Summer Loves
Georgia Hill
Summer lovin’ never happened so fast…but will it last?Heartbroken after breaking up with her gorgeous boyfriend, Jed, even baking in her beloved Cupcake Café while the summer sun’s shining on Berecombe Beach can’t cheer Millie up! So it’s time to bring in the big guns – her best friend, Dora.But when Dora arrives, it’s clear she’s busy licking her own wounds and Millie can only watch as her friend falls head over heels for an old flame. With everyone around her finding love, should Millie give Jed the second chance he’s been asking for, or has the time come for a fresh start away from Berecombe?
Summer Loves
Millie Vanilla’s Cupcake Café, Book Two
GEORGIA HILL
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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017
Copyright © Georgia Hill 2017
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Ebook Edition © June 2017 ISBN: 9780008211073
Version 2017-04-27
To the people and town of Lyme Regis, Dorset. Thank you for the fabulous holidays.
Table of Contents
Cover (#u2c2c70b2-fcdf-5ada-9ec9-1d8493c58557)
Title Page (#u76ce4fca-6615-5d5b-afe8-cebc9a7412a2)
Copyright (#u94cf1359-36a9-5bd4-a29d-41f84d087a8d)
Dedication (#u2c1da9f5-6fdc-58bf-86e2-91928667f0b8)
Chapter 1 (#u33a1f852-6c62-5426-8472-607b5681703e)
Chapter 2 (#ubda82327-a1f4-598c-9af1-74557fbf1809)
Chapter 3 (#u6e6a98c9-2bd7-5ad3-8386-28eaf03d3c90)
Chapter 4 (#uf4a7baea-1fe1-5b3b-9ce3-fd89f78a9773)
Chapter 5 (#u1ca97439-e378-5995-a121-7414b31f2307)
Chapter 6 (#u96b5052c-7392-5e90-bf45-a04455c2de24)
Chapter 7 (#ua99f1aaa-6c83-559f-a6f7-d24dad03969b)
Chapter 8 (#u5f857c69-7cbc-5b76-880f-7821789793e0)
Chapter 9 (#u6f319b58-b0c5-5385-a734-3b96bf67f788)
Chapter 10 (#ue386f5ef-a26b-5c1e-9c00-598602911857)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 29 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 30 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 31 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 32 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 33 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 34 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 35 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 36 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 37 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 38 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 39 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 40 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 41 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 42 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 43 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 44 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 45 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 46 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 47 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 48 (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#u76395af6-e43e-53fd-8528-23ab0f220c12)
April was a beautiful month in Berecombe. As Millie walked an excited cockapoo across the deserted beach she could feel the early morning sun on her face and a sea breeze lifting her hair, lilting and gentle. It was a most glorious morning and something she used to take great pleasure in. She threw Trevor’s tennis ball, shading her eyes to see where it bounced on the hard, flat sand. A movement on the harbour wall caught her attention. A figure stood there. Tall and masculine. Millie’s heart faltered. She screwed up her eyes to see better but he was just a silhouette against the morning light. It couldn’t be Jed, could it? It had been weeks since he’d left Berecombe. Since she’d angrily sent him away. Trevor skidded to a halt beside her and jumped up, tennis ball in mouth, eager for her to continue the game. Bending down, she took the ball from him and threw it. When she looked towards land again, the figure on the harbour had disappeared.
Of course it hadn’t been Jed. Why would he come back to Berecombe? With a heavy heart, Millie turned to return to the café. She had the Yummy Mummies and the WI Knitting Circle coming in this morning, so would be busy. Last night she’d slaved over getting a batch of Battenberg cakes ready and still wasn’t happy with them. She was finished if her baking was going off-kilter, she mused, as she trudged over the softer sand near the prom. It was almost as if the kitchen sensed her mood. Ever since Jed left, part of her heart had gone too. She couldn’t seem to throw herself into things with the same enthusiasm. Even her baking was something to be done more as a chore rather than a pleasure. Jed would have loved the Battenberg. She stamped the sand off her feet, exasperated at how her thoughts kept circling back to him.
She unlocked the café door and inhaled the familiar sweet smells. Forcing herself to think positively, she grinned down at a sand-covered dog. ‘At least Dora is back in town, though, eh Trevor?’ Going through to the kitchen to switch on the kettle, she called back, feeling a little more cheerful, ‘And life’s never boring with Dora around!’
Chapter 2 (#u76395af6-e43e-53fd-8528-23ab0f220c12)
If one more person pulled her duck’s tail or made one more lewd remark about ‘little duckies’ Dora would seriously lose it. She tugged at her escaping tights and waddled through the White Bear’s public bar, rattling her money tin. ‘Buy a number for the duck race,’ she called. ‘Raise some money for a good cause.’ She’d have serious words with Millie later. How the hell did she get roped into this? It was little more than ritual humiliation.
‘Oi oi,’ called a man in a lecherous voice. ‘What have we got here?’
What got into these men? It was barely nine o’clock. Had she been away from her home town so long she’d forgotten all about these riotous Friday night drinking sessions? No, alcohol alone couldn’t excuse their behaviour; it must be the duck outfit that got them going. Male hormones obviously went into overdrive at the sight of a woman dressed in yellow feathers and red tights.
Dora adjusted her duck head to peer down at her latest assailant. He reached out and pulled her tail hard.
‘That’s enough,’ she yelled. ‘I’ve had enough. You can buy a duck for that.’ She held out her money box as a demand for payment. And swore. Hard.
‘How much?’
‘They’re a pound a duck.’
‘I don’t see any ducks,’ he sniggered. ‘Apart from you.’
‘No,’ Dora explained, for what seemed the thousandth time that evening. ‘You buy a number and then come along to the river tomorrow afternoon. All the ducks will have a number on them. We set them off and if yours wins, you get a prize.’
‘What’s the prize? You?’
Dora was having difficulty containing her temper. Her feet hurt, her head was sweaty from wearing the ridiculous duck headdress and she wanted to go home. Why was it such hard work separating people from their money? It was only a measly pound.
‘You get a fifty-pound voucher to spend at Millie Vanilla’s, the café on the front.’
‘So tell me again why I’ve got to buy a duck?’
‘I think the idea is it raises money,’ another voice interjected. ‘For the Arts Workshop. Am I right?’
Dora froze. She knew that voice.
With difficulty, she turned her head to the left. The drunk man had a friend. A man who was sitting next to him and who had been screened out of her sightline by her ridiculous duck head.
Shock reverberated through her. It was him.
It was not the way she wanted to bump into the guy she’d fallen so hopelessly in love with in sixth form. Whose heart she had broken when her parents had insisted that Berecombe’s bad boy wasn’t good enough for her. The years spent acting in the States vaporised. She was seventeen again.
Mikey Love.
Still with that gypsy-dark hair, although it was now threaded through with silver and not quite so unruly. Still with those wicked blue eyes and the grin that made you go weak at the knees and completely at his mercy. Whatever that involved. Sheer charisma. She’d never met a man with as much, even in the torrid world of American television. She hadn’t seen him for years. Since leaving Berecombe. Had never set eyes on him again. Until this moment.
‘Someone up there must really have it in for me,’ she muttered, the yellow felt headdress muffling her words.
