She made one last effort. ‘Mum and Dad really like him, don’t they, Lara?’
Lara nodded. ‘He’s very likeable.’
Harriet should have been pleased that Lara had said that. It was true. It was a statement of fact. But it felt condescending. ‘Please don’t talk about him like that.’
Lara frowned. ‘Like what, Harriet? I meant it. He is very likeable.’
‘You make him sound dull. It was like a put-down.’
Lara seemed genuinely confused. ‘I didn’t mean it to.’ She turned to Austin. ‘He is a nice man. And Harriet’s right, he gets on really well with your dad too.’
That was even worse. She couldn’t put her finger on it though. She could see Austin was puzzled by her reaction. On the surface everything Lara was saying was perfectly acceptable. Simon was very likeable, he did get on well with her father and, yes, he was a nice man. But it was the way she said it. Harriet rubbed her wrist, the way she had started doing when she felt under siege.
Austin came over, disarming her with a big hug, the sort of hugs he used to give her when she was small. ‘Harriet, relax, would you? You’re a little tense, and it’s perfectly understandable. Your boyfriend is meeting your big scary internationally successful percussionist brother for the first time and you are hoping he comes up to scratch. That’s your boyfriend, not your brother. But don’t worry. I will sniff around him in the manner of all good dogs, and if I decide that, yes, he is good enough for my dearest baby sister, then I promise you he will see nothing but the most angelic and adorable side of my many faceted personality, okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘And Harriet, I’m sorry too if what I said came out wrong,’ Lara said. ‘I like Simon.’
There it was again. The words were perfect but Harriet couldn’t stop herself from wanting to pick them up, shake them around, find out what Lara really thought about Simon. But they were both looking at her, with concern and, yes, with affection. She took a breath. Perhaps they were right. She probably was just nervous about Austin meeting Simon for the first time.
‘Thanks.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘He’ll be here in a minute.’
As she went outside she heard Lara say to Austin. ‘It must be his police training, but it’s amazing, he is never, ever late. You can set your watch by him.’
Harriet had never noticed it, but Lara was right. She glanced at her watch as Simon pulled up in his blue Mazda. It was exactly seven o’clock.
Their father managed the barbecue. It was nothing formal, chops, burgers, vegetarian sausages for Lara, salads, some of their mother’s homemade patties, her special recipe of mincemeat, vegetables and what she said was her secret ingredient. Harriet knew it was soy sauce. Simon loved them and complimented her on them. He helped himself to several more, as well as another chop and a sausage, after offering the tray to everyone else first. They all accepted except Lara.
‘You a vegetarian, Lara?’
‘I am, yes.’
‘Moral grounds or taste grounds?’
‘Moral, I suppose.’
He bit into a chop. ‘Don’t think I’d last a week if I was a veggo.’
He’d announced when he arrived that he could only stay until ten o’clock as he had an early start the next day. Harriet tried not to, but as the time moved closer to ten, she noticed Austin and Lara glancing at their watches, exchanging knowing grins. She knew what they were up to. They were laughing at him.
At ten to ten she went over to where Simon was sitting talking to her father. They had discovered early in their relationship a shared passion for cricket. Simon barracked for Australia and Mr Turner supported England, despite his many years in Australia, so there was always plenty of scope for arguments and, this season in particular, even some gloating on Simon’s part. The current English team was one of the weakest in memory.
‘It’s your batting that lets you down,’ Simon was saying now, as she came up behind him and put her arms around his waist. She loved the solid feel of him. He lifted up one of her hands, squeezed it then kept talking. ‘Too much focus on the opening batsmen, and the middle order are too unreliable.’
‘I’d agree with you there, but the coach has to take some of the blame. They’re prepared for a completely different sort of bowling style, not to mention the conditions. Harriet love, get me a beer, would you?’
‘Sure Dad. Simon, you too?’ She hoped he’d say yes. It would take him at least ten minutes to drink it, which would delay his departure and take those grins off Austin and Lara’s faces.
