It looked like she really was going to have to chain herself to the trees – and alone too, given that none of the other members of PAG seemed that keen to join in. Even Issie, who was usually up for a good bit of anarchy, had been doubtful.
“At the end of the day we might not like what he’s going to do, but he’s totally within his rights to do it because he owns Fernside now,” Issie had pointed out sadly. “There’s no covenant and no preservation orders on the trees. He’s even bought outside the conservation zone. He’s clever – I’ll give him that much, sis – or else he’s got a good solicitor. There’s nothing technically wrong. PAG hasn’t got a hope.”
“But the trees are ancient!” Mo had flared. “He can’t cut them down. He’s a bloody philistine!”
Issie had given her a hug. “He’s an arse, Mo. Fact. But, unfortunately for us, he’s an arse with the law on his side.”
Well, Mo didn’t give a hoot for the law. Fact. She loved those woods. When her mum had died she’d spent hours alone there with no one but the wildlife and the silent trees to see her cry. It was a special place, a beautiful place, and she’d do everything in her power to save it.
Losing patience with her hair, Mo shoved in onto the top of her head and anchored it with a clip. There, that would do. The girl in the mirror glowered back at her. The last thing Mo felt like doing was plastering her face with make-up, putting on the ridiculous dress that Danny, of all people, had fetched from Plymouth, and spending the evening making small talk with folk who wouldn’t usually give her the time of day. But the St Miltons had invited her to the ball and, since they had her by the short and curlies right now, Mo hadn’t dared say no.
As she attacked her surprised eyelashes with the dregs of some dried-up mascara, Mo supposed that since she was officially the St Miltons’ three-day event rider it made sense that she would be expected to attend. They’d want to be able to show off about their horse and impress their guests. Not that any of the St Miltons had shown the slightest bit of interest in their horse since the day The Bandmaster had been delivered. Nobody had turned up to watch her put the horse through his paces or, as owners tended to do, give her a million and one useless tips on how to ride him. They hadn’t even offered the poor boy so much as a carrot.
Which just proved Mo’s worst suspicions: Ella had thrown the horse at her purely because she wanted to get close to Jake. Did that mean that when things didn’t work out she’d take The Bandmaster back again?
This thought made Mo feel panicky and close to tears. Bandy hadn’t been with her long but already he’d managed to make his way into her heart in that sneaky way that animals did. Unlike some horses, who looked down their thoroughbred noses at Mo most of the time and only just about managed to acknowledge her when she was weighed down with a hay net, Bandy already whinnied to her when she crossed the yard. He also had a habit of shooting across the paddock like a rocket if he so much as caught sight of Mo. He was a dream to ride too, with a mouth as soft as a ripe peach and only needing the slightest of aids to move across the school in his floating trot. He was careful over coloured poles, and when she’d taken him into Devon for some cross-country schooling he’d done so well that a certain high-profile rider had tried to buy him. Bandy was a once-in-a-lifetime horse and Mo knew with every fibre of her being that he was the one who could take her all the way to the next Olympics.
She couldn’t lose that horse. She simply couldn’t. There had to be a way to persuade Jake that Ella would be a good choice for him. The only problem was that Mo couldn’t even convince herself of this, never mind her brother. Ella’s constant texts and demands were extremely wearing, and although Mo had done her best to further the other girl’s cause with Jake, nothing seemed to be working. Whenever Mo had broached the subject he’d almost bitten her head off. This was so unlike her usually sunny-natured big brother that Mo was becoming quite worried about him. He wasn’t eating properly – already his cheekbones seemed even more pronounced than usual – and the only person with worse shadows under their eyes was Summer.
The whole thing was a mess. Mo could only hope that Ella would look so good tonight, and that Jake would have enough to drink, that the magic would finally happen between them. During her schooldays Mo had witnessed the consequences when Ella didn’t get her own way, and nothing Mo had seen of her lately suggested that her old rival had improved with age. Mo groaned and buried her face in her hands. If she could only turn back the clock and tell Ella to stick her horses and her bribes where the sun didn’t shine. She might well have lost her business and her chance of winning Olympic gold, but at least she’d still have liked herself. Right now Morwenna Tremaine was finding it very hard to look in the mirror.
