by Georgia Hill
‘You want to what?’ Millie exploded.
‘I’d like you to consider me investing in the café.’
Aware her jaw was slack, Millie forced her mouth to close.
‘It would be a completely legit arrangement,’ Jed went on. ‘I wouldn’t dream of doing it any other way. We could get someone to look over any contract.’ He slid forward and took her hand. ‘Oh, but Millie, think about it, we could go ahead with all those refurbishments you’ve got planned. We could make Millie Vanilla’s somewhere even more special.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’ It came out on a gasp.
Jed released her hand. He screwed up his face. Here I go again. Jumping the gun. You don’t have to say anything yet. Think about it.’ He smiled. ‘The last thing I want to do is rush you into something you’re not totally happy with.’
‘And you’d come on board as an equal partner?’
‘As I said, think about it. It would be what you want.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll be happy with whatever you think would be right for the café.’ He gazed at her, a little uncertain. ‘I just want to help you make the café a raging success.’
‘Well, it would solve one problem,’ Millie began, slowly. ‘As you know, I’m desperate for investment.’ She picked up her wine and stared into it, as if the answer lay in her glass.
‘And create another?’
‘Jed, we started off in a sort of relationship.’ She gave him a tight smile. ‘Maybe, perhaps, we’ll get back together. At some point in the future.’ When he beamed, she rushed on, ‘I’m not saying it’s a definite possibility, but if we do get back together what happens when you invest all this money and it doesn’t work out? We could end up being stuck as business partners and hating one another.’
‘I’ll never hate you, Emilia Fudge. You’re the love of my life.’ He said it completely matter-of-factly.
‘Oh.’ Millie wasn’t sure, but she thought she was seeing stars, she was so dazzled by his words. And he really seemed to mean them. But it was all happening so fast. Much too fast. She gulped the last of her wine down. Not wanting to acknowledge his declaration, she concentrated on business. ‘Well, you’ve always been great at coming up with ideas for the café and you’re always bursting with enthusiasm –’
‘So, what’s the problem?’ Jed said impishly, taking the sting out of the words. ‘Maybe you should just grab me by the balls and take me to bed?’ At her look of horror, he added, ‘Joke. It was a joke, Millie!’
Millie relaxed a little. ‘Well, it isn’t as if I haven’t tried that,’ she said, acknowledging the heady passion of when they first met. ‘I suppose I wasn’t backward when coming forward. Think a sort of red haze of lust took over.’
‘I didn’t complain.’ Jed gave a roguish grin.
‘But,’ Millie took a deep breath; it had to be said. ‘And I can’t believe we’re having this conversation, Jed. This might be about building a relationship for life, not just how good we are in bed.’
‘Always helps if it works out in the sack, Millie.’
‘Helps if your partner doesn’t irritate the hell out of you the following morning. Especially if he’s going to be your business partner. Not to mention the big trust issue.’
Jed subsided. ‘Point taken. So what are you going to do?’
Millie sighed. ‘I think we need to take it slowly. I think we need to take everything slowly, Jed.’ She shook her head to clear it. ‘I can’t rush into this. There’s too much at stake.’ She met his gaze at last. ‘And I’ve got to know if I can really, really trust you this time before I decide anything.’
‘Fair enough.’ Jed’s lips twisted. ‘To be honest, just the fact that you’re considering anything to do with me is more than I hoped.’
‘Oh Jed.’ Aching to touch him, Millie reached over and took his hand. ‘Just give me some time, eh?’
‘Sounds like a plan. Take it slow. Then grab me by the balls.’
Millie giggled.
‘Tell you what, what about dating? You know, nice meals out, moonlit walks on the beach. Getting to know each other.’
‘And no sex?’ Millie was mournful.
Jed’s eyes gleamed. ‘Not until you’re ready. As you say, take it slow. Learn you can trust me and then everything else might, just might, fall into place.’
‘I think that’s what we’ll have to do.’
‘Could be romantic, Millie.’
‘It could be very romantic, Jed,’ and she smiled at him.
