“Listen, I’m not going to lie to you,” said Ella, who during all their school years had done exactly that. “I like your brother, really like him, and I know he likes me too. Several times we’ve—”
“Too much information,” said Mo quickly. She knew that women loved her brothers, but some things were far better left to the imagination. Ella had been after Jake for years, it was pretty much a family joke, and Jake shouldn’t have encouraged her. The woman made hunt terriers look like they let go easily.
Ella laughed and tossed her silky blonde hair – like a mare in season, Mo couldn’t help thinking. “Yes, well anyway, things were going really well until she arrived. I know you’re no fan of mine, Mo, but surely you can see that being with me is a far better option for Jake? I live in Polwenna Bay, for a start, and I love the place. My life is here and my future too. I’ve got money that I want to invest in the place, and a local business – an ailing boatyard, for example – could be perfect.”
Mo was impressed in spite of herself. “Are you related to Machiavelli by any chance?”
Ella’s lip curled. “Machiavelli? Mere amateur.” She stepped away from the loose box and glanced around the yard. Mo followed her gaze, wincing at the moss-filled gutters, weed-choked cobbles and flaking paintwork. Carl Hester’s pad this was not.
“It must cost a fortune to run this place,” Ella continued thoughtfully. “It can’t be easy having to pay those entry fees and risk your neck breaking and schooling horses just to earn enough money to keep it ticking over.”
“I manage,” said Mo shortly. It was almost true, if robbing Peter to pay Paul could be called “managing”. The problem was that both Peter and Paul were now skint too and had nothing left for her to rob. Losing her latest livery had meant a massive hole in Polwenna Equestrian’s budget. Mo knew she was only weeks away from disaster, and she hated the fact that other people might know this too.
Ella picked a layer of paint from the stable door and raised a beautifully waxed eyebrow. “Really?”
Her temper simmering, Mo let herself out of the stable into the yard. Slinging her saddle onto the rack and draping the bridle across it, she spun round to face the other woman.
“I’ve not got the time to play games with you, Ella. We’re not at school anymore. Why are you here?”
“To talk about livery? What else?”
“Livery? You’ve seriously got a horse? All that stuff about Parelli wasn’t just made up?”
Ella placed her hand on her heart. “I’m offended, Mo. I’ve always loved horses.”
This was blatantly untrue. When she’d fallen off at the local gymkhana Ella had swiftly lost interest in all things equine. Her pony, a gorgeous grey that Mo had secretly coveted, had vanished shortly afterwards and Ella had moved on to boys. As far as Mo knew, that hadn’t changed.
“In actual fact I’m buying a horse. You might know it? He’s evented and I’m told he has great potential.”
Ella was buying an eventer? This was like hearing that Russell Brand had joined the Tory Party. Mo was stunned into silence.
“The horse is called The Bandmaster,” Ella continued. “I’ve bought him from Alex Ennery. You’ve heard of him, I guess?”
Mo nodded. She’d heard of both the horse and the ex-Olympian who’d bred him. The Bandmaster was tipped for big things and must have cost Ella an absolute fortune. How hard had Mo walloped her head when she fell off just now? None of this made any sense. Ella didn’t even ride.
“I’m not going to spare any expense making sure he goes to the top. I want the best yard and the best rider to compete him for me. Polwenna Bay Hotel’s Bandmaster is going to be fantastic publicity for our brand, and as a sponsor I’m going to make sure everything is done to get him in the ribbons. Maybe even to the next Olympics. Who knows? Whoever has my horse on livery and to ride will be pretty much getting a blank chequebook and a ticket to the big time.” She looked Mo straight in the eye. “I think we both know where this conversation is going, don’t we?”
There was a devil sitting on Mo’s shoulder now. Ella was offering her everything she wanted. A lifeline for the yard, financial backing and a top-class horse that Mo knew had exactly what it took to put her right up there with Mary King and Zara Phillips. The Bandmaster jumped like he had springs on his hooves. Temptation whispered in Mo’s ear.
“Why would you want to put him here? You don’t like me, I’m not at Advanced Level this year and Alex Ennery’s yard is only sixty miles away. That’s less miles to travel too, if you want to compete. It doesn’t make sense to move the horse to Cornwall.”