Which was making getting ready for a fancy-dress ball somewhat difficult.
“Knock! Knock! Get your kit on! I’m coming in!”
The door flew open and in walked Nick. Or at least, she assumed it was Nick; it was pretty hard to tell underneath the powdered hair and glittering carnival mask. He was dressed like something out of the three musketeers, in tight breeches and a flowing green velvet cloak. The look quite suited him, in fact. There was one problem, however: Nick hadn’t been invited. Neither had Issie, who’d followed him in, dressed in an identical outfit and brandishing her plastic rapier like a demented Zorro.
“Aren’t you ready yet?” Issie looked alarmed. “Hurry up, Mo. Zak will be here any minute if you want a lift. He’s setting up at six.”
Mo frowned. “I’m sharing a taxi with Jake and Danny and we’re picking Jules up on the way. What on earth is Zak up to now? I thought tonight was supposed to be his big chance to meet a record producer? He’d better not mess that up.”
Lord. She hated the tone of her voice; she sounded such a nag. A wave of grief for her mother, who would have done a much better job of keeping the twins in line, hit Mo afresh. The loss still felt as raw as it had done when she’d sobbed her heart out in the woods all those years ago.
“He’s sneaking us in. It’s going to be sick,” Nick explained, while Mo tried to recover from the unexpected tide of emotion that had almost floored her. “We’ll be in the back of The Tinners’ van with all the kit and a blanket over us. When Zak sets up we’ll just look like we’re with the band. Isn’t it genius?”
“No, not really,” said Mo bleakly. Sometimes the twins made her feel like an old woman. “It’s a high-security event. What if you get caught?”
“Don’t stress, Mo. Of course we won’t,” said Issie blithely. “And if we did, so what? They can’t shoot us, can they?”
“I thought you’d be pleased to have some decent company,” added Nick. “Jake’s had a face like a slapped backside all week and I can’t imagine you want to hang out with Danny and his vicar. Amen!”
Issie walloped him with her plastic sword. “Leave it out. Jules is all right when you get to know her.”
Nick looked doubtful. “Yeah, whatever. At least she can sit on Tara and squash her flat if she turns up and tries to give Danny a hard time. It’ll save me a job.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be going to sea tomorrow?” Mo pointed out.
After his last performance, Nick had been lucky to escape without Eddie throttling him, never mind be given a second chance to skipper Penhalligan Girl. It had taken a lot of tactful persuasion by Jake, grovelling from Nick and calling in of favours by Alice to have him reinstated. Mo wasn’t sure quite how seriously Nick had taken the whole escapade. He still seemed to think it had been a huge overreaction on Eddie’s part, and unfortunately most of the younger folk in the village agreed with him. Still, in fairness to her little brother, he seemed to have cut down his drinking and his last fishing trip had yielded one of Polwenna Bay’s best hauls in months. Seeing over ten grand’s worth of bass being landed had gone a long way towards softening Eddie’s heart when it came to his maverick skipper.
“Chillax, sis. I’ll only have the one; two max,” said Nick. He held up his fingers and winked. “Sco
ut’s honour.”
“You were never even in the Scouts,” grumbled Mo, hating the fact that her lips were twitching even though she was trying hard to be stern. Nick’s charm was like a superhero power – it overcame any obstacles. “Now push off and let me get dressed in peace. Issie, could you help me zip up my dress?”
Danny had come up trumps with Mo’s outfit, although she strongly suspected that the peacock green-and-blue silk dress and the ornate feathery mask had been selected by Jules rather than her brother. His friendship with the vicar was a curious one, Mo thought, but it seemed to be doing him the world of good. Dan was out walking every day and she’d not seen him with a drink for a while. Best of all, though, Jules made him laugh, which was saying something. Poor old Dan hadn’t had a great deal to joke about lately.
“You look great,” Issie told Mo once the dress was zipped up. She stepped back and admired her sister. “That colour is amazing with your hair and eyes. You’ll pull for sure!”
Mo, who had no desire whatsoever to pull, grinned. “It feels dead weird to have a skirt on, though. Thank God it’s only for one night.”
