and agree we are creatures of a similar nature.’
She allowed herself a small smile.
‘Maybe.’
She turned to look at her father. He was fast asleep, mouth hanging open, threatening to dribble on Benny’s shoulder if the car swung him in the right direction. Once again he was oblivious to the upheaval he’d created in her life. But it was hard to be cross with him. There was something so child-like about him. He didn’t mean to cause trouble; he just couldn’t help himself. It was as natural as breathing for him.
She closed her eyes and settled back into the comfy leather seat, letting the endless stopping and starting of the car journey lull her into a more relaxed frame of mind.
Later, after they’d bundled Dad into the house and up to his room, and Jake had made his excuses and left, she sat at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of tea between her hands and wondered if she’d ever see him again.
She thought perhaps not.
CHAPTER THREE
SERENA stared out across the London skyline in an effort to distract herself from the fact that very soon her bottom was going to be frozen to the wooden slats of the park bench. The bench’s position on the brow of a hill offered little protection from the wind, even though it circled a towering sycamore.
‘It’s lovely here. What a view.’
Jake smiled and offered her a plate full of goodies from the picnic basket balancing between them. ‘A favourite haunt of mine when I was younger.’
‘Did you live close by?’
‘Not too far.’
She could imagine him living in Blackheath, the exclusive area south of where they now sat in Greenwich Park. Blackheath itself was a mile-wide expanse of flat grass, its only vertical feature the razor-sharp spire of All Saints’ church. Along the fringes of the heath were creamy Georgian villas, and she could easily imagine a young Jake bounding out of one of them each morning—grey shorts, school cap, laces undone.
‘You can see it from here, actually,’ he said.
She stared hard, but couldn’t work out where he was pointing. The houses were too blurry and indistinct at this distance.
‘You’re looking in the wrong place.’ He put an arm round her shoulder and nudged her so she faced more to the west. ‘You can’t miss it. See the three tower blocks?’
‘Beyond them?’
‘No, in them. I used to live in the one on the far right. Fourteenth floor.’
She turned to look him in the eye. ‘Really?’
‘I could see this park from my bedroom window. A beautiful patch of green surrounded by pollution and concrete.’
She laughed. ‘Very poetic.’
‘Shh! You’ll ruin my tough businessman image.’
‘I’m not sure you’re as tough as you look, Charlie.’
He gave her a sideways look. ‘Why do you keep calling me that?’
‘I don’t know. It just seems to pop out of my mouth. It must suit you.’
His jaw hardened. ‘I prefer Jake.’
‘But it’s not your real name.’
‘Ah! So I get to use your given name as well, do I?’
‘Good point. Jake it is.’ She leaned back and looked up into the leafless branches above. ‘Didn’t you have a garden where you lived? Not even a shared one?’
She could hear him fiddling with the strap of the picnic basket. ‘Do we have to do the childhood memories bit?’
‘It’s only fair. Even though I’m not famous myself, I’m related to someone who is, and that’s good enough for the celebrity-hungry media. You could probably type my name into a search engine and find out what I had for breakfast last Wednesday.’
‘I can think of better ways of finding out what you like for breakfast.’ The edge in his voice was pure wickedness.
She rolled the back of her head against the tree trunk until she could see him. ‘Nice try, but you’re not going to throw me off track. I just want to know a little more about you. It’s hardly a crime.’
‘I normally get away with that kind of tactic.’ He grinned, willing her to take the diversion he offered.
‘I bet you do.’
His expression grew more serious. ‘You’re right. It’s not a crime. I’m used to fluffing over the details my childhood. Some of my clients would faint if they thought a council estate yob was looking after their millions.’
Serena looked him up and down. How anyone could ever think of him as a yob was beyond her. Six-foot-something of pure elegance was standing right in front of her, from his cashmere coat to his hand-made shoes.
‘There were hardly any trees on the estate, so I used to come here on the weekends—on days when the prospect of school was just too bleak.’
She picked up her plate—china
, no less—and pinched a stuffed vine leaf between thumb and forefinger. Jake was staring at his old home, his eyes glazed with memories.
‘I’d sit on this very bench and plot and plan my escape from the tower blocks. I’d watch the rest of the city going about its business and dream I could become a part of it one day.’
