So while Jonty went to brew some more builders’-style tea – he always made it so strong Andi was amazed the teaspoon didn’t salute her – she pored over the gutter press, her chin practically on the newsprint. Poor Gemma would be mortified when she saw the shots of her bottom! And as for Cal – well, the press were having a field day ripping him to shreds, which seemed a bit harsh when Travis was the one to blame for the entire incident. There was only a brief mention of the cockatiel-haired one (a line or two about him being the Moggy Mix Millionaire), and a blurry shot of Laurence, who was apparently one of Prince Harry’s party set – but there was nothing else of much real interest. Andi flicked through the pages, marvelling at how such a non-story had managed to attract so much attention. She supposed it was down to Cal being a household name. Everything he did generated huge publicity.
Andi just hoped that Gemma knew what she was getting herself into…
She was about to give up on the papers and enjoy basking in the sunshine when a headline caught her eye.
Ben J Teague, Safe T Net Founder, donates £20,000,000 to child vaccine charities
Andi leant forward, suddenly captivated. She knew that when Safe T Net had floated it had made a fortune, catapulting its CEO right to the top of the rich list, and even though she’d been ripped from the project in the worst fashion her interest in the company was still strong. Wow. Twenty million pounds. That was some donation. It made her weekly purchase of the Big Issue seem a bit puny. Maybe Aston Martin man wasn’t such a tosser after all? Intrigued, Andi read on, wondering what her old contact PMB would have made of this story.
Teague made a large charitable donation when he pledged £20 million to develop and distribute vaccines. The Safe T Net founder hopes the money, to be spent over the next three years through his new foundation, will save the lives of more than eight million children in the world’s poorest countries.
“We must make this the decade of vaccines,” Teague said. “Vaccines already save and improve millions of lives. Innovation will make it possible to save more children than ever before.”
Andi leant back and cradled her face in her hands thoughtfully. She couldn’t help comparing Benjamin Teague’s actions with those of Travis. Both were worth mind-blowing Monopoly-style silly sums, but whereas Travis spent his on toys, this Benjamin Teague seemed set on doing something worthwhile with his millions. If the work she had done had gone some way towards helping him do this, then she was proud to have been involved.
“What do you think?” Jonty asked, joining her. “Crazy headlines, huh?”
“Bonkers,” Andi agreed, nodding. “But to be honest, I wasn’t reading about that. This caught my eye.”
She turned the paper so that he could see the page she was reading.
“This guy who owns a company called Safe T Net has just donated millions to charity.”
“Right,” said Jonty. He didn’t sound particularly interested. Andi guessed it didn’t seem very relevant to him.
“I used to work for Safe T Net,” she explained when he didn’t respond. “I was part of a team that helped prepare the company for going public. I spent hours of my life emailing a team there, and I probably talked more to this guy, Project Manager B, than I did to my boyfriend.”
Tea slopped all over the newspaper and the story dissolved before her eyes.
Andi glanced up. Jonty was staring down at her and there was an expression in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. If she hadn’t known better, she would have said it was fear.
“Are you OK?” she asked.
Jonty swallowed. More tea splashed onto the table and, collecting himself, he put the mugs down slowly. Then he sat down next to her and sighed wearily. Running a hand through his hair – the short cut Mel had advised against was growing out and Andi liked the way curls were starting to brush his ears – he turned to her. He looked troubled.
“What’s the matter?” Andi asked.
Jonty exhaled slowly. “It’s complicated.”
She smiled. “You’re a man. Isn’t it always?”
But he didn’t smile back. Just as she was about to ask him what the matter was, a small van featuring a florist’s logo drew up at the gate. A door slammed and, seconds later, the most enormous bouquet of flowers was walking towards her. It looked as though Kew Gardens was holidaying in Rock.
“Somebody loves you!” announced the florist as he thrust the flowers at her. “Those are the most expensive ones we do!”
