“It can’t have been deliberate,” she agreed. “All the same though, I’m going to keep an eye out for any cars with dents. It might even be worth popping over to the local garage and asking if they’ve had any requests for bodywork?”
“I’m sure the police will have already thought of that, love,” said Alice, pouring cold water on Jules’s attempts to solve crime. “I would just wait and see. In my experience these things have a habit of coming to light.”
Jules nodded. Alice was right. But how long this would take was anyone’s guess. She just hoped that something happened soon before somebody else was hurt. Or worse.
As she packed up her belongings over at the Polwenna Bay Hotel, Ella St Milton was all cried out. Since she and Symon had exchanged words she’d had far too much time on her hands to mull events over. Usually flat out with work, it felt strange to have free time and, not wanting to think, Ella had kept busy by emptying her apartment and driving her belongings down to Tom’s small cottage. Since Charlie had taken her car, Ella had been using the hotel’s micro van. Narrow and nippy, it was perfect for wiggling through the village’s tiny streets and she was irritated to discover that it was being used just when she was set to move the last of her things. Jonny’s Jag was parked outside the hotel, but since Ella and her grandfather still weren’t talking she didn’t feel right about borrowing it. Besides, it was a headache trying to squeeze the Jag through streets originally designed for one horse power.
Ella checked her watch. It was early afternoon and, since the Easter holidays had yet to begin, the village would be fairly quiet. She had only two boxes and a wheelie bag left, so she could easily cram these into Teddy’s little Audi and run in and out of Tom’s place in minutes. Then she could scoot over to the manor and see if Perry was about. Ella might not be Symon’s favourite person anymore, but she was still a businesswoman and the potential the house had as a future wedding venue was not to be discounted. If only she could summon Evil Ella. Her alter ego’s cool approach and cutting comments were the shield she needed to face Symon again.
But Evil Ella wouldn’t come when called, which made the new, emotional Ella weep even harder. Somehow falling for Symon Tremaine had taken away her armour – and, without it, Ella wasn’t sure how she’d survive.
Well, not by sobbing and feeling sorry for herself, she thought now as she sealed the final box and glanced around the flat that had been hers for so long. The flat was up on the top floor and had big windows that let in vast pools of light, which spilled onto the waxed oak boards and made the white paint gleam. Ella had chosen the fittings and furniture herself. Spending rare days off in small interior design shops had been a guilty pleasure, and she’d loved picking out things like the perfect driftwood piece or a glass sculpture to complement it. She would miss this little sanctuary and her life here at the hotel more than she could ever say.
But terrifyingly, this wasn’t nearly as much as she would miss the friendship she’d had with Symon and the beautiful dreams she had dared to weave for what might lie ahead.
Ella lugged the next lot of her belongings down the stairs and through the warren of corridors leading to the back of the hotel. She would never be able to take this route now without remembering how Symon had taken her hand that day and quietly guided her to safety. Her hand in his had felt so right and Ella had felt a sense of peace she hadn’t experienced since… well, actually since she must have been very small. For as long as she could recall Ella’s relationships had been about arguing and point-scoring. From her parents’ rows and the tug-of-love access visits (which in reality had been more about each party annoying the other as much as possible than a desire to see the children), through to squabbling with Ted, standing up to her grandfather and playing mind games with boyfriends, every single relationship had been about protecting herself and making sure she didn’t get hurt.
How ironic that it was this fledging relationship with Symon Tremaine, which had never proceeded beyond bone-melting kisses and which had never asked anything of her except that she was completely herself, that had hurt Ella the most…
She mustn’t brood on it. Symon had made his feelings clear. He loathed her.
The family’s vehicles were kept in the old coach house at the back of the hotel, once filled with prancing thoroughbreds and carriage horses but now home to far greater horse power. Jonny’s pride and joy of a classic Bentley slumbered under a dust sheet and until recently Ella’s Audi and Range Rover had resided there too. The little hotel van was often tucked just inside the entrance. Ella was seeking Teddy’s sleek Audi A8, which was always kept here ready for a quick getaway.