He lifted up his wrist and checked the time. ‘I’d better not, Harriet. I’ve got an early start tomorrow and I said I’d be gone by ten. I’ll go and say goodnight to Penny now.’ He leaned over and vigorously shook Mr Turner’s hand. ‘Pleasure talking to you again, Neil. And my commiserations again on your decision to back the English team.’
Neil laughed loudly. ‘You young buck. We’ll have the last laugh yet.’
Harriet followed Simon into the kitchen to get a beer for her dad. Mrs Turner was at the sink, rinsing out the dessert dishes.
‘Thanks for a great night, Penny.’
‘You’re welcome, Simon. Off already? Don’t tell me, early start?’
‘Six o’clock.’
‘Well, you don’t want to be late.’ She accepted his kiss on the cheek. ‘See you next time. Thanks again for the flowers.’
Not her mother making digs about his timekeeping too? Harriet felt under siege from all sides. How dare they all laugh at Simon? It was all she could do to keep her temper as she walked to the car with him. He kissed her on the cheek, told her she had looked very pretty that night and that he’d enjoyed meeting Austin. ‘A bit of a character, by the looks of things.’
‘Yes, he is.’
She thought at first she was imagining it but then Austin’s voice became louder, floating over the fence. She wasn’t imagining it. He was doing a countdown to ten o’clock.
She didn’t know whether Simon could hear or not. He got into his car and started the engine.
‘Ten, nine, eight, seven …’
Simon put on his indicator.
‘Six, five, four …’
Changed into first gear …
‘Three, two …’
And drove away.
‘One!’ Austin poked his head over the fence. ‘Ten o’clock, on the dot.’
‘You’re pathetic.’
In the background she saw her parents and Lara. All of them with big smiles on their faces. Austin had been playing to the gallery.
‘Just helping him out, Harold. In case he lost track of the time in your fragrant company.’
‘You’re more than pathetic. You’re pitiful.’
Austin was laughing. ‘He’s nice, Harriet.’
‘I really like him. How dare you be so rude.’
‘I wasn’t rude. I talked to him. We had a long talk about sport and politics, man to man. Didn’t we, Lara? You heard us.’
Harriet wouldn’t look at Lara. ‘I saw you laughing at him, Austin. How would you like it if you called the police in an emergency and they weren’t there because they had slept in? He has to be punctual.’
Now not only Austin and Lara but her mum and dad were laughing.
‘Harriet, that was the best defence of timekeeping I have ever heard,’ her dad said. ‘Now what about that beer, love?’
‘Stuff your beer, Dad.’
When she came back from her floods of tears on the beach, it was to find her parents and Austin and Lara sitting around the back veranda. She went to her father, embarrassed but still prickly. ‘I’m sorry.’
He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘I’m sorry too, love. I didn’t mean to tease you.’
‘That time of the month, Harriet?’
‘Austin, stop it, would you?’ The anger was still fizzing inside her. She wanted to shout at all of them – well, no, not at her parents. She wanted to shout at Austin and Lara. It was their fault. Sitting there, a
ll cool and collected and supercilious. She liked Simon. She possibly even loved Simon. And she didn’t want them to ruin it for her. It seemed important to say that. ‘He means a lot to me. I didn’t like that you were poking fun at him.’
Austin leaned back in his chair. ‘Harriet, it’s a good sign that I’m teasing him. It means he’s one of the family. You’d have more reason to be worried if I was nice to him.’
Her mother patted her arm. ‘He’s right, Harriet. Don’t be so sensitive about him.’
She wavered.
‘Anyway, Harold, wouldn’t it be creepier if I was really, really nice to him?’ Austin stood up and made an elaborate bow. ‘ “Really, Simon, do tell me more about your recent law-defending antics. You caught a joy-rider? My word, what an adventure. Tell me every bit of it, from the start, now. You set the alarm for six a.m…” ’
She couldn’t help herself. She started to laugh. ‘You are a bastard, Austin Turner.’
