“Yes, go on, Red, pose,” drawled an amused voice from behind Mo. It dusted her skin with sudden shivers. She didn’t need to turn around to know who was there: her every molecule recognised him.
“You really should pose, Morwenna. I’d pay an awful lot of money then to see that calendar,” said Ashley Carstairs.
Chapter 5
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Mo couldn’t help herself; the words were out of her mouth before she’d even had a second to think. Spinning round, and with her heart pounding, she found she was staring straight into Ashley’s inky eyes.
“And good morning to you too, Morwenna,” he replied, a mocking smile playing on his lips. “I live here, remember?”
“No, you don’t. You’ve got a second home in the village, which isn’t the same thing at all,” she snapped.
“Ah, yes, that’s right,” Ashley agreed mildly. “Of course, I’m an incomer. So sorry for forgetting that I haven’t lived here for generations and bred with all my kin.”
Mo opened her mouth to protest at this blatant stereotyping – racism, actually, if you really thought about it – but stopped herself just in time. Ashley was just winding her up as usual, lighting the touch paper and waiting for the fireworks. Well, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
“Anyway, what’s all this about a calendar?” Ashley was saying to Jules, even though he was still looking at Mo. “It sounds like a great idea. Put me down for a hundred – but only if Red here poses.”
“Over my dead body,” muttered Mo.
“For a thousand pounds, she absolutely will,” said Jules. Was she actually dimpling at him? Oh, please. Mo felt like walloping the vicar over the head with her pasties.
“So much for God and Mammon,” she said sarcastically, but Jules just laughed.
“We need as much Mammon as we can get if we’re going to save St Wenn’s!”
Ashley raised a dark eyebrow. Normally it would have vanished into his equally dark locks but today his hair was crammed beneath a Musto beanie. It was shorter too, Mo noticed. It had been longer and thicker back in June when she’d threaded her fingers in those curls and…
No. No. Do not go there.
“St Wenn’s needs saving?”
Jules nodded. “The bishop’s paying us a visit. Officially it’s just a friendly gesture but I suspect there’s more to it. We’re on a mission to make the books look healthier, give the place a facelift and fit in a few weddings and christenings – all by the end of August.”
“Do funerals count?” Ashley asked flippantly.
If he stuck around making smart-arsed comments like that he’d soon find out, Mo thought.
“Not as much as weddings,” Jules replied gloomily. “We need to up the ante or I’m really worried that St Wenn’s could be closed.”
“Bloody hell.” Ashley looked taken aback. “I’ve only been away for several weeks and the church might be going?”
“Don’t bother pretending to be surprised,” Mo said witheringly. “We all know you’ll be first in line to buy it. You’ve probably put an offer in already.”
“Wow. You really do have a great opinion of me, don’t you?” Ashley shook his head. “And there was I thinking that Fernside would have changed your mind.”
“I’m not that easily bought off.” Mo, still clutching the pasties, straightened her back and glowered at him. Being angry was much easier when it came to dealing with Ashley. “Besides, you wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t want something.”
He laughed. “You are so right, Red, but there’s no dark secret what it is. I’ve already told you what I wanted in return; you’re supposed to have dinner with me, remember?”
Mo did remember, although she’d been trying very hard to forget. The night they were supposed to have had dinner at Mariners’ View, Ashley’s project house, he had come to tell Mo that Summer had been assaulted, and also that he had to go away for a while. She hadn’t seen or heard from him since.
“One dinner in return for the woods you wanted so much? It seems a bit of a deal to me,” Ashley continued. His eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’re not about to renege on it are you, Red? I thought you were supposed to be a woman of your word?”
“You were the one you went back on the deal! You went away!” Mo pointed out furiously.
“So you noticed, then?” He laid a hand over his heart. “I’m touched you missed me so much, Morwenna.”
Mo was fuming. If this conversation was a game of chess then he’d just well and truly checkmated her.
“Err, I’ll be on my way, you guys,” said Jules, while Mo and Ashley bristled at one another and ignored her. “Bye then!”
