It’s quiet in the pub, a strange in-between time when the afternoon drinkers have staggered home and the fishing boats are yet to come in. There’s one crazy mumbling woman at the locals’ end of the bar, and two men who look suspiciously like journalists drinking real ale by the fire. I buy a glass of wine and settle into the window seat, and watch the red and green lights of the trawlers as they roll slowly homewards. I pull my notebook out of my bag and stare at it for a moment before putting it back in. I’m too tired to write a word. My backside aches from the morning’s exertions and my nerves are shredded thanks to my afternoon with Satan’s children.
I hate to admit it, but Gabriel’s job offer is looking more attractive by the minute. Should I take it?
Of course I should. Anything’s got to be better than babysitting Beavis and Butthead.
So what’s stopping me?
I take a gulp of my drink. The only thing that is holding me back is Ollie. I know it’s stupid, I know he’s with Nina, but I don’t want him to think I’m with somebody else so soon after James. It makes me look really shallow, doesn’t it?
I’m being ridiculous! This is Ollie I’m talking about here. Ollie who is my friend, my mate, the person who knows me better than anyone, not some distant fantasy figure. Surely he’s the one person I should be able to tell about Gabriel’s bizarre proposal?
Taking another swig of my wine, I make a bold decision.
I’m going to phone Ollie and tell him that I miss him. I’ll swallow my pride, lay it on the line and basically mix metaphors left, right and centre if it means we can sort out this ridiculous mess and be mates again. No more playing silly buggers. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from the whole hideous cancer scare, it’s that time isn’t elastic.
Carpe diem and all that!
My fingers leap over the keypad and dial Ollie as though they have a mind of their own. The phone rings and rings and I cut it off impatiently and try his mobile number instead. After several rings I hear a click as it’s answered.
‘Ol!’ I cry, and those flipping butterflies are back in my stomach, only this time they’ve brought all their mates along too. ‘It’s Katy! How are you?’
‘Hello, Katy.’
Nina’s clipped tone sounds less than enthralled to hear from me. I almost drop my mobile in horror.
‘Oh, hi.’ I hope I keep the disappointment from my voice. ‘Is Ollie there?’
‘He’s busy, actually. Can I take a message?’
‘Not really. I need to talk to him.’
‘It’s not very convenient right now,’ says Nina, as though I’m a nuisance caller who’s phoned right in the middle of dinner. ‘Actually,’ she lowers her voice, ‘we’re late-night shopping.’
‘Shopping?’ I couldn’t be more taken aback if she’d said they were walking naked through Ealing Broadway. Ollie hates shopping. I always used to leave him in the pub with a Guinness while I indulged in a spot of retail therapy. ‘Ollie doesn’t like shopping.’
Nina says smugly, ‘He loves shopping with me. And I’ll let you into a secret. I’ve been to the jeweller’s, looking at rings. I’ve seen a beautiful white gold solitaire and Ollie’s obviously going to go back for it. And you know what that means, don’t you, Katy?’
Sure do. That Ollie has seriously lost the plot.
‘You’re getting engaged?’
She laughs. ‘You said it.’
I think I’m going to throw up. How can Ollie have gone from saying that he and Nina might be back on to getting engaged to her in little more than six weeks?
‘Congratulations.’ How I say this without choking I’ll never know. ‘Could you give Ollie a message from me?’
‘He’s here now,’ says Nina. ‘Shall I pass you over?’
‘No!’ Shit, no! What on earth would I say? Actually, could I say anything, when the thought of lovely, funny Ollie marrying Vile Nina makes me want to howl? ‘Just say hi and, er… congratulations from me.’
‘Of course,’ says Nina, prepared to be generous in the face of her victory. ‘But you really need to stop harassing him, Katy. Move on with your life.’
‘Oh, I have!’ I give a false, squeaky little laugh. Ol would know straight away I’m lying but Nina hasn’t a clue. ‘Haven’t you seen the papers? I’m seeing Gabriel Winters. Mr Rochester? We’re together. That’s all I called to say. I wanted Ollie to hear it from me just in case the press start to hassle him. You will tell him, won’t you? I’d love to chat but I’d better go. Gabriel’s taking me out for dinner.’