Ella raised her eyes to heaven. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you? It’s still horses, horses, horses with you, isn’t it?”
To be honest, Mo wasn’t sure what else really counted in life apart from horses. She’d never felt any differently. Yes, of course there had been the odd boyfriend along the way – a hot farrier or vet could prove a great distraction for an hour or two – but the horses took up most of her spare time and all of her energy. Men didn’t tend to like it if they weren’t at the centre of her world, and Mo had yet to meet a man who wasn’t either a pushover or as dedicated to his career as she was to hers. Therefore she was single and perfectly happy to be so. Mo was determined to get to the top of her sport; from what she could see from eventing friends whose careers had stalled when boyfriends and babies came along, anything serious would only get in the way.
She folded her arms and eyeballed Ella. “I don’t understand your sudden interest in this. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Let me spell it out then.” Ella smiled, but it wasn’t a warm smile; rather, it was the sort of smile a crocodile might give before gobbling up its prey. “We can call it a business transaction if that helps? I like Jake, very much, and I know that he likes me too but he’s shy.”
Shy? This didn’t sound like Jake to Mo. Not interested was more like it.
“It doesn’t help either that you don’t like me,” Ella continued. “Jake thinks the world of you and for some bizarre reason your opinion really counts with him. If you were to put in a good word for me it would make all the difference.”
Mo goggled at her. “You’d spend a fortune on an eventer and give me the ride just to get in Jake’s good books?”
Ella waved a hand as though hundreds of thousands of pounds were nothing. Then again, the woman had handbags that cost more than Mo’s saddles, so it was probably all relative. “The horse is great publicity for the St Miltons and it can be written off through the business. Besides, Mummy’s mad keen to be in the hospitality tent with Princess Anne and Zara.”
Mo opened her mouth to tell Ella that the Princess Royal was far more likely to be found walking the course and cursing the tricky striding her ex had come up with than quaffing champagne in a smart tent, and that Zara would be actually riding – but then she shut it quickly. Who was she to shatter a dream?
“You’ll also do a far better job than me at making sure Summer Penhalligan gets nowhere near Jake,” Ella continued. “It’s money for old rope, Mo, and you know it. So I don’t know what you’re waiting for. Jake and I would be great together; I’ve always known it. He just needs a little more encouragement.”
Was she mad? wondered Mo. This was like a scene from a Jackie Collins novel.
“You must really want to be with my brother,” she said.
“I don’t take no for an answer and, believe me, I always get what I want,” Ella agreed. Her words were edged with steel and Mo was almost tempted to bolt back into the stable and hide behind Splash. Ella was terrifying in her single-mindedness.
Ella held her hand out. “So, Morwenna Tremaine, do we have a deal?”
Mo hesitated. She thought about Summer and what her former friend had done to Jake, how she’d lied and walked away. Then Jake had left for years and they’d only just got him back. It would break Granny Alice’s heart if he left again. Even Evil Ella had to be a better option than watching her brother g
etting tangled up with his ex. For once, horses didn’t even come into Mo’s thinking. Her career, The Bandmaster, saving the stables – none of this mattered nearly as much as making sure that Summer Penhalligan never hurt Jake again.
She took Ella’s hand and shook it.
“We certainly do,” Mo said.
Chapter 13
Summer waited a while before venturing into the village again. This was for two reasons: the first was that she really didn’t want to bump into Morwenna and the second was that her spectacular black eye needed to subside before she could face her parents.
Summer knew that she could win an Oscar for her performance of I Tripped Up and Hit My Face, Silly Old Me but it wouldn’t convince her parents for a second. While she waited for the bruise to fade from angry crimson to purple through to yellow, Summer kept herself busy reading the collection of dog-eared Mills and Boon novels that had been collecting dust on the shelf in the sitting room, and eating her way through the food parcels that her aunty had delivered. She was doing a lot of sleeping too, snuggling down beneath the heavy feather duvet in her crow’s nest of a bedroom and waking three or even four hours later, dazed and sometimes disorientated, with her heart thudding as she struggled to remember where she was. It was only when she heard the gulls squabble or the chugging of diesel engines down in the harbour that her pulse slowed and she knew that she was safe.
