Turning around, Mel pinned her with a stare. “You will not! Simon doesn’t pay you until nine. I’m not having my slave-driver husband grind you into exhaustion. The least I can do is fix you a coffee.”
Simon was the antithesis of a slave driver and Andi laughed. “One coffee then.”
“And then to work,” said Simon with a mock-stern face, miming cracking a whip. He leant to kiss the top of his wife’s head. “I’m just going up to the boatyard with Jonty. I’ll see you at the pontoon, sweetheart.”
His wife brandished her spatula at him. “You’d better! No getting distracted by that ridiculous wreck of a boat. Why Jonty bothers with it when—”
She stopped mid-flow because Simon was kissing her.
“Eww!” and “Gross!” squealed the boys, but Andi smiled. Mel and Simon clearly adored one another even after years of marriage. It kind of gave you hope. When was the last time that Tom had kissed her (and by “kissed” she meant properly kissed, not just a peck on the cheek)? Far too long ago, was the answer. Andi sighed. Maybe that part of her life was over? From now on she’d just concentrate on paying off her debts and getting everything sorted. And if the closest she came to sex was walking past an advert for Play Gel then that was probably for the best.
While Simon promised faithfully he would be on time and Mel dished up huge breakfasts for her boys, Andi sat down at the large scrubbed-pine table and let the warmth of their family surround her. It felt a bit like sinking into a hot bath. The Rothwells were noisy and squabbled and created a trail of havoc wherever they went, but the sense of fun and love that accompanied them was palpable. Had her family ever been like this? As though peeling back layers that had been superimposed over an original print, Andi saw her own mother cooking at that very Aga while she and Angel sat at the table with their father. This was where any similarities ended. Unlike Simon, Alex Evans had spent very little time with his family, preferring to read in the drawing room or drive back to London for meetings. She certainly couldn’t recall him ever kissing her mother, but she could recall plenty of silences and a sensation of resentment so strong she could almost see it. And unlike the boys, who clearly adored their father, Andi and Angel had been in total awe of Alex. His moods were uncertain, and his presence was only granted now and again; the girls had always been trying to either please or placate him.
Yep. A psychologist would have a field day with her and Angel all right.
“Boys, it’s lovely outside. Take your food out onto the terrace. Loopy! Down! You go out too.” Mel chased her brood outside and then wiped her hands on her Cath Kidston apron. “My God, they’re enough to put you off kids for life! Now, let’s have that coffee now we’ve got some peace and quiet.”
A state-of-the-art Gaggia had pride of place in the kitchen but Mel bypassed it, cheerfully lobbing Nescafé granules into mugs and sloshing water over them from a kettle.
“I’m probably a complete philistine but I much prefer the bog-standard stuff,” she apologised. “Jonty’s machine is too clever for me.”
“That’s Jonty’s machine?” Andi was surprised it wasn’t in the pool house.
“He gave it to us,” Mel explained quickly. “It’s great and all that, but to be honest I can’t figure it out for the life of me.” She put two steaming mugs down and smiled at Andi. “I hope this is OK?”
“This is great, thanks.”
“Good.” Mel beamed at her. “So, tell me Andi, what brings you to Rock?”
Since they’d first been introduced, Andi had been struck by just how intrigued Mel was by her. She supposed it was only natural; she was a total stranger in their house after all, and in the other woman’s shoes Andi guessed she would have felt exactly the same. So far Jonty had been around to head off what he’d laughingly referred to as the Sibling Inquisition, but today he was meeting Simon at the boatyard so she was on her own.
“Don’t let my sister grill you,” he’d warned last night over their shared chips. “She’s right a nosy parker when she wants to be and she’s desperate to know more about you.”
“Me? Why?” Andi had asked through a mouthful of chip.
“Because she’s my big sister and thinks anything I do is her business! Besides, you’re the first friend I’ve brought up to the house, which has really got her on red alert. She wants to check you out!”
The word friend had given her a warm, tingly feeling. The idea of being checked out, however, hadn’t.
“And do you generally listen to what she says?” Andi had teased. When it came to her own sister, she generally took anything Angel said with a giant handful of salt.
