Turning the Tide (31 page)

There wasn’t much time. ‘Matthew?’

He dragged his gaze away from the shore and looked at her questioningly.

‘Thank you.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘For what?’

‘For everything. For giving me time and not using the charter, for looking after George, for helping to save Watling’s.’ She bit her quivering lip.

Matthew laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘What’s wrong, then?’

Harry looked at the pontoon; just a couple of minutes before the spell was broken, and they went off to their separate worlds. ‘I wondered when you were leaving, that’s
 
all.’

He frowned and shook his head. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

It was her turn to be puzzled. ‘But your next development?’

‘It’s in Little Spitmarsh. I’ve bought a block of Victorian houses, I got the idea after I’d had a look at Walton House. They’re going to look amazing when they’re renovated,’ he said happily.
‘
Just the sort of luxury holiday apartments people are after. Now are you going to do something about getting this boat tied up safely, or are you just going to stand there and let her crash into the pontoon?’

Chapter Twenty-Six

Harry could have done without a welcoming committee as she jumped ashore. The sight of Teeth and Hair pacing up and down in her spike-heeled boots, waiting to pounce on Matthew, was certainly one she could do without. She used the pretence of ducking to secure the mooring lines to avoid seeing the happy couple reunited, which meant that she was unprepared for Jimi rushing forwards and grabbing her as soon as she straightened up.

‘Harry, I was so worried. I thought I’d lost you!’ he said, hugging her tight.

It was nice of him to be concerned, thought Harry, looking over his shoulder to see if Matthew had noticed; but possibly a bit over the top. Perhaps he was trying to prove something to Teeth and Hair? Pity he was wasting his time. Anyone could see that she and Matthew were far too engrossed in each other to notice anyone else.

‘’Ere, that special resin you’ve been waitin’ for is in,’ George said, eyeing Jimi balefully. ‘Postman’s taken it back up to the town. Jimi, you can give me a hand ’ere.’

‘Bloody great,’ Harry muttered.

‘I’d ’ave got it meself, only with all this toin’ and froin’ I’ve been otherwise engaged.’

‘That’s all right, George.’ She pulled herself together. ‘You’ve been wonderful. Thank you – I owe you for looking after me and for coming to rescue me.’

‘I tek it I got me job back, then?’ he said, raising a bushy eyebrow.

‘You’re lucky there’s still a job to come back to!’ Harry reached up and kissed his weatherbeaten cheek. How had she thought she could manage without him?

Matthew walked away, wishing he hadn’t witnessed the tender little scene between Harry and Jimi. He’d guessed what was going on, but it still wasn’t very pleasant seeing it under his nose. Of course, he would never have admitted that half the reason he was so cross was because he was disappointed in Harry. How could a girl with so much spirit and resolve allow herself to become embroiled with a narcissistic, strutting, shallow little weasel like Jimi? All the more reason to wash his hands of the restaurant sooner rather than later.

Abruptly he came to and realised Gina had stopped walking and was watching him through narrowed eyes. ‘So why didn’t you tell me Harry Watling was a girl?’

‘Well, hardly. Not so you’d notice,’ Matthew snorted.

‘Oh, I think you have, Matthew. And Jimi certainly has. Isn’t that why you’ve got a face like thunder?’

‘Gina!’ he shouted, before adopting a more reasonable tone of voice. ‘Gina, be serious. I mean, look at you – and think about Harry. Kerisst! I mean she dresses like a boy, she’s got hands like a builder, and it looks as if she cuts her hair with a knife and fork! C’mon!’

‘So why haven’t you got on with your development? You always said you needed the housing to make the restaurant worthwhile. You’ve got the legal means to acquire the land, yet you’ve been umming and ahing about taking it further. There has to be a good reason why you’ve been so reluctant to do anything that would be detrimental to Harry Watling.’

