Runaway Summer: Polwenna Bay 1

by Ruth Saberton

  Mariners was at the top of the village, directly across the bay from Seaspray and, like her family home, only accessible by foot. Today the rain and the boots of Cashley’s builders had turned the path into the Somme. Even Mo had to admit that wading through it was a major pain. Nonetheless, she reminded herself that unlike the Tremaines, who’d lived in Seaspray practically since dinosaurs roamed the earth, Cashley had chosen to buy Mariners and had always known that getting there was a menace. So tough tits if it was hard to reach and inconvenient.

  Ashley’s builders were halfway through building a wall around the two-acre property, a construction that was mockingly known in the village as the Great Wall of Cornwall. All he needed was a moat, some crocodiles and a drawbridge, thought Morwenna wryly, and he’d be there. Should she expect the boiling oil and hail of arrows any time soon?

  Probably.

  Mariners’ wrought-iron gates had a sign cable-tied to them. Private Property: trespassers will be prosecuted. That wasn’t very friendly.

  “So sue me,” Mo muttered as she shoved one of the gates open and sloshed through the mud. “Knob.”

  Inside, the quagmire was so thick from the constant passing of quad bikes and rigger boots that a path of planks had been laid over the ground. As she balanced her way across them like a tightrope walker (if things with Ella went belly up, Mo guessed there was always Cirque du Soleil), several of the builders called out to her and waved. That was another problem that PAG had encountered: at some of the PAG meetings people had voiced the opinion that at least Cashley’s renovations were providing employment in the village, whereas the Tremaines had been laying people off for months. It was a bitter pill to swallow because it was true. Mo had let Daisy, her groom, go simply because she had no way of paying her wages – well, not unless the bank suddenly decided to take pony nuts as legal tender, anyway. Jake hadn’t hired anyone for the summer season, and Alice had taken to cleaning the holiday cottages herself to help make ends meet. Times were hard – unless you were a city banker who’d done well.

  “Afternoon, Mo!” called Roger Pollard, one of the local builders. Even in the rain he and his spotty son, Little Rog, were busy building the latest section of the wall; no doubt it would give the astronauts something to look at from the International Space Station.

  Mo waved back. “Wall looks good, Roger.” She nodded her head in the direction of the house. “Is Cashley in?”

  “Come back for round two?” grinned Roger. “Ding! Ding! Get in your corners! Or maybe it’s time for a bit of mud wrestling? Go naked if you like, maid. We won’t mind.”

  She laughed. “You can keep your mud-wrestling fantasy to yourself, Roger Pollard. I’ve only come to have a chat with him.”

  “Shame, that, because he’s in. Maybe another time? Anyway, better be getting on. This wall won’t build itself.”

  Leaving them to their work, Mo picked her way across the planks to the front door and before she could have second thoughts raised her fist and thumped on it. The sound was so loud in the muffled stillness of cloud and drizzle that it made her jump.

  “Christ, what are you trying to do, wake the dead?” remarked Ashley Carstairs when the door swung open. “Jesus, Red, you look like a drowned rat. Did you swim here? Shall I rub you down? Or maybe you’d like a bran mash?”

  “Very funny. Anyway, I’m not here to talk about me,” Mo snapped. She stepped inside without being asked, ducking under his arm and showering the hallway with muddy water. Good. She hoped it stained the flagstones.

  “Come on in. Make yourself at home,” said Ashley, his voice laden with sarcasm. “I’ll pop the kettle on, shall I?”