There it was, under a cover for once. This kind of care was unlike her brother, who couldn’t usually be bothered to look after things. Whipping the cover off, Ella was about to open the Audi’s door and slide onto the driver’s seat when she spotted something that made her stomach turn to water.
The left-hand wing mirror was dangling from the door, and wires were spilling from the side of the car like exposed veins and arteries. The paint was scratched, the mirror was shattered and there was no doubt about it: this car had been in a collision with something.
Or someone.
Ella threw up. It felt as though the world was spinning around and around, and for a moment she thought she would pass out. Teddy must have hit Emerald Tremaine and left her for dead. There was no other explanation.
As though in a dream she retraced her steps back to the hotel, where she slipped into the ladies’ room to sluice her mouth and wash her face and hands. Once she was restored to something resembling normal, Ella walked to the hotel office. There she found Teddy sitting at her desk with his feet up scrolling through Facebook.
“I don’t know what you made such a song and dance about, sis,” he said when he saw her. “This job’s a piece of cake.”
Ella was not in the mood. She strode up to the desk, swiped his feet off the polished surface and, leaning forward until her eyeballs almost touched his, hissed, “What the hell’s happened to your car?”
“Whoa! Chillax! I never knew you liked it so much,” said her brother, shrinking back.
It took all Ella’s control not to grab him by the tie and throttle the truth out of him.
“I am not messing about, Ted! What happened to the car? The wing mirror’s hanging off!”
“Keep your hair on. It’s under warranty! Jesus, Ella, what the hell is wrong with you? Is it time of the month or something?”
“Just tell me what happened! What did you hit?”
Ella was shouting now and probably the whole of the hotel could hear her, but she was beyond caring. If her brother was capable of leaving a young girl injured in a dark lane then Ella had to know. She felt responsible by association and she had to put things right.
“Christ. Keep your wig on.” Teddy looked about six as his bottom lip jutted out. “I was driving back from Fowey yesterday evening on the back roads—”
“Had you been drinking?” Ella demanded but she already knew the answer. The locals always used the back roads if they thought they’d had a few too many.
Teddy shrugged. “I had a couple of drinks but I wasn’t pissed and I didn’t crash, if that’s what you’re thinking, sis. I clipped a deer as I came down Stable Hill. It was in the hedge and I didn’t even see it. It was bloody lucky it wasn’t anything bigger; I could have really damaged the car.”
Ella’s knees buckled and she sagged against the desk. If Teddy had been driving anything larger Emerald would be dead.
“What?” said Teddy. “You’ve gone a really funny colour.”
“That wasn’t a deer, Ted. It was a person.”
Her brother stared at her in disbelief. “What? No it wasn’t. It couldn’t have been. I didn’t see anyone.”
“You wouldn’t have done, if she was on the passenger side.” Ella’s mouth filled with metallic-tasting saliva and she swallowed it frantically. She couldn’t be sick again. “Ted, last night Emerald Tr
emaine was knocked down on that hill. She’s in hospital.”
“That wasn’t me. It couldn’t have been. I never saw anyone,” Teddy’s face was white. “No way. I never hit her and don’t you dare start saying that I did.”
“Ted, you did. It was an accident and I know you didn’t mean to but you hit Emerald.”
“You don’t have any proof.” He was on his feet now and pacing the office, one hand loosening his tie while the other raked through his blond hair. “You can’t prove that.”
Ella’s stomach turned again with disgust. “You haven’t even asked if she’s all right.”
Teddy stopped dead. “Oh Christ, Ella. She isn’t…”
“No. A broken arm and some bruises, luckily, but the police are treating it as a hit and run.”
“Thank God.” Teddy passed a shaking hand over his face. “So she’s OK and there’s nothing to link it to me, is there? She didn’t see anything? I certainly didn’t see her.”
Ella couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “That’s hardly the point, Ted! You hit her!”
