by Karen Abbott
Gini listened in mounting distrust. He had indicated that he would back her. He had taken her ideas and shared them with this Gabrielle, whoever she was, who intended to incorporate them in her own work.
“Where is my portfolio?” she suddenly demanded.
Vincent looked taken aback. “Why … er … with Gabrielle, of course. She …”
“There is no ‘of course’ about it. I loaned it to you, not anyone else. I wish to have it returned to me as soon as possible.”
“I told you I was going to show it to a colleague.”
“‘Show’ not ‘leave it there’!”
She felt thoroughly deflated. All her hopes and aspirations for her own business had crumpled at her feet. She didn’t want to work for anyone else. She could have taken a junior position in one of the smaller fashion houses, but she had wanted to work here, on the island that she loved. It was her home; where she belonged. And she wanted her name on the label of her designs, not someone else’s.
She realised that Monsieur Nicolas had spoken to her.
“Pardon?”
“We were drawing up a contract for you to sign, Mademoiselle St. Clare, when you interrupted us. I can have it ready for tomorrow morning. I will have it hand-delivered to your home.”
Gini took a deep breath and drew herself up to full height.
“You needn’t bother. I’m not interested.”
She shifted her gaze to Vincent.
“I will allow you two days to return my portfolio. After that, I will ask my father to arrange to begin proceedings against you.”
She moved towards the door but Vincent reached out and took hold of her arm.
“Gini, wait! Let’s talk about this.”
She shook her arm free.
“There is nothing to talk about. I trusted you … but I won’t trust you again. Two days!” She left the office looking more calm than she felt. There was no way that any of them were going to see how distressed she was.
She couldn’t face going straight home. They would all be sympathetic, she knew … but, right now, she didn’t want sympathy! She didn’t know what she did want—except a way to start her dress shop.
Without really planning where to go, she found herself on the western side of the island, driving down one of the unfenced roads that led to the beach at Vertbois. It was one of her favourite beaches. It was less popular than the Grand Village Plage but equally well-placed with regards to the huge Atlantic rollers, which, right then, were soaring high.
The beach had a number of holiday-makers scattered about in small family groups … parents, children, teenagers. She walked along, hardly seeing them. A stray football rolled to her feet and she absentmindedly sent it back to its young owner. There were plenty of surfers testing the waves, especially in the central area that was patrolled by the life-guards. They wouldn’t be busy today. The sea was high but safe. There were no cross-winds to cause any problems.
The serious surfers were further along the shoreline. They were practising for the popular Surfing Competition to be held next month at Boyardville and preferred to keep out of the way of the novice amateurs who often, innocently enough, would cut into a wave already claimed, spoiling the run. Seeing the waves, she wished she had brought her gear—but, of course, she had had other plans for the day. The reminder put a scowl on her face and she stared blindly out to sea.
What a fool she had been!
Forcing herself to be objective in her self-analysis, she had to admit that Vincent had never actually said that he would lend her the money—but he knew that was what she had in mind and he hadn’t disillusioned her! She was in no doubt that he had deliberately misled her so that she would tell him all her plans.
As for her portfolio, unless Gabrielle copied all the details of any design, there would never be any proof that she had stolen any ideas. Still, that might not happen. Gabrielle might have more scruples than Vincent. Only time would tell.
She scuffed her toes in the sand. She felt so stupid!
How could she go home and tell everyone what had happened? Luc would only say, ‘I told you so!’ Jean-Claude would remind her how foolish she had been to loan out her portfolio. And her dad would tell her to forget the whole idea and join the family business.
She knew she was fortunate to have a family business to go into—but she wanted to make her own way. Her three years at Art College had opened a world she hadn’t known existed. She loved fabrics! She loved designing! She loved the thrill of putting a complete ensemble together. And the extra thrill of witnessing her customer’s delight.
She kicked savagely at a large stone in the sand, wishing she could kick her life into gear with the same ease.
“Ouch!”
Gini’s hand flew to her mouth in dismay.
“Pardon, Monsieur! I am sorry!”
To her intense embarrassment she immediately burst into tears.
“Hey! It’s not that bad,” her unintended victim assured her. “I’ll recover! It’s only grazed my shin.”
“Yes. I didn’t mean …”
“That’s okay.”
He was one of the surfers. His accent wasn’t local but he was obviously French. He was tall and the tautness of his wet-suit revealed a slim, well-proportioned figure.
“D’you mind?” he asked, indicating if he might join her.
She shrugged. “I don’t own the beach.”
“Neither do I. I own the world!” He laughed. “It’s all a matter of attitude. This beach is free. So is the sea, the sun, the sand, the air we breathe. All of it is free. Therefore, it belongs to me and you and whoever lays claim to it!”
He placed his surf board on the sand and began to peel off his wet-suit. His olive skin was tanned; his muscles rippled as he pulled the close-fitting rubber top over his head.
“I saw you watching us,” he ventured. “Do you surf at all?”
