High Tide Page 8
He got out and went to open the door for her. She smiled up at him as she stood, and he saw a flash of something in her eyes. Was it defiance, or vulnerability, or was she grateful for his attention? He couldn’t be sure.
At four thirty on a weekday afternoon, the Neptune wasn’t bursting at the seams. The pub was tucked away at the end of the town: it had a courtyard garden overlooking the harbour that was littered with cigarette ends and dried-up pots of geraniums. Nathan led Vanessa into the lounge bar, and found them a window seat. She picked up the laminated menu.
‘Actually,’ she said, ‘scampi and chips. I could kill for scampi and chips. I can’t remember the last time I had them. Would you have some with me? Or whatever you like. My treat …’
This was crazy, thought Nathan. A beautiful widow buying him lunch in the middle of the afternoon.
‘Go on then,’ he said. ‘I’ll have the burger. And what would you like to drink?’
‘A glass of white wine,’ she replied. ‘Large,’ she said with emphasis.
He went to the bar and ordered their food and drinks. The barman gave him a quizzical expression.
‘Trading up, aren’t you?’
Nathan frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s got to be worth a few quid. Specially now. That boat alone’s got to be worth three hundred grand.’
‘I’m just buying her a drink. She’s upset. It’s what any decent person would do.’
‘Course it is.’ The barman handed him his change, and Nathan felt uncomfortable. That was one of the problems with Pennfleet. Everyone knew everyone’s business, and knew about things before they’d even happened. Word would be out already, he imagined.
Yes, he found Vanessa intriguing. But not because of her money. Besides, she’d just buried her husband. He’d have to be pretty sick to hit on her. He just felt … What was it? He burrowed about in his mind, trying to define it, based on the fact they had only spent fifteen minutes together.
Protective. That was it. He felt she needed protecting. From speculation and gossip, at the very least.
He slid her glass across the table and sat down opposite her.
‘OK?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I feel OK, but I can’t be. Can I?’ She took a big gulp of wine.
‘Maybe you just feel numb,’ he suggested. ‘Funerals can do that. It’s like you go onto automatic pilot. And it hits you a few days after.’
She looked down into her glass.
‘The thing is,’ she said, ‘I’m not sure who I’m supposed to be now.’
‘Just be yourself.’ It was obvious to Nathan.
‘We didn’t have a conventional marriage, but I think I might miss him. In a funny sort of way.’
‘Of course you will. He was your husband.’
‘I’m a widow,’ said Vanessa. ‘A widow …’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t feel old enough to be a widow.’
Nathan fought back the urge to tell her she was the sexiest widow he’d seen for a long time, and he’d seen a few.
‘I’ve never lost anyone that close,’ he told her. ‘Only my nan.’
She put a hand on his. It was all he could do not to jump as a tingle ran through him. ‘Nans are important,’ she told him.
‘Yeah, but you kind of expect them to die.’
‘I suppose so.’
She took her hand away to lift her glass and he wanted her to put it back. He looked at the faint freckles under her face powder, and the ivory skin of her throat, and the blonde hair tucked behind her ears.
He could only imagine his grandfather’s voice. ‘Don’t be a fool, boy.’
9
It was gone six when Kate got home. She sat in the kitchen while the kettle boiled on the Aga. Yet more tea. How had she managed to get through the last few years without it?
Apart from the hiss of the kettle as it came to the boil, the kitchen was balefully silent. She thought she might scream with the quiet. No sirens, no cars driving past with booming bass. She turned on the radio but it sounded all wrong. It jangled her thoughts.
As she poured boiling water into the pot, the phone rang, its bell echoing in the emptiness, making her jump. She wondered if it was Carlos again. She couldn’t ignore it, because he would just keep trying until she picked up. So she did.
‘Hello?’
‘Joy?’ said a man’s voice. Cultured, but uncertain.
‘No.’ Should she qualify the statement? ‘This is Kate. Her daughter.’
There was no reply. Kate frowned. ‘Hello?’
