“I think that’s more what Mel has in mind for me!” grinned Jonty. Andi liked the way that laughter lines fanned from his eyes. “No, I was just thinking that you could be the answer to another of my sister’s problems. Remember how I told you that she was fed up with Si working non-stop?”
“If he brought the FT home then it was divorce?” she recalled. “I thought that was a joke?”
“It was a bit of an exaggeration maybe, but the truth is that Si does work too hard and Mel’s getting fed up with it. He’s totally up against it with work and family, but I know my sister and when she makes up her mind about something there’s no going back.”
Andi said nothing. There was a twisting, churning sensation in her stomach that felt dangerously like hope.
“Si does lots of work with buyouts and companies going public,” Jonty continued. “He’s in the middle of taking Pasties Drekly public and he’s going to be really up against it to put the deal to bed and manage to have quality family time. Especially if Mel holds him to his promise. I tell you what; it makes life very difficult when your sister marries your best friend. Divided loyalties hardly covers it. If I agree with Si then Mel will play the blood’s-thicker-than-water card; if I side with her, who will I play Grand Theft Auto with?”
“I feel your pain,” Andi deadpanned.
He pulled a face. “You can mock all you like. A man needs his Xbox buddy! Seriously, though, if Si had somebody like you on hand here to help him that would really take the pressure off. He might only need a few days a week but I bet he’d jump at the chance of hiring you. Would it be OK if I mentioned you to him?”
Andi hardly dared to hope it would be OK. If she could get some proper work then she’d be able to save up some money, pay off the huge credit-card debts that Tom had run up in her name and hopefully get her finances back on track.
“Say something?” Jonty urged when she didn’t reply. “I haven’t been too pushy have I? It just seems as though you’ve fallen out of heaven!” He blushed right to the roots of his short dark hair as soon as the words were uttered. “Oh God, sorry. That sounds like a really terrible chat-up line. All I’m trying to say is that I think you could be exactly what Si needs. Would it be all right to take your number and ask him to call you?”
“Of course it would,” Andi said. Her heart was doing an excited lambada against her ribs but she hoped outwardly she looked calm and professional.
“Brilliant!” His face split into a big grin of delight. “In that case I think we should toast a potential future work partnership with a couple more of Angie’s famous bog-standard coffees. What do you say?”
Andi grinned back. Jonty’s enthusiasm was infectious and for the first time in what felt like aeons hope was fizzing throughout her nervous system like lemonade. Maybe, just maybe, Gemma and Angel’s crazy plan wasn’t quite so crazy after all?
“I think it’s a fantastic idea!” she told Jonty.
And it wasn’t just a second coffee she was referring to.
Chapter 13
Angel had been having a lovely afternoon in Padstow. The pretty seaside town was teeming with summer visitors, all intent on making the most of the glorious sunshine while it lasted. Girls in skimpy vests and tiny shorts held hands with their sunburned boyfriends and drifted through the streets while yummy mummies pushed Bugaboo strollers to Rick Stein’s café for afternoon tea. High above the higgledy-piggledy rooftops seagulls wheeled and shrieked in a cloudless blue sky before dive-bombing unsuspecting tourists for their ice creams and pasty crusts.
Angel treated herself to an ice cream, which she ate slowly while dangling her legs over the quayside. Across the shimmering sand and the water ribbon of the Camel Estuary, Rock was only a smudge on the horizon, but the place still made her stomach knot with excitement like the tangled fishing gear piled up alongside the trawlers. The sense of all the possibilities just there for the taking was overwhelming. Whatever was she doing just sitting around eating ice cream? There was so much to do.
Lobbing what was left of her cornet to the squabbling gulls, Angel continued to explore Padstow. It must have been at least ten years since she had last visited. Her mother had adored the town, much preferring Padstow to its more upmarket sister across the water, and had regularly taken both girls across by boat. Andi and Angel had loved exploring the gift shops, but most of all they’d been fascinated by the lobsters on sale at the wet fish shop. Angel smiled to herself as she remembered how they’d loved watching the strange and almost prehistoric creatures floating around their shallow tanks with their claws firmly secured with rubber bands. She’d always wondered whose job it was to try to get those on!
