A Summer of Secrets (13 page)

‘Any preference?’ Len asked, as he perused the ridiculously long list of vintages.

I’ve always found Blue Nun quite pleasant on the palate, Jenny almost replied. But she didn’t think that would help her case, either. Not only had she almost knocked over the maître d’, but Len probably suspected she had a dodgy skin complaint as well as being incontinent. To highlight her ignorance of the supposedly finer things in life would not, she concluded, be a wise move.

‘You choose,’ she said, slipping a finger under the collar of her dress and affecting what she hoped was a discreet scratch.

But by the look Len flicked her from over the top of the wine list, she miserably concluded that it probably wasn’t so discreet after all.

Chapter Nine

‘Well, so much for coming out for a quiet drink,’ Annie exclaimed, as she and Portia squeezed into the last free seats in the Duck Inn. ‘I didn’t imagine the place would be this busy midweek. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. Coming out on a school night makes a lovely change for me.’

Portia giggled. Moving back to Buttersley had so been the right thing to do. Despite all the problems with the manor, it was fantastic – and reassuring – knowing Annie was just down the road. ‘I think we should make this a regular event,’ she replied.

‘I’ll drink to that,’ chuckled Annie, raising her glass.

‘To lots of girlie nights out, then,’ said Portia. She was about to clink her glass against Annie’s when an orange shirt caught her eye. Sported by someone she would much rather not see. God. Just her luck when she’d been planning on enjoying a nice, relaxing evening.

‘Something wrong?’ asked Annie, still proffering her glass. ‘I thought we were toasting our new resolution.’

Portia screwed up her face. ‘Maybe we should change the toast to lots of girlie nights
in
. At least then there’d be no chance of bumping into sleazy property developers. Don’t look now, but the one I told you about is at the bar.’

Annie’s eyes widened. ‘The one who offered you a million cash for the manor?’

‘Ah ha. The same one who drives a Porsche with shocking-pink seats and had the audacity to call me “sweetheart”.’

Annie giggled. ‘Where is he?’

‘Over by the corner, with a couple of other smarmy-looking types. He’s the one in the grey chinos and orange shirt.’

Annie craned her neck. ‘Mmm.’

It wasn’t the reaction Portia had been expecting. ‘Mmm what?’

Annie looked slightly sheepish. ‘I know it’s not what you want to hear, but I think he’s rather dishy.’

Portia almost choked on her gin and tonic. ‘You are kidding?’

Annie shook her head. ‘I’m not. He’s cute. Got one of those cheeky faces you can imagine hasn’t changed a bit since he was six.’

Portia gave a derisive snort. ‘You need your eyes testing.’

‘Maybe you do,’ countered Annie, leaning back in her seat. ‘Exactly how long is it now since you and Miles broke up?’

Portia shrugged. ‘I don’t know. A year. Something like that.’

‘More like two years. And I think a man in your life could be just what you need. Someone to look after you.’

‘Er, I don’t need anyone to look after me, thank you very much.’

‘I know you don’t
need
anyone, but it’s nice having someone, just the same.’

‘That may well be, but the last thing I want at the moment is someone making my life even more complicated. Anyway, as I recall, it isn’t that long since we were having this conversation about you.’

‘It isn’t,’ agreed Annie. ‘And I, too, insisted I didn’t want another man in my life. But look at me now. An old married woman with two kids.’

‘I’ve never seen you happier.’

‘Well, despite living in a house that resembles a circus most days, I guess I never have been. Funny, isn’t it, how from the depths of despair things suddenly change for the better?’

‘Yes, I guess life is full of ups and downs. These things are, so they say, sent to try us.’

‘And you are being well and truly tried at the moment.’ Annie reached across the table and squeezed her friend’s hand. ‘It will get better, you know. Even when you can’t possibly see a way out, one will miraculously appear. Believe me. I’ve been there.’

‘I know.’ Portia blinked back tears. ‘But at the minute everything seems so impossible. I can’t even begin to think about how to sort things –’

‘Good evening, ladies.’

Recognising the voice immediately, Portia almost toppled off her stool. She jerked up her head to find Jed Carr beaming down at her. Talk about the worst timing ever. The last person in the world she would want to see her upset was this slimeball. She picked up her glass and took a fortifying sip of gin before plastering a disingenuous smile on her face.