She nodded. “I wasn’t watching you … but yes, I often surf here. I’m not in your league, though.” She brushed the back of her hand across her eyes. “It’s been a good sea for you.”
“Yes. It’s dying off a bit now. We’ll find another one.”
“Is that what you do? Follow the good waves around?”
“Sure.”
He looked at her curiously, half smiling, yet serious at the same time. “What else is there?”
“Some of us have to work for a living.”
“Ah, yes! But that depends on your aims in life. Too many people get caught up chasing their tails.”
“How do you live?”
His wide smile revealed beautiful white teeth.
“Oh, this and that. I win competitions. Maybe I stack some shelves in the supermarkets. Sometimes I sell photographs to magazines. It’s all the same to me. If I need money I earn some. If I have enough money, I enjoy the day.”
He dropped onto the sand.
“Will you join me?”
Gini looked down at him.
He grinned disarmingly. “I promise not to bite.”
She laughed as she dropped down at his side.
“Or throw stones back at me?”
“You looked so fierce! I was glad it wasn’t me who had upset you, even though I did get the punishment.”
“I really am sorry! I was as much fed up with myself as the person I was feeling mad at!”
“D’you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.”
Gini hugged her knees and looked out to sea.
“Why not? It might help me to sort my thoughts out and decide what to tell my folks at home.”
She told him what had happened. How she had discovered that the shop was for sale. Her hopes for her own business to run. Her family’s initial disapproval. Then the hope that Vincent would back her. He was a good listener.
When her words stumbled, he waited patiently or asked the right question to prompt her.
As her tale came to its end, she once more stared out to sea.
“I still feel so stup
id.” She laughed harshly. “I even fancied myself in love with him. How he must have laughed at me!”
“He’s a fool. I wouldn’t spare any more distress over him.”
“I expect you’re right. I hope someone takes him for a ride! Right now, I hate him. I hate all men! Especially professional ones who dress in their smart suits and think they know it all!”
She looked so fierce, the young man laughed.
“Ouch, again! I’m one of the hated species, don’t forget.”
He looked at her under his eye-lashes, eye-lashes that no man had any right to. They were long and black and framed his laughing dark eyes.
“I shall be quite desolate if you hate me!”
Gini couldn’t help grinning down at him as he lay at her side, his head propped up on his hand. She made her face scowl.
“All men! You can’t be trusted! I hate being manipulated or made use of.”
“Don’t women do that, as well as men?”
“Well, yes. I suppose so. But that’s no excuse. In this case, it was a man.”
A hint of laughter took the sting out of her words and her expression softened.
“It will be a while before I trust another, anyway.”
She began to scramble to her feet.
“Thanks for listening but I’d better be on my way. I’m not looking forward to this part.”
He, too, rose to his feet.
“What’s that?”
“Telling my family. I feel so humiliated.”
“They’ll understand.”
A thoughtful expression came over his face.
“I’ve just had an idea. I don’t know what you’ll think of it … but it might be just the thing.”
“What is it?”
“A pal of mine, well, not really a pal. An acquaintance, more like. Anyway, we were talking in the bar the other night. He has this cabin near the port at St. Trojan. He was saying that the guy who rented it off him had cleared off without notice, leaving two months’ rent unpaid. The lease was due to expire anyway at the end of the month and he doesn’t want to renew it. Not to the same guy, anyway. It won’t be anything like the premises you were talking about but …”
He looked at her thoughtfully.
“I’m sure someone like you could soon up with some good ideas for it. What do you say?”
Gini looked doubtful.
“A cabin by the port? A wooden shack?”
“I don’t know. But beggars can’t be choosers! Why don’t we go along and take a look at it? It would be something definite to tell your family—a change of plan, rather than a cancellation!”
Gini stared at him, her mind working overtime. There was nothing to lose by having a look—and the rent couldn’t be too much if it was just a wooden shack. It wouldn’t quite live up to her high ideas of exclusive garments but there was more than one way of skinning a cat, as her grandmother used to say.
She made up her mind.
“Yes. Why not!”
They travelled in Gini’s car. The young man, Hugo Bonneville, left his surf-board with his friends, who had an old van for transport.
“We’ll meet up later,” he told her when she expressed concern about him getting back his surfing gear.
He had quickly changed into shorts and T-shirt round the back of the van and reappeared sporting sun-glasses, bare legs and flip-flops. He casually leapt over the low door of her car and grinned up at her. “I’m all yours.”
Gini laughed delightedly, deciding that she much preferred his easy manner to Vincent’s over-courteous correctness. She slipped into place beside him and started up the engine.
The roads were quiet. The majority of islanders were enjoying a family lunch in the coolness of their shuttered homes and the visitors were enjoying the sunshine of the beaches or swimming pools. Within fifteen minutes they had reached the large roundabout near the port at St. Trojan. She turned right and parked in the car-park of small supermarket on the corner.
She suddenly felt unaccountably nervous. She really wanted the cabin to be suitable! She was half-afraid to look, in case she was to be disappointed.
“Come on.”
Hugo was already out of the car and striding across the road.
