Seven
Sunday was a brand-new day, in every sense of the words. Gone were the torrential rain and dark clouds; replaced by birdsong, a promise of sunshine, and a smell of clean, fresh air. A smell that Jemma breathed in as she drew the bedroom curtains and opened the window wide.
In her flat in Orpington, a less pleasant smell would greet her. A mixture of morning air and petrol fumes, to which she had grown accustomed.
The scent she breathed in now reminded her of her life in Esme’s cottage. Although as beautiful as Chislehurst had been, it came a close second to Betancourt Bay on this bright and warm, summer day.
She showered and dressed quickly in a turquoise cotton, sleeveless dress, over which she wore a lightweight, matching cardigan. She was eager to get outside, despite the early hour of the morning. It was barely five a.m. but, like the summer sunshine, Jemma had always been an early riser.
In the kitchen, she made coffee, together with poached egg on toast, which she wolfed down in a matter of minutes. She hadn’t eaten dinner yesterday, despite her good intentions, and had made do with a cheese sandwich instead, followed an hour later, by unusually early night.
She left the washing up, which she could do when she got back, and headed for the front door, intent on enjoying the peace and quiet of this time of day.
She stepped outside without looking – and almost got knocked down.
‘What the…? Oh! I’m sorry. Are you okay?’
It took Jemma a moment to recover herself, and for the man’s voice to register with her. She looked him up and down, not quite certain, at first, what had thumped into her. And then she realised it was a male jogger, out for an early morning run.
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ she said, experiencing an odd sort of tingling in her arm, where he had gently placed his hand. ‘I didn’t think to look. I thought I’d have the street to myself at this time of the morning.’
His smile was dazzling and his blue eyes were mesmerising. Or perhaps she was in shock. But the scent of his body was intoxicating as she leant against it.
Leant against it? She immediately pulled herself away and straightened up, heat rising in her cheeks as she added, ‘Sorry about that.’
‘I’m the one who’s sorry. It was entirely my fault. I’m not used to meeting anyone this early in the morning, especially on a Sunday. Are you sure you’re okay?’
She wasn’t sure at all. But it had nothing to do with being run into. It had more to do with the very presence of this man.
‘No harm done.’ She threw him a smile, blushing even more, and then, remembering she wore no make up this morning, her cheeks burned red-hot.
‘You look … a little flustered. Do you need to sit down?’
‘No! Erm. Thanks. I’m fine.’ She tried to hide her face by glancing away. ‘I just feel a bit embarrassed because I must look a sight without any make up.’ She winced as she spoke. Why had she said that aloud?
‘Embarrassed? Why? You look beautiful. Especially with those freckles.’
Jemma’s experience with men was limited, but she knew sincerity when she heard it.
‘You really think so?’ Her eyes met his, and locked.
He nodded slowly and a warm smile spread across his handsome face. ‘I really do. And as for looking a sight, you do. A sight for sore eyes. Sorry.’ Now he was the one who looked flustered. ‘That was corny.’
‘Please don’t apologise. It sounded lovely to me.’
His smile returned, but then a tiny frown formed between dark brows. ‘Erm. This sounds a little odd. And it’s none of my business, I know. But … what are you doing here at this time of the morning?’ He glanced at Oak View Cottage. ‘And did you just come out of there?’ He tipped his head towards the door.
‘I’m renting the cottage for a month. I arrived yesterday afternoon. Well, early evening, really.’ Jemma smiled at him and his frown quickly disappeared. ‘I was going for an early morning walk along the beach.’
‘Renting the cottage? Oh, I see. I knew Mrs Law had passed away, and I assumed her family had inherited it. I met them a few times over the years and although I’m not sure I could pick her granddaughter out of a line-up, one thing I am sure of, is that she doesn’t look like you.’
Jemma raised her brows as the man gave an awkward laugh and shook his head.
‘Thanks. I think,’ Jemma said.
‘That was a compliment, not an insult. Although, of course, you wouldn’t know that from what I said. You could take it either way. Sorry. I’m not particularly good at this. I do recall that she had jet-black hair, and as yours is a gorgeous fiery red, that also gave me a clue.’
Jemma laughed nervously. Was this man flirting with her? It had been so long since anyone had, that she wasn’t absolutely sure.
‘I haven’t met Molly yet, so I have no comparison. But at least I now know that her hair is jet-black. I’m meeting her today.’
