Читать книгу A Seaside Affair: A heartwarming, gripping read from the Top Ten bestseller - Fern Britton, Fern Britton - Страница 7

‘You should’ve woken me, silly.’ Ryan Hearst ambled into the sunny kitchen, scratching himself somewhere inside his rumpled boxer shorts.

His girlfriend, Jess Tate, glanced up from reading the paper at the kitchen table and allowed her eyebrows to wrinkle briefly in distaste.

Ryan bent down and gave her a kiss on her freckled nose. A small gesture he was prone to, which always managed to irritate her.

‘What’s for breakfast?’ He stretched out his muscular arms, then straightened up and yawned. His armpits gave off an unpleasant odour.

Jess pushed up her reading specs, sweeping her loose brown curls off her face, and gave him what she hoped was a relaxed smile. ‘If your fans could see you now …’

‘Yeah, don’t tell them. Anyway, baby, I’m all yours.’ He placed his hands either side of her head and thrust his hips and crotch towards her, mimicking a male stripper. She pulled a face and turned away. ‘You pong. Go and have a shower and I’ll make something to eat.’

‘You love me, baby, you know you do.’ He scratched his chest and yawned again. ‘I’ve missed you, Jess. I really have.’

She looked into his dark, almond-shaped eyes, even more sexy with the tanned creases of crow’s feet at their edges.

‘Yes, and I’ve missed you,’ she murmured, closing her eyes and forming her full lips into a shape for kissing – but he was already on his way to the bathroom.

With a sigh she got up and made her way to the fridge. There were plenty of eggs, a slab of cheese and some mushrooms. Ryan hadn’t touched a carbohydrate since the third person in their relationship, Cosmo Venini, had entered their lives.

‘Will an omelette do you?’ she called. But he couldn’t hear her over the sound of the shower.

Two pairs of beady eyes popped up over the dog basket next to the dishwasher.

Jess bent down to tickle a brace of plump tummies. ‘Daddy’s home, girls.’

Elsie and Ethel were miniature dachshund sisters. Ryan had brought them home nine months ago, the day he had landed the title role in Venini, a TV series about the exploits of a globe-trotting classical conductor who moonlights as an MI5 agent. The show had been an overnight success and as a result the tabloids had given Ryan the dubious honour of dubbing him ‘the thinking woman’s brioche’.

Jess recalled that cold January afternoon when he’d poked his head round the living room door, the smell of frosty air clinging to him. She was huddled on the sofa in front of the TV, swaddled from head to toe in their duvet to combat the lack of heating, watching Deal or No Deal and wondering whether she should apply to be a contestant in the hope of bringing home some prize money. One look at Ryan’s face told her his audition had been successful.

‘Oh my God! You got the job?’ The icy temperature forgotten, she’d thrown off the duvet and leapt up from the sofa.

‘Yep. Call me Cosmo!’ He pushed the door wide open and stood in front of her, smiling self-deprecatingly, still wearing the huge misshapen tweed overcoat that he’d bought in the charity shop the previous winter.

For a moment Jess could only jump up and down on the spot, beside herself with happiness, then she ran across the room, hugged him tightly and kissed him. ‘I’m so happy for you! This is it, Ryan! This is your big break – oh my God, oh my God – we can pay the gas bill!’

‘I think perhaps we can!’ he laughed, pulling her closer to him. ‘Oh …’ He loosened his grip on her and created a little space between them, ‘Almost forgot – I’ve bought you a present to celebrate.’

She smiled, wide-eyed with excitement, thinking of the silver earrings she’d pointed out to him the previous weekend. ‘You mustn’t, Ryan. We don’t have any money yet.’

He opened his coat and rummaged in the deep poacher’s pockets within.

‘Ta-dah!’ His hands emerged clutching two long bodies with impossibly short legs.

‘What the hell …?’ These were not earrings. ‘Who are they for?’

‘You.’

‘Why?’

‘Present.’

‘I don’t need a present. My present is you getting this great job.’ In spite of herself she reached out and tickled a pair of silken ears. ‘When does shooting start?’

‘In a couple of days.’

‘Gosh, that’s quick. Where?’ Jess asked.

‘Northumberland.’

‘A bit of a schlep from Willesden.’

‘Yeah … Then Milan, New York and Hong Kong.’

She stopped the tickling and looked at Ryan.

‘For how long?’

‘Six months.’ His eyes dropped to the two warm, wriggling pups.

Jess pushed her hair behind her ears, suddenly feeling all of her pleasure at the news drain away. ‘Six months? But you will be coming home, won’t you? Backwards and forwards?’

Ryan shook his head, ‘Probably not.’

‘Oh,’ said Jess, suddenly deflated.

He held the puppies up and spoke to them: ‘So that’s where you two come in. You’re going to look after Mummy while Daddy’s gone.’

Now she got it. The dogs were her consolation prize. A way of keeping her occupied while Ryan was away having the time of his life.

‘So you get to swan off and I’m left holding the fort here, on my own? And it isn’t only that, Ryan – pets are such a tie.’ She was aware of the whining note that had crept into her voice. ‘Suppose I get a job that means I have to go away? Who’ll look after them then?’