Mo scarcely noticed the vicar depart; she was too busy trying to think of a crushing reply to Ashley. Unfortunately her usually razor-sharp wit seemed to have left with Jules, and all she could do was gape at Ashley like one of Big Eddie’s catch on the deck of the trawler.
“What?” said Ashley. “Can’t take your eyes off me? It’s understandable. I have that effect on women.”
Mo curled her top lip. “Hardly. I was actually thinking how ridiculous that hat is.”
A strange expression flickered across his face. “It’s a new look,” was all he said.
She was puzzled at his lack of fire. Something was different. It wasn’t just the shorter hair; he was thinner too, and with his high cheekbones and strong features he looked more than ever like a dangerous bird of prey. Mo just couldn’t put her finger on it. Another annoyance.
“Anyway, Red, I see you’ve already got our lunch, which saves me a job. I hope those are steak pasties and not ones with that new-fangled curried chicken gunk? I may have to reconsider our business transaction if you’re partial to those, or even worse, banana and chocolate.”
Mo stared at him. “What are you on about?”
“Our picnic. Do try and keep up. I’ve got a flask of coffee and a couple of chocolate bars with me, and you’ve organised pasties, so let’s go.”
Ashley swung his Musto dry bag onto his shoulder and set off along Fore Street, towards the marina. Mo stood still for a moment, before calling after him, “And where exactly do you think I’m going?”
Ashley turned around. “I’d have thought that was obvious, Red. You’re coming on that long-promised dinner date with me. Technically I know it’s lunchtime but for you I’m prepared to overlook minor details. Those pasties will do very nicely.”
“And what makes you think I’m having lunch with you?
Ashley shrugged. “Several acres of woodland? Or do you want me to call my lawyers and say that I wasn’t in my right mind when I signed it over? I could do that, you know. My man in Harley Street would write me a letter to back that up, I’m sure. Besides, I’m never in my right mind when I’m near you, Morwenna – and you feel exactly the same way, so why don’t you stop trying to fight it and just enjoy the ride?”
The arrogance of him! He’d only been back in Polwenna Bay five minutes and already he was ordering her around. Mo wasn’t sure whether she grudgingly admired this or detested him even more. She certainly hated the way his white teeth flashed in his dark face as he smiled at her. It wasn’t a friendly smile but rather a triumphant one.
“I’ll have lunch with you because of the woods,” she agreed reluctantly, catching him up and resenting the fact that she had to tilt her chin to gaze up at him. Goodness, she’d forgotten how tall he was – and his shoulders were pretty broad for a city guy. Scornfully, Mo guessed that he probably pumped iron in some swanky London gym while a waxed personal trainer counted his reps and told him how amazing he was. Not like real men who hauled nets or lifted straw bales.
“You could look a little happier,” suggested Ashley. “If the wind changes and you get stuck like that Jules will be able to use you as a gargoyle. Come on, Red, it’s time to bury the hatchet with a nice civilised lunch.” Then, leaning forward, he whispered in her ear. “Unless you’d rather skip lunch a
nd just kiss me again?”
“I’d rather eat seagull droppings,” Mo said in her best cutting voice, but Ashley just laughed, which made her feel even more inclined to bury the hatchet – in his head.
“I don’t think Patsy Penhalligan’s put those in the pasties yet, but judging by the weird and wonderful concoctions I’ve seen today it’s only a matter of time,” he remarked. “Now, let’s go. We don’t want to miss the tide.”
Ashley had long legs that covered the ground effortlessly. At only a smidge over five feet, Mo had to really stride it out to keep up. Another black mark against him, to add to the rapidly growing collection.
“What’s the tide got to do with anything?” she asked.
“Quite a lot, since we’re going out on the boat,” Ashley said. “Christ, Mo, call yourself a Tremaine? I thought you lot knew all about the tides?”
“We own the marina; we don’t rule the waves. I’m not bloody Britannia,” Mo snapped.
“Sure about that? I think a breastplate and a trident would suit you,” he deadpanned. “Besides, that’s a very warlike expression on your face, Miss Tremaine. It’d look great on a fifty-pence piece.”