And I ring off, having the satisfaction of leaving her speechless for once.
My heart is thudding. I need a drink. In fact, if Ollie’s getting engaged to Nina, I’ll need a lot of drinks.
I go to the bar and notice that the pub’s absolutely silent. The fire crackles and the loo flushes upstairs but otherwise all is still. I’m suddenly aware just how loud my telephone conversation has been. Everyone in the Mermaid, from Jo the barmaid to the dotty old woman propping up the bar, has heard every word and is staring at me. The two journalists sitting by the fire are practically drooling, and one is already on his mobile dictating copy to his editor.
Oh bollocks.
It looks as though I’m going to be taking Gabriel up on his offer after all.
Chapter Sixteen
You know the old adage Be careful what you wish for because you may just get it? Take it from me, it’s bloody well true. When I was a poverty-stricken teacher I used to splurge what little money I had on glossy celebrity magazines and turn green at the smug photoshoots and luxury mansions. While writing reports or shoehorned on to the tube with my nose rammed into a stranger’s armpit, I’d imagine how fabulous it would be to live that celebrity lifestyle, with money and fame and fans galore.
But the reality’s very different.
It’s only been three days since I made my Faustian pact with Gabriel, but already my world’s turned upside down. Everywhere I go someone’s pointing a camera in my direction or trying to entice me to talk about my so-called relationship. Two days ago, while minding my own business posting an engagement card to Ollie, I was hassled by Angela Andrews offering to buy my story for an amount of money so high I needed an oxygen tank to even consider it. Although the constant attention’s driving me crazy, Maddy says that every B & B in Tregowan is crammed full with press, which apparently makes me very popular with the locals.
It’s just a shame the same isn’t true of my hosts.
‘This can’t go on any longer!’ Richard exclaims, drawing the curtains across the sitting room window to shut out the press. ‘I can’t think and I certainly can’t work. You’ll have to move out, Katy.’
‘Don’t worry,’ says Gabriel from the sofa where he’s perusing the morning papers; Iraq, Afghanistan and Zimbabwe pass him by as he trawls the gossip columns. ‘This will calm down in a few weeks.’
‘A few weeks!’ Richard pales. ‘There’s no way I can live in the media spotlight for that long.’
‘Me neither,’ cries Maddy, no doubt imagining her double life being exposed in the Dagger.
‘You won’t have to,’ says Seb, Gabriel’s manager, looking up from his BlackBerry. ‘Katy’s going to move up to Smuggler’s Rest this afternoon. It makes more sense for her to live there, seeing as she’s his girlfriend.’
‘I can’t condone unmarried people living together,’ says Richard sanctimoniously.
‘Don’t worry, we won’t have sex until we’re married,’ I say glibly.
Richard glares at me.
‘I’ll find it really hard to keep my hands off her though,’ Gabriel adds hastily, abandoning the papers to drop a kiss on my cheek. ‘I’ll be permanently taking cold showers.’
Mads and I exchange looks. Of course I’ve told Maddy about Gabriel and Frankie; how could I keep something like that from my best friend? She’s sworn to secrecy, and I’ve no concerns about her keeping quiet. Maddy is very good at keeping secrets lately.
‘Your m
obile’s ringing now.’ Richard scowls at yet another distraction. ‘Can you turn it off?’
I glance down at the screen where Ollie Mob flashes in neon green. He’s probably ringing to thank me for the twenty quid I bunged in with the card as an engagement present. I switch the phone off and shove it into the Chloe bag Gabriel gave me. I’ve enough stress right now without having to deal with Ollie and Vile Nina.
‘I’ve arranged for all Katy’s things to be moved this afternoon,’ says Seb, ‘and Alice Temperley is sending some samples over by courier. There’s also a personal trainer booked for five thirty and a hairdresser due at nine tomorrow.’
‘Great,’ I say faintly because I’m rather nervous around Seb. He’s so razor sharp it’s a miracle he doesn’t cut himself and the rest of us too. Terrified I’ll give the game away, I force myself to relax against Gabriel’s muscular chest and paste a smile across my face. To be honest I’d be more at ease strolling across hot coals. Gabe’s playing the part of devoted lover to perfection, but I’m more wooden than Guy’s boat.
