Chapter Eight
“Brief Encounter”
‘Gmumph,’ Ellie muttered, unsure if the pounding in her ears was emanating from her own heart or the poor person she’d cannoned into.
‘Oh God! So sorry,’ he began, setting her back upright. ‘I’m late picking up a food order.’
Ellie froze.
Her thick, olive-green scarf, which she’d been in the process of re-winding to keep her chin warm, had bunched up as far as her eyes, but before she could free an arm to pull it down, Will raised a hand.
‘Here, let me. I’m so…’
Having tugged the scarf lower, he stared at Ellie nonplussed, seemingly unaware it still covered her mouth.
She snatched an arm from his continued grasp, reaching up, but he beat her to it, giving the scarf a further yank.
‘Yowch,’ she howled, as a dangling earring, which had tangled with the wool, tugged at her earlobe.
‘Sorry!’ he exclaimed a second time. ‘Stop bloody wriggling. You’ll make it worse.’
How, exactly, could this get any worse?
Rubbing her ear, Ellie berated her heart for pounding away like little Emma with her toy keyboard as Will bent to retrieve his phone, and she strove to find her voice.
‘It’s not damaged?’
‘No, it’s fine.’ He straightened, tucking it into his pocket.
For a moment, their eyes locked, and Ellie frantically sought a way to extend the moment. A sentence might help. Or even a word. Did she even know any?
‘Never thought I’d see you again.’ Will’s tone was accusatory. ‘Especially here of all places.’
Those words would have done, if I’d only thought more quickly…
‘I’m not in Polkerran Point out of choice, but I made a promise, and I can’t leave.’
His features tightened. ‘You made a promise to me once. Broke it to follow your parents’ persuasion. Chose your education over us.’
Ellie frowned. Wasn’t he missing something? Several things?
‘Are you following me?’ he snapped suddenly, jabbing a finger towards the camera.
What?!
‘No! I’ve got better things to do, you… you…’ She sought something that wasn’t massively offensive, but then she recalled Nicki’s words.
‘Anyway,’ she straightened her shoulders, ‘I thought you barely recognised me. Shouldn’t take you long to forget again.’
It sounded good, but the idea of it still hurt.
Will didn’t speak for a moment, then huffed out a breath. ‘I remember our last meeting.’
Okay. Probably not the best memory to evoke…
Skin warming as Will’s gaze raked her features, her heart pounding in time to the church clock as it sounded the hour, Ellie tried to swallow discreetly, only managing an audible gulp, which triggered the urge to giggle.
Chewing frantically on the inside of her cheeks to prevent it, she decided to cut her losses.
With a nod, she scurried away, shooting across the road without a thought, totally oblivious to Mrs Lovelace on her mobility scooter as she screeched to a halt that would be the envy of any grand prix driver entering the pit.
‘Breathe,’ Ellie intoned as she reached the harbour wall, only to look around as the mobility scooter purred into place beside her.
‘How be y’on, my lovely?’ The elderly lady’s face expressed her concern, white curls escaping from a woolly hat bearing the words ‘Alright, my ’ansum?’. ‘Thought you be a goner, back along. In a right tease, you was.’
Ellie cast a wary look towards the lane, but there was no sign of Will. Then she sent the elderly lady and her daughter, who’d fetched up beside her, an apologetic look.
‘Hi, Jean. I’m so sorry, Mrs Lovelace,’ she said. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Aye. All good an’ proper. ’Tis many a year since I’ve had to perform an emergency stop, mind.’
‘All the same, I’m sorry for giving you a fright.’
‘Oh, my lovely. Worse I’ve had in my long years. Some left scars, they did.’ Mrs Lovelace leaned forward, patting Ellie on the hand. ‘You can have a look-see next time.’
‘Mum!’ Jean sent Ellie a resigned look as she took her leave.
Once back at Westerleigh, she couldn’t resist opening the laptop and searching Google images.
Staring at a moody studio shot of Will, taken as promo for his last TV role, she closed her eyes, her heart responding with a resounding thump.
She’d yearned to be in Will Farmer’s arms once more. Imagined it, dreamt of it.
This was not quite how Ellie had pictured it happening.
Ellie had a lot of time to think as she drove back to Oxfordshire at the weekend, and none of it was to do with the wedding on the following day.