‘Molly! That was her name. I’m afraid I couldn’t remember. But I didn’t see her often.’ He gave a tiny cough. ‘Anyway, you said you’re here for a month? I’m Greg, by the way. Greg Bishop. I live in Blubell Cottage. Right next door. Which means we’re neighbours. If there’s anything you need, please just ask.’
‘Thanks. I’m pleased to meet you, Greg.’ Jemma held out her hand and Greg clasped it in his, sending yet more tingles through her. And even more when he looked down at their joined hands and then up into her eyes. ‘Erm. I’m … Jemma. Jemma Granger. I’m on a sort of working holiday.’ That wasn’t strictly true, but now that she had met her handsome neighbour, she was determined to see if she could have some fun in between her work.
His brows knit together. ‘Jemma Granger. Why does that name sound so familiar? We haven’t met before, because believe me, I would remember you. And yet … I thought when I saw you that there was something about you that … Wait. Are you…? Bloody hell! I don’t believe it.’ His eyes opened wide with incredulity as he stared at her. ‘You are. How could I be so blind?’ He let go of her hand as if he had been holding a red-hot poker. ‘You’re Jemma Granger, the author of ‘The Fitzglover Legacy’ books. Also now a TV series.’
Jemma couldn’t tell from his expression whether he might be a fan or not. He seemed more astonished than anything else.
‘Guilty as charged,’ she replied, feeling a little self-conscious. ‘Erm. Dare I ask? Have you seen any of the TV series? Or, maybe, read one of my books?’
‘No,’ he said, and he may as well have slapped her across her face. It was blunt and to the point.
‘Oh. But you know someone who has?’ He knew who she was, so he must have heard about her from someone, or from somewhere. Perhaps he had merely read about her so-called overnight success.
‘I know millions of people who have. Not personally, you understand. Although I do know my regulars, of course. Erm.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I own a bookshop in Folkestone, called Bishop’s Books. Your books are in one of my front window displays.’
‘You own a bookshop?’ It was her turn to be surprised. ‘I don’t believe this. I know it’s a small world and everything, but honestly, what are the odds?’
‘I know. Right?’ he was smiling once more. ‘And you might find this hard to believe, but you’re not the only famous author here in Betancourt Bay. I assume you’ve heard of Laurence Lake?’
‘Laurence Lake? Hasn’t everyone? He’s here? In this village?’
Greg was nodding eagerly. ‘He lives here. Just a couple of roads away. He’s a good friend of mine. And I’m not just saying that. He is.’ He grinned. ‘I knew him before he was famous. I’ll introduce you, if you like. Oh.’ His tone was sombre now. ‘He’s in hospital at the moment. Erm. He was in a massive pile-up on the motorway yesterday. He’s not seriously hurt. Just a broken leg and a cut on his forehead, but they kept him in overnight.’
‘Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry. Gosh. Laurence Lake lives here in Betancourt Bay. I can’t quite believe it. And … this is neither here nor there, but I was also on the motorway yesterday afternoon. Luckily for me, I wasn’t involved in the accident. Just in the traffic jam aftermath. That sounded as if I’m complaining and I’m not. Sorry, I don’t know why I mentioned that. I think I’m a little star-struck.’
‘I’m glad you weren’t involved in that. Thankfully no one was seriously hurt but it could’ve been a total disaster. I was in shock yesterday myself when Laurence called me. I’ll be picking him up from the hospital later today, assuming he gets the all-clear, but he may have to wait until Monday.’
‘Please give him my best wishes. Or is that a bit presumptuous?’
‘Not at all. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. I can tell you, he’s a fan.’
‘Of mine?’ Jemma was the one who was thrilled.
‘Of yours.’ Greg nodded. And then he smiled sheepishly. ‘Erm. Didn’t you say you were going for a walk along the beach?’
‘I did,’ Jemma said. He clearly wanted to get away.
‘Well … I know we’ve only just met – and please say so if you’d rather be alone, but if you’re happy to have some company, a walk along the beach appeals to me more than a run right now. Would you mind if I joined you?’
‘Joined me? Not at all. I’d love to have your company. And as I’m new here, maybe you could show me the way?’
‘I’d be delighted. Come with me.’
As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he held out his bent arm for her to link her own arm through. And as she did, Jemma’s heart made a little leap.
He wasn’t trying to get away. In fact, he was trying to spend more time with her.
Betancourt Bay really was the perfect place.