Andi opened the card and promptly screwed it up. Travis Chumley. What a surprise. As though a bunch of flowers could make up for nearly killing them all. She shook her head and placed the bouquet carefully on the grass. She didn’t want it or anything to do with Travis. Maybe Angel would like them? Or perhaps she could donate them to the hospital?
“Sorry,” she said to Jonty. “We got interrupted. What were you going to say?”
But Jonty didn’t seem to want to talk anymore. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does.” She reached out her hand to him. “We’re friends.”
He didn’t take her hand and for a moment it wavered in the air before, feeling foolish, she withdrew it. For once she couldn’t read the expression on his usually open face.
“I have to go,” he said in a strange flat voice that sounded nothing like him. “I’ll leave you to deal with those. Somebody obviously cares about you a great deal.”
And without even giving her the chance to explain, Jonty turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Andi staring after him in confusion. Hadn’t they been having a lovely morning? What, apart from the flowers arriving, had changed?
She pressed her forehead against the table and closed her eyes wearily. All of a sudden her head hurt.
Nothing made sense. What on earth could have happened to upset him so much? Jonty was proving harder to figure out than The Times crossword; he was certainly every bit as cryptic. She sighed and pushed her hair behind her ears. There was no time to sit and stress about it now though, however much she might want to; she was supposed to be working this morning and she was already running late. Although Simon was easy-going and probably knew all about yesterday’s trauma, Andi didn’t want to be unprofessional. Gathering up the mugs and plates, she headed back into the caravan to get herself ready for work.
Jonty and his issues, whatever they were, would just have to wait.
Chapter 32
Once the morning’s baking was completed Gemma often took herself off for an hour to get some fresh air and stretch her legs. Normally she would head into the town and down to the water’s edge, where she would kick off her shoes and walk along the beach, loving the sensation of damp sand against her feet and waves tickling her toes. Today though, Gemma decided she’d seen quite enough of the River Camel and the beach for a day or two. Whenever she moved her head, water sloshed around inside her ears. Not only that, but her throat was scratchy with the beginnings of a cold, so a change of scene was definitely in order. Besides, everyone in town was bound to have seen her bum, complete with more dimples than Cheryl Cole’s smile, all over the red tops – and Gemma didn’t think she could face the sniggers and sideways looks.
“Take the afternoon off and have some ‘me time’,” Dee said firmly, untying her own pinny and fixing Gemma with one of her looks. Gemma knew those looks; they said quite firmly that she wouldn’t be argued with. No wonder Dee had become such a force to be reckoned with in the corporate world. She was scary enough just wielding Cath Kidston oven gloves; in a suit she would be terrifying.
“I won’t take no for an answer either,” Dee continued, “or any of your protests about how much there is to do here.” Hanging her pinny up, she turned her attention to a battalion of scones lined up like a curranty army on wire cooling racks. “These are all ready for the National Trust to collect, and I can decorate the cakes quite happily. Your job is to help yourself to a pasty, go through some of those positive mantras we talked about, then go and sit somewhere quietly
to learn your lines.”
Gemma, who had been on the brink of protesting, paused. To be honest she could do with going over her lines before this evening’s rehearsal. The play was going exceptionally well and she loved every minute, but she really needed to nail tonight’s scene. The idea of returning to the caravan and hiding away with her copy of Twelfth Night was very appealing. Andi would be at work and Angel had gone away with Laurence, so if things had gone well, which they generally did for her best friend, Angel wouldn’t be back for a while. That meant that Gemma would have the caravan all to herself and plenty of time to mull over why Cal had jumped in to rescue her. Err… she meant to study the play. Promising Dee that she wouldn’t read another paper and would spend at least twenty minutes in front of the mirror doing her positive-thinking affirmations, Gemma set off for home.
It was a beautiful day and the sun was already hot. The small town thronged with holidaymakers, all intent on getting to the beach or onto the water; luckily for Gemma they were all headed in the opposite direction. Shouldering her bag and pulling out her tattered copy of the play, she set off along the street, eyes glued to the page and desperately trying to believe she was no longer in Rock but wandering through Illyria. With her hair falling over her face, sunglasses wedged firmly in place and her backside camouflaged by a long cardigan, Gemma was hopeful that nobody would recognise her. All she had to do was make it through the hordes surging along Rock Road, and then she could turn up the narrow lane that led past the golf course and head out of town to safety. If she got a few odd looks then hopefully it was because she was crashing into the tourists rather than because her arse was being recognised.
