Running From Love

by Jen Silver

  Noticing Beth looking, one of the smokers called out, “Temperley Cliffs, over here!”

  Beth smiled and wheeled her case closer to the group. She was saved from having to make conversation by the appearance of a minivan. When it pulled up in front of them, the golf course crest was clearly visible on the driver’s door—a lion rampant, naturally, and a long object she supposed represented a golf club, although it could as easily be a garden hoe, especially as the overarching image of a tree with exposed roots was visible in the background.

  A slim young man leapt out and greeted them with a big smile. “Welcome, ladies! Your carriage awaits.” He opened the sliding door to the seating area. “Leave your bags, I’ll take care of those.”

  Dressed as he was in bright red trousers and white shirt, he could have been auditioning for a job as the McDonald’s mascot. As he took her case from her to lift it into the back of the van, she noticed the name “Tony” embroidered on the front of his shirt but doubted she would be able to think of him as anything but “Ronald.”

  †

  Sam held her hand out towards the stranger. “Sam Wade. I’m here for the course.” The woman looked familiar but she couldn’t think where she’d seen her. Dark-haired, strong features, and tanned from a life on the links, no doubt. Strong arms emerged from the sleeves of the white Polo shirt.

  Before the vision could speak, another one appeared from the opposite side of the hall. Sam looked from one to the other. Apart from a slight difference in hair colour, they could have been twins. The clone came forward to introduce herself, then stopped when she saw her doppelgänger. Her mouth fell open.

  “Oh my god!”

  Sam was forgotten.

  “You’re Andrea Mihajlovic. Wow! Hi, I’m Jordan Hillier, one of the pros here. Are you helping out this week?”

  “Yes, and please call me Andi.”

  “I thought you were going to win yesterday. I mean it was just bad luck the way the ball rolled back into the bunker on the last hole.”

  Andi held up a hand to stop the star-struck Jordan from continuing. “Not bad luck, just a poor shot. Anyway, this is Sam Wade. She’s just arrived. Perhaps you could show her to her room?”

  Jordan reluctantly tore her gaze from Andi’s face to look at Sam. “Oh, right.” She consulted the list on the piece of paper in her hand. “Um, Wade. You’re in room 12. Up the stairs, turn right. Sorry, I need to meet the minibus from the station.”

  Still looking flustered, Jordan walked out through the front door.

  Sam watched her leave before turning back to Andi. “Don’t I need a room key?”

  “Yes. I think I know where they are.”

  The golfer moved towards the reception desk with a panther-like grace. The red trousers fit her like a glove and Sam was treated to an enticing rear view as Andi bent over to retrieve a folder from the top drawer.

  “Here we go.” She quickly located an envelope and handed it to Sam. “Do you need help with your luggage?”

  “I was told someone would bring my case up to my room. But I don’t see any porters around.”

  Andi gave her a wry smile. “No, I guess that will be me. Give me your car key and I’ll fetch it for you.”

  Sam handed over the key. “It’s a VW Golf.”

  “Okay. Go on up. I won’t be long.”

  Too stunned to do anything other than obey, Sam watched her leave and then turned her attention to the wide staircase.

  †

  Jordan took several deep breaths once she was outside. “Please call me Andi,” she murmured. Now she was on first-name terms with a woman whose career she had followed avidly from the time Andi first appeared on tour—she could hardly believe it.

  Lady Temperley appeared from behind what was referred to as the “West Wing” by the staff and joined Jordan on the steps. The only other time Jordan had met her employer was at the interview. She had been struck by the beauty of the woman’s blonde hair, blue eyes, and a figure that would easily match Dolly Parton’s. She was also known for having the legendary singer’s astute business sense. Jeff Palmer had let them all know that Lord Temperley left the running of the estate to his wife.

  “Our first arrivals are due any minute, I hear,” she said now, looking up at Jordan with a smile.

  “Yes, one person has already arrived. She came by car, I guess. Sam Wade.”

  “Oh, has she been shown to her room?”

  Jordan licked her lips nervously. “I left her with Andi.” Just saying the name again, out loud, gave her a thrill.

  “That’s good. I’m sure Andi will take care of her.”

  The sound of the approaching minivan stopped any further conversation as they both watched the driver navigate the vehicle carefully around the courtyard fountain to stop at the front entrance.

  Tony gave them both a grin as he stepped down from behind the wheel. “Six lovely ladies, safely delivered, ma’am.”

  He was addressing Lady Temperley. Smarmy git, thought Jordan. You were all over me this morning.

  When he opened the side door, the passengers started to clamber out, some more gracefully than others. He went around to the back to start unloading the luggage.

  Jordan moved to help the older woman who was struggling to get out, clutching a large handbag, but the girl wearing cut offs got there first and offered her arm for support.

  †

  The view from Sam’s room was breathtaking. Worth the trip just for this, she thought. The house had been built so that the main section faced the sea. Situated on a headland, each wing would have a view of the ocean. Having researched the background of the house, Sam knew that the original owners were gifted the land after the restoration of the monarchy to the throne following Oliver Cromwell’s brief attempt at establishing a republic. They must have been close friends of Charles II to be given an earldom.