‘She’s had a tough time.’ It sounded pretty feeble. ‘I wanted to give her a chance to make a success of everything she’d worked for. I felt …’

Fraternal? Yes, that’s what had given him that nice warm feeling, a sense he could give her some brotherly guidance about the direction she should take, knowing how alone she was. He thought about her on
Calypso
looking up at him with those serious grey eyes, a delicate heart-shaped face and that wide mouth that was both clumsy and alluring. Sitting next to her, he was aware of the smell of the warm sea breeze, white cotton, washed hair and a sweet, feminine scent that was all Harry’s own. And, when she’d rubbed her eyes with her small practical hands, suddenly they didn’t look like little fists any more. Nor, for that matter, did they seem so innocent.

‘Horny?’ Gina suggested tartly. ‘She blew you out, didn’t she? That’s why you’re trying to put a different spin on it. You spent the night on a tiny little boat together and she wouldn’t let you! Jeez!’ Gina shook her head in disbelief. ‘Maybe that’s where I’ve been going wrong? Maybe if I’d played hard to get, you’d have fallen in love with me.’

‘I am not in love with Harry Watling!’ Matthew roared.

‘I think you’d better work that one out, Matthew,’ she said, smiling sadly. ‘Because one thing’s for sure – you’re not in love with me.’

For once the dark blue eyes met his without mockery. ‘I came here to tell you that G Mag House has offered me promotion. Assistant Editor.’

‘That’s great news for you, Gina. Congratulations.’ Even to his own ears it sounded weak, as if he was addressing a stranger.

She gave a short laugh. ‘Actually, Matthew it’s great news for you too. The job’s in New York. That’s why I’ve needed to see you, to tell you. I had this crazy idea of us starting again somewhere fresh and exciting. But I’m not the one exciting you any more, am I?’ Again the dark eyes were naked, unguarded. ‘Tell me, Matthew, is there any reason why I shouldn’t go?’

Matthew opened his mouth to protest, then decided against it. They both knew he was only going through the motions. Their relationship had already been dying when he decided to take on the development of the old clubhouse.

‘No? I thought not.’ She smiled at him wearily. ‘You wanted out, Matthew. That’s why you ran away up here, the last place I would ever want to stay.’

It sounded too hollow to deny it. ‘You still found me a great chef.’

Gina laughed. ‘I was trying to make you jealous and I certainly succeeded – although not quite in the way I imagined!’

‘I still don’t know how you persuaded Jimi to come up here. He’s not my favourite person, but he’s brilliant at his job. And hungry to get his own kitchen. How did you manage to convince him that a restaurant in the middle of Little Spitmarsh was worth seeing?’

Getting Jimi aboard had been a major coup; even though, having walked out of his previous restaurant under a cloud, the guy knew that there was something of the last-chance saloon about this job. He’d kept himself out of debt by working for an agency with private clients, and had proved himself a creative, passionate and driven chef. Matthew was anticipating menus that would set the restaurant reviews
 
alight.

‘Well, not like that, darling, although he is very good-looking.’

Matthew was still relieved to hear it, even though Gina was, and always had been, a free spirit.

She pulled a face, as if reading his thoughts. ‘Oh, Jimi’s hungry all right. He could always see the attraction of being the next big seaside chef, but there was more to it.’

‘Oh?’ Matthew couldn’t think what other reason there could be to draw Jimi to Little Spitmarsh.

‘His father ran a boat yard somewhere up here on the east coast, apparently. Jimi lost his mother some years ago to breast cancer, but it was only recently – after the man he thought was his father died – that he discovered that his real father was someone else. I think Jimi’s been looking for his past.’

Matthew breathed out slowly.

‘Hey!’ Gina said, more gently. ‘Don’t look so worried. Your Harry isn’t in love with him. Any woman can see that.’

I bloody hope she isn’t, he thought grimly.

As fairy tales went, Little Spitmarsh was more of an Ugly Duckling than a Sleeping Beauty. Even Harry had to admit, as she walked slowly back to the yard, that it hadn’t exactly woken up to be beautiful; but the little family excitedly unloading their rental van outside a terraced cottage in Sea Lane were thrilled with its unconventional charm.