Gini had no option but to follow him.
“Slow down, Hugo. My legs aren’t as long as yours.”
She was almost running to keep up with him as they crossed the road and were now walking down one side of the quay, past a large restaurant and a shop that sold and hired bicycles and fishing tackle
Hugo stopped.
“There it is. What do you think?”
Chapter 4
She followed his gaze.
Across the road, set at an angle facing the roundabout, stood a wooden cabin on a low brick base. It looked small, because it stood alone, though other, larger buildings were nearby. As she had expected, it was single-storey. It had a large display window and a solid door.
At first sight, her heart sank a little. It was no comparison to the shop in Le Chateau. The faded notice in the window showed it to have been used to sell fishing tackle and a few unsold items lay scattered in the widow. Its business had obviously now been taken over by the shop behind them.
Hugo took hold of her arm.
“Come on. Let’s take a closer look.”
They crossed the road and approached the cabin. It didn’t greatly improve on closer acquaintance. The grey paint was peeling off but the wood looked sound. The items in the window and the display surface were covered in dust.
“I’m not sure,” she faltered. “It’s not quite what I had in mind.”
“Don’t look at it as it is! See it as it can become!” Hugo ordered. “A bucket of water and a coat of paint will work wonders! Stop thinking of the pampered rich women you wanted to tempt inside and think of the holiday makers with money to spend or the local girls who want fashion at a price they can afford. Come on, now! Get that creative brain of yours into action! Close your eyes and tell me what you see!”
Gini flung him a startled look. He wasn’t going to let her off the hook so easily. She took a deep breath and did as he ordered.
She closed her eyes. She waited a moment. Then a slow smile began to spread across her face.
“I see the wood sanded down. Maybe varnished? No! Left plain … a rustic look. The window area cleaned and … again left plain with a few garments arranged casually. Colourful garments and a hat. Maybe a straw hat pinned up there with a scarf trailing from it. And a bag. Hessian, I think.”
Her face was glowing.
“What’s it like inside?”
She pressed her face up against the glass, her hands shielding her eyes.
She couldn’t see much but what she could see had a neglected air. “I’ll have to do a lot of work in there, but if I keep it simple …” She broke off . “How can I get hold of the key?”
“You like it?”
Gini grimaced.
“Like is hardly the right word. But yes, I can see possibilities. In fact, more that that!”
She stood back, running an eye of appraisal over the whole cabin front. She came to a decision.
“Yes, I do like it! But I’m having to re-think my fashion ideas. There was something I did in my second year. Simple ideas with lots of colours. They were peasant style clothes, only, I think I’ll change that. Ethnic ideas are popping in my mind. Flimsy cottons; non-iron fabrics; denim; tie-dyes; bold stitching; appliqué work. I need to get my sketch book.”
Her eyes were shining, as idea after idea ran through her agile mind.
“I need to get busy. The season’s already started. I’ve to get the inside work done. I’m sure Jean-Claude will help there with the work-force. Except …” Her face clouded. “The winter storm. It wreaked havoc on our land. The men are busy clearing the site and repairing damaged structures.”
Her lips pursed in thought as an idea came to her. Hugo had said he did casual work, hadn’t he?
“What abou
t you? I couldn’t pay you much. Not yet. But I’m sure I’ll get a loan to start me off.”
She looked at him hopefully. Hugo hesitated a moment then nodded.
“Sure, I’ll help. Maybe some of the lads will, too. Leave that to me. Tell me what you want and we’ll get it done in double fast time! But first, the key. I tell you what! Paul will probably be in one of the bars in town tonight. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find him. How about if I contact the guys and get them to come to St. Trojan tonight? Then we can trawl the town and track him down. Can you make it, d’you think?”
Gini nodded.
“Try keeping me away! I can’t wait!”
She drove home in a buoyant mood. Ideas were scrambling their way through her head and she wanted to get them down on paper while they were fresh.
“Gini! We were wondering what had happened to you! You’re looking happy. Are things moving forward?”
It was Christi, leading two of the horses across the stable yard, as Gini parked her car.
“Yes! But not the way I expected. Just wait ’til I tell you.”
“Gini!”
Gini turned to see her father framed in the doorway of Reception.
“Oui, Papa?”
“Come here! Vincent Depretine has been on the telephone. I’d like to know what’s happening!”
“Huh! Did he tell you what he’d done? That he’d bought the shop behind my back and stolen my ideas?”
Gini strode across the yard to meet Georges in the doorway.
“He told me you had turned down his offer of managing his proposed boutique! Well, that’s it, my girl. You’ve had your chance. I hope you’ve now come to your senses and are ready to join Christi in the Riding School.”
Gini turned back to Christi, who was looking puzzled and distressed by the argument between father and daughter that was developing in front of her.
“I’m sorry, Christi. I wish I could help you but I can’t. I’ve found another shop. Wait, Papa!”
She hurried after her father.
“Papa! Did you and Jean-Claude give up at the first set-back when you were changing the farm into a holiday site? I know you didn’t!”
