[Polwenna Bay 01.0] Runaway Summer

by Ruth Saberton

  Nick, busy mopping his face on the sleeve of his smock, grimaced.

  “Chillax, Jake. I wasn’t drunk, just a touch hung-over. I’d have been fine to take the boat, especially after some tea and a bacon sarnie. Eddie totally overreacted.”

  Jake inhaled and counted to ten. “Eddie did not overreact. You’re the skipper, Nick. You need to be one hundred per cent alert when you’re out at sea. Christ, you know that as well as anyone. One mistake is all it takes. You’ve got Eddie’s sons and his livelihood out there. How could you even think of leaving the harbour in this state?”

  “I’m not in a state,” Nick insisted, although his sallow face and bloodshot eyes told a very different story. “We had a bit of a heavy night, that was all.”

  “On a week night?”

  Nick looked at his brother as though Jake was a century old, which was exactly how he was starting to feel right now with his throbbing face. Given that he’d had several sleepless nights lately too, the reason for which he hardly dared admit, he could probably add another decade to that.

  “Duh. It’s the festival,” Nick said, as though explaining something simple to an idiot. “Of course we were out. The Tinners were playing and the beer was two pounds a pint in The Ship.” He released his ponytail from its rubber band, then shook his head like a dog before flipping his hair back again as if imitating a L’Oréal advert. Even with a savage hangover and after a soaking he looked like a male model.

  “If you think I’m in a state then you should see the Penhalligan brothers. They’re hanging. Joe even had Guinness for breakfast,” added Nick, as though this made everything all right.

  Hearing about Joe’s liquid breakfast didn’t make Jake feel any better. “But you’re the skipper, Nick. Their safety is your responsibility. Going on the piss in the middle of the working week is just irresponsible. There’s going to be a tragedy if you don’t grow up; you can’t take risks when you’re at sea. I wouldn’t blame Eddie if he sacked the lot of you.”

  Nick looked resentful and a little bit ashamed. Jake knew that deep down his brother realised he was in the wrong but, being stubborn and hot-headed, Nick hated to admit it. He took after Mo in that respect.

  “I wasn’t thinking,” he muttered.

  “No, you were too drunk to think at all,” agreed Jake. He glanced at his diver’s watch and saw that it was still early. Outside the office the sun was just waking up and a gentle swell was lifting the boats and clinking the halyards. “If I know Eddie he’ll be on Penhalligan Girl and cracking the whip. You need to get your ass over there and grovel like you’ve never grovelled before if you want to still have a job.”

  Nick sighed and nodded, wincing with the movement of his head.

  Once his brother had gone, whipping on a pair of Oakley’s the moment he stepped into the sunshine as if he were Dracula braving the daylight, Jake collapsed at his desk and placed his head in his hands. What a week.

  His eyes felt gritty from lack of sleep and his body jittery from far too much caffeine. At least, he hoped it was from the caffeine rather than from knowing that Summer Penhalligan was staying only several hundred yards away from him. Ever since their pasty-fuelled truce at the Harbour View Café Jake had gone out of his way to make sure that he avoided the cliff path and headed out to work early in order not to bump into her. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Summer – far from it. Whenever he thought of her, something in Jake’s chest clenched tightly and he felt the ground beneath his boots turn to quicksand. For every second that he’d spent with her on the day of their chance meeting on the cliff top, he’d drunk her in like a man who hadn’t seen water for a month. He was appalled by just how easy, how right, it had felt to be with her again and by the way that his body still knew hers so well. The scent of her skin was like warm summer grass; the curve of her cheek cried out to be touched by his hand. And then there was the swell of her breast... Jake put the brakes on sharply here as he felt a rush of blood migrate south. Time to derail this particular train of thought. She was absolutely gorgeous, though. If anything, the passing years and the short hair made her even more so, and he’d had to dredge up every drop of self-control he’d possessed not to pull her into his arms and tell her she had to stay with him, that he was never letting her out of his sight again. Jake knew just how she would feel against him, her full breasts soft against his chest, her hips moulding perfectly to his own as the heat flared between them, those rock-pool green eyes staring up at him…

  Jake groaned. This was ridiculous. Summer wasn’t the same girl who’d walked away from him twelve years ago, however much his senses and his heart might try to tell him otherwise. She was a celebrity and the fiancée of Justin Anderson. She didn’t belong in his world any more than he belonged in hers.