Someone really had got it in for her. Millie and Tessa chose that moment to catch up with her. They’d obviously been treated to a drink and had given up all thought of fund- raising. Both held a glass of white in one hand, their duck head in the other. Deeply uncool, seeing as it was Tessa’s Arts Workshop they were raising money for.
Her bad temper was affecting her judgement. It seemed she was wrong.
‘Ooh, laters, babes,’ Tessa cooed. ‘Just spotted Dennis. A local councillor should be good to cough up a few bob.’ She made her way through the crowded bar, cheerfully batting off the stares and wolf-whistles.
Dora could admire the woman’s self-confidence, even if she found her loud voice grating. They must breed them tough in Birmingham.
Millie came up to her with a kind smile. ‘Just sold my last number. What’s been holding you up?’
Dora glared at her through the yellow. ‘Maybe you weren’t being molested all night,’ she hissed. ‘My legs will be black and blue after this.’
‘Oh I know, my lovely,’ Millie sympathised. ‘Me too. Swiped more than one bloke with a wing and then guilted them into buying a duck. How many tickets have you got left?’ she asked. ‘I’ll take a few and sell them for you. Actually,’ she reconsidered. ‘You know your trouble? You’re getting all hot and bothered. Take your head off.’ Without warning, Millie yanked off Dora’s headdress, leaving her marooned like a headless chicken, or rather duck. If anything, Dora now felt even more of a fool. At least, with her outfit complete, she made sense. Now, with an enormous yellow body out of all proportion to her head, she knew she must look ludicrous. What was more, with red hair and pale skin, Dora did not do heat in any way that was attractive. She knew perfectly well her face was scarlet and shiny with sweat and her hair flattened and greasy-looking. She scrunched up her eyes, waiting for the inevitable and tried to brave it out. With any luck, in this state she might be unrecognisable.
‘Dora!’
‘Fuck.’
‘Oh my God. It is isn’t it? It’s Dora Bartlett. Or should I say Theodora Bart?’ Mike sounded amused. ‘You’ve learned to swear in a very unladylike way since you left school.’
‘Oh my,’ said his friend. ‘Now we can see what the filly looks like. Or should I say duckling?’ He roared at his feeble joke.
‘That’s enough, Phil.’ Mikey stood up. ‘Forgive him, he’s had a bit too much to drink.’
‘Well, I had to try the cider now I’m in the West Country,’ Phil protested and turned to someone. Dora heard a very female giggle.
She opened one eye to see Mikey staring at her. Oh, how she remembered those naughty blue eyes. What the hell was he even doing here? The last thing she’d heard, he was working in London.
‘Hello Mikey,’ she managed eventually. How could he still make her legs go weak, her insides churn around in the most delightfully revolting fashion, just as he had when she’d been seventeen and in his thrall.
He came closer, or as close as the fat feathery costume allowed. ‘Hello Dora. It’s lovely to see you again,’ he said quietly.
‘Isn’t it,’ she mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.
Millie, her eyes on stalks, interrupted. ‘Mikey, wow! Whatever are you doing back in Berecombe?’
‘Back working in the Regent,’ he said, naming Berecombe’s little theatre on the sea front. ‘Putting on Persuasion as a fund-raiser for it. The old place is looking a bit sad. Needed some cash input, so thought I’d help.’
‘Oh yes,’ Millie continued. ‘You’ve made quite a name for yourself, haven’t you? Directing or something. Up in London.’
‘I’ve had some success.’ The modest words belied his tone.
He’d always been so sure of himself, Dora thought. Some said brave, bearing in mind his background. Some said cocky. It depended on your point of view.
‘How nice.’ She couldn’t keep the edge from her voice. She hated being wrong-footed like this. If she’d thought, coming back here, she’d bump into him, she would have gone to her villa in Siena. But something had called her back to Berecombe and, besides, her parents had been due a visit. If fate engineered a meeting with Michael Love, then Dora would infinitely have preferred it to be when she was looking at her best. In control. The very image of the successful actress.
Millie was completely star-struck, however. She’d always had a soft spot for Mikey when they were all at school together. ‘Ooh lovely, one of my favourites. I love Persuasion. When’s it on?’
‘Later in the summer. Early days yet, we haven’t even cast it.’ Mikey directed his words to Millie, but his eyes were fixed on Dora.
‘Are you Theodora Bart? It is, isn’t it? Oh. My. God.’ A Sloaney female voice. Very young. Very gushing.
The evening just got worse. A fan.
The woman Dora had heard giggling with Cider Phil stood up and joined them.
‘I absolutely love you in The English Woman. I literally can’t wait for the next series. When’s it due out?’
Dora tried to pin on a gracious smile but was desperate to get away. The duck costume was making her claustrophobic, her red tights were far too big and threatening to fall down and she couldn’t bear Mikey’s gaze. ‘Thank you,’ she said in cool tones. ‘I’m afraid I’m not sure about the next series.’
‘This is Kirstie Fielding, my first assistant director,’ Mikey explained. ‘And one of your biggest fans.’
‘I’ll say,’ Kirstie went on. ‘When I found out you and Mike came from the same town, went to school together, even, I was literally so thrilled. And I can’t believe I’ve met you! And in a duck costume too! I’ve just got to get a selfie with you.’
‘Phil and Kirstie?’ Millie laughed, thankfully interrupting. ‘Really?’ She turned to Mikey. ‘And you’re no longer Mikey?’
He gave a regretful look. ‘Dropped the ‘y’ when I left Berecombe. We all need to reinvent ourselves, occasionally, don’t we?’
He left the words hanging but Dora knew his inference. Panicking, she clutched at straws. ‘Look, I’m so sorry but we have to go. I’ve still got a ton of ducks to sell.’ As Kirstie got her phone out, she put up her hand. ‘No really, no pictures. The fund-raising isn’t about me. It’s about the Workshop.’
‘No doubt we’ll bump into each other again, Dora.’
‘I’m sure we will Mikey. I mean Mike.’ She grabbed Millie’s arm in a vice-like grip, but before they could escape Millie rattled Dora’s tin at Mike.
‘How many have you left?’ he asked.
‘Twenty-five.’ Dora said it as a challenge, sticking her chin out. ‘Pound a duck.’
The challenge was accepted. ‘I’ll take them all,’ Mike said, with a defiant gleam in his eyes.
Dora peeled off the last numbers from the sheet, took his money and, with barely a thank you, steered Millie away. She shoved her unceremoniously through the crowd to the door. As they left they heard Kirstie’s Made in Chelsea tones complaining that you should never meet your heroes as they always disappoint.
Chapter 3 (#u76395af6-e43e-53fd-8528-23ab0f220c12)
‘How could you show me up in front of him, of all people?’ Dora fell onto the sofa in Millie’s flat.
‘Who?’ Millie dropped her duck head with a relieved sigh. ‘Ooh, it’s been a long night. My feet are killing me. No, Trevor, she warned as the cockapoo nosed it with interest.’
‘Mikey Love, that’s who. Or maybe we ought to call him Mike now.’
‘Yeah, he’s definitely more a Mike now he’s all grown up and gorgeous. Mind you, he was gorgeous at school too.’ Millie’s voice was dreamy. ‘All the girls had a crush on Michael Love, although I seem to remember he only had eyes for one girl.’ Getting up, she went into the kitchen and foraged in the fridge. Brandishing a bottle of white and two glasses, she added, ‘Think we’ve earned this. Tessa was really grateful we helped out.’