“What if I did? What the fuck was the silly cow doing, walking along in the dark like that? She was practically asking to be run over!”
“She was walking home!” Ella yelled. “And you were driving too fast and probably half pissed as usual!”
“You take that back! There’s no proof it was anything to do with me!”
“Except the broken wing mirror!” Ella screamed. “You have got to go to the police. You have to tell them what happened.”
“Are you mental? What on earth would I do that for? I can get the bloody car fixed, no questions, and nobody will ever know. If I tell the police I could lose my licence.”
“You could,” she agreed. “You might face prison too. But, Ted, they will find out in the end.”
“How will they?” His eyes narrowed. “Would you drop me in it? My own sister? What is this? Revenge for the old man preferring me? Jealous because I’ve got your job and you can’t bear it?”
Ella was stunned. “Do you really think I would use a girl’s injuries to further my own career or score petty points? Is that the kind of person you honestly think I am?”
He shrugged. “Evil Ella, right?”
“No! Wrong! Nothing is worth that. No hotel or career!” Ella insisted. “I’m asking you to do it because it’s the right thing to do and because no matter what you’ve become recently, deep down inside I know you’re not the sort of person who injures a young girl, even by accident, and doesn’t take responsibility. You have to own up, Ted! You can’t hide something this serious!”
“I totally agree, Ella. He absolutely can’t and I won’t let him.”
Jonny St Milton stood in the doorway. He was leaning heavily on his walking stick and looked every one of his eighty or so years. Behind him was Tom Elliot, eyes wide and mouth open, clutching a sheaf of papers that slid suddenly from his grasp and drifted to the floor. In the heat of their discussion, both arrivals had gone unnoticed by Ella and Teddy.
“So much for family loyalty,” Teddy spat.
Jonny glanced at Ella. He couldn’t quite look her in the eye. “Unfortunately, I think that’s been misplaced for quite a while. Now, Edward St Milton, are you going to call the police? Or am I?”
Chapter 28
Symon was upstairs in his apartment, sprawled on the sofa and flicking through the digital channels. The prepping for the evening’s service was completed, there was a break in his filming schedule, thank goodness, and he had some time to kill before he and Nick left to visit Emerald. He’d turned his phone off, his staff had left until The Plump Seagull opened for the evening’s service and he had a rare window of opportunity where there was nothing for him to do but relax.
The problem was, Symon seemed to have forgotten how this was done. He was having trouble switching off his brain. No matter how many times he flipped through property shows, quizzes, old movies and Jeremy Kyle repeats, Symon found it impossible to focus on anything. All he could think about was Ella and Charlie Barton and how close he’d come to falling for another woman who was only interested in a trophy chef. Claudette had been excited by his status as a rising star, but only if he came with a guarantee, and Ella had only cared about the kudos that Symon could bring to the hotel.
His heart ached because she’d done a good job of persuading him otherwise. He’d almost fallen for it too. What an idiot he’d been and how Ella must have laughed. If he wasn’t supposed to be driving to the hospital later, Symon would have been tempted to hit the whiskey and drink himself into oblivion.
He was contemplating his next move when the doorbell shrilled. Symon ignored it. There was no one due to visit and nobody he wanted to see. Or rather, and more accurately, the person he longed to see wouldn’t be knocking on his door again. Not after the things he’d said to her earlier on.
The bell shrilled a second time and then a third. Whoever they were, they were certainly persistent. Curiosity got the better of him and Symon padded down the stairs and opened the restaurant door, his mouth falling open when he saw the identity of his visitor.
Had he been drinking and not noticed?
“Bonjour, chéri,” said Claudette Marsaud, stretching up onto tiptoes and kissing his cheeks. “Ça va?”
