Fern Britton - A Seaside Affair

‘Not to me you’re not.’

‘Really?’

‘You’re my girl.’

‘Am I?’

‘You sure are.’ He took her other hand and gazed soulfully into her eyes, hoping it would have the desired effect.

‘Even when you’re away with all those gorgeous actresses?’ Jess peered at him intently. ‘You can tell me the truth, you know. Are you sure you’re not tempted?’

‘No,’ he lied. ‘You know me better than that,’ he protested, as if wounded by the accusation.

‘I thought I knew you,’ she said, her voice wavering, ‘but that was before …’

Oh, not this again , thought Ryan. He pulled one hand away from hers and swept it through the floppy long hair he’d been cultivating for Cosmo.

‘Darling, that was five years ago. We are over that, aren’t we? I can’t believe I was such a fool and nearly lost you. Besides, can you imagine the bad press if I did that now and someone found out?’

This time it was Jess who pulled her hand away.

‘That’s nice. You’re more concerned about the damage to your image than the hurt it would cause me.’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ Ryan sighed, tired of Jess’s insecurities. ‘What you need is a job. A good job. One that will give you back your confidence. You’re a great actress – the best. You’re beautiful and clever and—’

‘Unemployable.’

Knowing he would have to choose his words carefully or else this would escalate into a full-blown row, Ryan tried to buy himself some thinking time by picking up his cup and taking two large mouthfuls of coffee. Clearly in no mood to let him off the hook, Jess fixed him with a flinty glare and allowed the uncomfortable silence to drag on, broken only by the tap-tap-tap of her foot against the chair leg.

A sudden inspiration came to Ryan’s rescue: ‘Look, I’ve got two weeks off before we start filming the second series of Venini . Suppose you and I take a break …?’

‘Where?’

‘How about Thailand? Stay in one of those wonderful spas. Beauty treatments, exercise classes, sunshine … We could rent a little hut perched on stilts over the sea, just the two of us, no distractions.’

‘I can’t afford it.’

‘My treat.’

‘But I hate living off you.’

Ryan sighed in exasperation, ‘Can’t I treat you?’

‘We’ll have to put the girls in kennels, and that’s expensive.’

‘Oh for God’s sake, Jess! The two of us are going on a bloody holiday and you’ll bloody well like it – OK?’

A balmy breeze was drifting in off the sea, ruffling the hair of the two friends perched on Trevay’s old harbour wall. Helen Merrifield and Penny Leighton sat in companionable silence for a moment, luxuriating in the late afternoon sunshine. Cornwall had endured a rotten summer, endless days of cold and wet. Holidaymakers had remained admirably stoic, but the sun waited until late September when the last people-carrier crammed with pale-skinned tourists in soggy anoraks had left the county before putting in an appearance.

Penny stretched her long, tanned legs out in front of her.

‘I’d forgotten how good a real tan looks,’ she said.

‘You look marvellous, Mrs Canter, as always,’ Helen replied admiringly.

‘I keep telling you: less of the Canter, if you don’t mind. No matter what the fuddy-duddies in the parish might think, I’m determined to stick with Miz Penny Leighton – running a successful production company in my own name is my one excuse for not getting sucked into the duties of a vicar’s wife!’

Helen found it hard to imagine anyone brave enough to shoehorn Penny into the stereotypical vicar’s wife mould. The two of them had met when they were in their early twenties, both working for the BBC; Helen had never progressed beyond secretarial level, having fallen in love and fallen pregnant in short order, but Penny had worked her way up the ladder to director, making her name with a historical drama that became a hit both in the UK and America. Capitalising on her success, she’d set up Penny Leighton Productions and her drive and energy had ensured that even the recession could not prevent the company going from strength to strength. On the romantic front, however, she’d been a disaster, lurching from one unsuitable man to the next. Until she met Simon. The shy, gentle, decent vicar had seemed an unlikely soul mate for Penny, and initially Helen had harboured misgivings about the relationship, but she was delighted to have been proved wrong. The couple had just returned from a holiday to celebrate their first anniversary, both of them positively glowing with happiness.

‘Simon was so sweet on the cruise – so romantic. This time yesterday we were just flying out of Venice,’ sighed Penny.

‘Lucky you. Piran and I could do with a holiday, but he’s so busy. All the holidays with Gray seem to have blended into one. I remember usually being the one managing the children while he was off ogling all of the young bathing beauties!’

‘Ah, Gray – how is that ex-husband of yours? Any news?’

‘According to the kids, Dahlia Dahling is still giving him the runaround. A glamorous grand dame of stage and screen is an entirely different proposition to good old reliable me. I gather it’s come as quite a shock to him, being in a relationship with a woman who’s accustomed to having her own way.’

‘Quite!’ Penny smiled at the thought. ‘And what have you been up to while I’ve been gone?’

‘You’re going to be very impressed with me. Remember what I said about trying my hand at a few articles for the local press? Well, after I’d submitted a bunch of homes and gardens pieces, the Cornish Guardian turned round and offered me a weekly column! They want me to write about what’s on locally: arts and crafts, shopping, eating out … The pay’s not great, but it’s a start.’

‘Oh, bravo you! That’ll suit you down to the ground – you’ve always had a genius for finding the best little cafés and galleries and boutiques, and spotting what’s going to be the next big thing.’

‘Well, I’d like to think I haven’t completely lost my London cool,’ Helen returned with mock modesty.

‘Better not let the locals hear you say that – they’ll hang you out to dry!’ They both laughed, but then Penny asked, ‘Speaking of locals, how are things with Piran? Still the embodiment of brooding male?’

‘Yep.’

‘Things are OK, though?’

‘Yeah. I know he loves me and I know that if we lived in each other’s pockets, or under the same roof, we’d drive each other mad …’ It struck Helen that she was trying to convince herself as much as her friend. She let out a small sigh and admitted, ‘All the same, I wouldn’t mind a bit of romance every now and again.’

‘I thought he was your dream man – Marco Pierre White and Heathcliffe rolled into one. All broody moody and drop-dead gorgeous with it?’

‘He is gorgeous, and my heart still flutters and all those things, but he’s just so …’

Penny chimed in on the final word: ‘… Piran.’ They both grinned.

‘He wouldn’t be seen dead on a Mediterranean cruise,’ said Helen.

‘Hardly surprising. One look at Piran and the crew would have him swinging from the yardarm!’

‘True, true,’ Helen laughed. ‘He hasn’t had a haircut all summer and he’s starting to look even more like Bluebeard than Bluebeard himself!’

‘I’ve got you a present, by the way.’ Penny rummaged in her voluminous handbag. ‘Here –’ She passed over a duty-free carrier bag.

‘Ooh, a treat!’ Helen pulled out a bottle of her favourite perfume: Cristalle by Chanel. ‘Oh, Pen, thank you.’ She threw her arm round her friend’s tanned shoulders and hugged her. ‘I’m going over to Piran’s tonight. I’ll splash plenty of this on.’