Chapter 19
It had been yet another disastrous rehearsal. Having his script taken away from him had made Greg even more nervous. It was clear he was still in the very early stages of learning his lines.
‘Always takes me an age to get them bedded in,’ he apologised.
If he wasn’t such a nice man, Dora would have strangled him.
Everyone was far more on edge and nervy than they should be at this stage of the rehearsal schedule. Mike wanted to do the first complete run-through the following week and, in all honesty, Dora couldn’t see Greg surviving. Her mood wasn’t helped by the fact that, since she’d arrived in Berecombe two months ago, there had been an ominous silence from both her US and UK agents. Originally her desire to succeed in this production had been for Mike and Joe Latham’s sakes. Now it looked as if a success in this was the only thing that might reinvigorate her career.
And it all depended on Greg Symon.
Dora lingered until the others had gone. She needed to talk it through with Mike.
They hadn’t mentioned what had happened in the car. Mike had been distant. Professional and incredibly busy, but definitely distant. So Dora had picked up on his vibe and returned it.
Her parents had been furious that night. Not because she’d stumbled in with a face red with stubble rash but that she’d completely forgotten she’d left the Mini parked at Millie’s. Her father had had to drive her mother into town to rescue it. Dora had escaped to bed, to lie unsleeping, her body twitching for Mike. It had been an uncanny throwback to when she was seventeen.
‘I owe you that pint,’ she said to him now, as he gathered his things and began to switch off the lights. ‘And I really need to talk to you about Greg.’
His blue-eyed gaze flickered over her and he’d simply nodded. ‘Let’s go back to my digs, then.’
Dora, envisaging a bed and breakfast along the lines of the one Millie had told her Jed was staying in, was surprised when Mike’s Mercedes purred up a long drive to a house on the outskirts of Berecombe.
He drew up next to a double garage attached to a chalet bungalow. It was so completely not what she expected that she burst out laughing.
‘What?’ Mike asked, only slightly put out.
‘You’re living here?’
‘Yup. Belongs to a friend. It’s his holiday home, but he’s not using it this summer. I quite like it in a retro-seventies way.’
Dora peered up at the big picture windows and white weatherboarding and said, ‘Retro is right.’
‘Don’t be such a snob. It’s great inside. Come on in and see for yourself.’
Mike was right. The house did improve once you were inside. He led her to the sitting room and pressed a button on the wall. It opened the bi-fold doors, which ran the length of the southern wall.
‘I think this is what sells it.’
The doors opened onto a vast patio with superb views over Berecombe town and towards the sea. The sun was setting on yet another gloriously hot day and the sky was filled with scarlet and tangerine as it dipped its toe into the sea over to the west.
‘Oh my God,’ said Dora, going onto the patio. ‘This is gorgeous.’
‘Worth putting up with the naff outside?’
Dora couldn’t take her eyes off the view. ‘More than.’
‘Find yourself a chair and I’ll get us a drink. I’ve only got soft stuff in. Elderflower cordial. Is that okay?’
‘Lovely.’ Dora settled into a recliner and watched the changing co
lours drift down from the sky into the sea. ‘This is heaven,’ she said as she took the tall glass Mike offered. ‘A little bit of paradise.’
He sat next to her. ‘Cheers,’ he said as they clinked glasses. ‘The owner doesn’t get to use the place very much.’
‘He must be mad. I’d be here all the time.’
‘Wouldn’t argue with you there.’
‘And who knew it was here? Tucked away up that driveway.’
‘Hasn’t been built all that long. Despite the seventies look, it’s a new-build. All mod-cons. Fantastic kitchen and bathrooms.’
They sat in silence until the light went and indigo washed the sky. Dora watched in fascination as the lights came on in town. Pinpricks of diamond in navy velvet. She could see the string of lights along the promenade, the neon glow from Berecombe’s only supermarket, the white lights along the main shopping street. It felt very removed being up here. A little like being a Greek god and watching the mortals at play.
‘You wanted to discuss Greg?’