The fish shop was still there but it, like the rest of the town, had undergone a transformation. Now it was Stein’s Fisheries; it was housed in a smart building of mellow timber and steel next door to Rick Stein’s Fish & Chips shop. Roughly opposite was another structure that seemed more in keeping with the South Bank than the South West: the National Lobster Hatchery. Angel vaguely recalled Andi telling her all about this, something to do with sustainable fisheries, yada yada, but she hadn’t really listened. Her sister was so intense sometimes; in fact Angel was starting to think that Andi actually cared about all this environmental stuff. To be honest the only lobsters Angel was interested in were the kind served in Rick Stein’s exclusive restaurant and accompanied by gallons of champagne. The tricky bit was finding a way to get herself into the restaurant in order to sample all these treats. Figuring it was time to crank her social media profile up a gear, she opened the Twitter app on her phone and typed:
in Padstow can’t wait for dinner #Steins
Seconds later her tweet was safely logged in cyberspace and Angel’s work was done. It wasn’t strictly a fib anyway. She was in Padstow, she was looking forward to her dinner and she was only a pebble’s throw away from the world-famous restaurant. If everyone wanted to read her tweet a certain way then that was hardly Angel’s fault. That was semantics!
Deciding that she’d return to book herself a table there once she had some money and was dressed up, Angel retraced her steps, dodging the hundreds of cyclists wobbling towards the Camel Trail, and back through the town. It had been a good afternoon, she felt, and another positive step in moving Project Rich Guy forwards. Already she could see that this side of the water was pretty much catering for families and, unless there was a wealthy single father about, that wouldn’t really be much help. On the other hand, there were several restaurants and exclusive bars, which in the evenings would attract a very different crowd. She would return and, when she did, she would be eating something much better than ice cream and wearing some of her designer eBay bargains instead of jeans and a vest. Yes, in terms of a research trip Padstow had been very positive, Angel decided cheerfully. She only hoped that Gemma had had as much luck sorting out their caravan and finding supplies.
The tide was right out by the time Angel reached the beach and the water taxi that was operating from the furthest jetty. Although it was late afternoon and shade was climbing over the hillside, the sand still basked in the light of the sun that had slipped from the narrow streets. Families with checked picnic rugs and gaudy windbreaks were sprinkled across the sand like hundreds and thousands, and shouts of excitement drifted from the water’s edge. Recalling that sand was an excellent natural exfoliant, Angel kicked off her Gina sandals and strolled along the shore. The water was warm from the sunbaked sand and she sighed with pleasure. How many hours had she and Andi spent on this very beach? Hundreds probably. They’d loved nothing more than spending an entire day by the water; they’d always returned home to Ocean View salty and sandy and heavy with that almost drugged exhaustion that came from spending hours in the fresh air. Yes, they’d been regular beach babies back then. What a shame it had all had to end so abruptly...
Angel rolled up her jeans and splashed her bare feet in the shallows as though trying to scatter the memories away like the sunlight that was flickering over the
waves. Some things were better just left in the past. Instead, she focused on the sand beneath her feet and the joy of having nothing more pressing to do than walk along the coast. Luckily, nobody here knew her yet, so she wasn’t ruining her image by doing something as uncool as paddling. There would be plenty of time to walk along the jetty in Rock all decked out in her designer best. For today she was content to just enjoy herself.
The ferry was put-putting its way across the estuary and Angel was just about to head towards it when an agonised wail pierced the laughter. Amongst the kaleidoscope of inflatables and splashing children, a small boy had sunk to all fours and was sobbing uncontrollably. Every time he tried to get back up to his feet he collapsed again and cried even harder, his small face tight with pain. Angel cast her gaze across the beach for a distraught mother or horrified au pair racing over to attend to him, but there was no sign of anyone.
It looked as though he was all alone. She couldn’t leave him, not when he was this distressed. Children weren’t really Angel’s scene – their hands were far too sticky and, anyway, how could you like people who could stuff sweets all day long and never put on weight? But she couldn’t leave this little chap to cry by himself. Besides, she already had a strong suspicion as to what the problem was.