“I could certainly use a trident right now,” she muttered.
Ashley laughed. He seemed to find her annoyance entertaining. “If you show me your weapon, I’ll show you mine?”
Mo chose to ignore this insinuation. Anyway, what else could she expect from a man who’d named his boat Big Rod?
Big show-off, more like.
“So you want me to come out to sea with you and watch you massacre loads of fish?” she asked acerbically.
Ashley’s Boston Whaler was designed for sports fishing and was one of the fastest boats for miles around. Only a couple of months ago its very speed had saved the lives of two young fishermen whose boat had gone down. She guessed he wanted to show her what it was really capable of doing. What else was a floating penis extension for?
“Massacring fish?” He turned to look at her, his lips twitching. “That’s rich coming from a girl who goes fox hunting. Poor little Basil Brush. What harm did he ever do to you?”
“Hunting’s totally different!” Mo flared. “Foxes are a pest; ask any farmer. The rural economy depends on it too. What harm did a fox ever do? What a typical stupid townie comment!”
But Ashley wasn’t offended by her scorn. In fact he was laughing. “Mo, you’re far too easy to wind up. Boom! Boom! I was only teasing you. Besides, we do have foxes in London too, you know, and they’re a menace. Can hardly get them away from the bingo halls, and as for the Glacier Mints—”
“Stop taking the piss!” Mo howled. “Everything’s just a joke to you, isn’t it?”
Ashley held his hands up in surrender. “No, of course not. I love the fact that you feel so passionately about things, but you’re so easy to get going, Red, and I can’t resist it. That fiery temper of yours doesn’t take a lot to explode, does it? Must get you into all kinds of trouble. My cider shampoo, for example?”
He was referring to an incident in the local pub not so long ago, when Mo had tipped the remains of her drink over him in a moment of anger. She took a deep breath. Ashley was right: she did have a hot temper and flew off the handle far too easily. She was also hopeless at being teased and had never managed to tell when people were being serious or when they were ribbing her. That was why she liked horses so much. They never had an agenda and were completely honest. She always knew where she stood with her horses, whereas people felt like hard work.
“Yeah, sorry about the cider thing,” she mumbled.
“Bloody hell. I should be sitting down. Was that an apology?”
“It might have been. You won’t hear me say it again though.”
“I probably deserved the cider,” Ashley admitted. “Besides, my hair looked amazing afterwards. Or should I say, even more amazing?”
“Modest as ever,” Mo said drily, and he grinned.
“There’s no need to be modest if it’s true, Red.”
They’d been so busy bickering that they’d reached the marina now. Sure enough, there was Big Rod waiting alongside the pontoon, with her chrome sparkling in the sunlight and the polished fibreglass hull gleaming so brightly that Mo wished she had her shades. Mo’s eldest brother, Jake, ran the marina; it occurred to her that he must have spent hours getting the Whaler ready today. The engine was running, the fenders were out and all the ropes on the deck were beautifully coiled into fat snakes.
“So you just want me to have lunch with you on the boat?” Mo said. For some dreadful reason that scene from Shirley Valentine was running through her mind: the one where Tom Conti tells the worried Shirley that boat is boat and he won’t lay a finger on her because fuck is fuck. She felt her face start to heat up. Thank God Ashley couldn’t read her mind. Never mind Big Rod; she’d be the one Sigmund Freud would be interested in.
“Of course, if you want to have sex with me then that’s fine too,” Ashley told her kindly. “I’ll totally understand and I’m willing to take pity on you. It might clear the air if we got the sex out of the way first. You’ll be able to concentrate then, and we can focus on finding the pod of dolphins I’m told are just off Adriatic Bay.”
He threw the dry bag onto the deck of his boat, freed the bowline and jumped down after it, lithe as a panther and scarcely moving as the vessel swayed in the water. He’s got great balance, Mo found herself thinking; she could imagine he’d be good in the saddle. She ripped her thoughts away from images of Ashley all Poldark-like on horseback, galloping along the cliffs. She was just thinking of what she could charge him for livery. That was all.
