by Julie Caplin
‘Sounds noble,’ he teased.
For a moment her nostrils flared and he saw the tendons in her neck tense.
‘I’m serious. I feel very passionate about some of the issues facing our planet. The amount of plastic in the sea is a terrible thing. It’s a big issue. Animals are dying.’ She fixed him with a rather intense stare.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to belittle your ambition. I was teasing. I’m used to brotherly banter.’
She dipped her head with gracious acquiescence. ‘We have to save our planet.’
‘You’re right,’ he concurred, realising that this was a big deal to her. ‘Although I tend to get worked up about issues closer to home, I guess.’ He gave a self-deprecating smile. ‘Bit selfish, really. We’re already seeing the effects of climate change on the seasons.’ Last year’s hot dry summer had had a major impact on the grasslands where the sheep grazed. ‘So what will you do?’
She shrugged. ‘I’ll be an ambassador. You know, do photoshoots highlighting the issues. Be the face of a campaign. I’m just waiting for the right offer.’
Nick nodded, feeling a little out of his depth. He had no idea how these things worked. They lapsed into silence for a minute, until the waiter came to take their order.
‘I’ll have the medallion of beef,’ said Tara before adding, to Nick’s surprise, ‘and can I have chips with it?’
‘We do pommes frites,’ said the waiter in a slightly stuffy accent, which made Nick want to laugh. They played five-a-side together on Thursdays and he was light years from stuffy.
‘Perfect,’ said Tara.
Nick grinned as soon as the waiter departed, taking his own order for confit of duck and seasonal vegetables. ‘And there you’ve blown the preconception that models never eat anything but salad and carrot sticks.’
Tara tossed her hair over her shoulder. ‘I have a fabulous metabolism. I can eat what I like.’ She almost sounded defiant.
Nick smiled. ‘That’s good to hear as the food here is excellent.’
Tara nodded and picked at the tines of her fork, before rearranging her cutlery several times.
‘So, do you have any brothers or sisters?’ Nick asked to fill the silence.
She shook her head, pulling her mouth into a sad little moue. ‘Just little old me. Mummy and Daddy had me very late in life. Poor Mummy nearly died, so Daddy put his foot down and said no more children. Mummy said that I was such a beautiful child, she was glad she couldn’t have any more children because she couldn’t bear risking having another child in case they were a disappointment.’ Tara gave a tinkling laugh and tilted her head on one side, looking up at him. ‘Isn’t that the sweetest thing? Of course, utter nonsense. All parents think their babies are perfect.’
Nick laughed. ‘You should speak to my mother. She doesn’t have any illusions about her children, but then she had five of us.’
‘Five! Good lord.’ Tara’s eyes widened dramatically and she put her hand on her stomach. ‘Gosh. That’s a lot. Your poor mother. That must have wrecked her figure.’
Nick’s mother would have laughed her head off at that comment; she adored all of her children. He was sure she wouldn’t have given it a second thought. ‘I’m not sure she sees it like that.’
‘Are they all as good-looking as you?’ Tara slapped her hand over her mouth, as if the compliment had slipped out by accident. She lowered her eyes to the table.
Nick laughed, thinking of the conversation between his brother and sister-in-law as he’d left. ‘I’m one of four brothers and one sister. I think we all agree that our little sister is the best-looking.’
‘Oh,’ said Tara, as if this was a very strange thing to say.
‘So what do you do when you’re not sheep farming?’ she asked.
‘It’s not exactly a nine-to-five job,’ said Nick, ‘but when I can, I like to get away from the farm. My sister lives in Paris—’
‘Oh, I adore Paris. I was there for the Paris Fashion Shows. I did a catwalk show for Dior this year. It’s such a super city. When were you last there?’
They talked Paris, with Nick dredging up everything he could possibly remember of his two visits there, until dinner arrived.
Tara certainly had a healthy appetite and scoffed down her food as if she were starving.
‘You were hungry,’ he said, looking at her clean plate as he finished the last of his food.
‘I was in the fresh air all day,’ snapped Tara, again sounding defensive.