Gabriel squeezes my shoulder. ‘You’ll be giving Victoria Beckham a run for her money in no time.’
‘Katy looks great as she is,’ says Maddy loyally.
‘Of course she does,’ he agrees. ‘I can’t wait to go out for lunch and show off my beautiful girlfriend.’
‘The restaurant’s booked for twelve thirty.’ Seb consults the itinerary. ‘Maybe you ought to make your way there now. I’ve briefed the press that you’ll let them take some shots as you walk into the village.’
‘Let me just check your outfits.’ Lisa, Gabriel’s stylist and make-up artist, bounds forward to tweak his blond curls carefully and adjust the collar of the faded denim shirt chosen to set off his periwinkle eyes. Then she powders his perfect nose and adds a sweep of mascara to his thick lashes.
‘Perfect,’ she declares.
I glance at Gabriel, who does indeed look perfect. With his golden curls caught back with a simple strip of leather, he could have walked straight out of an Armani ad. I can hardly believe that here I am, plain old Katy Carter, about to be photographed with one of the most eligible bachelors in Britain.
What a shame it’s all a farce.
‘Never mind about Gabriel,’ Mads says. ‘It’s Katy they want to see.’
I swallow nervously. This is my first official outing as Gabriel’s consort, and the whole thing’s been planned meticulously. We’re having lunch in Trawlers, a sweet little seafood restaurant on the quayside, and the short walk downhill from the rectory should be just long enough for the photographers to bag some good shots. After that, Seb assures me, they’ll lose interest and move on to another victim… I mean celebrity.
‘Do I look all right?’ I’m not convinced that teaming sky-high heels with skinny jeans is a good idea for me, and don’t the big sunglasses make me look a bit like an insect?
‘You look great,’ smiles Lisa, giving me a squirt of Coco. ‘Go out and enjoy it.’
‘And leave us in peace,’ mutters Richard from behind the Church Times.
Somehow I resist socking him in the teeth and follow Gabriel along the hallway. My stomach feels as though someone’s doing macramé with my guts. No wonder celebrities are so skinny if they feel like this all the time.
The door swings open and instantly cameras flash and people call my name. Thank goodness I wore the shades. Blinking like a mole in the sunshine and smiling manically I clutch Gabriel’s manicured hand for all I’m worth and trot down the garden path after him.
‘Look happy,’ he whispers, pulling me close and almost asphyxiating me with Paco Rabanne. ‘Put your hand in my back trouser pocket and lean your head against my shoulder.’
I do what he says and my neck clicks. Ouch! Still, at least I look loved up even if it hurts like hell. Gabriel can always add a chiropractor to his entourage, can’t he?
‘How did you guys meet?’ shouts a reporter.
‘Is it true you do it six times a night?’ cries another.
‘Ignore them and just look happy,’ Gabriel advises. ‘Give them a good picture and then they’ll leave us alone. It’s only when they can’t get a shot that they go crazy.’
‘Right,’ I say, as though it’s every day I get doorstepped by the paps. ‘Look happy. Got it.’
We pause outside Trawlers. It’s a mild spring day and the eggshell-blue sky is stitched with white cloud. The fishing boats are long gone and the tide’s followed them, leaving a slice of beach glistening in the sun. A dog races across the wet sand like a flame, plumy tail held aloft as it barks at the gulls.
A red setter, all fluid grace and sawdust brains, just like Sasha.
‘Look at the cameras,’ hisses Gabriel. ‘Or at me.’
I rip my gaze away from the dog and back to the handsome man at my side. There must be millions of red setters in Britain and of course they all look and behave exactly like Sasha, but even so…
As Gabriel chats with the press I smile vacantly and let my gaze slide back to the beach. The dog’s owner throws a stick, and something about the way he moves makes me take a third look. I’m being ridiculous. There must be hundreds of thirty-something guys who wear Timberlands and faded jeans. It isn’t Ollie. It can’t be. He’s hundreds of miles away, being tormented by bottom-set Year 9.
‘Stop staring at that guy on the beach,’ Gabriel orders, holding the restaurant door for me. ‘We’re supposed to be together, remember?’