Jonty had raised a hand to touch his short hair. “I cut my hair off a while back for a photo shoot. It was this silly work thing. Mel told me not to; she said I looked like the FA Cup with short hair. She tried to stick my ears down with chewing gum when we were kids. When I looked in the mirror I thought she was probably right. I almost asked her the fetch the Wrigley’s!”
Andi thought his hair, now growing out in thick waves, suited him. She liked the way it exposed the shells of his ears and the tender skin at the nape of his neck.
“You could always get a beanie hat,” she’d deadpanned.
Jonty had laughed. “I’ll bear it in mind! But to answer your question, then yes. Generally I trust my sister. The times I have ignored her things haven’t always gone so well.”
Now, as she drank coffee with Mel, Andi recalled this conversation and smiled to herself.
“I’m here with my sister and a friend,” she told Mel. “I’m between jobs at the moment so it seemed a good time to take a break. Gemma found a cheap caravan just outside the town, so we’ve come down for the summer.”
“That sounds like lots of fun. Jonty’s doing the same in a way by hanging out with us. Rock always chills him out.”
“He seems a pretty chilled kind of guy to me anyway,” Andi observed.
Mel nodded. “He is generally but he’s had some heavy work stuff to deal with and he needs a break. It’s not been easy.”
Andi waited for her to elaborate but Mel seemed reluctant to say any more. “Anyway, there’s enough here to keep him busy. And at least it means he’s away from Jax.”
“Jax? That’s his ex?”
Andi couldn’t help herself. This was a name she’d already heard Simon mention the first time she’d met him. Jonty had clammed up like a scallop, his usually sunny countenance all shuttered and drawn, and hadn’t wanted to expand on the topic. Jax, whoever she was, was definitely not up for discussion.
“Afraid so,” said Mel. “Total nightmare bitch from hell. She was his business partner too – which was bad enough, because she abandoned Jonty when his company was going down the tubes and totally left him to carry the can. He’s such a gentleman that he sold his house to pay back what he owed her, even though it crucified him. Of course, she took the lot and left him totally in the shit. It was a double betrayal. As you can imagine, we’re not her biggest fans in this house.”
This was a story that Andi could identify with only too well. Her heart went out to Jonty. No wonder he wanted to hide out in Rock with his family.
“Poor Jonty,” she said.
Mel stared thoughtfully at Andi. “He hasn’t had the best time of it, that’s for sure. I’ve no idea what he ever saw in the woman, to be honest. Big false boobs, tight clothes and a fast car I suppose. God, men can be thick.”
Although she didn’t know him very well, this didn’t sound much like Jonty to Andi.
“I’m sure there was more to it than that,” she said gently.
Mel sighed. “Yes, yes, of course. Jax is a very successful businesswoman so I guess he admired her. He was certainly wrapped up in her for long enough. I just hope that she leaves him alone now that...” She paused and shook her head. “Well, now that he’s happier. I’d hate to see him hurt again.”
Andi understood. She’d have done anything to save Angel from being hurt every time Alex had failed to pick them
up from school or forgot a birthday.
“He seems very happy now,” she observed.
Mel shot her a familiar turquoise-eyed grin. “Yes, he does and I can’t think why! Anyway, ignore me, Andi; I’m paranoid. It’s just that I trust that Jax about as far as I could kick a concrete block.”
Their conversation ended abruptly at this point because the boys had returned to the kitchen and were clamouring for more food. Taking her cup to the sink, Andi thanked Mel and made her way to Simon’s office. That Jonty had been hiding a broken heart made her own go out to him even more. No wonder they seemed to have such a connection. They were both in the same boat, even if his was more James Bond style than hers!
When a text buzzed through to her phone, with the message Coffee at boat yard L8r? J, Andi found herself texting back a yes before she’d even thought about it. Then she put her phone away, called up today’s files and set about her work. As she wrestled with the figures she was still thinking about how wonderful it was to have a friend who totally got her. Even when the numbers became so tricky that she had to go right back to the very beginning, Andi was still smiling at the thought of meeting him later for a coffee.
Jonty, it seemed, was starting to have a very good effect on her.
Chapter 21
It was early evening at Rick Stein’s Seafood Restaurant, that westerly Mecca for those who love fine food and exquisite service – an elegant grey-stone and red-brick building with large windows overlooking the estuary, which forms a perfect frame for exhibiting the exclusive clientele.