‘I had no idea modelling was such hard work,’ said Nick. Clearly she wasn’t used to the sort of banter he enjoyed with his family. He ought to remember she wasn’t from a big family like his.
‘It’s not for everyone. I don’t think people realise how hard it is. They just think we turn up and have our photos taken.’
The waiter appeared and took away their plates before returning with the dessert menu. ‘Would you like anything else?’ he asked.
‘I shouldn’t,’ said Tara, perusing the menu, her tongue poking out rather adorably between her lips. ‘Are you going to have anything?’
‘I’ve not really got a sweet tooth.’
Her face fell.
‘But we could share something, perhaps?’ he suggested.
‘Yes, the profiteroles. I adore them.’
Nick ordered dessert with two spoons, although he needn’t have bothered because, although the dish was placed in front of him, as quick as a snake, Tara’s hand would strike and snatch a spoonful of choux pastry and cream. She made regular moans of delight with each mouthful.
‘I haven’t had chocolate in ages. I’d forgotten how delicious it is. Such a sensual pleasure, don’t you think?’ She dipped her spoon in the last of the chocolate sauce and slowly licked the back of it with long slow strokes, all the while her eyes intent on Nick. She let out a breathy sigh. ‘That silky richness on your tongue.’ She ran her tongue up and down the handle of the spoon, her eyes dark and sultry with the sort of promise that had Nick shifting in his seat, very relieved that the tablecloth was covering things up.
When the waiter came to clear away the dessert dish, Nick was ready to decline coffee and take Tara straight back to the George. Given the suggestive signals she’d been sending him, he thought they were on the same page, but she rose from her seat, tossing her napkin on the table.
‘Darling, could you order me an espresso? I just need to go to the ladies. Sort myself out.’
‘OK,’ he said, ordering himself a cappuccino and settling back in his seat, feeling his heated skin start to cool. He pulled out his phone, quickly checking his Facebook feed, smiling as he saw a post from his sister, Nina.
Chocolate Heaven was the caption underneath a picture of a perfect chocolate éclair and her fingers and thumbs just beyond it, shaped in a love heart.
God, how much would Tara enjoy one of those and what sort of state would he be in, watching her eat it?
Looks delish, sis, he posted quickly, scrolling through more of her pictures. Since going to Paris to run a patisserie and moving in with her boyfriend, Sebastian, who happened to be Nick’s best friend, Nina had become the queen of éclairs and all things sugar. Perhaps he could take Tara there one day. He had a sneaking suspicion she might rather like it.
He commented on a few pictures, liked a few others and then realised a full fifteen minutes had elapsed. Where was Tara? Please don’t say she’d done a runner. No, surely not. Despite his pre-date qualms, it had gone pretty well. She certainly seemed interested. Without being big-headed about it, he got on with women. Most dates he went on turned out well, more than well sometimes, although there had been the one time he’d been on a blind date with one of Gail’s friends, who turned out to be best friends with one of his exes. That had been rather excruciating.
Just as he was seriously considering sending a search party up to the ladies, Tara reappeared, her eyes glittery and her face all smiles as she slipped back into her seat and took a sip of espresso as if there was nothi
ng wrong.
Perhaps she’d had some female issue and she was too embarrassed to say anything.
‘Ugh, this espresso is cold,’ she said, pulling a face.
‘Would you like me to get another?’ said Nick equably, not wanting to make her feel self-conscious by saying that she had been rather a long time.
‘No, it’s OK. It’s quite late now and it will probably keep me awake.’ She looked at her watch and then gave him a beautiful, sorrowful smile. ‘You need to drop me back at the hotel. I’m afraid I need my beauty sleep. I can’t turn up tomorrow with bags under my eyes.’
‘Let me get the bill,’ said Nick, wondering at what point the evening had suddenly petered out.
Chapter 2
London
Maddie gripped her knees together, her hands clasped over the kneecaps to stop them shaking, as Henry Compton-Barnes, complete with suede patches on the elbows of his jacket and a dicky bow, stared down at her work. It seemed to take forever before he finally looked up and spoke.
