Summer Loves

by Georgia Hill

  Summer Loves

  Millie Vanilla’s Cupcake Café, Book Two

  GEORGIA HILL

  A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  HarperImpulse an imprint of

  HarperCollinsPublishers

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017

  Copyright © Georgia Hill 2017

  Cover images © Shutterstock.com

  Cover design by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

  Georgia Hill asserts the moral right to

  be identified as the author of this work

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International

  and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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  Ebook Edition © June 2017 ISBN: 9780008211073

  Version 2017-04-27

  To the people and town of Lyme Regis, Dorset. Thank you for the fabulous holidays.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Acknowledgements

  Keep Reading …

  About the Author

  About HarperImpulse

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  April was a beautiful month in Berecombe. As Millie walked an excited cockapoo across the deserted beach she could feel the early morning sun on her face and a sea breeze lifting her hair, lilting and gentle. It was a most glorious morning and something she used to take great pleasure in. She threw Trevor’s tennis ball, shading her eyes to see where it bounced on the hard, flat sand. A movement on the harbour wall caught her attention. A figure stood there. Tall and masculine. Millie’s heart faltered. She screwed up her eyes to see better but he was just a silhouette against the morning light. It couldn’t be Jed, could it? It had been weeks since he’d left Berecombe. Since she’d angrily sent him away. Trevor skidded to a halt beside her and jumped up, tennis ball in mouth, eager for her to continue the game. Bending down, she took the ball from him and threw it. When she looked towards land again, the figure on the harbour had disappeared.

  Of course it hadn’t been Jed. Why would he come back to Berecombe? With a heavy heart, Millie turned to return to the café. She had the Yummy Mummies and the WI Knitting Circle coming in this morning, so would be busy. Last night she’d slaved over getting a batch of Battenberg cakes ready and still wasn’t happy with them. She was finished if her baking was going off-kilter, she mused, as she trudged over the softer sand near the prom. It was almost as if the kitchen sensed her mood. Ever since Jed left, part of her heart had gone too. She couldn’t seem to throw herself into things with the same enthusiasm. Even her baking was something to be done more as a chore rather than a pleasure. Jed would have loved the Battenberg. She stamped the sand off her feet, exasperated at how her thoughts kept circling back to him.

  She unlocked the café door and inhaled the familiar sweet smells. Forcing herself to think positively, she grinned down at a sand-covered dog. ‘At least Dora is back in town, though, eh Trevor?’ Going through to the kitchen to switch on the kettle, she called back, feeling a little more cheerful, ‘And life’s never boring with Dora around!’

  Chapter 2

  If one more person pulled her duck’s tail or made one more lewd remark about ‘little duckies’ Dora would seriously lose it. She tugged at her escaping tights and waddled through the White Bear’s public bar, rattling her money tin. ‘Buy a number for the duck race,’ she called. ‘Raise some money for a good cause.’ She’d have serious words with Millie later. How the hell did she get roped into this? It was little more than ritual humiliation.

  ‘Oi oi,’ called a man in a lecherous voice. ‘What have we got here?’

  What got into these men? It was barely nine o’clock. Had she been away from her home town so long she’d forgotten all about these riotous Friday night drinking sessions? No, alcohol alone couldn’t excuse their behaviour; it must be the duck outfit that got them going. Male hormones obviously went into overdrive at the sight of a woman dressed in yellow feathers and red tights.

  Dora adjusted her duck head to peer down at her latest assailant. He reached out and pulled her tail hard.

  ‘That’s enough,’ she yelled. ‘I’ve had enough. You can buy a duck for that.’ She held out her money box as a demand for payment. And swore. Hard.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘They’re a pound a duck.’

  ‘I don’t see any ducks,’ he sniggered. ‘Apart from you.’

  ‘No,’ Dora explained, for what seemed the thousandth time that evening. ‘You buy a number and then come along to the river tomorrow afternoon. All the ducks will have a number on them. We set them off and if yours wins, you get a prize.’

  ‘What’s the prize? You?’

  Dora was having difficulty containing her temper. Her feet hurt, her head was sweaty from wearing the ridiculous duck headdress and she wanted to go home. Why was it such hard work separating people from their money? It was only a measly pound.

  ‘You get a fifty-pound voucher to spend at Millie Vanilla’s, the café on the front.’

  ‘So tell me again why I’ve got to buy a duck?’

  ‘I think the idea is it raises money,’ another voice interjected. ‘For the Arts Workshop. Am I right?’

  Dora froze. She knew that voice.

  With difficulty, she turned her head to the left. The drunk man had a friend. A man who was sitting next to him and who had been screened out of her sightline b
y her ridiculous duck head.