Ça va? Symon was rendered utterly speechless. It was as though two totally separate worlds had just collided, because here on his doorstep – standing in the narrow cobbled lane with the soundtrack of seagulls and the chortling River Wenn playing in the background – was the very woman who had haunted his dreams for so long. Clad in a stylish wrap dress, with a Louis Vuitton bag on her shoulder and not a hair out of place, she was looking every bit as chic as though she’d just strolled off the Champs-Élysées. As Symon caught a hint of her familiar perfume his senses reeled and he clung onto the doorframe as though this grip was all that could keep him from falling back through time and becoming the man he’d once been.
The man who had loved her and adored her and who would have done anything for her. The man she’d rejected.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Claudette Marsaud asked, tilting her head at him as those slanting dark eyes glittered with promises. “When I have travelled so far?”
Somehow Symon managed to find his voice. “Claudette. What are you doing here?”
“I have come to see you, of course! Why else would I be here? It is not for the English weather or the cuisine!” she laughed.
The sound of her laughter was every bit as musical and enchanting as Symon remembered, but something about it set his teeth on edge. Maybe it was because the weather was beautiful today, a little breezy but a gorgeous spring day nevertheless, or that he was tired of English cooking being the butt of jokes? Symon wasn’t sure, but he was riled.
“So, this is the famous Fat Bird?” she was saying, sliding past Symon and into the building. Her breast brushed his arm (deliberately, he knew, because it was one of her old tricks), and his treacherous body reacted as it always had.
“Plump Seagull,” he corrected automatically, shutting the door and leaning against it with his arms crossed. “Look, Claudette, I know this isn’t a social visit. Why are you here?”
But Claudette wasn’t listening. She was too busy stalking around the restaurant, picking up menus and running a manicured nail over the bar. She had an intense look on her face that told him she was busy appraising what she saw and calculating how it could be improved. Jean-Luc had once commented that she was the brains of the operation and, as the saying went, had an eye for business and a body for sin. A cold sweat of shame broke out between Symon’s shoulder blades as he recalled this conversation. Had the older man suspected that his protégé was in love with his wife? Probably. Most men who met Claudette were captivated. As he watched her sashay past tables and chairs, the dress belted tightly to accentuate the hand-span waist and her buttocks swaying seductively, Symon knew that she was very conscious of the effect she had on the opposite sex. There
had been a time when he couldn’t have stood and watched like this without being consumed with the urge to touch her and draw her close, sinking his face into the silky fall of dark hair and pulling her hard against him, and he knew she was more than aware of this. His passion for her had been primeval and all-consuming but it had also been toxic, poisoning everything he had held dear.
She spun on her heel, clapping her hands in delight. “Oh, Symon! C’est tres enchanteur! Tu es si intelligent!”
In the past her praise had had the power to light up cities, and he would have gone to the ends of the earth to hear it. Now, he felt the dull ache of cynicism. How often had she given him a flash of hope that he might mean something to her? That she truly admired him? The truth was that whenever she’d felt Symon start to slip away from her, Claudette had tossed him a compliment and a dark-eyed promise.
“Thank you,” he said, shortly. Christ, he needed a drink. As Claudette nosed about, Symon headed to the bar and poured himself a whiskey. He downed it straight away, then poured another. Sod it. Nick would have to drive to the hospital.
“I think that the menu could be a little more adventurous,” she continued critically, “and also the décor in here is a little, how you say, unoriginal? But it is charming. And a Michelin star too, non? You always did have such… potential.”
They both knew she wasn’t alluding to his skills in the kitchen. Symon had been in relationships before he met Claudette – it was impossible not to meet girls when you lived in a seasonal seaside town brimming with holidaymakers clad in shorts and tiny tops and all desperate for a summer romance – but it was Claudette who’d taught him how to please a woman, the places to kiss and caress and the words to make her melt…
In spite of everything, Symon’s pulse quickened at the memories of those snatched hours with her in his room, the blinds drawn against the harsh noon sun and the feel of her sweat-slicked skin against his. He pushed this image away and replaced it with another, one that sliced through him like jagged glass through a wrist.
Recipe for Love: A gorgeous Cornish romance (Polwenna Bay Book 5) Page 27