‘Good evening, Mr Carr,’ she said, hoping her tone sounded as frosty as she intended. ‘How may we help you?’

A pint glass in one hand, Jed ran the other through his spiky hair. ‘Well, I was just wondering if you’d had a chance to consider the business proposition I made you the other day.’

Portia furrowed her brow, feigning ignorance. ‘To what was it pertaining?’

Jed snorted with laughter. ‘She’s a cool one, this one.’ He reached his hand across the table to Annie. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met. Jed Carr. Property developer.’

‘Er, Annie O’Donnell,’ said Annie, placing her hand in his. ‘I’m, um, pleased to meet you.’

Portia narrowed her eyes at her friend. How dare she be nice to him? Traitor. And how dare Jed Carr breeze over here as casually as you like, and introduce himself to Annie? The man had more front than Blackpool.

Having evidently finished schmoozing Annie, he turned his attention back to her. ‘So?’ he pressed.

Portia shook back her hair and raised her head again to meet his gaze. ‘If you are referring, Mr Carr, to the offer you made for Buttersley Manor, then I’m sorry to inform you that the answer is still no.’

Jed gave a knowing smile. ‘Now how did I know you would say that?’

Portia returned his smile with a sardonic one. ‘Perhaps, Mr Carr, because even someone of your intellect can understand short sentences. Buttersley Manor is not – and never will be – for sale.’

Jed ran his hand over his chin. ‘Look,
Miss Pinkington-Smythe
…’

Portia’s anger soared at the sarcastic emphasis placed on her name.

‘… I’ll raise my offer to one point two million. But, I’m warning you, I’ve played this game more times than you’ve had hot dinners. So, just be aware that you can only push me so far.’

Portia wrinkled her nose. God, this man was even more repulsive than she’d first thought. ‘The only place I would ever consider pushing you,
Mr Carr
…,’ she began, returning the emphasis, ‘… is over a cliff. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you before you understand, but the manor is not for sale.’

Rather than conceding defeat as she’d expected, Jed fixed her with such a dark, twinkling look that something stirred in the pit of her stomach. Oh, for heaven’s sake, she chided herself. That was ridiculous. Despite Annie’s insistence otherwise, the man wasn’t remotely attractive. And if there wasn’t already a law about slapping on so much hideous aftershave, there should be. He was standing so close to her she felt stifled by the scent. Dragging her gaze from his, she reached for her glass, trying not to notice how much her hand shook.

‘Everything’s for sale at the right price,’ Jed said. ‘You’ve just got to hope you and I can agree on it.’

Portia took a sip of gin, wishing, more than anything, that the ground would open up and swallow this hideous specimen. Or swallow her. At least then there’d be no chance of him suspecting just what a strange effect his presence was having on her. Setting down her glass, she raised her head to him again, willing herself to remain cool. ‘I doubt, Mr Carr, that you and I will ever agree on anything. Now, if you would kindly leave, Annie and I were hoping to have a quiet drink.’

Much to her amazement, rather than strutting off in a huff, he continued to regard her for several seconds with eyes framed by outrageously long lashes. Her head began to swim. It must be the gin, she reasoned. What else could it possibly be?

‘I’m sorry to have bothered you, ladies,’ he said, digging his hand into his pocket and fishing out a card. As he placed it on the table, Portia couldn’t help but notice how tanned his hand was, with a smattering of fair hair on its back. A shiver of lust shot down her spine as an image of it touching her bare flesh flashed through her mind.

‘My business card. In case you change your mind.’

Portia shook her head. Not only to communicate her response, but to dislodge the series of other images involving Jed Carr’s hands and her flesh that had taken up residence. Sucking in a deep breath, she tossed a lock of hair over her shoulder and, not trusting herself to look at him again, retorted, ‘I can assure you there will be no changing of minds.’

‘We’ll see,’ he said, his calm, knowing tone serving only to rattle her still further.

‘Now, I’ll leave you to enjoy your evening. I hope to see you again. Soon.’ And with that, he took his leave of them.

‘God,’ huffed Portia, immediately banishing the stab of disappointment that pricked her. ‘I hope he crawls back under his stone and never comes out again.’

‘Do you really?’ asked Annie, cocking an eyebrow.

Portia hoped the flush stealing over her cheeks was an invisible one. She reached for her glass and downed a fortifying slug of alcohol, while a grinning Annie continued to observe her.

‘What?’ she demanded.