  Mo didn’t answer. She couldn’t because she was temporarily shocked into silence by the reality of his renovations. She’d heard all about them, of course. What Cashley might or might not be up to had been the subject of village gossip for months. Sometimes he was knocking it all down to put up something modern, other days he was building flats. She’d even heard that he wanted to open a pole-dancing club; worryingly, Issie had been rather excited about this. Mo usually took village gossip with a shovelful of salt but now she could see that he really did mean business. The house was little more than a shell. The floors and ceilings had all been removed, leaving just one huge echoing void that even on such a gloomy day was flooded with the sharpest, purest light she could have imagined. Mo was bathed in it and she wanted to gasp. To her great surprise she realised that she understood completely what it was that Ashley was trying to achieve here. The space was incredible and the views would be breathtaking. The enormous windows created the sense of being in an art gallery, reminiscent of the Tate over at St Ives, with the seascape framed in them like an ever-changing masterpiece. It was going to be stunning and special and wonderful.

  And not at all what she’d expected.

  Ashley was watching her reaction, a half-smile playing on his lips. “Do you like it?”

  Mo was staggered. She hadn’t anticipated any of this. She’d visited Mariners in the past and, in spite of its impressive position, it had been dark and poky inside.

  “It’s going to be beautiful in here,” she gasped.

  “The mezzanine isn’t up yet, but when it is the place will really come together. I’ll be able to watch the sea from my bed.” He looked out across the endlessly shifting scenery. “I always wanted a place with a view like this and I’ve almost done it, got there before—”

  There was an expression on his face that Mo couldn’t read. It was almost sad, vulnerable even, which was ridiculous. Everyone knew that Cashley didn’t have feelings.

  “Before what?”

  The shutters were down instantly.

  “Before anyone else,” Ashley said smoothly. “Anyway, I’m glad you like it. See, I’m not all bad, am I? Maybe you’ve got me all wrong, Red. So how about that dinner? Or if you like we could skip that, of course, and just have sex.”

  Mo dragged her eyes away from the seascape; the water was emerald green and wildly laced with doily-like foam.

  “I don’t think so, Mr Carstairs. Anyway, the house was fine as it was.”

  Ashley stared at her. Amusement was written all over his haughty face. “Fine? Who wants to settle for fine when you can have awe-inspiring? Why be adequate when you can be the best?”

  Usually Mo would agree. Being the best was what drove her, made her confront stomach-lurching fences and risk her neck over the toughest cross-country courses. Still, loath to agree with Cashley on anything, she chose not to answer. Morwenna wasn’t here to talk about his bloody house anyway. She was here to discuss the woods.

  “I’ve not come here to chat,” she said.

  Ashley raised a dark eyebrow. His fathomless eyes bored into hers before sweeping her body insolently and returning to her face. Even though she was wearing a muddy Barbour jacket and her yard boots, Mo felt her insides tie themselves up and her heart did a weird fluttery thing beneath her ribcage. There was something about Ashley Carstairs that made all her certainties vanish like mist in the sunshine.

  “You don’t want to chat? I must admit I thought you’d be more of a challenge, Mo. I would at least have thought you would hold out for dinner,” he drawled.

  Sarcasm was better. She could deal with that but when he looked at her as though he was the big bad wolf practically licking his lips and ready to gobble her up she felt… she felt… Well, to be honest Mo wasn’t quite sure what she felt. All she did know for sure was that he was a horrible person and she despised everything he stood for. He mocked her, he had no principles, he was materialistic – the list of things she hated about him was endless. High cheekbones, glossy dark hair and those intense magnetic eyes didn’t negate any of these, and neither did his razor-sharp mind. He ought to put that to better use, anyway.

  “I’d rather eat hay with my horses than have dinner with you,” she said icily.

  “Sweetheart, there’s better things you and I could do in the hay than eat it,” he pointed out with
a grin that made her feel as though she’d just stepped into quicksand. “But I’ll leave that to your imagination.”

  Mo would far rather he didn’t, actually. The last thing she needed imprinted on her mind’s eye was a vision of what Ashley Carstairs might do to her in the hayloft.

  “If you could just be serious for a minute,” she said primly, trying to blot out imaginings of his body pinning her down beneath the solid weight of his, as he held her arms above her head and nudged her legs apart with his knee…

  Oh God. This was a nightmare. She wasn’t thinking that. She really wasn’t! This was his stupid fault for making suggestive comments.

