Tangled Emotions

‘Once, when I was very small, but I don’t remember much about it.’

‘Was Cousin Adam along on the outing?’

‘Probably,’ said Fen shortly. She dug in her bag for her sunscreen, smoothed it over the small area of skin exposed, then put on sunglasses and a white cotton sunhat, and leaned back.

There was silence between them for a while, broken only by the calls of seagulls and scraps of conversation drifting on the air as other sunseekers began approaching over the cobbles.

‘I don’t mean to be stroppy, Joe,’ said Fen, after a while. ‘But I just don’t want to talk about Adam.’

‘Then we won’t,’ he said promptly, and sat up to open the cool-bag he’d brought. ‘Fancy a cold drink? Or I can provide apples, peaches and chocolate.’

Fen sat up, impressed. ‘You’re very organised.’

‘Habit. I was brought up in Cornwall. Days on the beach were part of life.’

‘Do your people still live there?’ she asked, then gave him a wry grin. ‘Which is a nerve, I know, when I refuse to discuss my own background.’

‘I’m perfectly happy to discuss mine,’ he said, lying back in his chair. ‘I’ve got two older brothers. They’re London-based. But my parents are still in Cornwall, in the same house on the headland above the village of Polruan, with a path leading down to a small cove.’

‘Sounds wonderful.’

‘Until I left home I never appreciated how idyllic my childhood actually was. Not a lot of money to spare, but we lacked nothing important. My parents are retired now, but they both taught at the village school.’

‘Did you go there, too?’

‘All three of us, until we were eleven.’

Fen’s eyes sparkled. ‘Did it cause trouble with the other kids—because your parents were teachers, I mean?’

Joe grinned. ‘It meant quite a few bloody noses after school. My father was the headmaster, and famous for coming down like a ton of bricks on fighting. But he was forced to turn a blind eye in our case, because my mother was adamant that we sorted things for ourselves.’

‘So you grew up tough, Joe. No wonder you pitched in when you saw me in a spot of bother.’

‘Only because I saw a girl,’ he said frankly, and turned to look at her. ‘Which was an inspired move, because it led to meeting you.’

‘A pretty speech,’ she said lightly.

‘True, though. Want some chocolate?’

‘No, thanks. It might spoil my lunch. Where shall we eat?’

‘Right here. On the way down I noticed a place that does crab sandwiches to take out.’

‘Perfect!’

As the morning wore on the sun grew hotter, and after a while Joe got up and stripped down to shorts.

‘You’d better have some of this,’ said Fen, handing him the sunscreen.

He slapped some on his chest and legs, then returned it. ‘Could you do my back?’

Fen smoothed the cream over his impressive shoulders, then gave them a tap. ‘There. All done.’

‘How about you?’ asked Joe.

‘I’ll just take my jacket off.’

Fen had never suffered from shyness, but with Joe for an audience she couldn’t bring herself to strip down to the bikini.

‘Fen,’ said Joe after a while, staring out to sea. ‘It strikes me that I was a bit insensitive to ramble on to you about my childhood.’

‘Not a bit,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I liked hearing about it. Tell me more.’

‘I probably painted it a bit rosier than it was. The three of us squabbled a lot, and grumbled when required to dig the garden, wash dishes, or walk the dogs. But because my mother worked hard at school as well as at home, my father considered it only fair that the rest of us, including himself, pitched in with the chores. There was no money for hired help, and just coping with the family wash was a major undertaking. The three of us were into rugby, athletics, cricket, and in my case tennis.’

‘Which meant mountains of dirty sports gear,’ said Fen, feeling sympathy for Mrs Tregenna.

Joe glanced at her. ‘In your situation I imagine you had to do your share of chores, too?’

‘Some,’ she agreed briefly, and pulled her hat low over her eyes.

Eventually Joe got up, thrust his feet into deck shoes and pulled on his shirt. ‘I’m hungry. I’ll go and hunt up some lunch. You keep off those aching feet of yours, Fen, and stay here with the gear. If there’s no crab, what shall I bring?’

‘Anything they’ve got.’

She watched him as he strolled out of sight, then turned back to gaze out over the sea, aware of how much she was enjoying Joe’s company. This Melissa of his was mad to refuse the move to Pennington with him. And stupid to assume she could take over his flat rent-free. Joe Tregenna was no one’s fool. Even on short acquaintance Fen knew there was steel behind the humour in those navy blue eyes, a combination which grew in appeal each time they met.