‘So she should be.’
Millie poured the wine. ‘Why are you so cross?’
‘Those men! They treated us like shit.’
‘All in good fun. Millie shrugged. ‘They didn’t mean any harm. You just need to elbow them where it hurts.’
‘Is it always like this on a Friday night now?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘So much drinking.’
‘Think you’re a bit out of touch with us commoners,’ Millie observed. ‘Maybe you’ve lived in LA for too long? It was just ordinary Friday night banter.’ She passed over a glass. ‘Here, have some of this.’
Dora sipped her wine and tried not to grimace. It wasn’t the smooth white Californian she was used to. Maybe she had been in the LA bubble for too long? After all, when was the last time she’d been out without a protective entourage? Granted, it was more necessary in the States as she had a bigger fan base there. Putting her wine down, she slipped out of the duck costume, kicked off the horrible tights and lay spread-eagled on the sofa in only her underwear. ‘Oh, that’s better,’ she sighed, feeling better immediately.
Millie laughed. ‘I’ll open a window. Cool you down a bit. Going to be a hot summer, I think. It’s boiling now and it’s only April.’ After opening the window and letting the sea breeze float in, she disappeared to her bedroom and changed. Five minutes later she flopped down on the chair near the window and cackled. ‘If only your adoring fans could see you now.’
Dora didn’t bother opening her eyes. ‘They’ve seen me in less.’
‘Wasn’t quite what I meant.’
This got through. Dora giggled and sat upright. She took another sip of wine and found it tasted better this time. ‘Oh, I’m sorry I’m such a grouch, Mil. Too hot, too tired, too jet-lagged.’
‘Too spoiled?’
Dora pursed her lips. ‘You might have a point. God, I’d love a smoke.’ She gestured to the rejected duck costume, ‘But if all this yellow polyester caught light it would start a fire that would wreck half the town.’ She poked it with a disdainful toe.
‘You’ve never smoked,’ Millie exclaimed in horror.
‘Keeps the weight down.’
‘Dora, you hardly weigh anything now.’
Dora shrugged. ‘A size zero is the norm.’
‘Oh my God, that’s awful.’ Millie drank her wine in one go as a protest.
‘That’s the reality of acting in the States. If you’re under forty, they’ll only cast you if you’re a lollipop head and, if you’re over forty, they don’t cast you at all.’
‘Just as well you’ve still got another ten years, then,’ Millie observed drily.
‘Fifteen. I took five years off and go backwards a year with every birthday.’
‘What a way to make a living. Just as well they pay you so many squillions.’
Dora giggled. ‘True. And there are other perks. Lovely beachfront house in Malibu, hot chauffeur permanently on call.’
‘Well, it’s no wonder you found Friday night in the White Bear a little plebeian.’
‘You been reading those books again?’
‘Have to get my education where I can. Some of us didn’t make it out of Berecombe.’
Dora was silent for a moment. For all her problems, she had at least escaped to go to drama school and, more importantly, still had both parents. No matter how strained her relationship was with them. Poor Millie had had her entire family wiped out in one cruel second when a drugged-up idiot had driven head-on into her parents’ car. ‘I’m sorry, Millie. I’m turning into a real spoilt LA bitch.’
‘Yes you are,’ Millie agreed, without rancour.
‘Love you.’ Dora saluted her oldest friend with her glass before drinking it dry and holding it aloft for a refill. That was the beauty of a proper friendship; you could pick up where you left off.
Millie topped up Dora’s glass. ‘So, is this just a flying visit again?’
‘It will be if you continue to force me to dress up as a duck,’ Dora complained. ‘I’d hardly got off the plane before you attacked me with a feathered head.’
‘Sorry. Zoe was going to do it, but she’s knee-deep in A-Level revision. So come on, how long have we the pleasure of Berecombe’s most famous export this time?’
Dora paused, took a deep breath, then said, ‘Can you keep a secret, Mil?’
‘Me? You know I can.’
Dora sighed and stared morosely into her glass. ‘Might be back for good, as the sainted Gary Barlow would say. Long story short: ratings plummeted, show pulled. No more made.’
Millie sat up. ‘That’s awful.’ She shook her head. ‘But it’s the most popular thing on the box over here. Zoe loves it.’
‘Well, you’re two series behind, so you’ve still got something to watch.’ Dora fiddled with a long strand of hair, trying to control the urge for a cigarette. She was trying to give up. ‘It’s the way American TV works. As soon as a show gets even a whiff of a ratings drop, it’s axed. You have to admire the business ethic, I suppose. It’s all about the profit.’
Millie wasn’t sure she did. It sounded far too ruthless for her and, besides, she was off anything American at the moment. ‘So, what are you going to do?’
‘Shack up with Mum and Dad for a bit. I haven’t seen much of them over the last few years. Walk on the beach if I can borrow Trevor. Have lazy mornings in bed. Have a holiday, enjoy myself!’
‘Get to know Mikey Love again?’
Dora gave her friend a shuttered look. ‘No way. Not going near that heap of trouble again. Nope. Me and Michael Love belong firmly in the sixth form. I do not intend to rake up all that shit again. Ever!’
Millie thought her friend protested too much. She’d seen the looks flashing between Mike and Dora. And who could resist a man who looked like he did? She finished her wine in silence. Dora and Mike had been besotted with one another when they’d all been in sixth form. They’d been the hottest couple in school. Surely feelings that intense never really went away? In the pub they looked as if they wanted to jump on one another and rip their clothes off there and then.
With them both in town, it was going to be an interesting summer.
Chapter 4 (#u76395af6-e43e-53fd-8528-23ab0f220c12)
The afternoon of the duck race was bright and sunny. Dora, used to the endless sunshine of California, rejoiced. Millie had explained she hoped for a good turnout, for Tessa and Ken’s sake. This new Arts Workshop was their latest venture and they were trying to raise money to renovate a venue in town. It seemed an excellent idea to Dora too. There had never been very much for kids to do in Berecombe. Boredom was one reason why Mike had got into trouble so much. Hopefully an arts centre would help other young people. She was all for it. And at least she didn’t have to dress up as a duck this time.
Checking out her reflection in her old bedroom at her parents’ house, she gave herself the once-over. Dora wasn’t a vain person, never had been, but years of living and working in the most image-conscious city on the west coast had made her able to view her looks objectively.
Still too thin, as her mother had pointed out this morning. Red hair, one of her distinguishing features as an actress, long and waving now it wasn’t being ruthlessly straightened by the studio’s hair department. Bluey-green eyes, which changed colour according to the light and pale, almost translucent, skin. The summer dress she’d chosen, patterned in greens and blues, suited her perfectly. It made her look tall and willowy, when in reality she was only average height. An expert at changing her appearance, today she was going for a demure vicar’s wife vibe. A wide-brimmed straw hat borrowed from her mother and her favourite sunglasses and she was ready.
She dropped her parents off in town and drove down Berecombe’s steep hill, turning off along the lane by the river to find somewhere to park. Concentrating, as she still wasn’t used to driving on the left, she squeezed the Mini into the only space available and followed the crowds to the start of the duck race.
There was a carnival atmosphere, families with small children clutching at balloons and ice creams ran along the riverbank, from where the ducks would be launched. It was fun, she decided. And very, very English. She manoeuvred her way through the crowd and found Millie and Tessa on the wide pebble beach on the bend of the river. A long meadow stretched down to the tree line of willows, which were shading the riverbank. It couldn’t have been more English.