Or rather, she’d think as her hand rested on her stomach, they were both safe.
Seeing the second line appear on the pregnancy test had been the push that Summer had needed. Instead of the excitement that should have swept through her, she’d felt her blood turn to ice water and her knees had buckled. The last time this had happened she’d been too young to know what to do; she’d been alone and totally let down by the one person she’d truly thought would have been there for her. She’d had no choices and when she’d made the appointment at the clinic, almost too blinded by tears to feed her coins into the payphone and dial the number, Summer really hadn’t seen any other way out. This time it was different. She was older, she had money and there was a choice, albeit not an easy one.
The choice had been clear: stay to risk being hurt and bring an innocent being into her messy, dying relationship with Justin, or get out as soon as she could. The latter option was going to be tough. Summer knew Justin inside out and she was well aware that to him she was just another of his belongings. She was slightly more trouble than his Rolex and not nearly as much fun as his Ferrari, but she was his all the same – and Justin Anderson did not like letting go of anything he considered his. At some point he would come looking for her, of that there was no doubt. Summer could only hope that when he did she would be strong enough to stand up to him.
Thank God he didn’t know about the baby. There was no chance she’d ever get away if Justin thought for a second that she was pregnant. Summer stared up at the ceiling and tried to focus on the black and white beams rather than the ugly scene that was playing out in the movie theatre of her memory. The beams blurred and danced as she blinked tears away. Summer didn’t like to think too much about the worst thing that had happened – there was a very ugly word for it – but at least one good thing was coming from it. Besides, she couldn’t help blaming herself sometimes too. Justin had said she drove him to do these things. Summer knew she should have had the guts to walk away a long time ago.
Now, in the safety of the little cottage, Summer tossed her latest saccharine romance across the room in disgust. Hearts and flowers had nothing to do with love. In her experience it more often meant betrayals and bruises. She was through with lying in bed and waiting for Patsy to drop off some more food. It was time to take action. If she sat in the passenger seat of her life for any longer Summer was afraid she’d forget how to drive.
It was early morning and the sky was rosy above the lichen-splattered rooftops. Seagulls were still snoozing on the chimney pots and the streets that teemed with visitors in the daytime were empty now save the odd dog walker. The paper shop was open but Summer didn’t dare venture inside just in case a story had broken. So far she was fairly confident that her new haircut was doing a good job of disguising her, but the people who’d known her all her life – like that nosey old trout Sheila Keverne, for instance – wouldn’t be fooled for a minute. Jake had spotted her in a heartbeat, but then again she’d have known him anywhere too. He was etched on her soul.
Etched on your soul? Summer scoffed at herself as she crossed over the narrow bridge and headed down towards the harbour. She needed a Mills and Boon detox if she was starting to think like one! Jake was no more than a childhood romance, and if her first love had grown up to make Brad Pitt look plain then surely that was better than him being fat and bald? She’d at least had good taste when she was in her teens. Jake wasn’t her soulmate or her one who’d got away: he was just a guy she’d dated once and one who’d let her down pretty badly too, as it had turned out. It was being back home in Polwenna Bay that was making her nostalgic, that was all. Too many pink books with bare-chested brooding heroes and swooning heaving-bosomed maidens on the cover had turned her brain to mush – or maybe the pregnancy hormones were kicking in.
Still, Summer had half expected to see Jake again after their relaxed lunch in the Harbour View Café. It had been so easy spending time with him, the years peeling away like onion layers, and she’d been sure that he’d knock on the door for a chat or a cup of tea. After all, her cottage was practically in Seaspray’s garden and he had to walk right past every time he went into the village or to the marina. Now she could only guess that he’d been being polite at the café and that he’d actually been horrified to see her again.