“Hey, hey, don’t cry.” She crouched down next to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m Angel and I think you’ve hurt your foot. I bet it really hurts. Am I right?”
The little boy was too busy sobbing to speak but he nodded and raised his left leg out of the water. Angel wasn’t surprised to see several sharp spines sticking out of his sole; she’d already suspected as much. The poor little mite must have trodden on a weever fish. It wasn’t unusual along this bit of coastline, and Angel and Andi had both learned the hard way that it was best to wear wetsuit boots when wading out into the deeper water. The small fish loved to bury themselves in the sand, their needle-sharp spines invisible to the eye but torture for bare feet. Treading on them was excruciating.
“It’s OK,” Angel said gently. “I know it hurts awfully right now but I promise in a little while it’ll feel much better. Can I take a look?”
The child looked up at her with big dark eyes. “Are you really an angel?”
“Of course,” she said firmly. “And who are you?”
The boy gulped back a sob. “Dmitri Vassilly Alexshov.” He pointed to an enormous Sunseeker moored at the estuary mouth. “That’s my papa’s boat. He and Mama went to the shops.”
More wealthy Russians. Angel hoped Mr and Mrs Yuri weren’t here too, otherwise a weever sting would be the least of her worries.
Managing to scoop Dmitri up, drenching her own clothes and covering herself in sand in the process, Angel carried the little boy up the beach. Once he was sitting on a rock she managed to remove the spines from his foot, which was easier said than done given that he flinched every time she tried to tug at the poisoned spikes. When that task had been achieved, she blagged a plastic bucket and a flask of hot water from a nearby picnicking family and coaxed the little boy into putting his foot into the makeshift footbath. It was funny how quickly all this came back to her, but then after seven summers spent in Cornwall Angel had become something of an expert in treating weever-fish stings.
Once Dmitri’s foot was soaking in the bucket, his tears began to subside a little. It would still hurt, Angel knew, but at least this offered a little bit of relief.
“Can I have a plaster? A Peppa Pig one?” he asked hopefully.
Angel laughed. The kid’s dad owned a Sunseeker and he was excited about a plaster?
“I’m afraid not. There’s some nasty poison in that foot and it needs to drain out. A plaster really won’t help very much. You’ve been very brave though. I expect there’s probably an ice cream in it for you somewhere.”
He brightened visibly. “A green one? With chocolate bits?”
“Definitely a green one with chocolate bits,” she agreed.
So while her little patient soaked his foot, Angel found herself visiting the beach café and spending her final couple of quid on an ice cream. OK, so it was technically Andi’s money, but they were sisters and sisters were supposed to share. Anyway, as soon as she had any money Angel fully intended to help Andi out. Starting by paying for a hitman to sort that Tom out. Tosser.
Lost in a very pleasant Kill Bill type daydream where she single-handedly kicked the stuffing out of Tom whilst simultaneously looking hot in a red leather catsuit, Angel was surprised to discover on her return that Dmitri was surrounded by a posse of very scary-looking heavies. She gulped. They all looked worryingly similar to Mr Yuri. She hoped it wasn’t concrete boots time...
“You!” boomed a big bear of a man. “Have you put my son’s foot in this water?”
Angel gulped. This guy was so huge he’d make The Rock look weedy.
“I know the water’s hot but, honestly, this is the best way to ease the pain,” she began.
But the man wasn’t interested in hearing any explanations. Instead he stepped forward and engulfed Angel’s non-ice-cream-holding hand in an enormous paw. At the end of the paw was the biggest Rolex Angel had ever seen in her life. Wow. She had no idea you could get them in solid gold.
“Then you have saved my son’s life!” exclaimed the bear, pumping her arm up and down until Angel feared it might snap off. “Thank you! Thank you!”
“It was nothing, really,” Angel said awkwardly. Goodness, this man was so big she practically had to crane her head back ninety degrees to even look at him. With his thick mane of inky hair, monobrow and glinting gold fillings it felt at bit like being greeted by an early Bond villain. He probably had a lair in a volcano somewhere. “I did what anyone would have done.”
