Thinking of You (10 page)

Crikey, not so chicken after all.

“Bloody disgusting if you ask me.” An ancient fisherman prop-ping up the bar gave a snort of disgust.

“Wow. They're, like, really
old
,” giggled a skinny girl in a Day-Glo pink tube top.

A waitress, emerging from the kitchen with two plates piled high, shouted, “One vegetarian tart, one king-sized sausage.”

Cue sniggers all round.

Hastily collecting herself, Ginny took a step back. “Let's get out of here.”

Perry looked amused. “Your fault. You dared me to do it.” Men, they really were the limit.

“Only because I didn't think you
would
.”

 

When Ginny arrived at Penhaligon's, Evie Sutton greeted her like a long-lost sister. It was three o'clock and lunchtime service was over. They sat together over a pot of coffee in the empty restaurant discussing the job, hours, and wages, and Ginny filled in an application form.

“The shifts can be flexible, can't they? I mean, we're allowed to switch shifts if something crops up?” Apologetically, Ginny said, “It's just that my daughter's away at university. If she decides to come down and see me one weekend, I'd hate to be working non-stop.” Not that Jem was showing much sign of coming down any time soon, but she lived in hope.

“No problem.” Evie nodded to show she understood. “My three are all scattered around the country now; they've got their own lives. But when I can, I grab the chance to see them…”

“Oh I know. I miss Jem so much it's embarrassing!” Recognizing a kindred spirit, Ginny said eagerly, “In fact I've got a couple of photos in my purse.”

“Me too!” Delightedly, Evie fetched her handbag from the office and brought out photographs of her own children. As they pored over them together, Ginny wondered why someone more like Evie—or better still Evie herself—couldn't have replied to her ad for a lodger.

The phone rang in the office and Evie, in the middle of an anecdote about her younger son, went to answer it. Moments later the door of the restaurant opened and Finn Penhaligon strode in, raising an eyebrow when he saw Ginny sitting there. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hello.” Ginny felt her mouth go dry; it was still hard to look at him without being reminded of a four-poster bed and ivory drapes billowing in the breeze. She really was going to have to knock that fantasy on the head, particularly seeing as she was the hussy who'd been kissed not two hours ago in front of a whole pub full of customers.

“Where's Evie?”

“In the office. I'm starting work here on Thursday, by the way. I'll be working three lunchtime and four evening shifts.” Ginny indicated the filled-in form in front of her and watched him pick it up.

“Right. Fine.” Scanning through it, he nodded then glanced at the photographs still on the table. “Who's that?”

“My daughter. Jem.” With Evie she had felt free to glow with pride and extol her daughter's many virtues, but this time Ginny kept it low-key. Men were different.

Finn studied the photograph in silence. Finally, he said, “What happened to her?”

“What? Oh, the hair! It's blond, but she had the tips dyed pink.”

“No, I mean…” He frowned. “Is this not the one who died?”

What?

“I don't know what you mean.” Bemused, Ginny said, “Jem's my only daughter. She isn't dead!”

He shook his head. “You said she was. In the shop that day. That's why the woman couldn't bring herself to call the police.”

“I swear to God I didn't say that! Why
would
I?”

“Who knows? To play on our sympathy and get yourself off a shoplifting charge?”

“You're making this up!” Her eyebrows knitted in disbelief, Ginny shouted, “That's a wicked thing to say!”

“You were hysterical. You told us you'd buried your dog that morning.” He shrugged. “Maybe that wasn't true either.”

“It
was
true. I loved my dog!”

“And then the woman asked who we could call and you said there was no one,” Finn persisted. “You said your daughter wasn't here anymore, that she was gone.”

The penny dropped. Mortified, Ginny realized that she had inadvertently misled them. “She was, but I didn't mean she was dead. Jem's alive and well and living in Bristol.”

Finn surveyed her steadily. “And there we were, feeling sorry for you.”

“You don't say. Well, excuse me if I didn't notice.”

“Anyway, you weren't arrested. So it did the trick.”

“Let me guess,” Ginny said heatedly. “You don't have any children.
Do
you?
”

He surveyed her for a moment, then shook his head. “No.”

“Well, that's pretty obvious, because if you did, you'd know that no decent parent would
ever
tell such a terrible lie to get out of
anything
. I would
die
for my daughter.”

“OK, OK. I'm sure you're right. Anyhow, can we put all that behind us?” Raising his hands, Finn said, “We got off to a shaky start. But now you're going to be working for me, so it'll be a lot easier all around if we can just get along together. Don't you think?”