Taking advantage of his absence, Fen took off her jeans and shirt and hung them on the back of the chair, then applied a coat of sunscreen to the expanse of skin left bare by the scarlet bikini. There was a small garden behind the house in Farthing Street, not much more than a patch of rough grass with a washing line, separated from the house next door by a high privet hedge. But it gave her a secluded place to lie in the sun for those brief periods when the weather was kind during her time off. So far she’d been lucky with the weather, but the idea of Farthing Street in constant rain was so depressing she refused to think of it.

It was some time before Joe returned with lunch. He swept her a glance of open appreciation, then sat down on the footrest of the deckchair and took packets of sandwiches from a carrier bag, plus some ripe red tomatoes and a clutch of paper napkins. Madame,’ he said triumphantly, ‘lunch is served. Sorry I was so long. The sandwiches are cut fresh to order, and I had to stand in line.’

‘Worth waiting for,’ Fen assured him. ‘But first could you just slap some cream on my back? I’ve done the rest.’

‘Spoilsport,’ said Joe, grinning, his touch swift and impersonal over her back and shoulders. ‘Right. Now let’s eat.’

The sandwiches were generously filled, made with thick slices of crusty bread, the crab seasoned with lemon and black pepper, and Fen bit into one with an ecstatic groan of appreciation. ‘Wow, these are amazing!’

Joe nodded, munching. ‘As good as the ones they make at the Anchor in Polruan.’

Later, after making inroads on the peaches and chocolate for dessert, they sat in comfortable silence for a while, drowsy with good food and warmth. Eventually, when Joe began to doze, Fen pulled on her shirt and sneakers and went for a stroll. When she got back with two cartons of coffee Joe was sitting up, watching her pick her way over the cobbles.

‘You’re an angel! Just what I need. I woke up with a fur-lined mouth.’

‘Thought you might.’ Fen sat down. ‘First I’m going to drink this, then I’m going to treat my feet to a spot of thalassotherapy.’

‘What the devil’s that?’

‘Dunking them in seawater,’ she said, grinning. ‘Want to paddle?’

‘I fancy a swim. How about you?’

She shook her head. ‘Feet only. The rest of me stays dry.’

Joe took the empty cup from her and stuffed it into the empty sandwich bag with his. Then he took her hand and pulled her up. ‘Come on, then.’

As they crunched their way over the cobbles Fen tripped and almost overbalanced, but Joe fielded her neatly, held her close against his sun-warmed chest for an instant, then kept firm hold of her hand until they reached the water.

It was colder than expected, and Fen hopped up and down as the waves lapped over her feet. ‘Definitely no swim for me,’ she gasped. ‘Are you sure about this?’

Joe gave her a scornful look, waded out until it was deep enough, then dived into the water. He emerged yards away, raking wet hair back from his grinning face, and waved. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing!’

‘Oh, yes, I do,’ she shouted back, and, after a minute or two of watching him power his way through the water, picked her way back over the cobbles to the chairs. She waggled her toes to dry her feet, took off her shirt and applied another layer of sunscreen while Joe made for the beach.

When he stood up, water streaming down the body which had felt so good against hers, she had to admit that Joe Tregenna appealed to her strongly—in every way other than his tendency to take over at times. She watched as he made his way towards her over the cobbles, admiring his broad shoulders and long, muscular legs. These days her most constant problem was loneliness. Which was new in her life. What she needed was a new friend. The girls at the Mitre all had boyfriends or husbands, and in any case worked the same antisocial hours she did. And, if she were honest, Joe was exactly the kind of friend she needed: an attractive, intelligent man willing to accept her just as she was, no background details required.

‘That’s a very stern expression, Fen,’ said Joe, as he joined her. ‘Could you fish in my bag for a towel?’

‘I bet you’re freezing, only you won’t admit it,’ she teased, tossing it to him.

‘It did me the world of good,’ he insisted, rubbing himself down. He secured the towel round his hips and searched in his bag. ‘This is where you gaze discreetly out to sea!’

Fen chuckled, and pulled her hat over her eyes. ‘Use my towel for your hair.’

The rest of the day went quickly. At one point Joe went back to the café to fetch tea, and afterwards they just talked easily, or fell into companionable, comfortable silence. But eventually it grew too cool to sit, and they began to pack up.

‘It’s been a lovely day,’ said Fen, licking the ice-cream cone Joe had bought her on the way back from the beach.

‘Is there something pressing you need to get back for tonight?’ he asked when they reached his car. ‘No. Why?’

He opened the boot to stow the chairs away. ‘We could go back across country and find a pub somewhere for dinner.’

‘I’m a bit grubby,’ said Fen doubtfully, looking down at herself.

‘Does it matter?’