‘I was looking at the dog,’ I start to say, but Gabriel’s too busy admiring his reflection in the glass door to listen. All he needs is a millet spray and a bell and we could add him to Jewell’s menagerie.
As the proprietor shows us to our table, almost prostrate with delight at the thought of all the free publicity, I start to wonder whether I’ve made a mistake agreeing to this job. If Gabriel’s driving me crackers after three days, how will I stand a whole summer? I’d be better off taking my chances with Luke and Leia.
‘What do you think of the restaurant?’ Gabriel asks, as we’re seated at a table set in the bay window and so close to the sea we could almost paddle. ‘Isn’t it the most beautiful setting?’
‘It’s lovely,’ I agree, and if I was writing a novel it would be the perfect scene for a romantic meal. Anyone who reads the gossip columns or celebrity magazines will be overcome with envy when they see the pictures of us looking all romantic and in love.
Who ever said the camera doesn’t lie never dated Gabriel Winters.
Gabriel scans the menu while a waiter pours champagne. ‘How do you like your fish?’
I open my mouth to say smothered in batter and hanging out with a huge pile of chips but think better of it. Where’s Captain Birdseye when I need him?
‘Rare tuna for us both,’ Gabriel tells the waiter before I’ve even drawn breath, ‘with the dill salad and go easy on the dressing. No bread either.’
‘No bread?’ I stare at him aghast. The crusty rolls are the only things I feel brave enough to eat.
‘Carbs are a no-no, Katy. You’re watching your figure.’
I’m just on the brink of telling Gabriel exactly where he can stick the bread rolls when he clutches my hand so hard I squeak.
‘Don’t make it obvious you’ve noticed, but Angela Andrews is at the table in the corner,’ he whispers.
I turn my head slowly, and sure enough there’s Bomber Jacket dissecting an unfortunate fish with the precision of a brain surgeon. Ouch. I don’t fancy my chances if she decides to exact her revenge for that ruined Prada number.
Gabriel’s grasp on my fingers tightens. ‘How did she manage to sneak in here? I knew she was on to something. ’
‘Can’t you ask the owners to throw her out?’
‘What for? She’s only eating.’ His eyes are blue circles of dismay. ‘She knows there’s a story and she’ll never let it go unless…’
Gabriel leaps to his feet, and before I can protest I’m swept into a sink-plunger kiss, while his arms tighten like
a vice and his tongue does an impression of a washing machine on spin cycle. If he carries on much longer he’ll dislocate my mouth.
‘Sorry,’ he murmurs when he eventually comes up for air. ‘I had to give her something to think about.’
‘You’ve done that all right. I thought you said you were g—’
‘It’s called acting.’ He tosses his golden curls. ‘I’m pretty good at it.’
‘I’d rather you left your acting for the film set,’ I say, resisting the urge to wipe my lips on the back of my hand.
‘It worked though. She’s looking.’ His eyes light up like gas flames. ‘I knew this was a good idea. Let’s give her something to really write about!’
And before I have a second to argue he’s clamped his mouth over mine again, staring intensely into my eyes and winding his hands through my hair. Bloody hell, that designer stubble is agony, I wish he’d stop. I’m as up for a good snog as the next girl but this is ridiculous and not half as good as he evidently thinks it is.
I’m going to have to lay down some very firm ground rules with Gabriel.
Kissing over, we eat our meal slowly, feeding each other slivers of fish and chinking our champagne flutes together. Angela Andrews’ eyes are out on stalks and if she taps away on her BlackBerry for much longer she’ll have RSI in her thumb. By the time we finish, all heads in the restaurant have turned, and probably quite a few stomachs too.
‘Did you enjoy your meal?’ asks the proprietor when Gabriel calls for the bill.
‘Wonderful.’ Gabriel fixes him with a dazzling smile. ‘We’ve had a fantastic time, haven’t we, Katy?’
‘Fantastic,’ I parrot, although the tuna looked to me like something out of Casualty. Still, what do I know?
The proprietor beams at us. ‘I’m delighted to hear that. And can I say what a joy it is to see a couple so much in love?’
I feel my dinner, or what little I ate of it, come bouncing back up.
Katy Carter Wants a Hero Page 26