A select group of diners were in attendance this evening. As they were seated at their window table, which was a work of art in fine white linen, gleaming silver cutlery and sparkling crystal glasses, Laurence discreetly pointed out to Angel the good and great who had flocked to the restaurant. Some of them – like Richard and Judy, for example – were instantly recognisable and she had to dredge up every ounce of self-control she possessed not to look impressed. Although inside Angel was shrieking with excitement and gagging to ask the famous duo for their autographs (or did they have one and share it?), her perfectly made-up face didn’t reveal so much as a flicker of interest.
“See the man in the corner, the one with his wife and wearing the linen suit?” said Laurence, sotto voce and leaning forward under the guise of passing her a chunk of sun-blushed tomato artisan bread.
Angel held her hand up, declining the roll even though the mere smell of it was making her drool. Carbs were a big no no. In Rock thin was definitely in and, judging by all the Arabellas and Mintys and Millys in Laurence’s circles, even size eight was on the chunky side. She was going to have to really put her mind to it and get down to a six. Carbs were the devil and to be avoided at all times.
Peering over Laurence’s Pierre Cardin-clad shoulder, Angel saw a very scruffy-looking man tearing into a crab like a dog worrying a bone. Bits of flesh speckled his chin and dotted the tablecloth like pink dandruff.
“That’s Rupert de Lacey, Earl of Russex,” Laurence told her in hushed tones. “Sixth-richest man in England, I believe. Great shot apparently, but an absolute bore about hunting. Pa fagged for him at Eton.”
Angel nodded sagely, although to be honest she didn’t have the foggiest what Laurence was on about. Aristocrats, she was learning, had their own special language and half the time she was completely confused. They also seemed to operate in a very small pond; it was all Binky this, Dizzy that and Fatty the other. Everyone had rowed/been debs/hunted (delete as appropriate) together, and keeping track of it all was proving very complicated. Still, she was certainly impressed that Laurence knew all these people. When he’d mentioned Prince Harry she’d nearly passed out from sheer excitement.
“Dreadful bore old Rupe,” Laurence confided, topping up her champagne glass with a flourish. “And his daughter looks like a horse. Ma had her lined up for me at one point. Believe me, I was not impressed. I like riding horses but I certainly drew the line at Arabella de Lacey!”
Angel giggled and flicked her golden tresses (another set of new extensions, courtesy of Vanya’s hairdresser) over her shoulders. She knew that nobody could ever accuse her of looking like a horse, unless you counted a very pretty My Little Pony, all sweeping mane, long eyelashes and delicate features. Every penny she’d earned this week had instantly been spent on beauty treatments and new clothes; catching sight of her reflection in a spoon, Angel was certain it was money well spent. The floaty jade dress from Ghost was a perfect contrast to her blue eyes, and the expensive French pedicure looked perfect with her Gina sandals. So, Gemma had gone mental when Angel hadn’t been able to produce her third of the caravan rent, but that was Gemma for you. She was just totally short-sighted. Angel had tried to explain that this was an investment for the future, but Gemma hadn’t been convinced. Then again, thought Angel despairingly, Gemma was the girl who wanted to lose weight but had ended up working in a bakery. There was just no helping some people.
While Laurence entertained her with an amusing anecdote about what he’d got up to at William and Kate’s wedding reception, Angel congratulated herself for approximately the millionth time on finding somebody like him. In all her wildest dreams she’d never imagined that within days of arriving in Rock she’d have met a viscount. And not the chocolate biscuit kind that Gemma was so well acquainted with, either, but a real live, genuine viscount. The Eighth Viscount Kenniston, actually of Kenniston Hall in Devon where his family had lived for centuries in their sprawling mansion.
She took a mouthful of champagne, loving the way the cold biscuity bubbles exploded across her tongue. This was the life! Unlike her sister – who seemed happy to drink coffee with an odd-job man who, good-looking as he undoubtedly was, lived in overalls and on his sister’s charity – Angel was looking for the finer things in life. With Laurence she had certainly hit the jackpot. The Aston Martin, the fantastic house overlooking Daymer Bay and the Quink-blue blood were all right at the top of her wish list.