Well, either that or Mo had tied him to a chair and wasn’t prepared to let him out until Summer was safely back in the big bad city. Summer couldn’t help smiling at this thought. Knowing Mo of old, she could imagine her fiery friend doing exactly that. Summer was still sad that things between them were so broken, especially when Mo didn’t know the full story, but she knew she couldn’t dwell on the past any longer. Polwenna Bay was full of shadows, and in every doorway she saw a phantom of the girl she used to be. Although the years rolled by, the village never really changed. Sometimes this was comforting, but as a teenager Summer had found it frustrating in the extreme. She and Jake had dreamed of escaping and seeing the world – which they’d both done, of course, just not together as they’d planned. She sighed. There was no point raking over all that again. Mo and Jake had both made their feelings clear and she too had more important matters to think about. It was time to move on.
Nevertheless, Summer couldn’t help pausing on the quayside. Shading her eyes with her hand, she scanned the marina just in case a familiar blond-haired figure was already there. It might only be eight-twenty in the morning but Jake liked to start work early.
Had liked, she reminded herself sharply. That was when he was eighteen. She had no idea what he liked to do now. These days he could lie in bed until noon for all she knew. Unbidden, an image of Jake, naked and tanned against white sheets and grinning up at her wickedly, flickered through Summer’s memory. She pushed it away firmly and ignored the swift increase of her pulse. Hormones, she told herself; it was hormones making her think like this, that was all.
It was time to see her family, Summer decided, and endure their inevitable interrogation. It would have been fine if she’d only had to face her mother, but unusually Penhalligan Girl was still moored up, which meant that her father and the boys would be at home too. With the tide out the trawler was ungainly, fat bellied and balancing precariously on the wooden leg used to steady it. All the other fishing boats were out at sea and, ever a fisherman’s daughter, Summer ran through a list of reasons why the boat might be in: hydraulic problems, belly out of the trawl, over quota for the month? She guessed she’d find out soon, once her father had got over his usual embarrassed gruffness sufficiently to talk.
Making her way to the small cottage built into the st
one wall, Summer reflected that it couldn’t have been easy for her father to have a Page Three pin-up for a daughter. She might call it feminism, a choice, a means to use her assets, but to Eddie Penhalligan it was his little girl that the lads were leering at, and all the money in the world wouldn’t take that shame away. These were double standards, of course: Summer knew that her father’s berth was stuffed with copies of Playboy and pictures of Katie Price back in her Jordan heyday, but the girls in those pictures were nothing to do with him. Not that Summer had ever reached the heady heights of Playboy, but she did have her own lingerie line and her calendar was always a bestseller.
“So much for bloody Shakespeare,” Eddie had thundered on her first visit home, slamming a yellowed copy of The Sun onto the kitchen table. Even the blue and white stripy china on the dresser had leapt in fear. “I suppose they’ve written your vital statistics in blank bloody verse too, have they?”
“It’s a tasteful picture,” Summer had pleaded. It was too: you really couldn’t see anything at all. Her arm was placed very strategically and the lighting had cast shadows in just the right places. She had thought she looked nice. “It’s arty.”
“Arty?” Eddie’s face had been the same bright red as his fishing boat and a vein had protruded on his forehead. “Arty? It’s porn, that’s what it is, my girl! Porn!”
“You’re being ridiculous. It’s not porn; it’s fashion.” Summer had stood up to him for once. “Besides, the money was good.”
“Well that’s all right then.” Eddie’s eyes had been bulging so much at this point that Summer had feared he was about to have a stroke. “There’s a picture of my daughter with her tits out that earned her good money! Jesus Christ!”
Summer hadn’t bothered to come home very often since then. Interestingly, when she’d presented her father with a cheque to pay off Penhalligan Girl he hadn’t objected quite so much. Nevertheless, things hadn’t improved significantly in the years that followed. Summer had rarely been home and if Susie and Eddie came to London – which was even rarer, given that Eddie had a pathological terror of leaving Cornwall and an even greater fear of the big city – she paid for them to stay at Claridge’s and met on neutral territory. Her father’s initial reaction had always stayed with her. Summer had a horrible feeling that his respect for her was long gone and never to return, regardless of her property portfolio and impressive bank balance. He’d probably blame her for Justin’s behaviour; perhaps he’d say that her early modelling shots were enough to drive any man into a jealous rage.
[Polwenna Bay 01.0] Runaway Summer Page 15