  “Yes?” said Ashley. The mocking grin on his face and the way he was looking at her made Mo panic for a moment that he might be able to read her mind.

  “I need you to take this seriously,” she said, yanking her thoughts back from Jilly Cooper land.

  “I am very serious, Morwenna. I wasn’t joking when I told you in the pub that I always get what I want. I don’t like to waste time.”

  “That’s why you’ve bought the woods, isn’t it? So you don’t have to waste time walking from the car to the house?”

  “The woods?”

  “Fernside. You’ve bought them, haven’t you? At a private auction?” To her distress Mo felt tears sting her eyes and she blinked them away furiously; there was no way she was going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. “Don’t bother to lie, Ashley. I read it in the papers. There was a private auction in Truro, wasn’t there?”

  He nodded. “There certainly was. I’m not going to deny it. Why would I? Yes, I put a telephone bid in. I told you, that’s where my drive is going to be placed. I need vehicle access to my home. It’s a simple financial transaction, Morwenna. I had the money and the price was right. You could have bid too. There was nothing underhand about it. I assure you the whole process was entirely legal.”

  Mo didn’t think she’d ever hated anyone quite so much as she hated Cashley at that moment.

  “You know I don’t have the money.”

  He shrugged. “And I do, so I’ve bought the woods. That’s life, I’m afraid. So your point is what exactly?”

  Actually, Mo wasn’t sure. She’d been so fired up with indignation that she hadn’t thought through what she was going to say to him. The reality was that she didn’t have a leg to stand on – not legally anyway, although morally it was a very different matter.

  “You might have bought Fernside but you’re not going to build your stupid road,” Mo spat. “Ever. That land has some ancient trees on it, trees that are part of our heritage.”

  “I’ll plant some new ones to make up for it. It’s the circle of life and all that jazz. Check my website, Mo. My green credentials are on it somewhere.”

  “Like planting a few new trees will make everything all right,” she said bitterly. “You’re destroying a natural habitat and I swear to God I’ll do everything I can to stop you. There must be covenants on that land somewhere and I’ll find them.”

  Ashley shrugged. “Well, I won’t hold my breath while I wait for that to happen. My lawyers have been over the deeds and it’s all totally in order.”

  “Then I’ll arrange a protest. There are loads of villagers who love the woods. We’ll make a camp and claim squatters’ rights. It’ll take you years to evict us,” Mo improvised wildly.

  He laughed out loud at this and Mo resented him all the more, because even to her own ears these ideas sounded ridiculous.

  “Not if I offer them all a pint and a pasty in The Ship. The trees will probably be knocked down in the stampede for free booze; it’ll save the diggers a job and me a fortune. Next brilliant plan?”

  She glared at him. “This is all just a big joke to you, isn’t it?”

  “I confess that I can’t see what all the fuss is about. It’s only a few old trees and as far as I’m concerned making a drive here is progress,” Ashley admitted. “But I’m a reasonable guy, so why don’t you try and explain it to me? Over dinner?”

  He stepped closer and Mo caught a hint of the spicy aftershave he wore. She would have moved away but her back was against the door in a way that she would have found metaphorical if her heart hadn’t distracted her by breakdancing in her chest. He lowered his head and when he spoke his warm breath against her ear made Mo’s skin ripple with goosebumps.

  “And afterwards maybe you can show me your hay barn,” he murmured.

  Mo shoved her fist down on the door handle as hard as she could and seconds later was stumbling out onto the step. He was taking the piss and she hated him.

  “That’s right,” she spat, “make fun of it all! Well, laugh as hard as you like, Ashley Carstairs, but I promise you that there’s nothing funny about what you’re about to do. I swear to God there’s no way you’re chopping down Fernside. No way at all. I’ll do anything I can to stop that from happening.”

  Ashley’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “Anything?”

  She glowered at him. “You’d better believe it. Anything.”