‘Hi Dora, you’re just in time,’ Millie kissed her on the cheek. ‘Tessa’s so pleased you’ve agreed to start the race.’
‘All right, campers,’ Tessa yelled. ‘Last chance to buy a duck and then they’re off. Don’t forget the top prize is a voucher to spend at Millie Vanilla’s: Berecombe’s friendliest caff.’
‘What’s the second prize, Tessa,’ some wag called. ‘Two vouchers? Only joking!’
Dora looked around to see who the joker was – some middle-aged man – and caught sight of Mike standing high up on the meadow. He was with Phil and Kirstie and another man, tall and blonde. Before she could control it, her body reacted, as it always had, to Mike and she willed herself to turn back to Millie and Tessa. She could still feel Mike’s gaze burning into the back of her neck. ‘Insufferable man!’
‘Oh don’t worry your bones about him,’ Tessa said with a grin, misunderstanding her. ‘There’s always one and it’s usually him. I got him to buy thirty tickets, so he’s cracking out the jokes in revenge. Very witty, Dennis,’ she yelled to the man. ‘Now crawl off under your stone.’ She turned to Dora. ‘You ready?’
‘I’m not sure what to say.’
‘Just keep an eye on my boys and when they release the ducks, say the race has started. You’ll be fine, bab. No takers, then?’ Tessa yelled, once more to the crowd. ‘Right, I’ll hand over to our very own, home-grown Hollywood star, Theodora Bart!’
Dora glanced over to where Tessa’s three sons were standing knee deep in the middle of the river. As they held up sacks full of little plastic ducks, she took a deep breath, prepared to project and called out, ‘I declare this duck race well and truly started!’
She wasn’t sure what she expected. A casual stroll to the bridge, where the River Bere met the sea, maybe. She certainly hadn’t anticipated the mad dash of duck racers running along the riverbank, the squealing, the competitiveness.
As the ducks bobbed and meandered their way down the river, the crowd yelled with excitement and ran alongside. Dora let them go. The kitten heels she thought matched her floaty dress so perfectly proved themselves totally impractical. As she picked her way along the gravel beach, taking care to avoid the cowpats, she was left well behind by the crowd.
‘Ouch!’ Her heel caught on a piece of flint. She would have stumbled had it not been for a strong arm on her elbow.
‘Careful there, can’t have you going arse over tit in that rather lovely dress, can we?’
It would be him, wouldn’t it?
Mike picked up her sunglasses, which had flown off her face as she tripped. ‘Here you go. Undamaged.’ He peered at them and whistled. ‘Chanel. Nice. Just as well they’re in one piece, then.’
He was looking edible. Loose white shirt, scruffy faded denims and a red-and-white spotted scarf at his neck. It didn’t quite conceal the rugged chest exposed by the open buttons of his shirt. Dora’s mouth watered. He’d never been as well muscled at eighteen. His shoulders had been far narrower and he certainly hadn’t the thick covering of dark chest hair. She itched to trail her nails through it.
‘Dora? You’re staring.’
‘Am I?’ Snatching the glasses back, she put them on. There was a smear of dust on one lens but she didn’t bother cleaning them; she needed the protection – and not from the sunshine.
‘Can I walk with you to the finish line?’
She shrugged.
They followed the excited jumble of people, some of whom were paddling in the river, shrieking at the cold, in order to rescue their duck, lodged against a branch or rock.
They walked in silence, but eventually even Dora thought she was being ungracious. ‘Thank you,’ she said, at length.
‘You’re welcome.’
‘It’s been a while.’
‘Certainly has.’
Of course, he wouldn’t make this any less awkward, would he? She cast about for a subject matter with which to fill the silence. ‘Who was the blonde man with you? The one who was so impeccably dressed?’
Mike gave a knowing grin. ‘Thought you might notice him. Knows Phil slightly. Jed. Friend of Millie’s, apparently.’
‘That’s strange. She’s never mentioned him. Your friend Phil, he looks like a banker.’
‘Financier. He invests in pet projects I have going.’
‘So you have to keep him sweet, no matter how much a drunken boor he is.’
‘What a very Dora word.’ Mike laughed. ‘Boor! He’s actually a nice guy as long as he keeps off the scrumpy.’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Dora said sourly, then added, ‘Where’s the finish line?’ as her ridiculous shoes were beginning to pinch her toes. She never had to walk anywhere in LA.
‘Ken Tizzard’s at Bere Bridge. He and his team are catching the ducks before any get lost at sea.’
‘It’s mad.’ She stumbled and winced as her ankle turned over. Mike took her elbow again and his hand was hot on her bare skin.
‘But a great way of raising money for a good cause, don’t you think?’
She’d forgotten his ability to make her feel small-minded. ‘Of course,’ she replied coolly. God he smelled good. Had he always smelled like that? She couldn’t remember.
‘I’ve enjoyed The English Woman.’
‘Thank you.’ She was surprised. ‘You’re obviously a busy man, I’m amazed you have time for television.’
‘I don’t normally.’
‘Of course, you’re two seasons behind over here.’
‘Of course.’ Mike echoed her lofty tone. ‘But a friend sends me the streaming links so I’m up to date.’
‘Oh.’ He’d always had friends who supplied him with anything he wanted. ‘What did you think of it?’ She hated herself for being desperate enough to ask.
‘Yeah. Good. Usual American shouting-and-waving-hands-around style of acting but it’s tightly written. You’re wasted in it, though.’
She stopped. They’d nearly reached the old mill beyond which there was a proper path. The once-abandoned building had been restored and its grounds tidied up. It looked as if someone lived there now. She banished the image that sprang up of her and Mike kissing passionately in the shelter of the long grass that long, scorching summer so long ago. Before it had all gone sour. She remembered the feel of his generous lips on hers, his eager hands inching under her t-shirt. Their hot panting breath. The fact that they were in the open, barely concealed by the meadow grass, had made it all the more illicit and exciting. Her throat closed with lust. When she and Mike were together nothing else had seemed to exist.
‘You’re staring again, Dora. And looking flushed.’ Mike was looking at her intently.
Fuck. He remembered too. How could he not?
Dora tugged her brain back into the conversation. Flustered by memories, she went on the defensive. ‘It’s the network’s biggest-grossing show. I hardly think my time is wasted.’
‘Oh Dora, Dora. You know that’s not what I meant.’ Mike chuckled, a throaty sound, which took her straight back to when they’d shared his post-coital cigarette. She’d had to eat an entire packet of extra-strong mints before daring to go home. If Mum and Dad thought she’d been smoking, they’d have killed her. Still would.
‘I’ve got to go. I’m meeting my parents in town.’ She knew she was coming across as prissy but it was her only defence against the desire that was curling in her loins. For him. Always for him.
At the mention of her parents, Mike’s face closed.
Millie came running up to them. ‘Mikey, I mean Mike! You’ve won! One of your ducks came in first.’ She waved a piece of paper at him. ‘Here’s your voucher. I do a great afternoon tea if you fancy it. Maybe bring Dora?’
He turned to Dora, his blue eyes glittering. ‘Maybe I’ll just do just that.’
Chapter 5 (#u76395af6-e43e-53fd-8528-23ab0f220c12)
Millie and Dora were sitting on the terrace of the Old Harbour Inn soaking up the last rays of sun.