  Sam had been amused to learn that the word “earl” came into use as a replacement for the French title of “count” because that word was too close to the disrespectful one for an intimate part of female anatomy.

  The current earl, Lord Temperley, the twelfth of that name, spent most of his time in London and was known to be one of the more regular attenders of the House of Lords. This diligence was due less to his political rigour than to his desire to live close to a thriving gay scene. That fact wasn’t common knowledge but Sam had winkled it out of a society columnist she knew.

  Photos of Lady Temperley showed an attractive blonde, age forty-one. Sam was looking forward to meeting her to see if her assumption about her sexuality was correct. The appearance of Andrea Mihajlovic on the scene was possibly a clue. What other connection would a Canadian golfer have with British aristocracy?

  Lady Temperley was a keen golfer and had met her husband at a pro-am event where she was representing her father’s company and Lord Temperley had been attending as a guest of a well-known professional. Information gleaned from a trawl through old copies of Tatler intimated that it was love at first sight and that Lord T had proposed to her at the post-match champagne reception.

  A knock on the door brought her out of her musings. “Come in,” she called.

  The door opened and Andi entered with her case. “Where would you like it?”

  Sam resisted the temptation to say, on the bed with you, indicating instead the bench next to the door. The golfer lifted the case easily, placing it right side up with the handles facing out. Years of experience of living out of a suitcase herself, Sam guessed.

  “Do I tip you?”

  Andi cocked her head and gave Sam a heart-stopping smile. “No need. I’m not the hired help.”

  “Well, thanks for helping me.”

  “My pleasure.” Andi dropped the car key on top of the case. “See you in a bit. Lunch is served, I believe, at one thirty.”

  With that she was gone, leaving a bemused Sam staring at the door. She had always thought golf was a sport for old men and the blue-rinse brigade of women who had nothing better
to do with their lives. What had she missed all these years?

  The depression that had hit her hard after the aborted meeting in the divorce lawyer’s office the week before was rapidly being replaced by an unprecedented euphoria. Maybe this was just the kick up the rear she needed to leave the wishful thinking behind. Beth wasn’t coming back.

  †

  During the ride from the station, they had all introduced themselves. The smokers were called Tammy and Liz. Beth guessed they were a couple and from their accents, likely from Birmingham. The girl, who looked like one of the sixth-formers from school, told them her name was Frederica but she preferred Freddie. The older woman in the dress smiled nervously and offered Rosemary in a quiet voice. Home counties or the Cotswolds, Beth guessed. The sixth member of the group, who had been the last to join them, dragging a large case and a golf bag, was another youngster and introduced herself as Anya.

  Beth felt she was most likely to bond with Rosemary as the others looked far sportier than she was. Her one attempt at taking up sport had been when a PE teacher tried to interest her in badminton. A frustrating half hour trying to hit the shuttlecock had convinced her to leave sporting activities to others more accomplished. She didn’t think jogging counted as a sport, especially as she rarely managed to fit more than five miles into her daily routine.

  She had been surprised to be greeted by Lady Temperley herself. For some reason, Beth hadn’t thought there was a lord and lady of the manor, and assumed the place had been bought by some rich Russian oligarch to turn into a golf resort.

  Another man dressed in the red and white uniform, older than Tony, arrived in the courtyard driving a golf cart. It was bigger than any she had ever seen, with seating for four passengers plus room for their luggage. Because Beth was sharing with Lydia—eventually—they had booked one of the resort’s chalets.

  After Roger introduced himself and loaded up their cases, Beth climbed into the cart along with Tammy and Liz, and he drove them away from the main building. He pulled up in front of the first chalet they came to and turned around to address Beth.

  “This is your stop, I believe.”

  Beth, along with the other two passengers gave a cry of delight. The front of the chalet looked like a storybook notion of a cottage with mullioned windows and a bower of roses over the front door.

  Roger grinned at their looks of wonder. “Nothing but the best here, ladies.” He took Beth’s case off the cart and put it on the path.

  “I can take it from here,” Beth said. “Thank you.”

  She watched as he drove off and disappeared down the track. From the brochure she knew there were six of these chalets on the property but she couldn’t see any of the others from where she was standing.

  The key was in the envelope she had been given by the young woman wearing the red and white outfit in front of the manor house. Jordan. Attractive in an athletic sort of way. Probably married to Tony, they looked to be about the same age, early thirties perhaps.

  The inside of the chalet was as charming as the outside. There was even a stone fireplace with real logs laid, although they weren’t likely to be needed in August. It was an open plan seating area with an alcove containing an under-counter fridge, kettle, mugs, glasses, and a selection of coffee, tea, and hot chocolate. The fridge was stocked with small bottles of mineral water and a jug of what looked like real cream. The chalets weren’t meant for self-catering as the guests would be having meals in the manor house. Obviously they been set up as superior hotel rooms. Further exploration revealed two good-sized bedrooms and a well-equipped bathroom complete with Jacuzzi bath.

  Beth chose the bedroom that had a glimpse of the sea through the trees. After unpacking, she went back into the living area and helped herself to a bottle of water.

