Chapter Eight
“Oh, Daddy, you do look pretty.”
“Pretty?” Liam suppressed a laugh.
“In your bestest clothes. Will the party be fun?”
“I hope so, sweetie.” He bent over and dropped a kiss on the tip of his daughter’s nose.
“Remember what I told you? It’s to raise money for the poor orphaned horses.”
“Will you raise lots of money?”
“I hope so.”
“Then they’ll have plenty to eat and somewhere to keep warm,” the child asserted wisely.
“That’s right.” He tucked the duvet up around her shoulders.
“Now you be good for Granny tonight. She’s going to read your bedtime story.”
A wide beaming smile spread across her pretty face.
“A’wight, Daddy,” she promised.
“Bye-bye.”
“Bye-bye, sweetheart.”
His mum glanced up from the sofa as he came down the stairs.
“Very smart,” she approved.
“Thanks. Robyn said I looked pretty.”
Diane Ellis laughed.
“She doesn’t often see you in a dinner jacket.”
“It’s a rare sight. Anyway, she’s tucked down and ready for her story.”
“Right.” She set aside her knitting and rose to her feet.
“Bye then, love.” She kissed his cheek.
“Have a nice time.”
He smiled wryly.
“I’ll try.”
The fundraiser for the Horse Rescue Society was an annual event, held at the home of a prominent local landowner.
The guests were a mix of genuine horse lovers and virtue signallers keen to be seen supporting a good cause — which was fine by him so long as they dipped deep into their pockets.
He always arrived early — as a member of the committee it was part of his duties to help welcome the guests as they arrived.
There were a couple of smart cars already parked on the gravel sweep in front of the imposing porch, and he smiled to himself as he parked his work-a-day Land Rover beside them.
At least he had hosed most of the mud off it this morning.
The front doors stood wide open to the gracious hall, with its Moroccan-tiled floor and sweeping staircase, and a glittering chandelier which would have looked at home in the Palace of Versailles.
Sir Malcolm’s wife Caroline was descending the stairs, resplendent in a rich ruby gown, diamonds at her throat and swinging from her earlobes.
“Liam, darling. Lovely to see you.” She held out both hands to squeeze his and put up her cheek for a kiss.
“You’re looking splendid.”
“My daughter said I looked pretty. But that word fits you much more appropriately. Or better still, beautiful.” He smiled warmly — his hostess would probably be more at home down in the stables, mucking out, but she knew how to put on a show when the occasion demanded it.
“Lovely man!” She patted his shoulder.
“Come on in. There are a few people here already — most of them you’ll know. The hoards should start descending in about half an hour, but we can start on the champers now.”
She linked her arm into his and led him through to the morning room, a large room at the back of the house.
Most of the furniture had been removed, and the carpet rolled back to reveal the gleaming parquet floor.
More Versailles-worthy chandeliers swung from the high ceiling.
Oak panelling and some rather dull — but probably priceless — Victorian landscapes lined the walls.
Three blackjack tables, a roulette wheel and two hired slot-machines had been set up.
Two pairs of French windows stood open onto the stone terrace, and beyond a marquee had been erected on the immaculate lawn.
“Now, as usual, we’re going to have the drinks reception on the terrace, as the weather’s so nice. Dinner will be served in the Tudor Barn. After that there’ll be time to mingle on the terrace again and in the garden, with the fun casino in here, and then dancing back in the marquee until dawn. Well, maybe not quite dawn, but we don’t expect to finish until after midnight.”
“Sounds good,” he approved.
“Ah, there’s Malcolm. Is everything set, dear?”
“Pretty much.” Malcolm rubbed his hands together.
“Liam, come and have a look at the shooting range.”
“We were just going to try the champagne,” Caroline protested.
“Hah! No reason why we can’t do both, eh?”
The shooting range was clearly Malcolm’s pride and joy.
It was a large interactive video game, using laser rifles, set up in a black tent in the wide hallway between the morning room and the library.
“You can set it for different levels according to someone’s shooting experience, and you can choose your scenario,” he explained, as excited as a twelve-year-old.
“You can have a western-style shoot-out, or aliens, and even a marksman competition. Come on, have a go.”
He fiddled with the console and the screen lit up.
“Ah, this is a good one. Dinosaurs. You have to hit them exactly on the red spot, and some of them move pretty damn quick, I can tell you. I only managed fifty-eight the last time I had a go. See if you can beat me.”
He handed Liam a rifle, and the creatures on the screen began to move.
It was great fun.
All sorts of weird monsters were running towards him, quite slowly at first but getting faster and faster.