Austin kept going, even as a piece of bread left over from the barbecue went whizzing past his ear. ‘ “And tell me, Simon, how do you make those uniforms fit so snugly? Do you have any leather pants? Could I see them some time?” ’
She went over and punched him on the arm. ‘Bastard, bastard, bastard.’
He grabbed her. ‘But lovable.’
She swiped him and went inside to help her mum make coffee.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Harriet looked around her hotel room. Everything was organised. She’d asked the porter for another armchair and both were now arranged in front of the TV. It made the room even more cramped, but never mind. She had also asked for a teapot and two nice cups. The two videos they’d be watching tonight were also ready to go, one of them already in the video player.
She knew all her clients were happy. Tired, full and happy. Most had gone straight up to their rooms after dinner. ‘Very nice meal, thank you, Harriet,’ Miss Talbot said as she walked past. Mrs Randall just gave her a big smile and said nothing.
The hotel’s menu was as old-fashioned as the decor, Harriet thought, but her clients were delighted with it. Good old English comfort food, one of them called it. Soup or pâté for starters. Pork chop, grilled sole or lamb cutlets with mint sauce for mains. Ordinary vegetables like mashed potato, carrots and peas. Desserts like treacle tart, trifle or apple pie, all served with large quantities of the local clotted cream.
Even Mrs Lamerton had pronounced herself pleased. ‘Thank you, Harriet,’ she had said regally as she sailed past on her way to the bar for an after-dinner port. ‘I do like a nice pork chop.’ Harriet knew all Mrs Lamerton cared about was being seated next to Patrick Shawcross. She would have been happy eating fried ants as long as she was beside him. She had definitely made up for all the lost opportunities on the bus. No one else had got a word in with him until after dessert. The poor man would be covered in bruises too, from all the arm clasping Mrs Lamerton had been doing. If he wasn’t already covered in bruises from being thrown against the seats on the bus twice that day. Clive’s fault, each time.
Patrick’s arrival had definitely upset him. Clive had obviously enjoyed being the alpha male or whatever position he imagined being bus driver afforded him. Now Patrick was getting all the attention and Clive wasn’t happy. He had started to subtly sabotage things. The microphone had inexplicably gone off twice when Patrick was talking as they drove along the coast road earlier that day.
Clive had called out loudly, not turning around. ‘Sorry about that, folks, this is an old bus. They must have given the proper bus to the All Creatures Great and Small tour group. That’s the really popular one.’
As Patrick was standing up answering questions there had also been unexplained sudden braking when there had been no traffic or obstacles in front of the bus. Each time Patrick had been jolted up against the seat beside him. If he hadn’t been hanging on to the back of Harriet’s seat he’d have gone flying down the aisle.
She would have to keep an eye on Clive. But at least her clients were happy and they were her priority. Their question and answer sessions with Patrick were getting more enthusiastic each day. At lunch that afternoon he had fielded them from all sides.
‘Patrick, was it just one dog playing Patch or were there several of them?’ Mrs Kempton had wanted to know.
‘Just the one, but he did go missing one day. After that we tried to make sure we always had a double on standby.’
Mr Fidock was leaning over the table. ‘A crossbreed, wasn’t he? Part sheepdog and part something else?’
Harriet had taken the opportunity to make a quick call back to Australia. She’d been about to dial the Turner Travel office when she’d changed her mind, dialing the number of James’s hospital instead. She hadn’t spoken to anyone at home since the night she’d rung Austin. Another of the new Turner Travel rules. Melissa had declared no news was good news. ‘Let us know if something is wrong, otherwise we will assume all is going perfectly, as it should. It’s what our clients expect.’
Harriet was put straight through to James. He sounded very pleased to hear from her. She ran through the tour so far. ‘No problems yet, either. I think they’re having a really good time.’
‘It sounds like it. Well done, Harriet. I know you must have got a shock about Lara, but it sounds like you’re doing a great job on your own.’
‘Still no word from her?’
‘Nothing. You know Austin’s on his way to Bath? And to you, of course.’ He didn’t wait for her answer. ‘Melissa thinks there might be a man involved, but I don’t know about that. I think Lara will tell us in her own good time what’s up. She left enough information with her flatmate so we wouldn’t worry, so I’m not worrying.’