He set the dogs down and she heard their little tappy claws on the tiles as he put his arms around her. She clung to him and inhaled the distinctive smell of his coat, burying herself in his neck.

‘Don’t be like that, Jess. I’m really trying here. Don’t spoil it for me.’

*

Ryan ran the soap over his body and revelled in his newly honed physique. His personal trainer, insisted upon by the production company, had worked him hard but it was definitely worth it. Biceps, triceps, abs, quads, arse. Not bad for a forty-two-year-old. There was no doubt about it: men were luckier than women. The older they got the better they looked. George Clooney, Richard Gere – even Sean Connery in his eighties. For women it was tougher, and everyone in the business knew it. Helen Mirren and Meryl Streep were the exceptions. Poor Jess; she would struggle to find work now, unless it was playing a worn-down mum, or a character role.

Ryan got out of the shower and wrapped a large bath sheet around his waist. He checked himself out in the mirror then pulled the towel a little lower to show off the muscled definition of his hips, stomach and groin. Donning his ‘Cosmo’ face he gave his reflection a seductive grin and growled, ‘Down, boy! It’s only me, silly.’

*

Ryan loved going out in public. He always wore his film-star-in-disguise sunglasses and a baseball cap. The thrill of being recognised hadn’t left him yet. Today, walking the dogs on a busy Hampstead Heath, he felt as if he owned the world. Venini was top of the ratings, his face was on the cover of Esquire magazine, he had just been voted the Sexiest Man in Britain and it looked as if the Best Actor BAFTA was sure to have his name on it. Beside him, Jess was recounting what he thought was a rather tedious and seemingly interminable story about her agent and a part in a commercial she’d been put up for the previous week.

‘… I wouldn’t have cared if she’d told me they were looking for actresses ten years older than me. I would have dressed the part. But then to go and be told that I looked too middle-aged, without even trying, it was just so humiliating … Ethel, come away from the ducks! I mean, do I really look middle-aged? My CV says thirty-eight! Where do these advertising execs, fresh out of junior school, think middle age begins? Twenty-five? … Elsie, come away from the Labrador, he’s too big for you! Honestly, Ryan, maybe I should start thinking about a bit of Botox or getting my hair cut or dyed. What do you think?’

But before Ryan had a chance to respond they were interrupted by something that was becoming an ever-more regular occurrence.

‘Cosmo! Cosmo Venini! It is you, isn’t it?’

An over-made-up woman in her fifties was power-walking towards Ryan, who had stopped and was taking off his sunglasses, wrinkling his beautiful eyes into a smile. He held his hands out in a gesture of surrender.

She arrived, puffing slightly, and all but elbowed Jess out of the way in her eagerness to accost Ryan.

‘I knew it was you! What’s your real name again, I’ve forgotten?’

Only Jess knew the slight tightness at the corner of Ryan’s lips signalled annoyance.

‘George Clooney,’ he replied, oozing charm. The woman laughed hysterically as if this was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. He held his hand out to her. ‘It’s Ryan, Ryan Hearst. And you are …?’

‘Gilly. Gilly Lomax. I live over there –’ She pointed to a pretty pink house just outside the railings of the park. ‘You’re always welcome to pop in.’

‘I’m afraid he’s very busy.’ Jess stepped in. ‘I’m his partner.’

‘The kettle’s always on …’ Gilly continued talking to Ryan. ‘I think you’re marvellous, and all those gorgeous locations you film in. Venice is my favourite. I’ve been to the Teatro La Fenice, it’s so romantic!’

‘Ryan, we must go, the dogs are getting tired.’ Jess tugged at his jacket sleeve. Not some old charity-shop jacket, but a Prada summer collection number that had cost thousands.

‘Sorry, darling.’ He smiled at Jess and draped his arm across her shoulders in a show of ownership.

‘Oh.’ The woman swept a look over Jess, from to top bottom, then returned to Ryan. ‘Perhaps your friend wouldn’t mind taking a photo of us both on my phone.’ She pulled it from her pocket and pushed it into Jess’s hand. ‘Take a few. Close up.’

‘Of course.’ Jess watched grimly as the woman cosied up to a willing Ryan, and then proceeded to take a series of photos where she knew the woman either had her eyes shut or her mouth at an unflattering angle. Just for good measure, she made sure the last couple of snaps were out of focus.

‘Oh, they’re perfect!’ she announced, quickly turning the phone off and handing it back before the ghastly Gilly could look at them. ‘Lovely to meet you. Come on, Ryan.’

*

They arrived at the park café during a lull between waves of pushchairs, toddlers and exhausted-looking parents. Having bought their coffees they steered their way through the plastic tables until they found a relatively unsticky one in the sunshine. Jess tied Elsie and Ethel’s leads to her chair and sat down gratefully.

Ryan took a sip of the scalding and bitter cappuccino then reached over and squeezed Jess’s hand. ‘That poor woman. I can’t believe you could be so mean. You’ll have ruined her day.’

‘Well, it made mine. Rude cow. I’m invisible to your fans. They push past me and tread on my toes to get to you. No wonder casting agents reject me – I’m invisible.’

Ryan had heard this lament often enough to know where it was going. He tried to head it off at the pass.

‘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?’