‘No. No, of course it doesn’t.’ She smiled at him. ‘Though this time I’ll be awake all the way, probably talk about myself non-stop, and you’ll be glad to get me back to Farthing Street instead of taking me out for a meal.’

Joe shook his head. ‘I doubt it. So far I know where you live, and that you work at the Mitre. But otherwise, Miss Dysart, you’re very sparing with personal details.’

‘Is that a problem for you?’

He gave her a straight look. ‘You obviously want it that way, so, no, it isn’t.’

‘Good.’ She took off her sunglasses and smiled at him as she slid into the passenger seat. ‘But don’t worry. I’m very law-abiding, Joe. No secret criminal dossier. My décor may not be up to yours, but I’m perfectly respectable. Honest!’

He laughed and went round the car to get in. ‘You won’t nick my silver, then.’

‘No. Though I’d like to steal your flat. You’ve got great taste.’

His lips twitched as he switched on the ignition. ‘Confession time. I bought the place from a couple who were moving to a place in the Mediterranean sun, and some of their furniture was included in the sale.’

‘You mean none of that is yours?’

‘I bought the teapot and mugs myself! But once the flat in London is sold I’ll transfer my own stuff up here. Though I’ll need a dining table and chairs for the other half of the main room, which looks a bit empty as it is.’

‘Not to me,’ Fen assured him. ‘Just wonderfully uncluttered after Farthing Street.’

‘If you dislike it why do you live there?’

Why, indeed? She shrugged. ‘I told you. It was very cheap.’

‘I should damn well hope so. The furniture in that sitting room is gross.’ He took a hand from the wheel and touched hers in apology. ‘Sorry. But surely other people agree with me?’

‘You’re the only visitor I’ve had.’

There was silence after this statement, while Joe concentrated on the Sunday evening traffic. ‘Why me, then?’ he said eventually.

‘Because you happened along on your rescue mission.’ Her chin lifted. ‘I only asked you in that night because I was a bit shaken after my encounter with Robbie.’

‘Thanks!’ He slanted a look at her. ‘But why no one else?’

‘I’m in my Garbo phase,’ she returned flippantly.

Joe decided to press on as far as he could before stopping for dinner, but when they found a place which appealed to them they were told lunch was the only meal served on Sundays.

‘That could be a problem in other places, especially at this time of night,’ said Fen. ‘How about we pick up a Chinese and eat it on my kitchen table?’

‘Done. We’ll postpone the haute cuisine until another night,’ he said promptly.

She shook her head at him, laughing.

‘What?’ he demanded, as they got back in the car.

‘It’s the way you just assume I’ll fall in with whatever you suggest.’

He shrugged. ‘Only dinner.’

‘True. Let’s go. I’m hungry! In fact,’ she added, searching in her bag, ‘I’ve got a flyer here from the Chinese restaurant nearest to my place, so I could order now.’

Joe eyed her in admiration. ‘Clever girl!’

‘Hunger fuels the thought processes—how long before we get there?’ Fen consulted him on his preferences, used his cellphone to place the order, then sat back, smiling at him. ‘All this is a big improvement on last Sunday, Joe Tregenna.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I worked all day. And the week before that it rained so I went to the cinema.’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes.’

Again he put out a hand to touch hers. ‘In future, any time you want company, just say the word.’

Which was why she’d brought the subject up.

Soon afterwards they were back in Farthing Street, digging into the containers spread out on Fen’s kitchen table.

‘I like to see a woman eat,’ approved Joe later, as they scraped the dishes clean.

‘It was all that sea air,’ said Fen, scrubbing at her mouth with a napkin. ‘But if I felt grubby before I feel mega-scruffy now.’

‘Whereas to me you look so good all flushed and shiny that I could eat you for dessert,’ said Joe conversationally.

She stared so blankly at him he threw back his head and laughed.

‘Could I scrub some of this grease off in your bathroom?’ he asked unsteadily.

Fen nodded. ‘Upstairs, first door you come to.’

When he’d gone off, whistling, she gathered the foil dishes into a bag and put it outside in the bin, feeling outrageously pleased by his remark, and washed her own hands and face under the tap in the sink before Joe came down again. In case he acted on his words.

‘The bathroom lives up to the rest of the décor—well, most of it.’ He smiled. ‘But your bedroom’s better.’

Fen’s eyes turned to green ice. ‘You actually looked in my bedroom?’

He nodded, unrepentant. ‘I was curious. And if my remark just now had you thinking I was going to jump on you as payment for taking you out for the day, you’re wrong. Though as a compliment I meant it,’ he added honestly. ‘I don’t know what’s going on in your life, and because you obviously don’t want me to know I won’t ask. But I can’t be the first man to find you attractive.’