“I’m not sure about the yard boots, mind,” Issie remarked, looking down at her sister’s feet. The boots were peeking out from under the hem of Mo’s long dress.
“Well,” reasoned Mo, “since I’d probably break my neck trying to walk in heels, I reckon this is the more elegant option. Compared to going arse over tit, anyway.”
“Who knows, maybe you’ll set a trend,” said Issie with a wink.
The two sisters made their way downstairs to the kitchen, where Morgan was busy cataloguing his latest pictures with painstaking detail. When he saw his aunts, Morgan insisted on snapping photos of them too. For a few blissful moments Mo was able to forget all about Ella and the woods. When a text from Zak sent the twins hurtling down to the village Mo heaved a sigh of relief that they hadn’t bumped into Jake first. He’d been so grumpy lately that there was no way he’d find their plans to gate-crash the party amusing. Danny wouldn’t have been pleased either. She was equally glad that Alice had been out at a WI meeting and missed them. The less her grandmother knew about the twins’ antics the better.
Mo whiled away the next hour or so Googling environmental protests with Morgan, who was more than happy to tell her lots of facts about carbon dioxide and global warming. Apparently the new teacher at Polwenna Primary was into green issues and had been doing a project with her class, and Morgan was full of it. Mo filed this titbit of information under L for later on; maybe the teacher would be able to help her. Mo wasn’t intending to use the children as a human shield to stop Cashley’s diggers, which was Morgan’s preferred action plan, but maybe his teacher would have some ideas or know people who could help.
If Ashley Carstairs thought Morwenna Tremaine was beaten, he was in for a shock!
“What are you up to?” asked Jake when he and Danny finally joined them. He raised his eyebrows when he saw what was on the laptop.
“‘Top ten successful ways to stage a peaceful protest’,” he read. “What’s going on here, Mo?”
“Nothing,” Mo said quickly, slamming the lid down and giving Morgan a don’t say a word look.
“Now why don’t I believe that for one second? Are you planning to chain yourself to a tree and sing we shall not be moved to Ashley?”
It was a plan of sorts, Mo supposed – and, annoyingly, about all she’d managed to come up with so far. PAG hadn’t been very inspired though, and the new vicar had quickly vetoed the whole idea. Maybe Jules was going to suggest that they prayed their way through it in a peaceful protest? Somehow Mo couldn’t imagine Cashley taking that very seriously.
“Try not to wind him up too much. He’s our best customer and if he takes his boat to Fowey we’re in big trouble,” Jake warned her. His stern look suggested that he meant business but Mo wasn’t impressed. This was nothing she hadn’t heard before. Everyone else in Polwenna Bay might be terrified of Cashley and be grovelling and all but tugging their forelocks to have his business, but Mo wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Besides, you couldn’t put a price on the woodlands. If she upset Ashley and he pushed off from Polwenna Bay forever then losing his business was a small price to pay.
“Mo?” Jake repeated. “Do you hear me? Please don’t wind him up.”
“Yes, yes.” She flapped her hand at him impatiently. “Don’t panic, Jake. I’m not going to do anything to upset Cashley.” Yet, she added silently.
“Now we’ve got that settled, can we get ready to leave?” Danny wanted to know. He was looking dashing in a scarlet frock coat and ornate silver mask, which hid his injuries. Momentarily, Mo was thrown. He looked almost like his old self, the confident and happy brother she loved so much.
“The taxi driver’s just called,” Danny added. “He’s waiting for us by the bridge.”
Jake sighed. “We may as well get it over with.”
He hadn’t bothered to dress up Versailles style or even found a mask. Instead he was wearing a tux and bow tie. His hair was in loose ringlets to his shoulders and he’d not even shaved, but somehow the golden stubble made him look even sexier, in a dishevelled and dangerous way. Although he was her annoying big brother, Mo thought that it would be hard to find a better-looking guy at the ball than Jake. He could have walked straight out of an Armani advert.
No wonder Ella was crazy about him.
“This is supposed to be fun,” Danny reminded his brother as Jake rummaged in the fridge for a beer and, opening it with a hiss, proceeded to down the can.