God, she thought as she charged through Rock with her eyes trained on her lines, why had she ever thought she wanted to be famous? Cal must be mad. This was no fun at all.
It was at this point, and almost as though she’d conjured him up, that a huge white Range Rover pulled up alongside her. A blacked-out window whirred down and Cal peered out at her. At least, she thought it was Cal; the huge baseball cap, scarf and dark glasses made it hard to tell. It could have been the danger stranger her mother had terrified her with for years. Instinctively she picked up pace.
“Gemma!” hissed Cal from behind several layers of scarf. “It’s me!” Leaning across, he flung open the passenger door and pulled down his scarf. “Quick! Hop in before anyone sees!”
Since they were in the middle of Rock, where the pavements were ten deep in tourists, it was probably already too late to worry about this, Gemma thought despairingly. Not that it was very likely that anyone would recognise the hat-and-scarf-swaddled driver, but the facts that these were in Dukes Rangers colours and that his number plate bore the legend CAL 1 were something of a giveaway. Glancing quickly over her shoulder just in case the paps were lurking by the ice-cream kiosk, Gemma took a flying leap into the Range Rover and huddled down into the seat. Cal slammed the door so hard her teeth rattled; then, with the wheels spinning in haste, he was tearing out of the town.
“You’ve seen the papers then – or are we just in a hurry to get lunch?” Gemma tried to joke, but the tight set of his lips told her that Cal wasn’t laughing. Instead, his brow was furrowed and his hands gripping the wheel were white-knuckled. Oh dear. Gemma supposed it was even worse for Cal than it was for her. So what if the whole nation knew she had a fat backside? It was embarrassing but hardly the end of the world, whereas Cal had built his entire career on being an action man. He practically had the swivelly eyes and grippy hands! His watery escapade didn’t exactly enhance his image.
“This is a nightmare,” he said.
Gemma sighed and stared bleakly down at her hands, still clutching the copy of Twelfth Night. “I’m so sorry, Cal.”
Cal shook his head. “I didn’t mean the press. That’s all bollocks. What I mean is this: the whole celebrity circus. Aw feck it, Gemma. I’ve had it.”
She bit her lip. “But if I hadn’t fallen off that bloody boat none of this would have happened.”
“None of this is your fault,” Cal said firmly. “So I was a total plank to try and save you when I can’t even swim that well myself, but I don’t regret that at all. I couldn’t have left you all alone in the water, could I?”
He couldn’t? Gemma’s heart soared to hear this and, glancing up, she saw he was looking sideways at her. Although the sunglasses hid his eyes, there was an expression on his face that she didn’t dare read in case she got it wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time. Gemma could translate Mandarin more easily than she could the workings of the male mind.
“In fact I forgot I can’t swim,” Cal confessed. “I just wanted to help.”
Help. Of course. He was a kind person. Thank God she hadn’t let herself think it could have been for any other reason. She exhaled slowly. “Well, thanks. That’s probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Don’t listen to all that crap in the press. You risked your own life to save mine, and that makes you a hero in my book.”
Cal smiled back. “Then that’s all that matters.”
Gemma doubted this was true. “But what about the press?”
He shrugged. “Of course, it caused a riot when the story broke. My team have gone absolutely ape and Mike was climbing the walls when I left, but to be quite honest I’m almost beyond caring what they think. Feck ’em.” And feck the whole TV show too. I don’t care about any of that.”
They were clear of the town now and driving through the high-banked Cornish lanes, sunshine dappling the roads when it penetrated the tangled treetops above. Cal yanked off his cap and scarf, shoved the glasses onto the top of his curly head and wound the windows down. Instantly, cool fresh air, salted by the Atlantic and sweetened by honeysuckle, filled the car and Gemma took a big gulp. Gosh. She hadn’t realised how tense she’d been. She must have been holding her breath pretty much since she’d seen the headlines.