The line went dead.
She shrugged and put the receiver back, wondering who it could have been. Whoever it was obviously didn’t know about her mum. It unsettled her. The man’s tone had been quite familiar, as if he were used to phoning. And why hang up just because she’d answered? Kate hoped it wasn’t someone who’d been harassing her mother. Joy wouldn’t have brooked any nonsense, very probably, but she was a woman on her own.
She wasn’t going to find out, thought Kate. She shivered. The wind was getting up outside, a blustery gale coming in from the sea hurling itself against the windows. She imagined white-tipped waves frolicking in the harbour, the clanking of the buoys beating out a rhythm for them to dance to.
She looked at the time. It was way too early to go up to bed. By her body clock, it wasn’t even afternoon. She would never sleep, and she didn’t want to take a pill yet. She had to stay up until at least half past nine if she was going to acclimatise to local time.
She grabbed her coat and her handbag decisively, took the key, locked the door and made her way up the hill out of town – the same route she had taken that morning.
Ten minutes later she was standing outside a house. The front garden was littered with glittery pink bicycles and a neon-green scooter. She rang the doorbell but it wasn’t working. They wouldn’t hear her knock through the porch, so she picked her way over an empty flowerbed and rapped on the kitchen window.
Debbie opened the door and peered out. She was back in her jeans, but her hair was still up. She beamed when she saw Kate.
‘Sweetheart!’ she said. ‘Perfect timing. I’ve just put a load of pizzas in. Come on in.’
Kate was ushered into the front room, where four kids of varying ages were lined up on a leather sofa the size of a small cruise liner watching telly. A man sat at a tiny table at the back of the room glued to a computer.
‘I’m just about to put my final bid on,’ he told Debbie.
‘Fishing gear,’ Debbie explained to Kate. ‘On eBay. You remember Scott from school, don’t you?’
Scott waved over at her without taking his eyes off the screen.
‘Get in!’ he shouted, pumping his fist. ‘I got it.’ He stood up from his chair and came over to Kate with his hand outstretched. ‘Sorry about that, darling. I couldn’t miss that bargain. I’m sorry about your mum.’ He clasped her hand in his. He was as stocky and handsome as he had been at school – the fifth-form heart-throb. ‘Let me get you a drink. What do you fancy?’
‘Just some water would be lovely.’
‘Water?’ Scott looked at her.
‘Honestly. I don’t want a drink drink, and I can’t face another cup of tea.’
She noticed four pairs of eyes watching her rather than the telly, round with amazement at the stranger in their midst.
‘We don’t have visitors very often,’ explained Debbie. ‘Kali, Kyle, Tyrone and you’ve met Leanne.’ She patted the appropriate child on the head as she said their name. ‘Say hello to Kate.’
‘Hello!’ they chorused.
‘Was it your mum who died?’ asked Kali.
‘Kali!’ Debbie looked mortified.
‘Yes, it was,’ said Kate, holding a hand up to indicate she was fine with Kali’s interrogation.
‘So are you sad?’
‘Very.’
‘You don’t look it. If my mum died, I wouldn’t stop crying.’
‘I’m cr
ying inside,’ said Kate.
‘Are you sure you won’t have a drink drink?’ asked Scott, proffering a bottle of red wine.
Kate looked at it. ‘Go on then. Just the one.’
Armed with a glass of red, Kate stood in Debbie’s kitchen while her friend pulled out an array of pizzas from the oven and sliced them up with a pizza wheel.
‘Hey,’ said Debbie. ‘I saw you talking to Rupert Malahide. Outside the church.’
‘I know. I was amazed to see him.’
‘He’s living back down here. Got his feet right under the table at his gran’s.’
‘He seems genuinely fond of her.’
‘Oh, I’m sure he’s fond of her. And her massive mansion.’
‘Debs, you’re such a cynic.’ Kate laughed, but she wondered if Debbie spoke the truth. She took a sip of her wine. ‘He’s asked me out to dinner.’