Some were flying pterodactyls, swooping and soaring, others fearsome Tyrannosaurus.
And to add to the challenge, the red dots were getting progressively smaller.
He could see how it could be quite addictive, but he was careful not to beat Sir Malcolm’s score.
“Fifty-two! Jolly well done,” the older man applauded with just a hint of smugness.
“You got off to a great start there, but you weren’t quite quick enough towards the end.”
“Come on now, boys,” Caroline chided.
“Time to stop playing with your toys. People are starting to arrive.”
Sir Malcolm raised his eyes heavenwards, but didn’t argue.
“Coming dear.”
Liam put the rifle back in its cradle, and turned.
“Oh, Liam. I don’t believe you’ve met my niece.” At Caroline’s side was a stunningly beautiful young woman with hair the colour of burnished copper tumbling round her shoulders.
“Annabel, this is Liam Ellis — our vet. He’s an absolute wonder, the way he handles the horses.”
A smile curved those perfect peach-pink lips.
“Hello.” Her voice was soft, melodic.
“Nice to meet you.”
Very nice .
.
.
Liam smiled back — what red-blooded man wouldn’t when those sapphire-blue eyes were looking at him like that?
“Good evening.”
Her skin glowed like ivory, her features as flawless as a cameo.
She had the body of a supermodel, tall and elegant, flattered by a long, slinky dress of midnight blue that skimmed over every slender curve.
She arched one finely drawn eyebrow.
“You seem to be in need of a refill of champagne.”
He glanced at his empty flute.
“So I am.”
He fell into step beside her as they strolled back through the French windows to the terrace.
“So you’re Caroline’s niece. Do you live here in Devon?”
“No, I live in London now, but my family are in Bath. I came down to help Aunt Caroline with the arrangements for tonight.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
“It’s so much work for Aunt Caroline — and besides, I enjoy it.”
“And what do you do when you’re not arranging charity balls? Can I guess that you’re a model?”
A soft, husky laugh.
“Oh dear. Is it so obvious? And you’re a vet. That must be very interesting.”
“It is.”
“You mainly work with horses?”
He nodded.
“Mainly. But my family work with farm animals — cows, sheep, pigs. And my mum runs a small animal practice.”
“Here in South Devon?”
“Sturcombe. It’s down on the coast.”
“I’ve never been there.”
“It’s just a small town, not much more than a village really. But the bay is very pretty.”
It was pleasant to talk to her, and she was certainly easy on the eye.
But he was conscious that he had duties to fulfil as one of the hosts, so after a little while he suggested that they should circulate.
“Of course.” Again that alluring smile.
“I’ll see you at dinner.”
He smiled back.
“Of course.”
The terrace was soon crowded as more people arrived.
He knew quite a few of them — their horses were his patients.
The Routleys, who bred very fine showjumpers, the Chubbs who had a riding school up by the moor, the Hilsons whose three teenage daughters were all horse mad.
As he moved between various groups he would occasionally glance across the room and catch that sapphire-blue gaze, that beguiling smile.
And he’d smile back.
He didn’t have much experience of flirting, but maybe he could try it.
At last it was time to go in to dinner.
The Tudor Barn was looking splendid.
The vaulted ceiling was criss-crossed with heavy oak trusses, wound with twinkling white fairy lights.
The walls were the original rough brick, the floor was well-trodden stone.
The tall windows at the gable ends had been covered in black cloth, so that the only illumination was from the lights set in niches in the walls.
There were twenty circular tables, spread with crisp white linen and laid out with gold-edged white plates, glittering crystal wine glasses and silver cutlery.
Each table had baskets of fresh bread rolls and coils of butter in glass dishes.
Each had a centrepiece of three tall, slim white candles of graduated heights, wound with a trail of ivy.
Liam was checking the name cards on the tables when Annabel slipped up beside him, tucking her hands into his arm.
“I have a confession to make,” she murmured, a mischievous glint dancing in her fine blue eyes.
“I switched the cards around. Do you mind?”
He arched one eyebrow in amused question.
“You’re sitting next to me?”
“Yes.”
He laughed.
“I don’t mind at all.”
She smiled radiantly.
“What do you think of the room?”
“Very nice. You’ve done a great job.”
“Thank you.”
She had knocked him slightly off balance.
She was stunning, of course — the sort of woman that most men could only dream about.
And she was quite definitely interested in him.
Which was very flattering to his ego — not that that had ever been something he’d been bothered about.
But he didn’t feel entirely comfortable about it.