‘No, you’re not,’ she agreed. ‘Men often say that kind of thing. It’s what blokes do, so I took no notice. The angry bit is because my bedroom is my own private space, and strictly off limits.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘To everyone.’

He returned the look, unmoved. ‘It just worried me to think of you sleeping in a room like the one downstairs.’

‘And now you’re reassured that I’ve imported a few girly touches to make a little nest you can go home a happy man—how sweet,’ she said with sarcasm. ‘Thank you for the trip, Joe. Goodnight.’

He stood staring down at her, no trace of humour in his eyes. ‘And goodbye? In that case—’ He seized her by the shoulders and planted a hot, hard kiss on her mouth, then before she’d gathered her wits pulled her into his arms to kiss her again, enfolding her in an aura of sun-warmed male mixed with her own soap, his lips and tongue seeking, and receiving, a response she couldn’t keep back.

Joe smiled as he released her, the laughter back in his eyes. ‘You kissed me back.’

‘You took me by surprise,’ said Fen, sounding so childish, even to her own ears, she gave a snort of laughter.

‘That’s better,’ he said in approval. ‘Look, Fen, I didn’t go in your bedroom. I just took a quick look through the door in the hope of finding one halfway comfortable room in this grim little house.’

‘OK. Sorry I ripped at you.’ She shrugged. ‘I couldn’t do much about the actual bedroom furniture, but the rest is my own. Though it beats me why it matters to you.’ But she was hopeful. ‘You needn’t lose sleep over me, Joe. I’m fine.’

He looked unconvinced. ‘Just the same, Fen, will you promise me something?’

‘It depends.’

‘If you need me any time, just ring. I can be here in minutes.’

She frowned. ‘Why do you think I should need you?’

‘I don’t know. I just have an uneasy feeling about this place. What are your neighbours like?’

‘No idea.’

‘You see what I mean?’

‘No, I don’t, so stop it, Joe,’ she said irritably, ‘you’re giving me the creeps.’

But he wasn’t listening. ‘Fen,’ he said after a moment. ‘How much do you earn at the Mitre?’

When she told him his eyebrows shot to his hair. ‘As little as that? In that case, if I knew of a job which would pay more—enough to let you rent something better than this—would you consider it?’

She shook her head. ‘That’s very nice of you, Joe, but I really like working at the Mitre.’

‘This job would be easier on your feet,’ he said, smiling.

Fen couldn’t help smiling back. ‘A tempting prospect, but no, thanks—’ She broke off, startled, as the doorbell rang.

‘A visitor at this hour?’ said Joe.

‘Never had one before. Certainly not at the front door. It opens into the sitting room, so I keep it locked—and bolted.’

‘Shall I get it?’

‘Of course not; it’s my door.’ Fen squared her shoulders. ‘Probably someone selling something.’ The bell rang again, and this time her caller kept a peremptory finger on it. She wrenched back the bolts and opened the door as far as the safety chain allowed. Then stiffened, her eyes hostile at the sight of her visitor.

‘Go away,’ she snapped, and tried to shut the door. But Adam Dysart stuck a long foot into the aperture and, angry though she was, Fen couldn’t bring herself to slam the door on it.

‘For God’s sake, Fenny,’ Adam said impatiently, eyeing what he could see of the room with incredulous distaste. ‘We need to talk. Will you stop behaving like a spoilt brat and listen to me?’

‘Problems, Fen?’ said Joe, coming up behind her. He slid a protective arm round her waist and held her close.

Adam’s jaw clenched, and suddenly Fen realised what kind of impression they were making. Joe was as dishevelled and untidy as she was from the day in the sun and wind, and due to the delay, she realised, exulting, Adam probably thought they’d had to get dressed to come to the door.

‘Nothing important, darling,’ she assured Joe, and felt his arm tighten. ‘Adam isn’t staying.’

A statement which took Adam Dysart so much by surprise she was able to slam the door in his face, then ram the bolts home to make sure he got the message.

When the doorbell remained silent afterwards Fen’s eyes filled, and Joe took her hand to lead her back to the kitchen, then held her close in his arms.

‘Don’t cry,’ he said into her hair. ‘And I won’t ask. Though I can’t help wondering why you hate this cousin of yours so much.’

‘You’ve got it wrong.’ Fen drew away, pushing a lock of hair back from her tear-stained face. ‘I don’t hate Adam. I love him very much.’

Joe stared at her narrowly for a moment, then shook his head. ‘Getting to know you, Fenella Dysart, is like trying to piece one of those huge jigsaw puzzles together.’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.