‘Professor Gregory is a good friend of mine and you’ve come highly recommended. I shall therefore be completely honest with you.’ His mouth pulled into a regretful line as if someone were tugging at strings attached to each end of his lips. ‘Technically, you are very good. These are well executed. The detail, in fact, is brilliant.’
Despite the words, she knew there was a giant-sized ‘but’ headed her way.
‘What I’m looking for in a painting … for this gallery …’ He shook his head. ‘These have no originality. No flair. They’re missing that je ne sais quoi, the indefinable, that makes a piece of art stand out. What I’m looking for is something that only the artist can conceive. When you look at their work, you know that only they could have painted it. I liken it to a singer, someone like, forgive me, I’m considerably older than you, but someone like Carly Simon, for example. You hear her voice and you know immediately it’s her. Her voice, like a signature, is unique and that’s what I’m looking for in a painting.
‘These, I’m afraid, are good, very good, but I don’t see your soul or any investment from you as an individual.
‘Can I give you some advice, Maddie? Go somewhere new and different. Forget everything you’ve ever been taught or thought you knew – break the rules – experiment but, most of all, paint from the heart.’
Paint from the heart. Maddie rolled her eyes, picturing a Salvador Dali image of a red heart skewered by a giant paintbrush on a desert plain, with scarlet drops dripping from the brush onto the pale yellow sand. Paint from the heart. What the hell did that mean? Had anyone told Picasso to paint from the heart? Rodin? Van Gogh? Maddie winced. Not that she was anywhere close to emulating anyone in that league.
Sitting in Costa, she sipped at her coffee, regretting the impulse to drown her sorrows with a ridiculously expensive cappuccino.
‘Dear God,’ drawled an upper-class voice as someone sat down behind her. ‘What a chav. What was Henry thinking?’
‘What? That girl that’s just been in? I thought she was in fancy dress. You know, Toulouse-Lautrec.’
Maddie clutched the felt beret on her lap under the table.
‘He was doing a friend a favour. He told me when he put the appointment in the diary.’
‘Did he take her on? Surely not. God, the gallery would be going downhill fast.’
‘Don’t think so. By the look of her when she left, I think he sent her out with a flea in her ear. I could have told him when she turned up he was wasting his time. I mean, seriously, did you hear the way she spoke?’
The other girl let out a peal of laughter. ‘Common as muck.’
‘Shh, you can’t say things like that now. It’s not PC. I’m not sure you’re even allowed to say chav any more.’
Both girls laughed with malicious superiority as Maddie flushed, feeling the heat in her cheeks. She probably looked like an overripe Christmas elf. Picking up her beret, she crammed it firmly onto her head and turned around. One of the girls looked up and at least had the grace to start, her mouth opening in a gasp.
‘Thing about chavs,’ said Maddie conversationally, ‘is that they have no class, speak their minds and don’t take crap from supercilious, stuck-up bitches like you two. Not all of us were born into money and, quite frankly, if that’s how you talk about people, you need to go back to school and learn some manners. You should be ashamed of yourselves.’
Pleased with the way both girls sat there gawping like a pair of guppies, she sailed out of the coffee bar with her head held high.
Unfortunately, having the last word didn’t change the fact that she had failed at her one and only shot at actually getting through the doors of a gallery in London and used up her only useful contact.
Maddie glared up at the departures board at Euston. Another two hours before her cheap fare train departed. Back to Birmingham and another conversation with her mum about another failed job interview. Maddie hadn’t actually told anyone, apart from Professor Gregory, what she was really doing in London.
Sighing, she scrolled through her WhatsApp feed.
Urgent. Urgent. Urgent. Do you still need a job?
It’s temporary but it’s in Europe and they’re desperate. Call me. Nx
The message from her friend, Nina, made her smile. They’d met in Paris while Maddie was on her year of study abroad and, with so much in common, had quickly become firm friends. Both came from big families and, like Nina, Maddie was one of five, and while they missed being part of a community, they didn’t necessarily miss the demands of their families.
The key word in the brief message was Europe. A siren call. Maddie longed to get as far away from home as possible. Since her time in France last year, she just didn’t feel like she fitted in any more.