  And with this parting comment Mo spun on her heel and strode away, or at least strode as well as she could while balancing on planks. Ashley watched her go and his lips twitched. When she tripped in her haste and slithered through the mud he called after her.

  “Anything, hey? I’m going to hold you to that, Morwenna Tremaine! You’ll be back here before you know it!”

  As Mo, face on fire, slammed the gate she heard Roger senior say to his son, “Things are looking up, boy. Seems like we may see a bit o’ that mud wrestling after all!”

  Chapter 20

  Jake was beginning to regret agreeing to partner Ella for the hotel ball. Apart from knowing in his heart of hearts that he’d said yes to her for all the wrong reasons, he’d never dreamed that the whole deal was going to be so time-consuming. Ella was certainly tenacious and had an attention to detail that was actually rather unnerving; he guessed this was what made her such a formidable businesswoman. Still, he’d had no idea that just being her plus-one would require so much discussion and forward planning. Already he’d had to coordinate outfits and go through a selection of potential corsages, all of which looked identical as far as his bloke’s eyes could see. And now here she was again, this time wanting to discuss the menu choices.

  He really hoped his irritation wasn’t showing. After all, it wasn’t Ella’s fault that he had zero interest in the entire affair, apart from what she’d promised to do for Zak and Mo.

  And neither was it her fault that all he could think about now was Summer…

  As Ella chattered away about the latest urgent tasks that required his help, Jake’s thoughts drifted up the stairs, along the corridor and into the steamy bathroom. Jake had seen more than his fair share of naked girls but none of them came close to Summer. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. Even now he still felt shaken by the strength of his reaction to her. Everything about Summer, from those striking green eyes to the smoothness of her skin to the fullness of her lips, made him ache with longing. Was it a physical longing? Jake couldn’t deny it: he wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anyone, but there was more to his whirling emotions than just wanting to make love to her.

  Make love? He meant have sex with her. That was what he meant. Sex, not love. God, the strain of everything must be starting to get to him.

  “Don’t you think, Jake?” asked Ella.

  Jake ripped his thoughts away from the gorgeous naked woman who right now was probably just stepping out of the bath several floors above him. He had no idea what Ella was asking him and he couldn’t tell from looking at her. She could be requesting his opinion on anything from the colour of the loo roll at the ball to the state of the global economy.

  Luckily for Jake his grandmother, who could see his thoughts were several flights of stairs away, took pity on him.

  “Ella, I don’t think Jake would mind either way. He likes beef and he likes salmon, so you can decide for hi
m. Isn’t that right, Jake?”

  “Yes, absolutely.” Relieved to be rescued, Jake was more than happy to agree. “Either will be perfect.”

  Ella dimpled at him. “I’ll put you down for salmon then. Omega-three is really good for you and there’s less fat in it too. We need to think about your cholesterol.”

  Christ. She was even scrutinising his diet now! The sooner this ball was over the better.

  “I’ll have the beef,” said Nick, socked feet up at the table and beer in hand. “The more cholesterol the better for me.”

  “There aren’t any places left for you, I’m afraid.” Ella didn’t look up from tapping notes into her phone. Why she couldn’t have just sent him a text was beyond Jake. “The ball wouldn’t really be your thing anyway.”

  “Because I’m a smelly fisherman, you mean?” Nick said. He swigged the last of his beer and waggled his eyebrows sarcastically. “Afraid I’ll come in my smock, covered in mackerel scales, and lower the tone?”

  This was exactly what Ella thought and they all knew it. Places at the St Milton summer ball were strictly by invitation only and every year a strange kind of social apartheid seemed to be in operation. Celebrities, politicians and millionaire business owners all received a thick cream envelope in the post. Shopkeepers and trawler men weren’t quite so lucky. As a humble marine mechanic Jake didn’t usually make the grade either. It had never bothered him and now he knew why.

  “No disrespect, Nick,” Ella said coolly, “but pints of Stella and pork scratchings don’t tend to be served at the hotel. You’d be happier with your friends in The Ship.”