  Shock reverberated through her. It was him.

  It was not the way she wanted to bump into the guy she’d fallen so hopelessly in love with in sixth form. Whose heart she had broken when her parents had insisted that Berecombe’s bad boy wasn’t good enough for her. The years spent acting in the States vaporised. She was seventeen again.

  Mikey Love.

  Still with that gypsy-dark hair, although it was now threaded through with silver and not quite so unruly. Still with those wicked blue eyes and the grin that made you go weak at the knees and completely at his mercy. Whatever that involved. Sheer charisma. She’d never met a man with as much, even in the torrid world of American television. She hadn’t seen him for years. Since leaving Berecombe. Had never set eyes on him again. Until this moment.

  ‘Someone up there must really have it in for me,’ she muttered, the yellow felt headdress muffling her words.

  Someone really had got it in for her. Millie and Tessa chose that moment to catch up with her. They’d obviously been treated to a drink and had given up all thought of fund- raising. Both held a glass of white in one hand, their duck head in the other. Deeply uncool, seeing as it was Tessa’s Arts Workshop they were raising money for.

  Her bad temper was affecting her judgement. It seemed she was wrong.

  ‘Ooh, laters, babes,’ Tessa cooed. ‘Just spotted Dennis. A local councillor should be good to cough up a few bob.’ She made her way through the crowded bar, cheerfully batting off the stares and wolf-whistles.

  Dora could admire the woman’s self-confidence, even if she found her loud voice grating. They must breed them tough in Birmingham.

  Millie came up to her with a kind smile. ‘Just sold my last number. What’s been holding you up?’

  Dora glared at her through the yellow. ‘Maybe you weren’t being molested all night,’ she hissed. ‘My legs will be black and blue after this.’

  ‘Oh I know, my lovely,’ Millie sympathised. ‘Me too. Swiped more than one bloke with a wing and then guilted them into buying a duck. How many tickets have you got left?’ she asked. ‘I’ll take a few and sell them for you. Actually,’ she reconsidered. ‘You know your trouble? You’re getting all hot and bothered. Take your head off.’ Without warning, Millie yanked off Dora’s headdress, leaving her marooned like a headless chicken, or rather duck. If anything, Dora now felt even more of a fool. At least, with her outfit complete, she made sense. Now, with an enormous yellow body out of all proportion to her head, she knew she must look ludicrous. What was more, with red hair and pale skin, Dora did not do heat in any way that was attractive. She knew perfectly well her face was scarlet and shiny with sweat and her hair flattened and greasy-looking. She scrunched up her eyes, waiting for the inevitable and tried to brave it out. With any luck, in this state she might be unrecognisable.

  ‘Dora!’

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Oh my God. It is isn’t it? It’s Dora Bartlett. Or should I say Theodora Bart?’ Mike sounded amused. ‘You’ve learned to swear in a very unladylike way since you left school.’

  ‘Oh my,’ said his friend. ‘Now we can see what the filly looks like. Or should I say duckling?’ He roared at his feeble joke.

  ‘That’s enough, Phil.’ Mikey stood up. ‘Forgive him, he’s had a bit too much to drink.’

  ‘Well, I had to try the cider now I’m in the West Country,’ Phil protested and turned to someone. Dora heard a very female giggle.

  She opened one eye to see Mikey staring at her. Oh, how she remembered those naughty blue eyes. What the hell was he even doing here? The last thing she’d heard, he was working in London.

  ‘Hello Mikey,’ she managed eventually. How could he still make her legs go weak, her insides churn around in the most delightfully revolting fashion, just as he had when she’d been seventeen and in his thrall.

  He came closer, or as close as the fat feathery costume allowed. ‘Hello Dora. It’s lovely to see you again,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Isn’t it,’ she mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.

  Millie, her eyes on stalks, interrupted. ‘Mikey, wow! Whatever are you doing back in Berecombe?’

  ‘Back working in the Regent,’ he said, naming Berecombe’s little theatre on the sea front. ‘Putting on Persuasion as a fund-raiser for it. The old place is looking a bit sad. Needed some cash input, so thought I’d help.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Millie continued. ‘You’ve made quite a name for yourself, haven’t you? Directing or something. Up in London.’

  ‘I’ve had some success.’ The modest words belied his tone.

  He’d always been so sure of himself, Dora thought. Some said brave, bearing in mind his background. Some said cocky. It depended on your point of view.

  ‘How nice.’ She couldn’t keep the edge from her voice. She hated being wrong-footed like this. If she’d thought, coming back here, she’d bump into him, she would have gone to her villa in Siena. But something had called her back to Berecombe and, besides, her parents had been due a visit. If fate engineered a meeting with Michael Love, then Dora would infinitely have preferred it to be when she was looking at her best. In control. The very image of the successful actress.