Dora sighed. It seemed a shame to spoil the mood with discussing work, so she said so.
She felt Mike shrug in the dark. ‘You were desperate to talk about him.’
‘I was, you’re right.’ She went on to explain how she felt Greg was bringing the production down, how nervy everyone was.
Mike’s only response was, ‘Yes, I can see that.’
‘I mean, I know you’ve been working extra hard with Greg, and everything, but whatever you do, whatever any of us do, doesn’t seem to make any difference.’
There was a silence, then Mike began speaking. ‘You know I said Greg is Phil’s brother and that funding is tied up with him being Wentworth?’
Dora nodded.
‘Well, it’s true, but there’s a bit more to it than that. When I first started working in the theatre in London, I was still carrying the baggage of Mikey Love, the Bad Boy of Berecombe. I had a chip on my shoulder the size of a King Edward. The size of a whole sack of them. The problem was, for the first time I had no Joe Latham around to help. Yes, he could be on the end of the telephone, but it wasn’t the same. By this point he’d got ill anyway. He died just before I got the job at the National.’ Mike paused and when he went on, there was raw emotion threaded through his voice. ‘I’ll never stop regretting that he didn’t know I’d made it.’
‘I’m so sorry, Mike.’
A plane cruised past high overhead, on its way to Exeter airport, its lights flickering against the dark sky. The dull rumble was the only sound for a while.
‘Yeah well.’ Mike cleared his throat and continued. ‘I went through a bad time. Drinking too much. Sleeping around. Got a reputation for being difficult to work with. My career was nearly over before it had a chance to begin.’
Dora thought of the type of people common in the theatre world; public school, well- heeled. None would make life easy for a scarily talented but working-class bad boy from a little seaside town. An outsider. She could well imagine how hard Mike had had to work to prove himself. ‘I guess I know what you mean.’
She felt him glance at her in the dark and then he carried on speaking. ‘None of that is a big secret, but this is. Greg met me when we were both starting out. He’s RADA, did you know?’
Dora found it hard to believe, but just murmured, ‘No, I had no idea.’
Mike went on as if she hadn’t spoken. It was as if he was telling himself the story. ‘I’d just got the National job, he was spear-carrying in Troilus and Cressida and we hit it off. Greg had struggled in school like me, but for different reasons. He’s dyslexic. Said it made school hell and he got out as fast as he could. Joined a drama group, found he could act a bit. We got on like a house on fire, shared a flat in the West End for a bit. Drank a lot. Womanised. Fancied ourselves as the new Terence Stamp and Michael Caine.’
The reference was lost on Dora but she stayed silent, not wanting to interrupt Mike’s flow.
‘Only the thing is, Greg can drink and then stop. I was developing a problem. The more I drank, the more I needed to. Greg found me one night passed out in the alley next to the flat. I was out cold, lying on the bin bags. Turned out his uncle liked a drink and he recognised the signs. He got me to AA, supported me through the shitty times when I needed a drink and the times I gave in and had one. So I owe Greg big time. When he went to the States to do Almonhandez, I couldn’t be there for him. He had a crappy time. His dyslexia means he can’t learn his lines very quickly, can’t remember any moves until he’s blocked them over and over again. The way they make American TV was too fast-paced for him. You must know all about that. It annihilated his confidence. He came back a broken man. Trust me, I wouldn’t have cast him in anything this important if I didn’t think he’d be up to it. But I know he can act, I’ve seen him in enough things to know he’s got real talent. I thought something small like this would help him get back into it.’
Dora was silent for a moment. It made Greg’s difficulties make sense; she’d worked with a few dyslexic actors and should have recognised the signs. ‘So you called for scripts down early to level the playing field?’
She felt the warmth of Mike’s look even in the dark. ‘Always said you were bright, Dora.’
‘It’s a wonderful gesture, Mike, but it’s risky, isn’t it? If he doesn’t raise his game, Greg could ruin the whole production.’