  Lydia was going to love this, she thought. Beth had expected some resistance when she first suggested the idea of learning to play golf, but Lydia had been surprisingly enthusiastic, quickly embracing the notion that it was something they could do together. Provided, of course, that they joined a golf club outside the school’s catchment area. Although it lessened the odds, Beth didn’t think that would necessarily preclude the chance of meeting up with people they knew. Many of the teachers travelled a fair distance to work.

  She wished Lydia were here now to share this with her. All she could do was send her a text to say she had arrived safely. Lydia had promised to ring her that evening after dinner. With the all-day sessions at the symposium and the networking she would be doing, there wouldn’t be time during the day. After sending the message, Beth checked the time and realised she better make a move. The ride in the golf cart hadn’t seemed long but she wasn’t sure how far it actually was back to the manor house. She didn’t want to be late for lunch on the first day.

  †

  The table at the seats by the window held a tray with two glasses and two 500ml bottles of Cornish Spring still water. Why two glasses? There was only one bed and Sam figured she wasn’t likely to get lucky, even if she were interested, on her first day.

  It wasn’t a traditional hotel set up. A minibar and bedside telephone she could live without. Having to share a bathroom with more than one person was going to be a novel experience, something she hadn’t done since living in student digs, a long time ago. Twelve guest bedrooms and three bathrooms, and only one of those had a bath.

  The other amenities would probably make up for this deficiency. The website promised good dining and a fully stocked bar in what had once been the library.

  After unpacking her clothes, she left her toiletries on the bedside table, tucked the suitcase under the bench by the door, and sat down in one of the chairs by the window. She could spend all of the next eleven-and-a-half days just admiring this spectacular view. Not that she was counting the days already.

  Sam poured some water into a glass. The phone signal strength was surprisingly good and she had no difficulty reaching Barbara at home.

  “How’s my baby?”

  “Good grief, Sam, you’ve only been gone a day and nothing’s changed since you phoned last night.”

  “I don’t want her to feel she’s been abandoned.”

  “Relax. She’s fine. Scott reinforced the cover on the aquarium before leaving for work. Hermy tried to gain access this morning.”

  “I’m so sorry, Barb. I hope she’s not going to be too much for you guys.”

  “Honestly. Don’t worry. She’s been a part-time resident for long enough. I’m sure we’ll adapt. And before you ask, she can’t come to the phone right now as she’s gone out. I’ll let her know you called.”

  Sam laughed. “Thanks, Barb. Tell her I’m missing her already.”

  “So, what’s it like there?”

  “Wonderful. I think I’ve got lucky with the room allocation. Mine’s on one end of the main part of the building, so I’ve got two windows, one facing the ocean and one overlooking part of the golf course.”

  “Have you met any of the other inmates, sorry, students?”

  “Not yet. I think I was the first to arrive. I’ve heard some movement down the hallway, though. I’ll give it a few more minutes before heading downstairs for lunch.”

  “Sounds like it’s going to be tough.”

  Barbara and her husband had laughed themselves silly when Sam first told them where she was going for these two weeks. She’d put up with their jokes about going undercover, but being called “Sam Spade” had lost its appeal by the time she reached kindergarten, and she’d let them know that wasn’t remotely funny.

  Then, before she left, when she had delivered Hermy to their door, they presented her with a diamond patterned sleeveless pullover and a sun visor with her name on it. She didn’t know whether to thank them or hit them.

  “Hey, we don’t want you to look out of place, Agent Wade,” Scott had joked, giving her a final hug. “And just let me know when you want your garden turned into a putting green.”

  Shaking her head at the memory, Sam s
ipped her water and turned her gaze back to the picturesque view, sunlight glinting off the sea in the distance.

  Chapter Five

  “Mm. You look good enough to eat.” Freya leaned into Andi, pushing her against the doorframe.

  “I don’t. I look like a mannequin. As soon as my clothes are clean, I’m changing.”

  “Hm. I think more like a tasty ice cream. I’ll have to start licking from the bottom.” She let her hand slip down to caress Andi’s buttocks.

  “Freya! What happened to being discreet?” Andi squirmed under her touch but Freya noticed she wasn’t making an effort to move out of range.

  At the sound of voices in the hall, they broke apart. Damn, just as it was getting interesting. Freya gave Andi a last lingering look before moving into the dining room to switch into her lady-of-the-manor mode.

  †

  The last hour had been busy as more guests arrived. By one thirty, all but three had turned up. Jeff had taken the call from two who had taken the scenic route across Bodmin Moor and were stuck in single lane traffic.

  Jordan looked at her checklist. Those two would be Simone and Tracy, she guessed. The final missing person was Lydia Carmichael. She was sharing a chalet with Beth Travers, who had arrived with the group from the train station. Lunch would have to start without them.

  The woman she had rather rudely abandoned earlier was coming down the stairs. What was her name? Jordan scanned her list again. Wade, that was it. Sam Wade. Time to make amends.

  She approached her with a smile as Sam reached the end of the bannister. “Hi, I’m Jordan. Sorry about rushing off earlier. I hope Andi was able to sort you out.” Just saying the golfer’s name sent a shiver through her. She hoped the other woman didn’t notice.