‘I can’t believe we’re here!’ Mum sighed, as Harry stopped to help them with a large chest of drawers.

‘We said we’d do it,’ Dad chipped in. ‘But that’s all most people do – talk about moving to the coast. Well, we’ve done it.’

By selling their ex-local authority flat on the fringes of London, the family had netted enough cash to move somewhere where they didn’t have to worry about their outside wall being daubed with graffiti every night, finding used needles thrown over their fence or being mugged for their mobile phones.

‘We love the mixture here,’ the woman enthused. ‘It’s got old-world charm, but with some really lovely shops too. It feels up and coming, but it hasn’t been overwhelmed, unlike some places in the south-west.’

Despite Harry’s predictions of doom, Matthew’s restaurant had succeeded in making its mark as Little Spitmarsh’s Unique Selling Point. Not least with the family beside her. ‘It’s great for a tiny place like this to have such a brilliant restaurant opening too,’ the woman continued. ‘And, with the money we’ve saved moving away from London, we can even afford to go there for special occasions.’

Recharged, they returned to their unpacking, their children spilling around them. Not quite the Up-From-Londoners Harry had anticipated, but a real family eager to make a new start. Whether Matthew had just been lucky or extremely perceptive, Harry couldn’t guess; but she had to admit that his vision had raised spirits in the down-at-heel town. The film festival was an inspired touch to draw people to the area; and, with the council and tourist partnership trumpeting its success at every opportunity, similar events were bound to follow.

Not everyone drawn to Little Spitmarsh would be so keen to stay there permanently. Some of the old flats in Victorian houses ripe for renovation would certainly become dark spaces in the winter with blank windows, curtains left undrawn and no children to swell the numbers in what was left of the local schools. The summer visitors and second-homers would fly back to their comfort zones; but, more importantly, they would return. In winter the little businesses emerging would struggle, but when the sun came out again there would be money to be made, staff to be employed, homes to find and the balance of the economy might just tip in the locals’ favour.

In time, Harry could see that Little Spitmarsh would flourish with more festivals, eating places and knick-knack shops and an artists’ quarter. Eventually the natives would have to drive somewhere else, a new out-of-town development, to buy their screws, their paint, their curtain hooks and their discounted clothes. Everyone would be looking for homes, and the planning department would allow more space to be gobbled up so that yet more people would move in, preventing the closure of local schools, stopping the brain drain and making the place somewhere its residents were proud of.

All she hoped, she thought, making her way back to her house, was that Little Spitmarsh’s revival would not, as she feared, only be attuned to the visitor looking for gourmet foods, novelty shops and a self-consciously groovy ambience. At the rate its salty, raw and real past was being reinvented, even Matthew’s potential customers would settle for anything they could get. Would anyone still notice the silty tide creeping in and out of meandering creeks, the wind rustling the grasses and the birds whooping and calling in the setting sun? Would anyone even care?

It was evening by the time Matthew had finished with everyone. He stood outside Harry’s front door and waited. Maybe she’d gone up for an early night? Thankful, but disappointed at the same time, he peered through the glass door, wondering if he should try the bell again. An inner door swung open and Harry appeared, making him feel as if he’d been caught doing something illicit. There was just time for him to register her expression; she looked pleasantly surprised, hopeful even, before she shut down and assumed her customary look of suspicion.

‘I’m not selling anything,’ he promised. ‘Can I come in?’

Taking her turned back as consent, Matthew followed her into the large open-plan living space and felt the same jolt of pleasure and satisfaction he’d experienced the first time he’d walked in there.

As she settled nervously in front of him, Matthew searched her face in the low light. Facially, the resemblance to the man he’d come to tell her about wasn’t immediate. Harry had obviously inherited her serious grey eyes and full mouth from her mother; but there were flashes in her expression and the way she held her head which were more obvious to him. Both carried a lot of strength in their slim frames.

‘What do you want, Matthew?’

Not to be here, he wished for a moment; but someone had to tell her, and no one else was in a fit state to do it.