‘OK, what’s the deal?’ she asked as Nina picked up the phone on the first ring. ‘Where in Europe? And what? Grape-picking?’
‘Something much classier.’ Nina’s voice bristled with that ta-da excitement. ‘It’s Croatia.’
‘Did you just sneeze?’
‘Very funny. No, seriously. Nick phoned Sebastian half an hour ago. He’s going on this amazing holiday with his new girlfriend; a bunch of them are chartering a yacht … but the girl that was going to work on board as a hostess dropped out yesterday and they go in three days’ time. All you have to do is a bit of cleaning and cooking. Basically looking after the guests. And there are only six of them.’
‘I’m your girl,’ said Maddie without hesitation, despite the fact that she’d never been on a boat in her life, unless you counted the pedalo in Tenerife that time. Thanks to a bit of tuition from Nina’s chef boyfriend, Sebastian, she’d learned a lot in six months. Her cooking skills had come on loads, for someone whose repertoire once consisted of nothing more than shepherd’s pie and Lancashire hotpot. Besides, didn’t everyone on holiday live on salads and ice cream?
Nina squealed. ‘Brilliant. You need to phone this Croatian guy. I’ll WhatsApp his number. Oh, you’re going to have such a great time. Two and a half weeks in Croatia! I’m quite jealous.’
Maddie squealed back. ‘That’s so cool. Thanks so much, Nina. And I can’t wait to meet your brother. I feel like I know him already.’
Chapter 3
Croatia
‘Whoa.’ Maddie dropped her duffel bag on the quayside. Everyone who’d told her to expect conditions to be cramped, with no room to swing a goldfish, had not got the right memo. This boat was big. She yanked her phone out from her pocket and checked the name on the back of the boat with the details on her phone. Nope, this was definitely it – Avanturista, Split.
This was where she was spending the next couple of weeks? Well, hello, gorgeous boat and thank you very much. She did a little jig on the spot. In her natty outfit of blue striped Breton T-shirt and red Capri pants – well, she thought it was natty, although the Capri pants were an awful lot more tomatoey than she remembered when she’d bought them.
She took a quick picture of the bo
at and began typing a caption.
Nina, seriously, babe. Look at this boat! It’s humungous. I love you. Thanks so much for getting me the gig. Now I’m doubly glad I paid attention to all those cooking lessons. Can you remember when we first met? I was the queen of nursery food and burnt cakes and now look at me. Can’t wait to meet your bro. Maddie xxx
She would have been quite content to sit on the quayside in the glorious sunshine and gaze at the boat, but she figured she was here to work, even if it didn’t feel like it. Since the coach from the airport had dropped her off at the busy ferry port she’d felt as if she was on holiday. The departures boards were full of the Jadrolinija line, with boats leaving for interesting-sounding places like Hvar, Jelsa, Stari Grad, Supetar, Bol, Milna, Dubrovnik, Korčula and Ancona. She grinned to herself. She wasn’t in Birmingham any more.
Then she’d realised she was in completely the wrong place and had to walk all the way back to the other side of the bay to the marina, which wasn’t quite the start for a shit-hot crew member but she hadn’t minded the walk, not when the weather was like this and she was abroad.
Having been at home for a year after being in France, it was heaven to be back in the sunshine with all the sights and smells that told her she was a long way from the Midlands. She adored her family, she really did, but she also liked being away from them. Being in charge all the time was exhausting. Her sisters, two brothers and her mother were all so flipping disorganised. It was like herding cats all the time and it wasn’t as if they were the least bit grateful. Theresa, the closest in age to her, had told her she was a bossy harpy and they’d been quite happy and had managed perfectly well when she was away in France. Which anyone with two eyes in their head could have pointed out was totally ridiculous, if they’d seen the state of the house when she’d got back. Brendan’s shoe collection had tripled, Theresa could have opened her own beauty counter with the amount of make-up she’d stockpiled, a fair amount of which Maddie was sure had been shop-lifted, and they were all living on Chicken Pot Noodles, when it was far cheaper to cook proper meals.