“Fun for whom?” Jake asked wearily. “I tell you, life wasn’t this complicated in Antigua.”
Mo didn’t think she’d ever seen him look so miserable, not even when Summer had dumped him all those years ago. There was such despondency in his eyes that she wondered what on earth had happened. Was it the business? Or was Ella starting to drive poor Jake around the twist?
“Look on the bright side, fam. It’s a free party and you’re the plus-one for the hostess. It’s a dead cert you’ll get lucky,” Dan told him cheerfully. “I’m the one who looks like the thing from the swamp and who’s supposed to be the miserable bastard in the family. Step away from my role! What the hell’s got into you this week, anyway?”
Jake shrugged. “Everything, I guess. The business isn’t doing so well and Dad’s interfering again with it. He’s down at the office now and I dread to think what he’s up to. He’s probably remortgaging the whole lot behind our backs or buying a ticket to Vegas so he can put it all on red.”
This was nothing new. Jimmy Tremaine had always been hopeless with money but he had buckets of charm and generally got away with murder. It was no secret whom Nick took after.
“Dad’s just being Dad,” said Mo. “He won’t change now, Jake.”
“Absolutely. All the more reason to come out and party if Dad’s being a menace,” agreed Danny. “Come on, the taxi’s waiting and so is Ella St Milton.”
“Great,” said Jake bleakly. “Just great.”
Mo’s heart was sinking. From the expression on his face and the way he reached for another beer, Jake was far from being in the party mood. Even worse, he wasn’t inclined to spend much time with Ella. He could make all the excuses he liked about the business and their father but Mo knew the truth: something had happened between him and Summer, and it was eating him up.
Mo’s fists clenched in the folds of her dress. Why on earth did Summer Penhalligan have to come back to Polwenna Bay? Nobody wanted her here. She was spoiling everything and breaking Jake’s heart all over again.
While the boys fetched their coats Mo flipped open the laptop once more and headed back to Google. Several clicks of the mouse gave her exactly what she needed and with tingling fingertips she reached into her bag for her mobile. This was a long shot; Mo didn’t even know if anyone answered calls to celebrities’ agents on a Saturday evening, but there was only one way to find out…
Maybe somebody sho
uld tell Justin Anderson to come and fetch his errant fiancée home?
Chapter 23
Summer had forgotten just how physically exhausting life could be in Polwenna Bay. As beautiful as the village was, and as romantic as narrow streets and steep cliffs were in theory, in reality going about daily life somewhere designed for horses and handcarts was tough. London, with branches of Waitrose on every corner and parking right outside the house, had spoilt her, Summer had realised. Here every task involved the strategic foresight of a grand chess master because otherwise you soon found yourself walking miles up and down the steep lanes carrying bags of shopping and then being forced to retrace your steps because you needed the bank or more coins for the electricity meter. Nobody needed to go to the gym here; that was for certain. Trekking half a mile to fetch the car or lugging the groceries home from the parking spot was a workout in itself.
She’d kept herself busy over the past few days and, although she was no stranger to hard work, Summer couldn’t remember when she’d last felt this shattered. Jake had been as good as his word and filled the Audi up as well as returning it to her parking space, so she’d been making the most of it: in between driving back to the bank and picking up groceries, Summer had also visited Patsy, made an appointment to see Dr Penwarren and bought herself a pay-as-you-go mobile. These were all small things but to Summer each was a baby step on the road to claiming her life back.
While in town she’d sneaked into the newsagents to glance at the tabloids and the celebrity magazines, feeling weak with relief when there was nothing at all about either her or Justin. His silence made her uneasy; it normally meant he was building up to something. Summer didn’t kid herself into believing that he might have washed his hands of her or accepted that their relationship was over. Justin didn’t think like that. As far as he’d be concerned, she was his possession and he’d make certain she came back home one way or another. He knew how to manipulate her. Sometimes it was tears; sometimes it was a grand gesture. (The Audi had originally been filled with red roses and delivered after a heated disagreement. Even now Summer couldn’t think of red roses without remembering the equally red bruises on her wrists.) Worst of all, though, was the guilt when Justin reminded her of just how dreadful his childhood had been.
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