Debbie piled up the pizza slices onto a plate. ‘Tell me you told him to take a running jump.’
‘No …’
‘After what he did to you?’
‘That was years ago.’
‘Kate. Leopards don’t change their spots. You know that.’
‘I’m intrigued.’
Debbie rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t trust him.’
‘What’s he going to do?’
‘He’ll charm the knickers off you.’
‘No, he won’t. I’m not a silly little teenager any more.’
Debbie picked up the pizza plate and looked at her. ‘You’re back here two minutes and you’ve fallen straight into the trap.’
‘It’s not a trap. It’s dinner. I’m in total control. I promise you.’
‘You do know he’s got a business? With his brother. They’re buying up all the cottages in Pennfleet. Renting them out as holiday homes over the summer. Making a bloody packet.’
‘No. I didn’t know.’
‘Yeah, well. That’ll explain the dinner invitation.’
‘You think he’s after Belle Vue?’
‘He’ll get a grand a week, renting that out over the summer.’
‘No way. That’s silly money.’
‘Kate, you wouldn’t believe this place nowadays. There’s all these posh people falling over themselves to spend the summer here. It’s crazy.’
Kate knew Pennfleet had changed. She could see that from the shops and cafés, and from a few things her mum had said. But she hadn’t appreciated quite how much it had altered.
Rupert wanted Belle Vue. He wasn’t interested in her at all. He was going to butter her up so he could get what he wanted out of her. He hadn’t changed at all. He was still a snake. A user. A chancer.
It was too late. She’d already agreed to dinner. How stupid of her. Of course, she could cancel.
Yet she knew perfectly well she wouldn’t.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said to Debbie. ‘Forewarned is forearmed. I can handle Rupert Malahide.’
Vanessa smiled as Nathan brought her yet another glass of wine. She was losing count and her head felt slightly swimmy.
‘Should have got a bottle, really,’ she said. ‘Though this had better be my last one. I don’t want to go all maudlin on you.’
‘I don’t mind,’ said Nathan. ‘I’m only missing darts at the Town Arms.’
‘I hope Mary Mac’s coping.’ Vanessa imagined the scene back at Pennfleet House. Mary running round after everyone. Karina behaving like Lady Muck. And nobody giving a toss that she wasn’t there.
‘Tell me about you,’ said Vanessa, leaning forward. ‘Have you always lived in Pennfleet?’
‘Yep,’ said Nathan. ‘Born and bred. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. I live with my grandad, just up the end of this road.’
‘And you work for Toogood’s?’
‘Yeah. I’m one of their drivers. It’s just a casual job. My main job’s on the Moonbeam, in the summer anyway.’
‘The Moonbeam?’
‘My grandfather’s boat. She’s an old motor launch. She’d been stored away since my nan died, but we restored her a few years back. I take people up the river in her. For picnics and that.’
‘I think I’ve seen her,’ said Vanessa. ‘From my terrace. She’s beautiful.’
‘She is.’
‘How lovely, to do a job that brings people such pleasure.’
‘Well,’ said Nathan. ‘I suppose it balances out the funeral work.’
The two of them laughed.
Then Vanessa stared at him and he looked down. There was an awkward silence.
He was adorable, thought Vanessa. A little bit shy and very polite and considerate but quietly confident. He hadn’t really batted an eyelid when she’d insisted on him taking her to the pub. And he was very attentive. And funny. He made her feel sparkly. Which was unexpected but very nice. And a million miles better than what she would have been feeling if she’d gone back to the house.
She looked at her watch. She should probably go back, if only to make sure Mary was all right. They’d have her running round after them. And that wasn’t fair. She sighed.
‘I ought to go home, but I don’t want to,’ she told Nathan.
‘Do you have to?’
‘Well, yes, I do. Really. Where else am I going to go?’
He opened his mouth then thought better of it, and shut it again.
‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘That wasn’t a hint. ’
‘You’d be welcome,’ he said. ‘I’d sleep on the sofa and you could have my bed. Like I said, I only live up the road. You’d be very welcome. If you really don’t want to go home.’ He grinned. ‘Though my grandad might get a shock if he found you.’
The two of them laughed and for a moment, Vanessa thought – why not? She wasn’t answerable to anyone now Spencer was dead. If she wanted to crash at someone else’s place, who was to stop her?
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But it’s probably not a good idea. I’ve got a cat that needs feeding and Mary Mac will worry and anyway, I don’t want them crawling all over my house, poking about. Which they will do.’ She sighed. ‘I need to sober up. I can’t go back there half-cut. They’ll have me for breakfast.’
‘Who is “they”?’
‘Oh. Spencer’s entourage. Not that it really matters. But it does, in a way. I don’t want to upset anyone.’ She put down her empty glass. She’d drunk it far too quickly. ‘I some need fresh air to clear my head. Let’s go into the garden.’
Nathan could feel the barman staring as he led her out of the French doors onto the terrace. Outside, they looked up at the moon, bursting with self-importance, like a big fat pearl on a bed of black velvet. Vanessa shivered, and Nathan put his arm around her, more to keep her warm than anything. She snuggled into him. He put his other arm round her, to pull her in tighter. She let out a little sigh and rested her head on his shoulder.
‘That feels so nice,’ she whispered.
‘I know,’ he replied.
‘You’re really sweet,’ she said. ‘You’ve been so kind.’
She looked up at him.
He wondered, for a moment, if this was some sort of trap. If she was playing a game with him. If she wasn’t the innocent she looked, but was daring him to overstep the mark. He lifted a hand to stroke her white-blonde hair out of her eyes, sweeping it back and then cradling the back of her head. She bit her lip, her eyes wide, startled by the gesture. Yet she wasn’t objecting.
And then she smiled, a slow, devilishly angelic smile.
‘Kiss me,’ she whispered.
He would have to be inhuman to resist.
He kissed away the last of her pale-pink lip-gloss. He put his other hand to the back of her head, running his fingers through her hair, caressing her neck. Her eyes were shut now, and he moved his lips up to kiss each of her eyelids, then over her cheeks, down to her jaw-line, then her collarbone. He moved his hands down to hold her rib-cage, his thumbs very tentatively stroking her breasts. She gave a tiny moan and pushed herself towards him, eager for his touch.
He drew his mouth away from hers, reluctant. They stood, foreheads touching, steadying their breathing.
She eased herself away from him. She looked a bit shocked.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’
‘Oh my God,’ he said. ‘Don’t apologise.’
She gave a shaky laugh. ‘I shouldn’t be allowed out.’
She smoothed her hair, put her hands up to her face, looking up at the sky.
‘I think I need another drink,’ she said.
He stroked her arm. It was gentle. Reassuring. ‘What would you like?’
‘Cointreau. Cointreau on ice. I’ve got some money—’
She grabbed for her bag, but he waved it away.
‘You’re all right. I’ll get it. I’ll be back in a minute.’
Vanessa watched after him. Watched him with his broad shoulders, striding back into the pub, and wondered what on earth he was thinking. He was how old? Twenty-three or four, max? She began to laugh, horrified and thrilled at the same time. Her legs felt weak and she sat down on a bench. She looked down at the cigarette butts, trying to make sense of what she had done.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had kissed someone. And she was shocked by the impact it had on her. Not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually. It had taken her to another place. As if after years of dry bread she had been fed a plateful of the sweetest macarons, or fallen into a feather bed after a lifetime on a hard mattress.
She supposed it wasn’t surprising. She had lived in an emotional desert for so long, deprived of affection or another man’s touch. Spencer was never cruel or unkind, but there had been no tenderness between them. A polite kiss on the cheek on greeting or departing, but no hugs. She had got used to going without. She supposed she had switched that side of her off. After all, it was far easier to do that than to seek what she was missing elsewhere. That would have brought far too many complications.