Every now and then James surprised Harriet with a dash of good sense. It was often too easy to take Austin’s side and dismiss James as Melissa’s lapdog. ‘You think that?’
‘I do. That’s what Lara is like. Something’s up with her, but she’s obviously taken herself off to sort it out. These weren’t exactly the ideal circumstances, but then it’s not a perfect world. And I had full faith in you, Harriet. Sounds like you’re doing beautifully. Are they laughing at my jokes in the script, by the way?’
She had just reported that yes, they were (the ones she was reading aloud, in any case) and was about to finish up when she heard a loud voice in the background. She heard James speak to the new arrival. ‘It’s Harriet from St Ives.’
The phone was snatched. ‘Harriet, hello. Everything’s all right?’
Harriet felt the tension inside. ‘It’s going really well, Melissa, thanks.’
‘Really?’
Why did she have to sound so disappointed? ‘Yes. The group are all very happy.’
‘And Mr Shawcross?’
‘He’s happy too, I promise.’
‘Is he nearby? Can I have a word with him?’
‘He’s busy with the clients at the moment.’ Harriet realised then that she was actually handling Melissa. Old Harriet would have run and got Mr Shawcross. Old Harriet would have stammered and said, actually there’s a bit of a problem with the bus driver, and I think Mrs Lamerton is upset she isn’t getting to sit next to Patrick Shawcross often enough, and Mrs Kempton keeps losing things. But she was coping with it all, she realised. It was going fine. And that was all Melissa needed to know. She decided to get away while the going was good. Just in case her new confidence had a time limit. ‘Can I talk to James again?’
‘He’s with a nurse.’
‘Never mind. Would you tell him I said goodbye? And give Molly my love? I’ll call if anything comes up.’
‘Thanks, Harriet.’ A slightly too long pause. ‘And well done.’
‘Thanks, Melissa.’
‘And we’ll let you know as soon as we track Lara down. There might still be time to get her to give you a hand.’
Several replies came to mind. Harriet pushed them all down. ‘Thanks, Melissa,’ she said again. ‘Goodbye.’
Patrick’s kno
ck came at ten o’clock, as they’d arranged. Harriet had made sure she was changed out of the Turner Travel uniform and dressed in her own clothes, a cotton skirt that felt light and summery, her favourite red T-shirt and espadrilles. The yellow outfit was pushed right to the back of her cupboard.
‘I feel like I’m cramming for exams,’ he said as he came in.
‘You’re passing with flying colours, then,’ she said with a smile. ‘They’d never guess you couldn’t remember the first thing about Willoughby twenty-four hours ago.’
‘Not strictly fair, Harriet. I had blocked it out. Buried it deep in my psyche somewhere.’
‘You’re not unleashing too many demons, excavating it like this?’
‘If I feel a psychological breakdown coming on, you’ll be the first to know.’
‘Can I get you a cup of tea before we start?’
‘That awful tea you served me last night?’ He laughed at the expression on her face. ‘Harriet, it’s all right. You didn’t make the teabags. You take things very personally, don’t you? You reacted the same way when one of the women complained about the cloudy morning. It’s called nature. Weather. You can’t be held responsible.’
‘No. Sorry. It’s just this is important to me.’
‘And me too.’
‘You don’t have to pretend, really. Not with me.’
‘I’m not pretending. I’m having a great time. If I was home, I’d be living quite a different life. Not being feted at every turn and having people howl with laughter at everything I say. Do you suppose this is what life is like for celebrities all the time?’
‘Don’t you know? As an actor?’
‘I was never truly successful, though. I usually felt too self-conscious and, as you saw yourself, too nervous. Let’s forget the tea. Will you have some wine with me instead?’
She saw then he had a bottle with him, tucked in behind the itinerary he was carrying. ‘It’s a good one.’ He glanced at the label. ‘Italian.’
‘Oh, yes, thanks very much. I’d love a glass of wine.’
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