‘Is that why you got into accounting?’ She gave him a lazy smile. ‘All that rabid excitement?’
‘Ha, ha. Don’t bother going down the all-accountants-are-boring route. I’ve heard all the jokes a million times. Anyway, at first I didn’t want to be an accountant. I knew I needed money to get away from the estate, so I decided I’d better learn how to look after it properly. I got a job at a local accounting firm when I left school and it grew from there. Pretty soon I knew I’d found my niche, so I took the tests and worked hard until I qualified.’
‘It sounds like you were very dedicated.’
‘I wanted to get my mum away from there. She deserved something more than that.’
‘I’ve heard those accounting exams are really difficult.’ She sighed. ‘I’ve never stuck at anything like that. We were always moving around too much. Dad was either on tour, or recording in some far-flung place.’
‘What did you do about school?’
‘Well, up until I was eleven or so my mum home-schooled me. My primary education was unconventional, to say the very least. By the time I was ten I knew all about trees and crystals and the constellations, but I was a little lacking in the maths and science department.’ She struck a pose. ‘But I was very good at improvisational dance and mime.’
Jake gave her another one of his heart-melting smiles.
‘What happened after that?’
‘Mum got ill and I was sent away to boarding school.’
His eyebrows lifted. ‘I can’t really see you in a starched school uniform, having midnight feasts with Lady Cynthia.’
‘If only! Have you heard of Foster’s Educational Centre in the West Country?’
He shook his head.
‘One of the Sunday magazines did a feature on it a few months ago—I thought you might have seen it. Anyway, it’s one of those so-called progressive schools, all fashionable psychology and no common sense. Complete nuthouse, if you ask me.’ She winked at him. ‘Needless to say, I didn’t fit in.’
‘No! Of course not. The thought never crossed my mind.’
‘Actually, I’m not joking. The other kids laughed at me because they thought I was weird after my mum’s special brand of education. And, since the teachers believed that expressing negative energy was important to our emotional development, it wasn’t hard for the other kids to find ways to torment me if they wanted to. Which they did. I was fresh meat.’
‘Ouch!’
‘I left as soon as I could, and fled back to Dad. He’d just come out of rehab for his drug addiction. I’m assuming you know about that; it’s pretty much common knowledge. He spent a few years living too fast and hard after my Mum died of cancer. He needed me home as much as I needed to get away.’
‘What about a career?’
She snorted. ‘Looking after Dad is a full-time job, believe me! I’ve been Dad’s manager for the past five years. Consider me a personal assistant, troubleshooter and babysitter all rolled into one. The band don’t do as much as they used to, but it can be pretty hectic at times.’
Jake handed her a glass of champagne. ‘What would you do if you could do anything? Travel?’
She took a small sip and shook her head. ‘No, not travel. My life has been nomadic enough. Something completely different.’
‘Run away with the circus?’
She smiled at him and said nothing. It wouldn’t do to reveal her real desires for the future. Announcing that your greatest wish was to become a wife and mother was like a starter’s pistol for some men, and she wasn’t ready to see this one disappearing in a cloud of dust.
Jake ticked all the right boxes: stable job, successful enough not to be after her dad’s money, thoughtful, charming—the list was endless.
He put one hundred per cent commitment into all he did, and everything he did was first class. Just look at this hamper of picnic food from London’s most exclusive department store. No ham sandwiches wrapped in an empty bread bag here.
But something inside her longed for ham sandwiches, lemonade, and children running down the hill with jam on their faces and grass stains on their knees.
She’d had enough champagne to fill a lifetime. It had lost its sparkle for her. Probably because she’d seen her father drink enough for two or three lifetimes. She’d been pushing him to get help for his drinking, and, although he denied it furiously, she thought he was almost ready to go back to rehab. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about. Dad was the only family she’d got, and she was hanging onto him. Tight. Just entertaining any negative thoughts in that direction made her shudder.
‘Cold?’
‘A little.’
Jake put a protective arm round her and she leaned back on him. They said nothing more as they ate the last morsels of their picnic, but she took great care not to give Jake an opportunity to move away. The kind of heat he was generating had absolutely nothing to do with layers of jumpers and wool coats, and everything to do with the man inside them. If only she could hibernate like this, huddled up to him, until spring. It was wonderful to let someone else do the caring, just for a little bit.