If she was looking for a relationship, he suspected that she would have high expectations, and he really didn’t have time for that.
* * *
“Fancy coming down the pub?”
Cassie glanced up from the newspaper as her brother strolled into the sitting room.
“What’s up? Been stood up by . . . what was her name?”
“Chanelle.” He shrugged in casual unconcern.
“Oh, we’re not seeing each other anymore.”
Cassie laughed, shaking her head.
It was hardly a surprise that that affair hadn’t lasted long.
“Lisa said you change your girlfriends as often as you change your socks.”
Paul put on a hurt expression that would fool no one.
“That’s not fair. I change my socks every day.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” their mother remarked on a note of dry humour, turning her head briefly from the quiz show she was watching.
Cassie tossed the newspaper aside and rose to her feet.
“Anyway, yes I’ll come to the pub. Just give me five minutes to get changed.”
“Okay.” He grinned and picked up the newspaper, and flopped down in her place on the sofa.
“See you in about an hour.”
“Huh!” She hurried up to her room.
She had showered earlier, after her swim, and had changed into clean jeans.
All she had to do was brush through her hair, throw on a fresh top and slick on a little mascara and lipstick.
But .
.
.
she wanted to look her best.
Maybe her white jeans, and that pretty silky top she had bought in Wellington — white, with a pop of green flowers over one shoulder.
And a touch of grey eye shadow and kohl liner to bring out the colour of her eyes .
.
.
Of course it had nothing to do with the possibility that Liam Ellis might be there.
Of course not.
“Right, I’m ready,” she announced in triumph from the doorway of the sitting room.
“Seven minutes flat, and that includes running up and down three flights of stairs.”
“Wow!” Paul feigned exaggerated surprise.
“Must be a world record.”
She picked up a cushion and threw it at his head, but he dodged neatly.
“Okay, come on then, sis.” He leaned over and dropped a kiss on their mother’s cheek, raised a hand to his dad, and dropped his arm around Cassie’s shoulders.
“See you, folks.”
The sun was sinking as they strolled down the hill.
A soft lilac mist lay along the horizon, the sea was silvery grey, the waves were whispering over the beach.
A single sailing yacht was scudding across the bay.
If she stayed .
.
.
No, dammit, that question was a constant niggle in her brain, like a grain of sand stuck between her toes.
There was no point thinking about it yet anyway.
She would stay for Tom and Vicky’s wedding, then make up her mind.
And what would be the deciding factor?
that annoying little voice in her head taunted.
Are you still hoping Liam will want you after all?
She huffed out an impatient breath.
Paul slanted her a questioning glance.
“What’s up?”
“I . . . Uh . . . I just remembered it’s the bank holiday weekend.” She gestured towards the Esplanade, crowded with people milling around outside the pub and the chip shop and the amusement arcade.
“We’ll be lucky to get anywhere near the bar.”
The glint of sardonic amusement in his eyes suggested that he didn’t quite believe her, but he didn’t pursue it.
He just laughed.
“Don’t worry — leave it to me.”
He was as good as his word.
As soon as they entered the pub he caught Wes’s eye.
The landlord nodded, and by the time they got through the crowd around the bar their drinks were waiting for them.
“They’re on your tab,” Wes said as he pulled a beer for another customer.
They took their drinks and moved back through the throng to a table near the back, close to the dartboard.
Debbie was already there, with a pleasant-looking young man with russet hair that sprang from his forehead like a scrubbing brush.
She shuffled up to make room for Cassie to sit down.
“Hi. Do you remember Bill?”
“Yes of course. I saw you at the cricket. And weren’t you in the same class in school as my sister Lisa?”
He nodded, his smile shy.
“That’s right.”
Yes, she remembered him.
He’d always been the quiet one, overpowered by the noisy triumvirate of Paul, Liam and Tom Cullen.
He was holding Debbie’s hand under the table, and Cassie smiled to herself.
So this was the man who had brought that spark of happiness to Debbie’s soft brown eyes.
Good for him.
Cassie craned her neck to look around the bar.
“Where are Ian and Greg Norrish?” she asked.
“And Beverley Wotton?”
Debbie smiled a little crookedly.
“Moved away. Bev lives in Exeter now — she works in a bank up there. The Norrishes both went up to Manchester, I think, and the Sladers all moved to somewhere up in Nottinghamshire.”
“Oh, that’s sad. It won’t seem the same without them here.”
Debbie’s wry glance reminded her that she had left too.
They sat chatting comfortably about memories of their schooldays.
Cassie was trying not to watch the door to see if Liam would come in.