“But what I do care about is that you got dragged into it all,” he continued. “I wouldn’t have had that happen for the world.”
Gemma could have done without it; that was for sure. Still, none of this was Cal’s fault. If anyone was to blame it was that idiot Travis. If Gemma ever laid eyes on him again she’d tell him exactly what she thought. And if there was any water nearby she’d have a bloody good go at drowning him and see just how much he liked it.
“It’ll all blow over in a day or two,” she said gently, because Cal looked so downcast. The chirpy Irish chappie from the telly was nowhere in evidence. To try to cheer him up she added, “Honestly, something else will happen and then this will all be forgotten. It’s a non-story anyway.”
“I don’t give a toss about the story!” Cal said hotly. “I couldn’t care less what they all think about me.” He shook his head and raked a hand through his golden ringlets. Gemma suspected there had been quite a bit of this already today – the curls were in danger of turning into dreds. The look quite suited him.
“I’m sick to my back fecking teeth with it all,” he continued. “Being told what I can eat, where I can go, who I can talk to, what I can wear. Jaysus! It’s a miracle I can even go to the bog by myself. Everywhere I go there’s somebody trying to shove a camera into my face or sell a story on me. I tell you, Gemma, this celebrity stuff isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.”
Gemma, who had spent the last ten years of her life believing that there was nothing she wanted more than to be famous, was starting to agree. Oh dear. That was seriously going to bugger up her career plans. Maybe she would stick to baking?
“But most of the time it’s fun, isn’t it?” she asked hopefully.
Cal’s usually merry face was drawn and lined, and as he gripped the wheel she noticed that his nails were bitten almost to the quick.
“Most of the time I’m so busy pretending to have an amazing time that I don’t really think too much about it,” he said. “That’s the key to it, Gemma. Don’t think, for Christ’s sake. Just keep going; pretend everything’s great and ninety
-nine percent of the time it will be. Jaysus, I know I haven’t got anything to moan about but sometimes it’s all too much.”
“So do something else,” she said.
“Like what? I’m a fat, washed-up footballer with a massive house to pay for and a bloody expensive family to support in Ireland. My mammy would be broken-hearted if the family farm had to go.” Cal shook his head. “Gemma, I’m a fecking eejit. I’m mortgaged to the gills. I have to keep going.”
Gemma wasn’t buying this. She’d read Hello! and OK! enough times to know that footballers were loaded. After all, she’d yet to bump into Posh Spice in Primarni.
“You must have made loads when you were playing?”
Cal looked shamefaced. “Sure, sure, and I spent it too. Big houses, supercars and Playboy models don’t come cheap. Aw feck it, I’ll have to go on This Morning and grovel a bit about my hero image being a bit misleading. I’ll eat sodding lettuce for a month. I’ll let the Loose Women take the piss. I’ll really diet hard and not cheat.” He paused thoughtfully. “Maybe the show could feature me learning to swim or something? Jaysus, they’ll have me in a rubber ring before I know it. And do you know the worst thing of all?”
Gemma didn’t.
“All I can think about right now is how hungry I am,” Cal said sadly. “There was no breakfast this morning. Mike said the sight of me in a wetsuit was enough to put the nation off its breakfast and practically had the fridge padlocked. I know that I’m shallow but, Jaysus, I am famished.”
He looked so miserable as he said this that there was only one thing Gemma could think of to cheer him up. They were on the A30, Cornwall’s closest thing to a motorway, which led to a very important place indeed – McDonald’s. In Cornwall these were rare, so whenever she chanced upon one Gemma stopped. You just never knew how long it would be until you saw another. Pasties were all well and good but when it came to a really good pig-out there was nothing quite like a Big Mac. As the road began to descend a steep hill and the Golden Arches loomed before them, Gemma knew it had to be a sign.
Escape for the Summer Page 28