It was time for reality, and as she sped along the A30 and over the border into Devon, she gave herself a firm talking to.
She had to be in Polkerran Point for Nicki. Time to force her head to rule her heart. Long-buried emotions were draining. She’d known Will was furious when they’d split up, and his rejection of any attempt to reconcile proved it, but for some reason, his anger still lingered…
Does he have regrets, too, like the ones that have haunted me?
‘Stop it,’ Ellie bit out as she reached the M5 and joined the steady flow of traffic heading north. ‘It’s too far gone, dead in the water, and that encounter proved it.’
With the timeline currently unpredictable, it was imperative she push it aside and focus on priorities, like finding some photography assignments in Cornwall.
Hands gripping the steering wheel, she checked the satnav. She honestly didn’t need it for the trip home. It was pretty simple going from the M5 to the M4 and then off at Oxford, but she’d always enjoyed seeing the miles count down and the journey time decrease.
Why was it, then, that the closer she came to home – and the further she was from Cornwall – her mood sank even lower?
Ellie loved her job as a photographer, and the wedding was adequate entertainment to take her mind off her worries about money and the resurgence of Will.
Once she’d completed the shots for the day, however, leaving the evening photos to family and friends and the videographer – as requested by the bride and groom – she returned to her neglected flat with a strange sense of gloom.
‘You’re just being a sour puss, having been surrounded by all that love and happiness,’ Ellie admonished as she popped her flash and battery on charge before taking a quick shower and donning her favourite loungers.
Ellie had moved into her flat some years ago.
When she’d dropped out of the MA – too distressed over the acrimonious break-up to cope – she’d taken a job as a receptionist and started an evening course on photography, with no idea where it might lead.
Her new home had been a symbol of a fresh start, both in terms of life and career, and she’d wasted no time making the space her own.
But the once-cosy flat felt cold and unloved, even with the lamps lit and the comforting smell of a ready meal emanating from the oven.
Missing Heathcliff’s affectionate attention, she was unable to settle, despite trying to catch up on the shows she was currently streaming.
Pouring herself a generous glass of Baileys over a cluster of ice cubes, Ellie sat cross-legged on the sofa, the laptop balanced on her knees as she took a sip from her glass.
‘Mmmm,’ she murmured, savouring the cold, creamy liquid on her tongue and resuming her study of the screen. The temptation to google Will again was fighting with a desperate desire to return him to the hole she’d managed to stuff him in for the last decade or more.
The hole was disobliging, and she devoured image after image, from Will in his earlier roles to more recent photos, some taken at awards events, but many clearly paparazzi shots – blurry and distant.
In the past, she’d shied away from looking into his life, although there had been times when it was impossible to avoid the press reports, but in recent years – as she’d discovered earlier – it was as though Will had dropped off the edge of the earth, with a paucity of information and images.
There were a couple of pictures of him with the facial hair. Ellie tilted her head to one side, studying them, trying to merge the man she’d recently encountered with the one she once knew.
Then, she found a link to an interview she’d never seen. Will’s performance – in his first production after they’d split, the infamous film in Australia – as a tortured, despondent young man had won him several accolades and led to every other big thing.
Ellie swallowed hard on the lump gripping the base of her throat as she shut down the recording on his last words to the sympathetic presenter, a self-deprecating smile only enhancing his charm.
‘I fear, with hindsight, that was hardly acting. It stemmed from how I felt at the time.’
‘Dammit,’ she groaned, flopping back on the sofa and sliding the laptop aside. ‘This wasn’t your best move, Arbon.’ Draining her glass, she licked her lips as the last of the Baileys slipped down her throat in an icy trail.
The lowness of mood from earlier threatened to spiral further downwards, but Ellie was unable to prevent her legs from unfurling.
They took her into the small bedroom, only just big enough for a double bed, a nightstand she’d found at a local antiques market and a wicker chair from her childhood, currently housing her worn teddy bear, Barney, and a rather out-of-shape bunny whose fur had seen better days.
The clothes she’d worn earlier were draped over the chair too, although some had fallen to the floor.
Ellie shrugged. The closet which also doubled as a wardrobe was stuffed full, anyway, as were the hangers on the back of her bedroom door.