‘Can’t believe we have to drink wine out of plastic cups,’ Dora moaned.
‘Health and safety,’ Millie murmured and topped up their glasses. ‘Still, the view alone makes up for it.’
She was right. the Old Harbour Inn was a little further west than the café and had views over to the beach on the other side of the harbour. It had the best view of the setting sun.
Dora sat back and inhaled the salty, vinegary, seaweedy smell of her youth. It was good to be home. ‘Do you remember when we thought an alco-pop was the height of sophistication?’
Millie giggled. ‘I think it was, back then.’ She swirled her wine around her glass before taking an appreciative sip. ‘Thank God things have changed a bit. Tessa’s really grateful for all your help, Dor.’
‘Not sure I did much but, bruises on my ducky bottom aside, I was glad to help out. Things all right between you two?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know, you just don’t seem as close as you used to be.’ Dora tapped her nose. ‘Call it actor’s intuition.’
‘Well, we had a bit of a falling-out a few months ago.’
‘I knew there was something. What happened?’
Millie explained how Tessa had agreed to supply bread to the Blue Elephant café, Millie Vanilla’s biggest rival. ‘She’s back baking for me now, when she can. Blue Elephant are making it hard for her to get out of her contract,’ Millie sighed. ‘It’s a real pain. I’m still having to get some bread from Berringtons.’
‘Ooh Berringtons,’ Dora said. ‘Remember their lardy cake? And their ham rolls were good too. Standard lunch at sixth form, I seem to recall. Don’t tell me Berringtons have gone downhill.’
‘I never understood how you ate lardy cake every day for two years without putting on an ounce.’ Millie shook her head. ‘Their bread is fine for sandwiches but, with the new menu I’ve got, I need something a little more unusual. Tessa’s been developing some rosemary bread, which is wonderful, and her walnut bread is gorgeous. It’s just that she hardly has time to breathe, let alone make bread.’
Dora, starved of carbs for eight years, salivated. ‘But you two are okay now? You know she’s never been my bag, but I know she’s a good friend to you.’
Millie nodded. ‘The whole family has. They’re my sort of adopted family, I suppose.’ She stroked a sleeping Trevor’s silken tummy with a bare toe.
‘He’s gorgeous, Mil. I’d love a dog but –’ Dora was interrupted by a couple asking for an autograph.
‘I told my Lee it was you. It is Theodora Bart, isn’t it?’ the woman trilled. ‘We saw you at the duck race this afternoon.’ They insisted on a selfie and a chat and by the time they’d gone, most of the pub’s other drinkers were staring.
‘Do you mind if we go, Millie. It’ll only encourage others if we stay.’
‘Of course,’ Millie murmured, casting a regretful glance at the half-full bottle.
Dora followed her look. ‘We’ll take this with us, shall we? Find somewhere secluded on the beach and hide. Grab the glasses.’
Giggling they tripped across the cooling sand and sat where the wooden groyne met the path which ran in front of the beach huts. Sheltered under the lip of the concrete path, which ran parallel to the promenade, they were more or less hidden.
‘I feel about fifteen again,’ Millie giggled as she flopped down. ‘We always used to come here to gossip.’
‘Best thing is you can still see all of the beach. Perfect for spying. Refill please.’ Dora held out her glass.
‘Does that happen often?’
‘What?’
‘People asking you for autographs.’
‘Not so much over here, although it depends. Not often when I’m going incognito like tonight.’ Dora gestured to her enormous sunglasses and straw hat. ‘It’s just if one person recognises me it seems to spark others off. Half of them don’t even know who I am. They just assume I’m famous enough to warrant a signature and a selfie. Once a guy got me to sign his arm and then had a go at me as he was disappointed I wasn’t Bonnie Wright. You know, out of the Harry Potter films?’
Millie screwed up her eyes. ‘I suppose you do look a bit like her. Not really thought about that before. Cor, my bestie the celeb! Not really thought about that before either!’
‘Yes well,’ said Dora, evenly. ‘Just remember, I’m really only Dora Bartlett, who held your hair off your face when you were sick the first time you got bladdered. And listened to you wax lyrical about, oh, who was it?’
‘Rick.’
‘Oh yes, he of the floppy fringe, soulful brown eyes and poetic tendencies. Whatever happened to him?’
‘He went to Manchester to do electrical engineering. Living in Watford now. Everyone seems to leave here.’
Dora ignored her friend’s mournful tone. ‘Okaay. Living the dream, then.’
Millie snorted. She leaned against Dora. ‘I’ve missed you. I can never get hold of you when you’re in the States, you know.’
‘Yeah well, the schedule gets pretty crazy.’
‘It’s so good to have you back, Dor.’
‘Get off, you soppy mare. Never took much to get you drunk, did it?’ They watched as Trevor rolled on his back, wriggling into the sand, getting his golden-brown coat covered. Millie went suddenly rigid against her. ‘What is it, honeybun?’
‘Oh God. It’s him. He’s back. Jed’s back.’
Chapter 6 (#u76395af6-e43e-53fd-8528-23ab0f220c12)
Millie pointed a wavering finger at a tall blonde man walking along the promenade. He vanished behind the beach huts only to reappear towards the harbour end of the prom.
Dora lowered her sunglasses to see better in the gathering dusk. ‘Oh, I saw him earlier at the duck race. He’s friends with one of Mike’s cronies. Some city type, I guess.’ She squinted at Jed’s disappearing form. ‘Mike said you knew him.’ She peered at Millie, who had gone white beneath her tan. ‘Come on, then, spill the goss.’
She filled Millie’s glass with the last of the wine and settled back against the groyne, a now snoring Trevor lying on her feet.
‘He’s a man I know. Knew. He came into the café in January and I fell for him.’
‘Don’t blame you, he’s gorgeous.’
Millie nodded. ‘Kind too. He paid for Daisy’s operation when Arthur couldn’t afford it.’
‘Daisy?’
‘Arthur Roulestone’s golden retriever.’
‘Ah. So why does the reappearance in Berecombe of this totally gorgeous, beautifully dressed, and apparently kind, man give you a nervous breakdown?’
‘Oh Dor. He’s the man I love. Will always love. But –’
‘But?’
‘He just happens to work for Blue Elephant.’
‘No shit!’
Millie nodded. ‘Or rather, as he was at pains to point out, he’s their management consultant or something. Or was. He’s stopped doing work for them now.’
Dora relaxed. ‘Not so bad, then.’
‘Not if you don’t count him overseeing the opening of the branch here and not telling me. The café which may yet put me well and truly out of business.’
‘Ouch.’ Dora finished her wine and crushed the plastic glass. ‘And it’s the not-telling you that really hurts?’
‘Yup.’ Millie stared gloomily into her wine. ‘That and the fact that he and I come from different worlds.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, he travels the world, is never in one place longer than five minutes, skis, dives, has holidays in St Lucia. That sort of thing.’
‘Oh, that sort of thing.’ Dora sounded amused.
‘Don’t laugh!’
‘I wasn’t laughing, honey. It’s the sort of life I had until recently. It doesn’t stop us getting on, does it?’
‘Of course it doesn’t. But you’re not my lover, are you? And you’ll go away too at some point, won’t you? And I’ll still be here.’