  Yet the bruise on her face hinted that A-list paradise might not be all that it seemed. Jake brimmed with rage to think that anyone might have hurt her. He’d done his best not to make a big issue of it because Summer had made it very clear that she didn’t want to talk. Jake knew when to push and when to step away, and Summer had definitely been giving him back off signals. Somebody in her life wasn’t listening to her and, however concerned he was, Jake was determined not to join them. Besides, if she trusted him she’d have told the truth. Jake’s feelings for Summer were more knotted and intricate than any nets that Nick could rig, and even more complicated to mend.

  She’d be gone soon, he reminded himself; there was no point trying to be friends or to put the past to rest. Summer no longer belonged at Polwenna Bay. With any luck he would be able to avoid her. There was certainly a lot of work to do at the marina, more than enough to distract him from thoughts of her soft skin and how it would feel naked against his.

  Enough was enough! Furious with himself for even seeing this road, never mind going down it, Jake abandoned the office for the cool morning air and the calling gulls. It was far too easy for his mind to wander while he was doing bookwork; what was required was some physical activity – well, either that or a cold shower. The next best thing was a hosepipe and some washing down of boats so that they would be sparkling and spotless when their owners arrived. Several buckets of boat-wash and a good couple of hours of hard scrubbing were exactly what he needed.

  If anyone was ever under the illusion that working with boats was a glamorous occupation, Jake was sure that spending just ten minutes with him would have shattered that dream. His job most definitely didn’t consist of zooming about all day in a sexy speedboat and being surrounded by girls clad in skimpy bikinis, as people liked to imagine. Having spent an hour trying to balance the books but failing miserably, he then got filthy crawling around the bilge in a customer’s boat, cut his hand trying to free a seized winch and finally stripped down to his board shorts in order to scrub several boats ready for their owners’ arrival at the weekend. By the time he was finishing off Cashley’s – hosing the boat-wash from the deck and casting a careful eye over the gleaming fibreglass just in case, God forbid, there might be any marks – Jake was soaking from both water and perspiration. His long hair had twisted into corkscrew curls and even his deck shoes were sodden. Glamorous it was not, and so far not one Victoria’s Secret Angel type had wiggled over in her swimsuit and asked if she could pose with him on the pontoon. Such was life!

  As the unusually warm May sun shone down, Jake tried to ignore his aching muscles and told himself that at least he’d be getting a tan out of the morning’s exertions. The sea beyond the harbour wall was sparkling like jewellery and the village basked sleepily in the golden sunshine. He really shouldn’t complain, Jake reminded himself as he collected up his buckets and brushes. After all, how many people had a view like this from their office?

  “That looks like hot work!”

  Jake looked up, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sunshine, to see Ella St Milton standing on the pontoon. With the light turning her blonde hair to pure gold, her blue mirrored Rayban aviators giving her an alien look and her long brown leg
s topped by denim cut-offs so short he could almost see her knickers, she looked as though she’d stepped off the set of Barbarella. Ella didn’t seem to be dressed for boating, especially since she was wearing spiky-heeled sandals. They’d wreck the deck.

  “Ella! Hi!” Jake was surprised to see Ella at the marina and even more surprised to see her smiling. After those sharp comments about Summer and the look she’d given him that could have curdled milk, he’d been expecting at best the cold shoulder and at worst some kind of revenge that wouldn’t be out of place in a Shakespearean tragedy.

  “Did you want Polwenna Princess ready for today?” Jake wasn’t sure if this was a social visit or a business one. He glanced at his watch and did a quick mental calculation. “If you give me forty minutes I can have her fuelled up, clean and ready to go.”

  Ella laughed and pushed her sunglasses on top of her head. “Don’t look so serious. I haven’t come to see the boat. I’ve come to see you.” Her eyes flickered over his wet and gleaming torso and her pupils darkened. “I’m glad I did too. You’re Polwenna’s own version of the Dreamboys, working half naked like that. You’ll give the lady emmets heart attacks.”