Still outraged but realizing he was right, Ginny shook his outstretched hand and said, “Yes, I do.”

“Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I need a word with Evie.”

He disappeared through to the office. Ginny drank her lukewarm coffee and sat back, idly twirling the ends of her hair. This was where she would be working, in this sunny, eclectically furnished restaurant with its beamed ceilings and burnished oak floor. The paintings on the crimson walls were a beguiling mix of old and modern, the velvet curtains at the windows were held back with fat satin ropes and on every table stood an unmatched bowl or vase containing greenery and spring flowers.

Waiting for Evie to return and having nothing else to do other than study her surroundings meant that only a few minutes had elapsed before Ginny spotted the scrunched-up note on the floor.

Bending down and retrieving it from its position halfway under table six, she briefly considered tearing it into teeny tiny shreds.

That would teach him.

But twenty pounds was twenty pounds and she couldn't bring herself to do it. Instead, reaching into her handbag and taking out her purse—luckily she'd paid a visit to the ATM this morning—Ginny swapped the crumpled twenty-pound note for two crisp tens and replaced them under table six.

Minutes later, Evie burst back into the restaurant, followed by Finn.

“Sorry to leave you all on your own! Finn kept me talking.”

I'll bet he did, thought Ginny, watching as Finn's dark eyes flickered in the direction of table six. When he saw the two ten-pound notes on the floor he almost—
almost
—smiled.

“Nice try,” said Ginny as their eyes met.

“What?” Evie clearly hadn't been in on the impromptu test.

Finn shook his head. “Nothing. Right, I'll leave you to it. Looks like my New York dealer's arrived.”

A long black car had pulled up outside the antiques center. Ginny and Evie watched as Finn strode across the courtyard to greet the dealer.

“Yikes, it's a female. She won't stand a chance.” Evie looked sideways at Ginny. “Did he just have another go at you?”

“He tried, but I'm getting used to him now. In fact, I had a bit of a go back.” Proudly, Ginny said, “He made one comment about Jem, and I told him it was obvious he wasn't a father.”

“Ah. And what did he have to say about that?”

“Nothing. Well, he admitted he didn't have children.”

Evie sat back down opposite her. “OK, seeing as you're going to be working here, I'd better tell you. Finn was due to be married at Christmas. He and Tamsin had a baby last summer.”

“Oh God!” Covering her mouth in horror, Ginny gasped, “Don't tell me the baby died!”

Evie shook her head. “No, nobody died. Mae was born in July, and she was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen—well, with parents like that, what else would you expect? Finn was completely besotted, you can't imagine. He was just… lit up. You wouldn't credit the change in him. He'd just bought this place, and we were working night and day to finish the renovations and get the restaurant up and running. But he couldn't bear to tear himself away from Mae. She was always with him. You've never seen a happier man,” Evie said sadly. “He was a born father.”

Ginny was utterly mystified. “So what happened?”

“Oh God, it was awful. Finn was away one day at an auction in Wiltshire. I was here supervising the decorators in the restaurant when a taxi pulled up outside. This dark Italian-looking guy stepped out of the taxi, and I went over to see what he wanted. He said he'd come to collect Tamsin and Mae. The next thing I knew, Tamsin came running out of the flat above the antiques center—that's where she and Finn were living with Mae—carrying a load of bags. She told me they were leaving. I couldn't believe what was going on. She packed all her things and Mae's into the taxi and gave me a letter to give to Finn. Well, by this time I was
shaking
. I said, ‘You can't take Mae away from Finn; he's her
father
.' And this Italian-looking guy, who
was
Italian by the way, just laughed at me and said, ‘No, he isn't. I'm Mae's father.' Then he looked at his watch and told Tamsin to get a move on, the helicopter was waiting and he had to be back in London by three.”

Ginny felt sick. What a terrible, terrible thing to happen. “And was it true? About him being the father?”

“Oh yes. Finn let me read the letter that night. Basically, Tamsin had met this Italian—Angelo Balboa, his name was—in a nightclub one night while Finn was away on a buying trip. They had an affair that carried on for a few weeks then ended when Angelo had to go away to Australia on business. When Tamsin found out she was pregnant it was a toss-up which of them might turn out to be the father. And when Mae was born—well, Finn and Angelo both have dark hair and dark eyes, so she could have got away with it.”

“So why didn't she?”