‘Nothing,’ replied Annie, feigning innocence. ‘Nothing at all.’

Portia set down her glass. ‘Right. Now that that unpleasant interlude is over, I suggest we resume our evening. What were we talking about before Mr Big Shot Property Developer appeared?’

‘Um, I believe it was something along the lines of how much you need a man in your life.’

‘Actually, I think we’d finished that conversation.’

‘Actually, I don’t think we did.’

‘Excuse me, ladies. A bottle of champagne for you.’

Portia wrinkled her forehead. ‘We didn’t order any champagne,’ she informed the waiter hovering at her side with two champagne flutes and a bottle of Veuve Clicquot nestled in a silver ice bucket.

‘Courtesy of the gentleman at the bar, madam.’

Portia whipped her head round to where Jed Carr had been standing with his mates. He wasn’t there. As her eyes scanned the room, he didn’t appear to be anywhere. This time a wave of disappointment washed over her. Completely ridiculous. Well, she’d had quite enough of the inexplicable emotions which had battered her over the last few minutes. She wanted nothing else to do with the man.

‘Please take it back,’ she instructed.

The young lad looked baffled. ‘But the gentleman said I should –’

‘It’s okay,’ cut in Annie. ‘You can leave it. It’s fine.’

He flashed Annie a grateful smile before placing the glasses and ice bucket on the table and scurrying off.

‘What are you doing?’ hissed Portia. ‘We can’t possibly drink it.’

‘Why on earth not? I think it’s a very sweet gesture and it would be extremely rude to send it back.’

‘Rude?
There’s nothing ruder than him barging over here and interrupting our evening.’

‘He didn’t
barge
. And he was actually very polite.’

Portia gawped at her friend. ‘He was out of order. And it was totally inappropriate of him to bring up business like that.’

‘Perhaps.’ Annie slid the bottle from the bucket. ‘But if you ask me, he just wanted an excuse to talk to you.’

Portia pursed her lips as Annie tipped up the bottle and filled her glass. As much as it was her all-time favourite beverage, she wouldn’t take so much as a sip. ‘What do you mean, he wanted an excuse to talk to me?’

Annie rolled her eyes. ‘Portia, it’s more obvious than the menu board in here. The man fancies the pants off you.’

Portia silently chided herself as her cheeks now flew to crimson. She knew she couldn’t hope to keep anything from Annie: the woman knew her better than she knew herself. But as she couldn’t even begin to explain the cocktail of emotions that had accosted her in the last few minutes, she was in no mood to analyse them now. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she scoffed, dismissing the frisson of pleasure Annie’s observation evoked. ‘If I never see him again, it’ll be a day too soon.’

Annie didn’t say anything. She merely raised her glass to her lips and observed Portia over the top of it.

Squirming under her friend’s knowing look, and at a complete loss as to what to say or do next, Portia swiped up her own champagne glass and took a sip of the golden bubbles.

‘Funny how he picked your favourite, isn’t it?’ Annie remarked. ‘Oh. And next time you see him, could you get the name of that scrummy aftershave. I think I’ll buy some for Jake.’

***

At his desk in Bubbles’ showroom, supposedly wading through a pile of invoices, but actually on the verge of nodding off, Rich almost leapt out of his skin as the shrill sound of his mobile blasted through the room. He swiped it up.

‘Rich Stevens.’

‘Hello, Rich. It’s Jemima here.’

Rich wiped his free hand over his face.
Jemima?
Who the bloody hell was Jemima?

‘How are you?’ she purred.

Given her intimate tone, he decided it best to play along, buying himself some thinking time. ‘Um, fine, thanks. And you?’

‘Excellent,’ she tittered coyly. ‘My husband’s away.’

Rich rubbed his nose. What the hell did that have to do with him? Did she have a problem with her tub? Something she needed a little man to help out with? ‘Er, right,’ he blustered. ‘Well, is there anything I can do for you in that case?’

‘Oh, I think there very possibly is,’ she replied, before breaking into a fit of giggles.

Giggles that jolted a memory of glittery nails, brassy hair and copious folds of pink flesh: that dreadful Blake-Jones woman.

‘I thought you might like to come over for … a drink,’ she cooed.

‘There’s nothing I’d like …’ – Rich wanted to say “less”, but bit his tongue – ‘… more. But I’m really up to my eyes in stuff at the moment.’