  Jake glanced down at his drenched board shorts and sodden Sebagos. “More like a drowned rat, I think, but thanks for the compliment all the same.”

  He leapt from the boat and onto the pontoon, trying not to notice how the swaying motion made Ella’s full breasts jiggle. In fairness, it was hard not to notice: she had the twins racked up and displayed to full effect in a tight white vest, over the edge of which they rose like two scoops of vanilla ice cream. Jake looked away quickly and pretended to be preoccupied with rinsing out his sponges and stowing the buckets away, while Ella chatted easily about the hotel. She made no mention of Summer, which was odd given that when they’d last met Ella had been more or less threatening to call the paps. Jake found himself starting to wonder whether she was a bit unbalanced. There was certainly something of the mad, bad and dangerous to know about her.

  “I’m sure this will be the best tourist season for several years,” she was concluding. “The hotel is booked solid right the way through to September.”

  “I really hope you’re right,” Jake said with feeling. The Tremaines were dependent on the holidaymakers for their income stream, and two consecutive gloomy summers had definitely taken their toll.

  Ella’s face wore a sympathetic expression and she laid a perfectly manicured hand on his arm.

  “Are things still tough with the business?”

  “No, no; it’s all looking fine,” fibbed Jake. The last thing he wanted was for the St Miltons to smell blood. The way they circled an ailing business made Jaws look like a vegan. Unbeknownst to the rest of Jake’s family, his father had already propped up the business by borrowing far too much money from Andrew St Milton. So, as well as feeling sick whenever he looked at the rapidly compounding interest, Jake was in constant terror that the loan would be called in. The business simply had no means of repaying it; the only solution would be to sell the family home.

  Note to self, thought Jake. Don’t upset Andrew’s precious only daughter. He’d have to tread very carefully.

  “Good,” said Ella. She checked her glittery Omega watch. “Look, it’s nearly lunchtime. Fancy grabbing a bite to eat?”

  The way her small pink tongue whisked over her lips as she spoke suggested that it wasn’t just lunch she fancied eating. In spite of everything, Jake was tempted, if only for a split second. Ella was sexy, in a lean and rapacious way. She had great boobs, was dynamite in bed, liked to push the boundaries in a really exciting way and, as the icing on the cake, was loaded too. Most men would leap at the chance of some no-strings fun with a woman like her.

  The trouble was that Jake wasn’t most men. Besides, he suspected that no-strings fun wasn’t what Ella was looking for. Maybe it never had been and she was just playing the long game? This thought made him very uneasy. Ella was attractive and clever, but there was a steely determination in her eyes and she had the oddest knack of always accidentally turning up wherever he happened to be.

  Maybe it wasn’t quite as accidental as he thought?

  Morwenna, unexpectedly, had suddenly become Ella’s biggest advocate. When his sister had suggested over supper that Jake should invite Ella up to Seaspray for a dinner party, he hadn’t been sure what had alarmed him most: Mo’s offer to cook, when she was someone who could burn water, or her sudden championing of the girl she’d spent most of her life loathing. For as long as Jake could remember, his sister and Ella’s relationship had been so hostile it had made the Montagues and the Capulets look chummy.

  When Jake had managed to retrieve his jaw from the kitchen table and Alice had collapsed into a chair with the shock, he’d asked his sister what on earth was going on. Mo had merely fobbed him off with a line about everyone deserving a second chance and Ella being “all right, really”. She hadn’t been able to look him in the eye as she’d said this, though.

  The whole thing was fishier than Penhalligan Girl.

  There was also the issue of Summer. Jake knew it was ridiculous but he just couldn’t get her out of his head: the way she laughed, the scent of her skin, the way her eyes were a thousand different shades of green…

  “We could just pop over to the café and grab a prawn roll?” Ella was suggesting, her fingers on his arm tightening a little and derailing this rather unnerving train of thought. “I haven’t got time for a proper lunch and, anyway, I’m watching my figure.”

  Ella was so slim she made Victoria Beckham look hefty. She couldn’t have fished more for a compliment if she’d borrowed a trawler.