‘It wasn’t like Millie to be self-pitying.’ Dora put an arm around her. ‘If he loved you, he’d give it all up, wouldn’t he? To be with you?’
‘What and live in Berecombe and run the café with me?’ Millie gave a hard laugh.
‘Maybe that’s what he’s looking for?’
‘He said once I was home to him,’ Millie said wistfully.
‘Well, there you go, honeybun.’
‘But I’d never be enough for him. I know I wouldn’t.’
Dora stared at her friend. It wasn’t like her to be defeatist either. ‘Millie, you’re one of the kindest, most generous people I know. And you’re beautiful.’ When Millie snorted derisively she added, ‘Yes, you are. You look just like Keira Knightley with added curves. And you’re brave. Far braver than me. I couldn’t have taken on what you did when your parents died. You know me, I’d collapse in a fit of the vapours.’
‘You did an awful lot of crying. I think you did my share too.’
‘Well, I loved them too, don’t forget.’
Millie let her head sink onto her friend’s shoulder. ‘Oh Dor, you’re such a good pal.’
‘Even though I have the temerity to go skiing and have been known to holiday in St Barts?’
‘Even that.’ Millie’s voice was slurred.
‘Good, there’s hope for me yet, then. I think, my lovely, we’d better get you home and to your bed.’ She picked up their discarded bags, the crumpled wine glasses and the bottle and put the loop of Trevor’s lead around her wrist. ‘Come on, my sandy boy. You need to go home too.’
As they meandered along the promenade, towards Millie’s flat, Dora’s mind was busy plotting how to get her best friend well and truly hooked up and back with the delectable Jed.
Chapter 7 (#ulink_14504c24-d464-5c0e-91aa-2309a5fc620b)
‘It’s just one big social whirl in Berecombe nowadays, isn’t it?’ Dora slugged back her wine and surveyed the crowd milling about at the launch of the Arts Workshop.
‘Hello Dora. Standing on the edge of the party and looking superior as usual? Bit Mr Darcy, isn’t it?’
‘I really don’t have to make any effort at that, Mike.’ It came out more diva-ish than she meant. Whenever he came near she felt herself reduced to a stereotype. The truth was she was lonely and a bit self-conscious. Tessa and her husband Ken were the focus of everyone’s attention, something she was more used to being, and Millie was busy overseeing the catering. The venue they’d decided upon for the Workshop was an old youth club tucked away in a grimy part of town next to the tennis court and children’s playground. The interior was rundown and filthy. She felt distinctly uncomfortable and out of place and Mike’s presence wasn’t helping.
‘It’s hardly the sort of thing I’m used to.’ Whoa! Where had that come from? Was she channelling Scarlett O’Hara now?
‘No, I don’t suppose it is.’ Mike’s voice was dry. ‘I suppose it hasn’t occurred to you that you could use your celebrity status, however limited, to help them fundraise?’
She turned on her heel. ‘Putting aside the fact I already have, I don’t suppose you have either? Or is your celebrity status even more limited?’ She smiled archly and was pleased to see the barb hit home. There was a fascinating pulse beating at the base of his throat. Dora stared at him, a desire to either hit or kiss him warring. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Oh, she definitely wanted to kiss him. Maybe to find out if it was as good as the memory. Mainly, to kiss him until she left him gasping for mercy. Deliberately and very slowly, she licked her lips and then looked him straight in the eye. He gave a sort of strangled gasp and she knew she’d won this round.
He blew out a breath, looking as if he longed to get away. From nowhere Kirstie appeared and claimed his arm. She gawped up at him, adoringly. ‘Darling, there are literally millions of people you need to meet.’ As if only just realising Dora’s presence, she added, ‘Oh hello again, Theodora.’ She gave a cat’s smile.
‘Kirstie.’ Dora looked from Mike to the girl. So this was how it was? She might have known. The disappointment felled her like a physical blow. How had she been so stupid?
Mike cleared his throat. ‘Dora, I’ll introduce you to Jed, shall I? Only be nice to him, he’s had his heart broken.’
‘Oh Mike, you silly boy. I’m sure Theodora will be lovely to Jed.’ Kirstie batted a hand at Mike’s arm. She turned a baleful gaze upon Dora. ‘Won’t you?’
‘I’ll try my best.’ Dora gave them her best celebrity mile-wide smile and was gratified to see both blink. She drank her wine down in one and gave the empty glass to Kirstie. ‘Put that somewhere, won’t you?’
‘Who is going to be nice to me?’ A deep, cultured voice sounded behind them.
‘Ah, Jed,’ said Mike. ‘Dora here is panting to meet you.’ Mike gave Dora an evil look and allowed himself to be led away by a sullen Kirstie.
In her head Dora stuck out a tongue at them. Then she pulled on a professional veneer and put out her hand. Jed. ‘How nice to meet you.’
‘Jeez, you’re Theodora Bart!’
‘This is very true.’
‘Sorry, did I just go all fan-girly?’
Dora laughed. ‘You did, rather.’
‘It’s just that I love The English Woman. I travel a lot so have to download it. Saved many a lonely night in a hotel room.’
‘I’m very gratified you like it. And it’s plain Dora when I’m here in Berecombe.’
Jed lifted a couple of fresh glasses from a tray being circulated by the Tizzards’ eldest son and passed one to her. ‘Then Dora it is.’ He clinked glasses with her. ‘It’s a complete pleasure to meet you.’
Dora drank the wine and observed him over her glass. A smooth operator, confident and assured; she’d met many like him. Expensive clothes and a permanent suntan, he was good-looking in a glossy blonde way. Not remotely her type, but she could see how he had dazzled poor Millie. For a second she very much hoped his heart had been thoroughly broken. Then remembered her pledge was to get these two together. Well, there was no time like the present.
‘So, I understand you know Millie?’
‘Yes. We went out a while back.’ He wrinkled his high-bridged nose attractively. ‘Well, I suppose we never really went out much. She was always working too hard.’
‘That sounds like my friend Millie.’
‘How do you know her?’ His almost pathetic gratitude at being able to talk about her made Dora warm to him a little.
‘We went to school together. Berecombe Comp.’
‘Along with Mike?’
‘Yes, we were all there together, although Mike was known for his absences rather more than his attendance.’
They looked to the middle of the crowd, where Mike was deep in conversation with the town councillor who had made the feeble joke at the duck race. He must have heard his name being mentioned, or the old sixth sense was working, as he raised his head and looked straight at them.
Dora, to her horror, felt herself blush. She took Jed’s arm and steered him away. ‘You know Millie’s here tonight, don’t you?’
Jed’s face went through a tumult of emotion. Joy, fear, apprehension, need. Dora watched him, fascinated. He’d make a marvellous actor, with such mobile and transparent features. She melted further. If Millie had fallen for him, then he couldn’t be all bad.
‘She’s in charge of the catering for this.’
‘Do you think she’d want to speak to me?’
He seemed to assume Dora knew all about his and Millie’s relationship.
‘I’m not sure.’ At the corner of her eye, Dora caught sight of Millie perfecting the buffet. Watching her friend disappear into the kitchen, she turned her laser gaze on Jed. ‘How did you two leave it?’
Jed looked down, scuffed his expensive-looking brogues and sighed. ‘I was a twat. She told me to disappear out of her life.’ He glanced up. ‘Which was completely justified, I have to say.’
