Two
With her sandals in one hand and Ru’s warm fingers intertwined in the other, Fiona walked steadily along Brambleton Beach.
The soft sand felt silky and warm between her toes, yielding gently beneath each step.
Under the intense summer sun, the grains sparkled as if someone had scattered crushed glass along the shore, forming a glimmering path above the waterline.
It was Saturday, and the beach seemed to pulse with energy.
Locals and tourists lounged in canvas beach chairs under colourful umbrellas, or sprawled on towels behind garishly striped windbreaks.
Some read books while others slept. Near the water’s edge, children were building sandcastles, wet sand slipping through their fingers as they shaped towers and moats, their giggles drifting up over the steady rhythm of waves breaking on the sand.
The air carried a medley of scents: the salt-laden sea breeze, coconut scented sunscreen and the earthy tang of damp seaweed.
Fiona smiled to herself. At least today, no one would ask her which wines those scents might evoke.
She looked around at the kaleidoscope of relaxation and contentment.
Swimsuit styles might have changed over the years, but the scene was reminiscent of Fiona’s childhood summer holiday walks on this very beach.
She could almost hear the soft hum of Ivy’s favourite hymn, the one she used to sing under her breath when they strolled toward the ice cream hut, their usual destination.
It felt fitting, somehow, that her aunt had been the first to learn that the investors had agreed to back the new restaurant. Earlier that morning, Ru had delivered the news while whipping up a fluffy soufflé omelette in Ivy’s tiny cottage kitchen.
‘Well done, love!’ Ivy exclaimed, pulling Fiona into a warm embrace. Her arms were strong and reassuring, and Fiona couldn’t help but melt into them. ‘Hopefully that’s the last exam you ever have to put yourself through.’
Fiona hesitated before mumbling, ‘No. I didn’t pass.’
The words hung in the air for a moment as she glanced at her aunt, whose face softened instantly with a gentle smile of understanding.
‘Well, you tried your best, and that’s all anyone can do,’ Ivy said, her tone filled with quiet encouragement. ‘Besides, didn’t you tell me only 25 per cent of people pass that exam first time?’
Ivy said no more, and Fiona felt a rush of relief.
Her aunt’s unspoken acceptance was as comforting as the summer sun streaming through the window.
It reminded Fiona why this village – and this person – always felt like home.
Still, she was disappointed in herself to have messed up the exam.
She really had tried her best, yet she’d still failed.
Wasn’t that the worst possible outcome? Was it any surprise that a little worm of doubt had now wriggled into her mind, whispering that she simply wasn’t good enough?
She shook the thought away and hitched her shoulder bag closer, drawing comfort from the sharp edges of the books inside.
She would soon be studying again, and if she passed next time, life would get a whole lot better.
‘And the good news is,’ said Ru, sliding a perfect omelette onto a warm plate, ‘it doesn’t matter.
’ Giving Fiona a pointed look, he put down the frying pan and bounded across the room, scooping her into his arms, lifting her off her feet and kissing her.
He set her down, saying, ‘The investors are still stumping up the money for the second restaurant.’
That was a careful choice of words , Fiona thought.
At the kitchen table, Ru sliced the omelette. ‘Come on, let’s eat. Ivy has a meeting to get to, and,’ he said, excitement clear in his voice, ‘you and I have a date with a beach. Ivy, do me a favour and pass me that shoulder bag. That is not going with us.’
Ivy chuckled, and Fiona managed a smile.
One day off wouldn’t matter. But she did need to knuckle down and retake that exam.
She’d borrowed over ￡1000 from Ru to pay for her studies, and he’d paid for the exam fee too.
She’d no idea how she was going to repay him for his poor investment, let alone fund the resit.
Maybe Ivy would lend her the money? Once she was a member of the elite Court of Master Sommeliers with an equally lofty salary, repaying her debts would be simple.
Ru’s voice pulled her away from her worries and back to the warmth of the beach. ‘Happy?’ he asked.
She told herself it felt good to be on holiday, with the sun on her back and the man she adored beside her, not toiling in the fuggy heat of the cramped London restaurant. But she dodged his question.
‘Fancy an ice cream?’ she suggested.
He wrinkled his nose. ‘Real ice cream? Or hydrogenated trans fats?’
Fiona punched him playfully on the arm. ‘Proper Devon dairy ice cream made with real milk from local cows, of course. They’ve been selling it here for nearly a hundred years.’
‘Well, how can I turn down the chance of that!’
They reached the ice cream kiosk, a hut painted in mint green and pale pink.
It had a weathered wooden exterior, and white slatted shutters pinned back to let the cooling sea breeze inside.
Above the entrance, on a large board, someone had written the flavours and prices in pink chalk: classic varieties like vanilla, strawberry, rum ‘n’ raisin and caramel, alongside local specialties like Devon clotted cream and elderflower.
Inside, vintage glass jars stuffed with toppings lined the shelves. The staff wore striped aprons just like the ones Ru’s team wore in London, and Fiona gave her head a tight shake to dislodge the association. She didn’t want to ruin today by constantly thinking about work.
‘Two scoops of caramel, please!’ she called cheerfully to an attendant, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
She wanted to enjoy this moment with Ru, to bask in the sun’s warmth and the sweet innocence of ice cream.
She glanced sideways at him, his face a mask of quiet determination, although she sensed an underlying anxiety.
When their ice creams arrived, they took them outside.
Ru chose the table furthest from the kiosk and they slumped into deckchairs, digging their feet into the sand.
Fiona took a tentative lick, the ice cream melting in her mouth, sweet and silky smooth.
As she savoured the moment, she reached for his spare hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against hers.
She sensed his unease. This was rare – he was usually so easy-going and confident – but she decided not to ask, certain he would tell her when he was ready.
‘I spoke to Ben this morning,’ said Ru.
Ah , thought Fiona, Ru’s troubles must be work related.
Ben, Ru’s sous-chef and best friend, was running the Fork Fiona loved the rugged, windswept beauty of Lundy Island out in the Bristol Channel, but she couldn’t spare another whole day away from her books.
‘I think I should be revising.’
‘Nope. Forbidden! We are on holiday.’
‘For you maybe.’
He laughed. It was a wonderful sound, throaty and self-assured, filling her with courage, and despite herself, the corners of her mouth started twitching upward.
He never let her stay down for long. His confidence was unshakable.
He believed he would always succeed; on the rare occasions someone said no, Ru didn’t listen, interpreting the word as a challenge, convinced that with time and effort, he could persuade anyone to change their mind.
‘Fi, this is a celebration.’
‘Except it’s your celebration, not mine.’
He spoke forcefully. ‘This is our celebration – the investors are backing our business.’