‘He could. I’m betting that he won’t.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
‘Dora, I’d appreciate it if you could keep all this to yourself. I don’t mean about me being an alcoholic – there have been enough rumours about that for people to guess the truth – but Greg doesn’t want the cast treating him any differently or giving him the sympathy vote.’
‘I won’t say a thing.’
‘Thank you.’
Dora finished her drink, the ice having long since melted. Mike using the word ‘alcoholic’ had brought her up short. He didn’t have a slight drink problem, like a lot of people she knew. He didn’t go on the occasional bender. He’d called himself an alcoholic. It sounded so much more serious. ‘How do you cope?’ she asked suddenly.
‘What do you mean?’ There was humour in his voice.
‘Oh I don’t know, going to pubs, being offered a glass of wine at the Arts Workshop do. Being around people who drink.’
‘It depends how I’m feeling. Who I’m with. Whether I can be bothered to go into the whole boring thing. Sometimes I just say I’m driving – people don’t challenge that. Or I say I’m on a health kick, doing a month off the booze. It’s got a lot easier recently. Lots of people have a dry month, or give up alcohol for charity. And if people are really persistent I just tell them the truth; that if I have one I’ll have to have another and then another.’
‘It sounds so hard,’ Dora said, in a small voice.
‘It is hard. It won’t ever stop being hard. Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic. I’m going to have to work at it for the rest of my life. But you know what they say, it’s one day at a time. And there’s one huge advantage.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Sober sex is truly mind-blowing.’
Dora gulped.
Mike stood up. He reached down a hand. ‘Come on, I’ll show you around the house. The bedrooms are worth the entry fee alone.’ His hand was very hot and firm on hers.
Chapter 20
Mike was right. The house was something else. A simple layout but with large, square rooms, which would be filled with light during the day. It reminded Dora of her Malibu house a little – the one she’d had to give back at the termination of her contract.
She sensed Mike was enjoying showing her around. He had always been very aware of their different social status when they’d been teenagers. The chip on his shoulder had a long history.
She dutifully admired the bathroom, with its enormous shower and extremely vulgar Jacuzzi bath and followed him into the master bedroom. In here, Mike didn’t switch the lights on. Instead,
he pressed a button to let the curtains flow back. The room had the same aspect as the sitting room – and the same view.
Dora was immediately drawn to it. ‘Beautiful,’ she breathed. She turned to Mike, a potent shadow in the dark. ‘We come from a really wonderful place, don’t we? I think I’m only just realising that.’
He came to her and slipped a casual arm around her shoulders. ‘Agreed.’
‘I know you’re doing what you’re doing for the theatre and old Joe, but I’m amazed you want to have anything to do with Berecombe.’ She felt a tremor of humour run through him.
‘There were times I never wanted to set foot in the town again. And I suppose I never needed to. Most of my work is London based.’ His arm tightened. ‘But as I got older, I could see things differently. Not everyone was gunning for me. Remember Mrs Hart at primary school?’
Dora nodded.
‘I was always one of the first kids to arrive.’ He shrugged. ‘Never much to stay at home for. As soon as I got to school, Mrs Hart would bring me in from the playground. Scrub me up, give me breakfast, got me to clean my teeth, sorted some clean uniform.’ He laughed. ‘She even bought me a new pair of shoes once. And there was old Jerry at the newsagents. He sussed I was stealing from the shop in the summer holidays. Grabbed hold of me, sat me down in the back room and gave me a right talking to. Thought he was going to shop me to the old man, but instead he made me a mug of tea and a bacon sandwich and gave me a job. Dad never really fed me, so out of term time and without a school meal I was starving. Jerry got me working all hours. Kept me out of trouble a bit and I had some cash to buy food. So, it isn’t just Joe Latham I owe big time. It’s the town too.’
Dora put her arms around Mike’s waist and rested her head against his chest. He felt adult and solid. The epitome of the successful man returning to his home town. A world away from the neglected child he’d just described. She’d never known about his childhood – he’d never wanted to discuss it and they were usually too busy kissing to talk.
‘I had no idea things were so bad.’ She snuggled into his warmth. ‘Why weren’t social services doing anything?’