Crouching down, she peered under the bed, heart pounding, then stretched her arm blindly, groping around until her hand connected with the small, velvet-covered case she’d had since her grandmother passed away. Slowly, she edged it over until able to grasp it firmly.
‘There,’ she huffed, sinking onto the bed, placing the little case with its worn cover on her lap. Ellie eyed it warily, nerves sending a fine tremor along her fingers. ‘Now what are you going to do?’
Should she just put it back, let it gather more dust under the bed? It had been there ever since she’d moved in, after all…
With a sigh, Ellie placed it on the tiny nightstand and grabbed her pyjamas.
‘This is no time for looking back. You have more pressing concerns.’
Despite the sound advice, when her eyes finally closed and sleep claimed her, Ellie was helpless to resist the pull of time, a medley of scattered dreams from years past buffeting her mind much as the sea-borne breeze pummelled the rocky coastline of Polkerran Point.
Ellie slept both well and long, any remnants of her nocturnal escapades fading swiftly, as such things do, and when she woke, she passed a busy few hours, initially on her laptop, researching possible short-term pitch opportunities in the South-West, and then carefully packing up her equipment so that she had all she needed to operate her business from elsewhere.
She added an extra bag of clothes and – after a moment’s hesitation – shoved the little velvet case in her travel bag and fastened the zip before she could begin to question the decision.
Ellie’s first port of call on the day after she returned to Polkerran was the village book shop and stationers, Pen & Ink, to follow up on the pitch regarding the hand-made cards and the upcoming advent calendars.
A young girl went to fetch a lady who introduced herself as Phyllida.
She was dressed casually in jeans and a jumper and sported a stylish, silver-grey bob and large, hooped earrings.
The enthusiastic welcome of the work by both women, and Phyllida’s willingness to have the business cards in the window and on the till counter, gave Ellie a boost, and she sailed out of the door with contentment.
She looked around, then released a soft sigh of pleasure at the now-familiar sights of the cove waking up to another day, still somewhat astounded by how coming back yesterday had felt like a homecoming.
Her eye was caught by someone waving. Jean Lovelace and her mother were by the harbour wall, talking to a slightly built young woman Ellie didn’t recognise.
‘How are you?’ Ellie warmly greeted the elderly lady perched on her mobility scooter.
‘Fair to middlin’, as they says.’ Mrs Lovelace, her wizened face framed by silver-grey curls, grasped Ellie’s hand. ‘And where might you be to, my lovely?’
‘Just dropping some things off at the book shop. Then I’m off up to the holiday site that’s being developed to hold shepherd huts.’
Mrs Lovelace frowned. ‘Well what silly old tuss came up with that piece of yarn? They shepherds, they’re always in huts, up on the moor. Why would they go holidaying in one?’
Ellie met the curious gaze of the lady stood beside Jean. She had wavy, dark-blonde hair and curiously wide-spaced eyes.
‘Oh, you’ve not met Chloe.’ Jean turned to the young woman. ‘This is Nicki’s cousin, Ellie, who’s helping out with her boys for a while.’ She faced Ellie again. ‘Chloe used to work up at the hotel, but she’s back in the cove looking for a new job.’
Chloe shook Ellie’s hand hesitantly. ‘Hi. It’s always hard, isn’t it, starting afresh where everyone’s a stranger?’
‘Absolutely.’ Ellie patted her bag of supplies. ‘I’m lucky enough at the moment to be working for myself. I just have to make sure I don’t have too many arguments with the boss.’
Chloe bade them farewell, and Ellie exchanged a few more words with Jean and her mother, before leaving them to return to the harbourside.
There were a few walkers waiting for the passenger ferry to dock, someone watering the old rowing boat – now filled with autumnal blooms – and a couple of dogs walking their owners along the lane towards the tidal beach beneath Harbourwatch.
With a start, Ellie looked up as a seagull let out a piercing squeal overhead. It had started to rain again, so she tugged up the hood of her coat, wrapping her arms around her precious parcel, and turned for home.
Ellie thought she saw Chloe disappearing inside the Tremayne Estates office, and she wondered if they had a job going, but a glance at her watch was sufficient to send Ellie swiftly on her way. She’d make a light lunch and get ready for the visit to the site.
That way, she’d be too busy to dwell on a certain someone and how – much as each encounter caused the pain of loss to intensify – she longed to lay eyes on his face once more.