“What did you just say?” she snapped, to cover a sudden and unwelcome attack of self-consciousness.
“That you can sleep with me if you want to,” Ashley repeated patiently. “Do try to keep up, Red.”
Mo rolled her eyes. “Not that. The other thing.”
“Aha, so you were listening? I said that if we get a move on there’s been a sighting of a pod of dolphins a few miles off Adriatic Bay. I thought it might be nice to go and see them.”
“We’re going dolphin-watching? Seriously?” Mo couldn’t have been more surprised if Ashley had said they were off to a knitting workshop. This was Cashley, the materialistic, capitalist destroyer of natural habitats, wasn’t it? And he wanted to take her out to sea and show her dolphins?
“Maybe you don’t know me quite as well as you think you do?” he said.
Above them, seagulls whirled and called. The sun was warm on Mo’s head and the breeze was soft. It was a perfect day to go out to sea and the thought of watching dolphins was very tempting. Mo loved dolphins.
God. Ashley was so annoying. He’d chosen one of the few things Mo couldn’t resist.
“Up for it?” he asked, shading his eyes against the sun as he looked up at her.
Mo dithered on the pontoon. She’d been to sea with Ashley before and knew he could handle the boat, and she adored dolphins, so why were her legs shaking? Being a Tremaine, Mo was an excellent sailor – the sea was practically in her DNA. There was no sensible reason for being nervous.
He held out his hand. “Come on. Take a risk. You never know, you might even enjoy it.”
Oh, sod it. She might too.
Before she could change her mind, Mo took his hand and jumped. Seconds later she was on the deck with Ashley’s strong hands on her waist steadying her. For a dangerous moment she was transported back to the deserted night-time garden at the St Miltons’ ball. To break the spell she stepped away and pretended to check the pasties for damage.
“She leapt into my arms,” he said triumphantly to the holidaymakers who were watching from the quayside. “You all saw it! She wants me.”
“Dream on,” Mo scoffed. “I’m only doing this for the dolphins.”
But Ashley wasn’t listening: he was too busy casting off and tugging life jackets from the hold. When he tossed her one, Mo put it on without complaint. After seeing
how swiftly disaster had overtaken one of the local fishing boats recently, she knew that at sea nothing could be left to chance.
Not if you wanted to make it back to the shore, anyway.
Once the boat was clear of the marina and had crept through the marked channel of buoys, Ashley clipped on his kill cord and pushed the throttles forward. The boat surged across the bay as easily as a pebble might skip over the surface of a pond. White foam trailed behind them, the wind whipped Mo’s tangles back from her face and she laughed out loud with sheer joy. Mo had always been an adrenalin junkie; the faster the horse and the more challenging the jumps, the happier she was. There was no time to think when speed was testing her every reflex, and after her mother had died Mo had snatched every opportunity she could not to think too much. She guessed that over the years it had become a habit. Sneaking a glance at Ashley, she could tell by the exhilarated expression on his face that he felt exactly the same way. But what could possibly be going on in the life of a multimillionaire property mogul that he wanted to escape from?
Big Rod made easy work of the miles from Polwenna to Adriatic Bay, a beautiful sweep of sand cut into the granite cliffs as though a greedy giant had strolled along and taken a bite out of the hillside. This bay was hard to reach by land, as it could only be accessed by a very steep, and in places very treacherous, path that plunged downwards with vertigo-inducing sharpness. The difficult descent and exhausting climb back up meant that most of the time Adriatic Bay was deserted. Pink thrift grew in clumps resembling candy floss at the edge of the sand, and sea birds nested happily in the nooks and crannies of the cliff face. As a Polwenna Bay girl, Mo had visited this beach many times by boat for swimming and beach barbeques, knowing that the water here was as clear and as blue as any found in the Caribbean. On sunny days like this one you could see right down to the drifting seaweed and rocks of the seabed, and the kiss of the cold water felt like silk against hot skin. It was one of her favourite places in the world and as soon as Ashley had mentioned it she’d been spellbound.
A Time for Living: Polwenna Bay 2 Page 5