“For the first couple of months she did.” Drily Evie made a whirly motion with her finger. “But maybe the mention of the helicopter gave you a clue? Angelo Balboa is seriously wealthy. His family made zillions in the olive oil industry. And Tamsin's always had a liking for the good things in life, especially good-looking zillionaires. I mean, Finn's done well for himself, but he's not in the same league as Angelo. And I imagine this swayed Tamsin's judgment. In the letter she told Finn that she'd had a DNA test done and that Mae wasn't his. Naturally, she'd then felt obliged to write to Angelo and let him know he had a daughter. And bingo, Angelo came up trumps! In the romantic modern way, he demanded more DNA tests to prove it. But as soon as they had, he did the honorable thing and announced that from now on, Tamsin and Mae were
his
.”

“What a nightmare. Poor Finn.” Now there was a sentiment Ginny had never envisaged herself feeling. Raking her fingers through her hair, she said, “What did he do?”

Evie shrugged. “What could he do? Nothing at all. Well, apart from drink himself stupid for a while. And cancel the wedding. And come to terms with the realization that he wasn't a father after all.”

“God. And he hasn't seen them since?”

“Nope. They're in London with Angelo.”

“When did it happen?”

“October.”

October. And Mae had been born in July. So that meant Finn had had three whole months in which to bond with this living, breathing baby, believing her to be his daughter and loving her more than life itself, before she'd been whisked away without even a chance to hold her in his arms one last time and say good-bye.

Imagining it, Ginny felt a lump form in her throat. She couldn't speak. How would she have felt if someone had tried to take Jem, as a baby, away from her?

“Maybe I shouldn't have told you.” Evie looked worried.

“No, you should.” Vigorously, Ginny shook her head. “God, I've already put my foot in it once. That's more than enough.” Another thought struck her. “And it was only a few weeks after it happened that he saw me in the shop that first time. No wonder he wasn't in the sunniest of moods.”

“Now you know why Finn's got such a thing about honesty and trust.” Fiddling with the freesias in the vase in front of her, Evie said, “Can't blame him, I suppose. Up until Tamsin left, he'd always prided himself on being a great judge of character. It must come as a kick in the teeth when you realize you've got it so badly wrong about the woman you were planning to marry.”

Well, quite. Lots of people later discovered they'd got it wrong when it came to choosing who to marry (mentioning no names… OK,
Gavin
).

But what Tamsin had done was beyond belief.

 

When she arrived home at five o'clock, Ginny saw Gavin's white Porsche, muddier than ever, parked outside the house. She winced slightly, because this meant he'd introduced himself to Laurel without her being there to act as a buffer.

She winced even more when, upon letting herself in through the front door, the first thing she heard was Gavin saying, “… I mean look at your shoes, they're
ugly
. You're never going to get wolf-whistled at in the street wearing shoes like that.”

Good old Gavin, as subtle and sympathetic as ever. Hastening into the living room, Ginny saw that Laurel was sitting bolt upright on a chair with a trapped-rabbit look in her eyes.

“Gavin, leave her alone.”

“Me? I haven't laid a finger on her. We're just having a friendly chat.” Gavin spread his hands. “I popped over to see you and you weren't here so Laurel and I have been getting to know each other. And let me tell you, I've learned a
lot
.”

Ginny didn't doubt it. Asking impertinent questions was a specialty of Gavin's.

“He says I'm boring,” said Laurel, her knuckles white as she clasped her knees.

Not to mention offering impertinent opinions, whether they were welcome or not.

“
Gavin
.” Ginny shot him a fierce look. “You can't go around saying things like that.”

“Yes, I can.” Unperturbed, he turned back to address Laurel. “You
are
boring. It's not rocket science. You're never going to get over Kevin until you meet someone else to take your mind off him, and you're never going to find someone else because all you do is talk about Kevin.”

“How long have you been here?” Ginny wondered if a good clip round the ear would do the trick.

“An hour. A whole hour, and believe me it's felt more like a week. I've been telling her, it's time to move on. Put the whole Kevin thing behind her.” Gavin made helpful, pushing-backward gestures with his arms. “And just move on. Which means getting out and socializing. And wearing shoes that won't send men screaming in the opposite direction.”

Laurel was still looking shell-shocked. “Are you always this rude?”

“
Yes
,” said Ginny apologetically.

“I prefer to call it honest. If you were wearing beautiful shoes, I'd tell you. And you're not a bad-looking girl,” Gavin went on, sizing Laurel up like a racehorse. “Nice face, shiny hair, decent figure. I don't much go for redheads myself, but—”

“Good, because I don't go for men with double chins and receding hairlines.”