“No. It’s not anything. You saved him.” The man was adamant. “My son has told us what happened. My wife and I cannot thank you enough. Isn’t that right, Vanya?”
An excruciatingly thin woman with long honey-coloured extensions and a tan like yacht varnish was sitting next to Dmitri and stroking his hair back from his tear-stained cheeks. Her twiggy arms rattled with what looked like half of the Pandora bracelet collection and her fingers dripped with diamond rings. The woman may have been wearing only a bikini and a kaftan, but Angel instantly clocked the Chanel labels.
Blimey, with all that money you’d have thought they could have bought their son some Crocs!
“I am Vassilly and this is my wife, Vanya,” the bear continued, still shaking Angel’s hand so hard that her fillings rattled.
“I’m Angel Evans,” she said, although it was hard to be heard above the jangle of all the bling he was wearing.
“So you really are an angel!” Vassilly flashed a broad grin and Angel gulped nervously. His teeth were so sharp and white it was a bit like being smiled at by the Big Bad Wolf. Like Mr Yuri, this was the sort of man you didn’t cross or say no to. She sent up a fervent prayer that the hot water hadn’t scalded the kid’s foot.
Once her hand was released and Dmitri was happily guzzling ice cream, Angel retold the story of the weever-fish sting and explained very carefully what they should do next.
“He should be fine,” she finished. “Just keep the wound clean and keep an eye on his temperature. His foot doesn’t look too sore but it might be an idea to pop him up to the doctor just to make sure.”
Dmitri’s father was nodding. “Of course, of course. We will do so straight away. In the meantime we must make sure you are rewarded.”
“There’s no need for that,” Angel said awkwardly. “I only stuck his foot in hot water. It wasn’t a great deal. Anyone would have done the same.”
“You knew what to do and you looked after him,” Dmitri’s mother said firmly. “To us this very great deal indeed. I blame myself: I was shopping and he run away from his minder again.”
Vassilly scowled. “I have spoken to you about this, Dmitri! See what trouble you cause when you disobey?”
Dmitri looked mutinous. “I hat
e being stuck with Sergei! He never lets me play in the water.”
Sergei, Angel assumed, was one of the black-clad heavies surrounding them, each of whom looked as though they could chomp on a small beautician for breakfast and pick her bones clean for lunch. They didn’t exactly look like the types who’d enjoy splashing around in the shallows with a rubber ring, that was for sure. Angel was intrigued. She hadn’t a clue who Dmitri’s father was, but to have security that made the royal family look relaxed, he must be somebody pretty important in his home country.
“Enough talking,” said Vassilly with such force that everyone fell silent, even the seagulls. “Miss Angel, my wife and I would like to invite you to have dinner with us this evening, as a token of our appreciation.”
Angel glanced down at her damp jeans. The rest of her clothes were bundled up in the back of Gemma’s Beetle and she was hardly suitably attired for dinner. “That’s really kind of you but I’m not exactly dressed for it.”
“You can borrow something of mine and bathe on board,” Vanya insisted. “Please, we really want to thank you. Dmitri is our only child and you have been so kind.”
Both Vassilly and Vanya were obviously not used to people saying no to them. For a moment Angel dithered, torn between checking out their impressive yacht and going back to Rock to help Gemma and Andi settle into the caravan.
Hang on! What on earth was she thinking, hesitating like this? Dinner on a superyacht versus eating a Pot Noodle, or whatever else they could just about afford, in a grotty caravan? Angel could have walloped herself over the head, and hard. Hadn’t she come to Rock for the express reason of mingling with the super rich and seeing what opportunities came her way? She hadn’t come here to sit in a caravan and listen to Gemma moan about her weight. Angel could have done that in Tooting Bec – and without the sodding caravan!
No, it was time to grab whatever opportunities life chose to throw at her, with both hands. Just think, last week she had been doing beauty treatments for rich Russians; now she was going to dine with them. And you never knew who else they might have on board! A count, perhaps, or maybe even a prince? There were loads of princes in Russia, weren’t there? Or at least there were in Tolstoy novels.
[Escape 01.0] Escape for the Summer Page 11