  “Your figure’s fantastic,” Jake said dutifully, and was rewarded with a blush. Immediately he knew that this was dangerous territory and that he ought to step right back. He didn’t want to toy with Ella’s feelings. That wouldn’t be fair, but on the other hand neither did he want to risk upsetting her father. Jake knew that he needed to watch his step. “A prawn roll sounds great,” he said.

  Although it was only just approaching noon, the harbour tearoom was already bustling. All the outside tables were already taken, so Jake and Ella carried their prawn rolls and mugs of tea down onto the slipway where an old wooden bench was settled against the bulging whitewashed wall of a fisherman’s cottage. The sun warmed their faces and as they ate they watched two swans glide over hopefully. Ella, who was just picking out and eating the lettuce, threw most of her bread to them and shrieked when a squadron of beady-eyed seagulls dive-bombed her.

  “You should know better than that,” admonished Jake. His sandwich was delicious, the prawns fat and pink and practically doing breast stroke in the Marie Rose sauce. There was no way he was wasting a mouthful on the bird life!

  Ella nodded. “I know, but it’s better they eat the carbs than I do. Bread is the devil according to my trainer.”

  Personally Jake thought Ella’s trainer sounded like a knob. Bread was bloody great so far as he was concerned – especially the loaves that his gran baked. He thought of them now, all warm and yeasty from the oven, sliced open and smothered with curls of sunshine-yellow Cornish butter. He glanced at Ella. She was too thin, in his opinion.

  “Jake, you know it’s the Polwenna Bay Hotel ball soon?” Ella was saying nonchalantly.

  He nodded. Everybody knew about that. Each June the St Miltons threw a huge charity fundraising ball at their five-star hotel, opening up the beautiful clifftop gardens to the public, dedicating their Michelin-starred kitchen staff to putting on the most exquisite food, and letting champagne flow faster than the River Wenn. Although tickets cost a hundred pounds, they never failed to sell: this was the must-go-to event of the year and a highlight of Cornwall’s social calendar. The hotel’s helipad was usually in full use as the county’s rich and famous flew in for the night, while the locals had great fun trying to sneak in and snatch pictures of the celebrities on their smartphones. Last year a member of One Direction had been rumoured to be co
ming, and the lane to the hotel had swarmed with excited tweenagers and their even more excited mothers. Maybe Summer and Justin would attend this year, Jake thought. He was immediately horrified by the knife thrust of jealousy that accompanied this idea. Would Ella be prepared to swallow her dislike of Summer in order to gain the A-list glitter that she would bring to the party? He imagined so. She was a businesswoman and wouldn’t let emotion get in the way of good press coverage.

  Ella’s cheeks were pink and she cleared her throat nervously. “I have a few tickets spare and I was wondering whether you and Mo would like them? I’d love you to be there – as my guests, of course.”

  “Mo at a ball?” An image of his sister clomping through the hotel’s ornate lobby and leaving a wake of mud and straw made him grin. “You are kidding?”

  “I’m serious. Mo could network with all kinds of people on an occasion like that. The guest list is incredible. There are celebrities, politicians and a couple of oligarchs too, so Daddy says.” She slid him a sideways glance. “I’ve been up to Mo’s yard and I can see that things aren’t good. She might even meet somebody who’d sponsor her.”

  Jake knew that Mo was running the yard on fresh air and prayers. It seemed to be the family way. Her talent was going down the drains with the Jeyes Fluid she regularly sluiced across the cobbles. The chance to meet a wealthy sponsor was not to be sniffed at, that was for certain.

  “Timmy Eldridge, the music producer, is coming too. He’s flying in from his chateau in France,” Ella continued. She was into her stride now, growing more confident with each word because she knew she held the winning hand. “Everything he touches turns to gold and I know he’s looking for the next big thing.” She paused and then said casually, “I was looking for a band to play down on the terrace. Would Zak be interested?”

  “What do you think? He’d probably sell Granny Alice for a chance like that.”

  “I thought he’d be pleased. You just never know where these things can lead. I’ll book The Tinners then, if you’ll give me your brother’s mobile number.” Ella was into businesswoman mode now, in control and loving it. It was sexy in a way, Jake supposed; it just wasn’t the right way for him.