When they had finished, Jake picked up the basket and offered a hand to help her up. Such a gentleman! He didn’t release her hand when they started to walk down the path, and she didn’t want him to. Even without the tickle of electricity that crept up her arm, the simple gesture of human contact felt good. It had been too long since she’d held hands with anyone.
They passed the Royal Observatory and took the little railed path that crossed the hill beneath it. Jake refused to release her hand as they negotiated the kissing gate there. It took quite a while before they untangled themselves enough to pass through. She had more than a sneaking suspicion that Jake had been deliberately clumsy with the hamper, just to keep them squashed up together while they swung the gate open in the confined space.
Once free of the gate, she was going to walk on, but Jake stopped moving and her arm tugged taut. She glanced back at him, puzzled.
He looked down at their feet and she followed suit. A brass strip was embedded in the tarmac, symbolising the point where the Greenwich meridian dissected not only the path, but the city. Jake hadn’t crossed it, and they stood facing each other, as if at a threshold.
‘Zero degrees longitude,’ he said, looking deep into her eyes. ‘A place of beginnings.’
If Jake thought today was only a beginning, it meant there was more to come. She couldn’t stop her mouth from curling at the thought. ‘Don’t you think this is a bit surreal? We’re standing so close, but we’re in different hemispheres.’
‘We’re not that close.’ He dropped the picnic basket by his side and took hold of her other hand. ‘We could be closer.’ In demonstration, he tugged her towards him so the fronts of their coats met and her eyes were level with his chin. She could feel his breath at her hairline. If she tipped her chin up just a notch his lips would be so close.
The heat of a blush stained her cheeks. No one had ever made her feel this way. The only point of contact was their fingers, yet her pulse galloped like a runaway horse.
‘Still feeling strange?’ he whispered into her hair.
‘I think it’s worse, if anything.’ She swallowed hard, and raised her eyes to meet his. They were impossibly blue beneath his dark brows, and he wasn’t smiling any longer. Deep in his eyes she saw a flicker of something previously hidden. Beneath the smooth-talking, city-slicker image, this was a good man, with a good heart.
His voice was warm on her cheek. ‘A few more millimetres and we could really set the world spinning on its axis.’
‘That was really cheesy,’ she whispered back.
Sti
ll, it didn’t stop her eyelids fluttering closed as his lips made the achingly slow journey to hers. In the moment just before they touched, she trembled uncontrollably.
It was everything a first kiss should be. Soft, sweet, full of promise. Never mind about separate hemispheres, they seemed to be the only two people on the planet. She clung to him and buried her fingers in his thick hair—the way she’d been longing to ever since their lives had collided in the rush hour traffic only a few days ago.
His palms cupped her face and his fingers stroked her jaw.
Never had she been kissed like this. It had never been anything more than a clashing of lips and teeth with the drifters she’d gone out with when she had been younger, and stupid enough to believe they could fill the empty spaces in her heart. Kissing Jake was so different. The sensation travelled from her lips right into her very soul.
Too soon he pulled away, tugged her crocheted hat a little more firmly onto her head, and led her down the path towards his car. All she could focus on for the rest of the afternoon was when—please, let it be when, not if—the next kiss was coming.
If Cassie had been any more desperate for information, she’d have been dribbling.
‘I want to hear all the gory details.’
‘I’m pretending I don’t know what you’re talking about, Cass. Absolutely nothing about my love-life could ever be described as “gory”.’
‘Not even the crash-and-burn flings of the past?’
‘Yes…well…That was then—this is now.’ She gave what she hoped was a superior look. ‘I have evolved.’
Cassie grinned and shuffled a little closer. ‘Come on, girlfriend. How’s it going with the hot-shot accountant?’
‘You know, Cass, a vicar’s wife can definitely not pull off a word like “girlfriend”.’
‘Not even one with funky pink hair and a nose-stud?’
She smiled. Cassie was the most unconventional minister’s wife you could hope to see. Her short baby pink hair stuck up every which way, and she had four holes in each ear and one in her nose. ‘Not even close, darling.’