‘So I understand.’ Dora smiled, she was beginning to like Millie’s Jed a great deal. ‘Well, if you know you’re in the wrong and Millie feels she has had the last word, all, in my opinion, is not yet lost.’
Jed looked at Dora, starstruck but also with total and abandoned admiration.
She turned him towards the kitchen door. ‘She’s in there. Whenever in doubt, seek Millie in the kitchen.’
Jed gave her a grateful look and went. Dora returned to the margins of the party, sipped her wine and hoped she’d done the right thing.
Chapter 8 (#ulink_1df1e919-a7c1-5bfd-870b-529de4fe8c65)
‘Hello Millie.’
She started. She’d know that voice anywhere. It was inevitable, she supposed, if he was in town, that they’d bump into one another. ‘Hello Jed.’ Passing the tray of smoked salmon canapés to Clare, who was waitressing for her, she forced herself to meet his eyes. She drank him in. Thinner than she remembered, but browner. The suntan emphasised his fine cheekbones and there were new highlights in his blonde hair. He looked like a well-bred racehorse, nervy and on his toes before an important race. She gulped. He could still make her heart race and her knees buckle. But part of her, the ever-cautious part, remembered her fears over the long-term compatibility of Cinderella and Prince Charming.
‘How have you been?’
She nodded. ‘Okay thanks.’
‘And the café?’
‘Doing quite well.’ She added in a rush, ‘Thank you for helping Arthur out. With Daisy, I mean. He couldn’t afford the operation.’
Jed shrugged. ‘He’s a nice man. Daisy, I’m sure, is a nice dog.’ His brown eyes burned into hers. ‘But I really did it for you, Millie. Arthur is a friend of yours and I could see his being unhappy made you unhappy too.’
‘Oh.’ Millie swallowed. Every fibre of her being yearned to gather Jed in her arms and tell him she loved him, had always loved him, would never stop. ‘I said some things back in February.’
For the first time, Jed smiled. ‘You did and I deserved everything you threw at me.’ He spread his hands. ‘How could you not be angry?’
Clare yelled from the kitchen and Millie gave Jed an apologetic look.
‘I know, work calls.’ As she turned to go, he added, ‘Millie, do you think we could get together sometime? To talk things over? I’d like that.’
Millie was about to nod but the little voice of caution that always wreaked havoc between her and Jed piped up. ‘I don’t know, Jed. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’
His face tightened. ‘I don’t understand you, Millie,’ he said through clenched teeth.
‘Did you think we could just start up again? Just like that?’
‘Yes. No. Yes. Maybe?’ He shrugged helplessly.
Millie looked at him. She doubted if anyone had ever said no to Jed. All his life everything had fallen into place for him. A golden boy with effortless charm. Well, she wasn’t going to be the latest in a line of easy conquests. He’d lied to her! ‘It’s just not that simple, Jed. And maybe, if you don’t like that,’ she added, as his angry expression deepened, ‘You’d better keep away from me altogether!’
Chapter 9 (#ulink_1eb8ef91-d150-5123-8263-204e501cf452)
‘So, how did it go?’ Dora took a slug of wine, thinking she could get used to the stuff Millie had stashed away.
They were holed up in Millie’s flat, sharing a bottle of wine and a bowl of Kettle crisps. It was Sunday night and it seemed the thing to do.
‘What do you mean?’ Millie’s voice was guarded.
‘Last night between you and Jed?’
Millie concentrated on stroking Trevor. She hesitated before answering and then blurted out, ‘Oh Dor, it was such a shock seeing him like that!’ She hugged the dog to her and buried her face in his fur. ‘I told him … I told him to go away.’
Dora spilled wine on her white skinny jeans. ‘You did what?’
‘I just couldn’t face him,’ Millie continued miserably. ‘I mean, I knew he was in town, but I didn’t think he’d turn up at the launch party. I had no idea he even knew Mike!’
‘He doesn’t, not really. He’s a friend of that idiot Phil.’
‘Oh.’ There was a pause. ‘How do you know?’
‘Mike told me. I had a little conversation myself with your Jed. I rather fell for him actually. And he’s –’
‘Not your type!’
‘No need to shout, Mil.’
‘Sorry,’ Millie mumbled. ‘Hands off, though.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it, honeybun.’ At Millie’s glare, Dora put up her hands. ‘Honestly, I really wouldn’t go there if you paid me. But others might if you don’t sort this out. A man like that won’t stay around here for long.’ As soon as she said it, Dora knew it was the wrong thing to say. ‘I don’t mean –’
‘But that’s just it, Dor. Why would a man like that want to stay in Berecombe?’
‘Then maybe you need to give him a reason?’
‘Perhaps.’
Dora, annoyed at Millie’s mulish tone said, ‘On the other hand, he could be your ticket out of here, you know.’
‘And what about the café, Millie? Who’s going to run that? And who says I want to get out of Berecombe anyway?’
Dora sighed. Time to tread very, very carefully. ‘Millie, I know that the café was your parents’ dream but that’s just it, it was your parents’ dream. Is it yours? Haven’t you longed for something else?’
‘Yes!’ Millie yelled, making Trevor yelp. ‘Of course I have, but how can I? I have to carry on with the café, make a living.’
‘If you got together with Jed you could probably afford to put in a management team.’
‘And become what? One of those women who have nothing to do but have lunch and gossip? You know that’s not me, Dora. And besides, I’ve always earned my own money.’
‘But it’s kept you trapped here.’
‘It’s where I want to be, or it was until Jed Henville came along and ruined everything.’
‘Or rather, made you question everything.’
Millie blew out an enormous breath. ‘I’m not sure what I want any more. I don’t know how I can even begin again with Jed.’
‘Do you want to?’
‘I’m not sure of that either.’
This was going to be a harder task than Dora thought. ‘Look Mil, when I had my little chat with Jed last night I thought he was rather desperate to get back with you.’
‘Did you?’
The look on Millie’s face so echoed that of Jed’s it made Dora even more determined. ‘What about a challenge?’
Millie threw herself back on the sofa. ‘God Dor, we’re not kids any more.’
‘You always enjoyed my challenges.’
‘Like the one where I had to nick the flag out of the town hall? And then there was the knitted graffiti.’
‘One of my more imaginative ones, I agree. Okay, so I challenge you, Emilia Susanna Fudge to -’
‘Please don’t say I’ve got to go out with him!’
‘One step at a time and stop interrupting. I challenge you to talk to Jed and explain your feelings. That you and he are from different worlds, that you feel inadequate and chained to your parents’ café by some misguided grief and sense of loyalty to them.’
‘Bit harsh, Dor,’ Millie huffed.
‘Okay, the last bits were, but you have to agree that you tie yourself to that café because you want to keep your parents’ memory alive.’ Dora took a breath, wondering if she’d gone too far.
‘Wouldn’t you feel the same?’
‘Quite possibly, honeybun, quite possibly, but I don’t have anything like the relationship with my parents that you had. I hope it wouldn’t stop me from being with the man I love and who obviously adores me.’ Dora watched Millie flush and waited.
‘All right then.’
‘So my challenge is accepted?’
‘Suppose.’
Dora drank her wine in triumph. Piece of piss, this matchmaking malarkey. Her feelings of accomplishment lasted two seconds.
Millie raised her head, a mischievous look on her face. ‘But I have to give you a return challenge.’
‘Oh. Okay. Yeah.’ Dora shrugged.