And trying just as hard not to watch the big brass ship’s clock above the bar as the time ticked by.
It was almost half past eight when the door opened and a tall man with dark hair appeared.
Cassie’s heart skipped .
.
.
But as he turned, she realised that it was Luke, with Julia.
The door closed behind them — no one had followed them in.
“Hi, Luke,” someone called.
“No Liam tonight?”
Luke shook his head, laughing.
“He’s at some charity thing at the Gillard’s, for the Horse Rescue. I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with me on the team.”
“Oh, damn. Might as well throw in the towel now, boys.”
There was a lot more good-natured banter as Luke and his wife moved over to the back of the room to join the darts team.
Cassie refused to acknowledge the stab of disappointment.
She wouldn’t see Liam tonight.
So what?
She wasn’t bothered.
Not at all.
* * *
It was a more enjoyable evening than Liam had anticipated.
Annabel was a lively companion, and it did his ego no harm to have such a beautiful woman at his side.
Dinner over, there were the inevitable speeches, followed by an auction run by a well-known actor who lived locally.
He whipped up the audience’s enthusiasm for the items to be bid for — a crate of twenty-six-year-old Irish whiskey, a helicopter ride over Land’s End followed by dinner for four at one of Cornwall’s swankiest restaurants, a day at the races in the donor’s private box, with champagne.
There was a certain irony in that prize, Liam reflected dryly.
Over the past few years the society had taken in three of the donor’s racehorses that hadn’t made the grade.
Maybe the donation was to ease his conscience — if he had one.
“Oh, aren’t those earrings pretty?” Annabel had spotted them earlier — blue enamel on gold.
“I have to have them.”
She was bidding excitedly, waving her hand, and she whooped with such joy when she won that she earned herself a round of applause.
Impulsively, she threw her arms around Liam’s neck and kissed him enthusiastically on the lips.
He laughed, though he did feel mildly uncomfortable.
But it was just her lively, open personality — he really shouldn’t be churlish about it.
“Aren’t they gorgeous?” Her eyes were bright as she slipped the earrings she was wearing out of her ears and put the new ones in.
“Here, would you look after these for me? I don’t have any pockets in this dress.”
He slanted her a teasing smile as he took them from her.
They looked like real diamonds.
“You trust me not to run off with them?”
“Of course I trust you.” She laughed merrily.
“I’m a great judge of character.”
The actor was announcing the end of the auction.
“Okay, folks, that’s all for now. I think I hear the band warming up. Let’s hit the dance floor.”
“Come on,” Annabel urged, tugging on Liam’s hand.
“Let’s dance.”
In the marquee a live band had set up on a dais at one end — a drummer and two guitarists, and a keyboard player.
They were playing a good mix of pop covers and a few classic soul numbers.
He hadn’t danced for a long time.
Not since Natalie.
But Annabel didn’t seem to even notice his lack of enthusiasm.
She was enjoying herself, swaying to the music, her eyes bright, her hair gleaming in the soft amber glow of the fairy lights strung beneath the roof.
Dammit.
Stop being so uptight.
You’re dancing with a beautiful woman — just relax and enjoy it.
Stop worrying about where it might lead.
Stop thinking about a girl with a Maori tattoo on her shoulder.
The dance floor was getting lively, and he was just beginning to think he should suggest that they should dance with other people for a while when Malcolm breezed up.
“Ah, there you are! We’re setting up the shooting range. Come and show them how it’s done.”
“Oh, yes!” Annabel’s fine eyes shone.
“I’ve been dying to have a go on that. Show me how to do it.”
He smiled down at her.
“Come on then. Have you ever done any shooting before?”
“I did some clay pigeon shooting once.”
“You’ve got a head start then.”
They both had several goes on the shooting range, teasing each other for missing, applauding good hits.
Then they spent some time in the casino, Annabel cheerfully losing a hundred pounds on the roulette wheel.
“Ah, well.” She shrugged as they strolled down through the gardens to the lake.
“It’s all in a good cause.” The moonlight was glimmering silver on the water.
“Oh, it’s so beautiful. And look — swans.”
She turned to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, lifting her face to his.
She was clearly expecting him to kiss her.
So he did.
It was a perfect romantic setting, here by the moonlit lake, a soft evening breeze rustling the leaves of a weeping willow on the bank.
Her perfume seemed to surround him, faintly exotic, faintly sensual, and her slender body was curved against his.
It felt good, but .
.
.
where was the spark?
The first time he had kissed Natalie, the first time he had kissed Cassie, he had felt as if a Catherine Wheel was going off in his gut.