“Fair point. Each to their own.” Gavin wasn't offended. “But I'm serious about you needing to get over this ex of yours.” He paused, looking thoughtful for a moment. “In fact, I bet I know someone you'd hit it off with.”

Hurriedly, Laurel said, “No thanks!”

“See? Don't be so negative! I think the two of you would really get along.”

“I'm not interested.”

Despite her misgivings, Ginny said, “Who?”

“His name's Hamish. Lovely chap. Bit on the shy side, but a heart of gold. He's the sensitive type.” Gavin was warming to his theme. “You know the kind. Writes poetry. Reads books.”

Ginny stared at him. “How on earth do you know someone who writes poetry?”

“He's joined our club. It's a singles club,” Gavin explained to Laurel. “Fabulous fun. We meet twice a week. What I could do is mention you to Hamish, put in a good word on your behalf, then when you turn up I'll introduce you to him, and Bob's your uncle.”

Laurel's light green eyes widened in horror. “I'm not doing that.”

“Oh, come on, live a little! You know, the more I think about it, the more sure I am that you two would be perfect for each other. He's tall and skinny, just like you. And quiet! Half the time he sits on his own in the corner and we hardly even notice he's—”

“
No
.” Vehemently, Laurel shook her head. “No way. Me, go to a singles club? Not in a million years.”

“So you'd rather be miserable for a million years.”

“I'm not going to a singles club,” Laurel repeated flatly.

“Leave her alone,” Ginny protested, but weakly because while Gavin might not be subtle, what he was saying made a lot of sense. It would be heavenly if Laurel were to meet a kindred spirit.

“You don't want to go on your own? Fine. Gin, how about the two of you coming along together?” Gavin the perennial salesman raised his eyebrows at Ginny, making an offer she couldn't refuse.

Maybe it would be worth it. “Well…”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Oh.” Tomorrow was dinner-with-Perry night. “I can't,” Ginny apologized. “I'm busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Seeing a friend!”

“Well, how about next week?”

“Excuse me, am I invisible?” Shaking back her hair, Laurel stood up and said impatiently, “I told you I wasn't going and I meant it, so will you please stop trying to make me do something I don't want to do?”

“If you met Hamish, you'd like him,” Gavin wheedled.

“That's your opinion.” As she stalked out of the living room, Laurel said, “If you ask me, he sounds like a complete drip.”

***

Ginny met Perry the following night at the Green Room, the cliff-top restaurant on the outskirts of Portsilver. This time he didn't stand up and kiss her in front of everyone but the food was good, they talked nonstop, and she still felt that spark of attraction every time she looked at him.

“Your ex sounds like a character.” Taking her free hand when she'd finished telling him about Laurel's run-in with Gavin, Perry idly stroked her fingers. “How long have you two been divorced?”

“Nine years.” Ginny was finding it hard to concentrate; all of a sudden her hand had turned into an erogenous zone.

“Nine years. That's a long time. You must have had other relationships since then.”

“Well, yes.” Was he trying to find out whether she was a saucy trollop who bundled men into bed at every opportunity? “Not many. Just… you know, a few.”

Perry raised a questioning eyebrow.

“OK, three,” said Ginny.

He smiled. “That's good. Three's a nice ladylike number. I knew you were a lady.”

It was a compliment, but Ginny wasn't sure she deserved it. If she had been free of responsibilities, her life, sex-wise, might have been far more eventful. But with Jem around, that kind of thing hadn't been a priority. Motherhood had come first and men had been a distraction she simply hadn't needed.

“You know, I appreciate that, I really do.” Perry nodded and carried on stroking her hand. “It's more romantic when people take the time to get to know each other properly, isn't it? Too many people just go from one one-night stand to the next. And that just cheapens everything for me.” He gazed into Ginny's eyes. “I'm so glad you're not like that.”

Bugger, thought Ginny. Just because she'd been like that in the past didn't mean she wanted to be like it now.

True to his word, when the meal was over, Perry kissed her in the car park then did the gentlemanly thing and helped her into her car—before Ginny could throw him over the bonnet and rip his shirt off, which was what she really wanted to do.

Oh well, it was flattering in its own way. If Perry thought she was a lady worthy of respect, that was…
nice
.

“You're gorgeous,” Perry murmured. Cradling her face between his warm hands, he kissed her again, lingeringly, before pulling away.

See? That
was
nice. And a million times more romantic than being groped by some panting Neanderthal intent on getting inside your bra.

“I'll be in touch,” said Perry. “Take care.”

He really likes me, thought Ginny, happiness bubbling up inside her as she drove out of the car park.

Wasn't that
great
?