‘Then I challenge you to take on the role of Anne Elliot in Mike’s production of Persuasion.’
‘That’s not fair!’
‘Why?’
The image of Mike, with Kirstie’s hand on his arm, flashed into Dora’s vision. Of his blue-eyed, penetrating gaze across the shabby space of the Workshop last night. To work with him, be close to him on a day-to-day basis would be torture. Exquisite but mostly torture.
‘I couldn’t –’
‘Why not? Do you think my challenge is going to be easy?’
Dora slid herself up Millie’s sofa and glared at her best friend. Of all the things she could have asked. As ever, when feeling threatened, she channelled her inner diva. ‘I have starred in one of American TV’s biggest-grossing shows. I trained at Central. I am nationally and internationally known. I can’t act in a cheap, tin-pot production of Persuasion in a shabby little theatre in a not very well-known seaside town in Devon!’
‘Why?’ Millie’s tone was unforgiving.
She couldn’t tell her the real reason. That she was still in love with Mike. Always had been. And, even worse, that he had a perky little blonde called Kirstie attending to his every need.
‘Why, Dora?’ Millie repeated. ‘Why can’t you do Mike’s play? If you don’t there’s no deal. I won’t talk to Jed.’
‘Oh alright, I’ll do it!’ Dora yelled. Then threw a cushion at her friend to shut her up.
Chapter 10 (#ulink_763afdeb-2575-53df-a88b-065af1e04b2d)
Dora was confused. She’d contacted Mike (through gritted teeth) and he’d asked her to meet him here, in the Regent Theatre on the far end of Berecombe’s sea front. She’d assumed the meeting would be a private affair. The theatre, however, was buzzing with people. She spotted Kirstie briefly, who waved hello and promptly disappeared. A group in the unofficial theatre uniform of ripped jeans and black t-shirts were earnestly discussing a large piece of paper – stage designs maybe and another group of youths were sweeping and collecting litter in black bin bags. They were chatting loudly about the latest Bond film.
The place felt very different. It had been a second home to her for the two years she did A levels. She’d spent more time in here, with Mr Latham and the drama group, than she had revising. Until her parents had tried to put their foot down.
An assistant, who looked about twelve but who was gratifyingly star-struck, led her to the front of the theatre. There was nothing to sit on and no one had offered her as much as a coffee. It wasn’t how she was usually treated when negotiating a role. It couldn’t have been further from how things were organised in LA. She suppressed a frustrated giggle.
The theatre was tinier than she remembered. There was a small stalls area and a narrow balcony running in a horseshoe around the walls. It would barely seat a hundred people when the seating was replaced. She understood it had been taken out for a craft fayre, which was held once a month. That was new since she was last in Berecombe. The walls and floorboards were painted a matte and rather sinister dark blue, making it seem even more compact. At the opposite end to the stage she recognised the kitchen and bar, currently hidden behind scruffy steel shutters that didn’t quite fit. The stage itself looked to be in fairly good repair but there was a motley collection of buckets and containers where the house seats, if the Regent went in for that sort of thing, would be. Water dripped mournfully through the roof. Dora wondered where it was coming from; it hadn’t rained since she’d been back. She was peering up, trying to work out the cause of the leak when Mike’s voice startled her.
‘There you are.’ He was accompanied by a large dark-haired man, who looked vaguely familiar. ‘This is Greg Symon. I’m sure you know him from The Gates of Almonhandez.’
‘Of course.’ Dora extended a hand. ‘How nice.’ She’d caught some of the series, a Game of Thrones rip-off in which Greg had been out-acted by the rest of the cast, including the horses. She hoped he had nothing to do with Mike’s production.
‘Greg’s our Captain Wentworth.’
Shit. Dora composed her face. ‘Wonderful!’ How the hell was she supposed to act besotted with this plank? And what was he doing back in the UK? She could only assume he had lots of time on his hands. The Gates of Almonhandez had been pulled after the first season.
‘It’s an honour to meet you, Theodora. I’ve always admired your work.’
I bet you have, Dora said silently. It’s probably given you an acting lesson or two. ‘Thank you so much, Greg. And may I say how much I enjoyed The Gates. So innovative.’ She was alarmed to see the tops of his large ears turn pink.
‘Thank you. Coming from you, Theodora, that means a huge amount.’
‘It’s Dora,’ Mike put in, curtly. ‘Now we’re back in Berecombe.’ He gave her a hard look. He knew she’d been lying. ‘Did you know Dora grew up here, Greg? Her parents ran the fishandchip shop.’
Dora swept him with a beatific smile. He wouldn’t belittle her that way. ‘They did indeed. And still do, as a matter of fact. They also now have three fish restaurants, including Samphyre. It’s tipped for a Michelin star.’ She raised her brows at Mike in challenge.
‘Really?’ Greg said, impressed. ‘In Exeter? I ate there last month. It was magnificent.’
‘Thank you, Greg. I’ll make sure to let my parents know. They’re so proud of their achievements.’
‘Could we get down to the matter in hand, do you think?’ Mike’s voice was brittle. ‘I want you to read the scene where Anne meets Wentworth, Dora. Where he re-enters her life as a successful sea captain. They meet each other seven years after he was jilted by her. Do you think you’re up for that?’
‘I think I can just about manage. Of course, as you haven’t sent me a script, I haven’t had a chance to look at it. It’ll be a sight-reading, but I think I’ll cope.’ Dora gave Mike a thin smile.
‘I’ll get Lily and Josh to read in for Mary and Charles and we’ll get going, then.’ Ignoring her sarcasm, he yelled for Kirstie, who went to find them. ‘If we could get a move on I’d be grateful. I’ve got quite a few to audition today.’
Dora stopped dead. ‘Auditions?’
‘Yes.’ Mike became very busy studying his script. ‘I’ve got at least another three Annes to see today.’
‘I’m auditioning?’ Dora exploded.
‘Of course.’ Mike met her fury. ‘You didn’t think you’d get this by not auditioning? That’s how it might work in American television, but I audition every actor in one of my productions.’
For a moment Dora was too incensed to speak. Then she caught the slightest of quirks at the corner of Mike’s mouth. He was bloody well testing her. ‘You ba ’
‘Come on, Dora. Not too big for your boots to audition, surely?’
‘Oh Mike,’ Greg began, ‘Surely someone of the calibre of Theodora shouldn’t be asked to –’
‘Where do you want me?’ Dora cut Greg off. She glared at Mike, knowing full well he needed her far more than she needed him. Her celebrity status alone would send the publicity for this production stratospheric.
‘If you could stand stage left, please, Dora,’ Mike said serenely. ‘And Greg, could you enter from the other side?’
As she began to stalk off, he stopped her.
‘You’ll need a script, Dora.’
Ripping it off him, she concentrated on finding her spot.
On the phone to Millie later, she explained what had happened. Expecting sympathy, Millie couldn’t stop laughing.
‘Oh poor Dora! But you’ll make a fantastic Anne. You know you will. And so does Mike.’
Dora made an unintelligible sound. ‘And precisely what have you done to keep up your end of the bargain?’
‘Ah. Well. Been too busy today. Rushed off my feet in the café.’
‘Likely story. I need to scrap the idea of Anne Elliot. Think my talents would be better served as an Emma instead. She had far superior match-making skills.’
As an answer, Millie just laughed some more.
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