But while Annabel was undoubtedly more beautiful than either of them, something was missing.
Maybe he was expecting too much, too soon.
Maybe he was making too much of his memories.
Maybe he was overthinking it.
Maybe he should try to just relax and enjoy kissing a beautiful woman.
Maybe the sparks would come.
She was smiling a little wistfully when he lifted his head.
“I wish I didn’t have to go to Milan tomorrow.”
“Oh . . . That is a shame.” He should feel disappointed.
Give it time.
“When will you be back?”
“Not for a while. I’ll be going straight on to South Africa, then it’s Fiji for a magazine shoot.”
He smiled.
“You certainly get around.”
“I’ll be back around the end of September.” She tipped her head coquettishly on one side.
“Perhaps we could meet up again then?”
“That would be good.”
She glanced back over her shoulder.
“It looks like the party’s winding up. Maybe we should go and say goodnight.”
“Okay.” He kissed her again, then taking her hand, they walked back to the house.
* * *
After the fug in the pub, it was good to get out in the cool fresh air again.
As they strolled up the hill, Cassie breathed in the sweet fragrance of the rosemary bushes that clung to the side of the cliff below them.
Opposite the house she paused and leaned on the cliff wall, gazing out over the bay.
The moon was a thin sliver like the imprint of a thumb nail, but the stars were making up for it in brightness.
Far out towards the dark horizon pinpoints of light showed a ship sailing down towards the open ocean.
Once she would have followed the path of that ship in her mind, wondering where it might be going — fabulous places, exotic places, with plants and animals she had only seen on television.
Now…
A small sigh escaped her lips.
“Ah . . . This really is the most beautiful place in the world.”
“It is.” Paul leaned on the wall beside her.
“Have you decided yet what you’re going to do?”
She took a pause, then shook her head.
“Not yet. I’ll definitely stay for Tom’s wedding. After that . . .” She shrugged her slim shoulders.
“Who knows?”
A soft breeze was ruffling her hair.
She closed her eyes, listening to the soft swoosh of the waves unrolling themselves lazily over the sand.
“You know Nanna left her house to the three of us?”
“To us?” She opened her eyes and glanced at him, surprised.
“Why us? Why not Mum and Dad?”
“They discussed it a few years ago. They felt they didn’t need it, and we were all coming to the age when we might benefit more.”
“Oh . . .”
“We have to decide between us what to do about it. Lisa doesn’t want it.”
“She and Ollie have their own house.”
He nodded.
“What about you?”
“Why would I want it?”
“To live in?”
She laughed.
“ If I was planning to stay. Anyway, you live in it.”
He had been renting it since Nanna had moved down to live with her son’s family.
Lisa had told her that he had insisted on paying the proper market rent — sometimes he could be as obstinate as Nanna.
She glanced across at him, her adored big brother, five years older than her.
Tall, athletic and handsome.
She had been so proud of him when at seventeen he had realised his dream of becoming a professional footballer.
Starting in a lower division, he had helped his team win promotion to the Championship League and hold their place, even hopeful of moving up into the Premier League.
Then at thirty-one a bad knee injury had kept him out of the game for half a season.
Even when he had recovered he had rarely made it off the substitutes’ bench.
“Why did you come back here when you retired?” she asked.
He smiled, understanding why she had asked.
“It was always part of my long-term plan. A striker’s career rarely lasts much past the age of thirty-four, thirty-five, unless you go into coaching or management, and that wasn’t my thing. Once it became clear that none of the top clubs were going to come bidding for me I knew I needed another string to my bow.”
“So you chose to be an investment consultant.” That had been a big surprise when Lisa had told her about it.
“Why that?”
“It can be just as challenging. You play defence to avoid losing money, attack to make a profit. You get to know the players on the field, their strengths and weaknesses, when to hold back and when to go for the big score. Some of my teammates saw that I was making good money and asked me for help with their own investments, and it’s just gone on from there.”
“I guess they prefer to work with someone they know, someone they trust.”
“That’s right. Someone who understands what they need because I’ve been in the game too.”
She slanted him a teasing smile.
“I never had you down for a clever sod. I thought you were just all muscle.”
He grinned, striking a Mr Universe pose.
“That too. Anyway, about the house. If you don’t want it, I’d like to buy out your share, and Lisa’s. I suggest we each employ an estate agent to value it, then take an average of the three. And don’t argue that’s not necessary,” he added as she started to shake her head.
“I want it all done straight.”
“Okay.” She hugged him, laughing.
“We’ll do that.”