What Angel hadn’t expected though, and what was actually a lovely bonus, was that Laurence Elliott was not only funny, with a sense of humour drier than the champagne she was currently enjoying, but also absolutely gorgeous. When he placed his hand in the small of her back to guide her across the street her nerve endings fizzed and her heart rate quickened. Yesterday, as they’d sunbathed on the deck of his huge White Shark and he’d rubbed Ambre Solaire across her shoulders, Angel had been possessed by the strongest urge to flip over on her back so that he could continue with the rest of her. Luckily Laurence wasn’t a mind reader and she was able to hide her blushes beneath her sun hat, but Angel was certainly alarmed by the strength of her attraction to him. That was never part of the plan. At night she lay awake in her narrow bunk, unable to sleep for thinking about him, her body restless and her heart rate like something from Casualty. It was as though her sexual organs were plugged into the mains. What was going on here?
Just looking at him across the table now was enough to tie her stomach up in delicate knots. This was only their third date – or fourth if you counted the meeting in the bank and the drive back to Vanya and Vassilly’s house – but already Angel was worried that she was becoming just a little addicted to those clipped tones, tangled dark lashes and searching pewter eyes. So far though, Laurence had been a total gentleman, not even so much as leaning in for a chaste kiss. She looked down at her starter, something elaborate and scallopy, and her tummy twisted with longing.
Oh dear. She had to play it cool. To feel like this was most unexpected.
Laurence raised his glass in his slim hand. His gaze took a leisurely trip over her face and Angel felt her cheeks flush.
“You look absolutely stunning,” he said softly. “I must be the luckiest man in Cornwall.”
There was a glitter in those grey eyes. Maybe, just maybe, this would be the evening when he made his move? Angel was not used to guys playing it cool. Normally that was her role, and to have it flipped was confusing.
&n
bsp; She raised an eyebrow. “Just Cornwall?”
Laurence grinned. Goodness, but his teeth were white. “How very remiss of me to leave out the entire country, if not the world. I apologise. How can I ever make amends?”
Angel drained her glass. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to drinking vintage bubbly like water. “Another bottle of this might help,” she told him.
For a split second he hesitated. Had she gone too far, Angel worried? They were drinking the most expensive champagne in the house. If Andi had seen the price of it, she would have had a fit and started to lecture her sister about waste/paying off debts/being greedy, but Angel wasn’t worrying. This was on Laurence, after all, and he was a viscount and seriously wadded. They probably bathed in the stuff at Kenniston Hall. She hoped she hadn’t made some awful social gaffe by requesting more? She’d already ordered lobster, one of the most expensive things on the menu, so champagne was a must really, wasn’t it?
But she needn’t have worried, because Laurence was already ordering and moments later another bottle was cooling in an ice bucket.
“To you, Angelique Evans,” Laurence declared as he poured another glass and toasted her. They smiled at each other across the table and her heart somersaulted. God, but he really was yummy. She just wanted to reach out and sweep that lock of hair out of his grey eyes. To distract her hands she turned her attention to her starter. To be honest Angel didn’t really like seafood, which was a bit of a menace seeing as they were in Rick Stein’s, but she did her best to swallow a couple of mouthfuls.
“So, Angel,” he continued, those grey eyes, the irises circled with black as though an artist had drawn around them with a fine liner, holding hers, “we’ve spent some time together and I feel that I’ve talked far too much about myself and not let you have a word in edgeways.”
Quite frankly, Angel was perfectly happy with this arrangement. She knew loads about Kenniston, Eton, Aston Martins and the Royals, which was fantastic. They’d talked about music and theatre and clubs they both enjoyed, but so far Angel had managed to shy away from any questions about herself. Whenever she’d met up with Laurence she’d made sure that either he’d picked her up from the Alexshovs’ stunning house or she’d joined him down in Rock. If he’d assumed that she lived in that breathtaking architect-designed pile and that the beautiful chauffeur-driven Bentley was hers, then that wasn’t Angel’s fault, was it? Andi, who didn’t have to meet certain standards to drink coffee with her odd-job man, might look disapproving – but technically Angel hadn’t lied.
[Escape 01.0] Escape for the Summer Page 17