  Millie was completely star-struck, however. She’d always had a soft spot for Mikey when they were all at school together. ‘Ooh lovely, one of my favourites. I love Persuasion. When’s it on?’

  ‘Later in the summer. Early days yet, we haven’t even cast it.’ Mikey directed his words to Millie, but his eyes were fixed on Dora.

  ‘Are you Theodora Bart? It is, isn’t it? Oh. My. God.’ A Sloaney female voice. Very young. Very gushing.

  The evening just got worse. A fan.

  The woman Dora had heard giggling with Cider Phil stood up and joined them.

  ‘I absolutely love you in The English Woman. I literally can’t wait for the next series. When’s it due out?’

  Dora tried to pin on a gracious smile but was desperate to get away. The duck costume was making her claustrophobic, her red tights were far too big and threatening to fall down and she couldn’t bear Mikey’s gaze. ‘Thank you,’ she said in cool tones. ‘I’m afraid I’m not sure about the next series.’

  ‘This is Kirstie Fielding, my first assistant director,’ Mikey explained. ‘And one of your biggest fans.’

  ‘I’ll say,’ Kirstie went on. ‘When I found out you and Mike came from the same town, went to school together, even, I was literally so thrilled. And I can’t believe I’ve met you! And in a duck costume too! I’ve just got to get a selfie with you.’

  ‘Phil and Kirstie?’ Millie laughed, thankfully interrupting. ‘Really?’ She turned to Mikey. ‘And you’re no longer Mikey?’

  He gave a regretful look. ‘Dropped the ‘y’ when I left Berecombe. We all need to reinvent ourselves, occasionally, don’t we?’

  He left the words hanging but Dora knew his inference. Panicking, she clutched at straws. ‘Look, I’m so sorry but we have to go. I’ve still got a ton of ducks to sell.’ As Kirstie got her phone out, she put up her hand. ‘No really, no pictures. The fund-raising isn’t about me. It’s about the Workshop.’

  ‘No doubt we’ll bump into each other again, Dora.’

  ‘I’m sure we will Mikey. I mean Mike.’ She grabbed Millie’s arm in a vice-like grip, but before they could escape Millie rattled Dora’s tin at Mike.

  ‘How many have you left?’ he asked.

  ‘Twenty-five.’ Dora said it as a challenge, sticking her chin out. ‘Pound a duck.’

  The challenge was accepted. ‘I’ll take them all,’ Mike said, with a defiant gleam in his eyes.

  Dora peeled off the last numbers from the sheet, took his money and, with barely a thank you, steered Millie away. She shoved her unceremoniously through the crowd to the door. As they left they heard Kirstie’s Made in Chelsea tones complaining that you should never meet your heroes as they always disappoint.

  Chapter 3

  ‘How could you show
me up in front of him, of all people?’ Dora fell onto the sofa in Millie’s flat.

  ‘Who?’ Millie dropped her duck head with a relieved sigh. ‘Ooh, it’s been a long night. My feet are killing me. No, Trevor, she warned as the cockapoo nosed it with interest.’

  ‘Mikey Love, that’s who. Or maybe we ought to call him Mike now.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s definitely more a Mike now he’s all grown up and gorgeous. Mind you, he was gorgeous at school too.’ Millie’s voice was dreamy. ‘All the girls had a crush on Michael Love, although I seem to remember he only had eyes for one girl.’ Getting up, she went into the kitchen and foraged in the fridge. Brandishing a bottle of white and two glasses, she added, ‘Think we’ve earned this. Tessa was really grateful we helped out.’

  ‘So she should be.’

  Millie poured the wine. ‘Why are you so cross?’

  ‘Those men! They treated us like shit.’

  ‘All in good fun. Millie shrugged. ‘They didn’t mean any harm. You just need to elbow them where it hurts.’

  ‘Is it always like this on a Friday night now?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘So much drinking.’

  ‘Think you’re a bit out of touch with us commoners,’ Millie observed. ‘Maybe you’ve lived in LA for too long? It was just ordinary Friday night banter.’ She passed over a glass. ‘Here, have some of this.’

  Dora sipped her wine and tried not to grimace. It wasn’t the smooth white Californian she was used to. Maybe she had been in the LA bubble for too long? After all, when was the last time she’d been out without a protective entourage? Granted, it was more necessary in the States as she had a bigger fan base there. Putting her wine down, she slipped out of the duck costume, kicked off the horrible tights and lay spread-eagled on the sofa in only her underwear. ‘Oh, that’s better,’ she sighed, feeling better immediately.