Читать книгу A Good Catch: The perfect Cornish escape full of secrets - Fern Britton, Fern Britton - Страница 10

‘How do I look in these?’ Loveday had struggled into a pair of lime-green leggings, her face flushed and perspiring.

Greer, sitting neatly on the edge of Loveday’s unmade bed, wondered what to say. Should she tell her friend that she looked embarrassing? That the hideous leggings were pulling at the seams and clearly revealing the revolting cellulite clinging to her thighs. Could she tell her that she needed to lose a lot of weight and learn how to dress properly? Though on the plus side – and Greer did feel slightly guilty about this – Loveday did make Greer look great by comparison.

‘You look like Loveday Carter,’ she managed.

Loveday turned back to her reflection in the mirror that hung off the back of her bedroom door. ‘I like the colour. They didn’t ’ave ’em in the next size, but I’m gonna lose a bit of weight before the summer comes.’ She turned sideways and looked at herself from right and left. ‘If I put on my orange T-shirt, that’ll cover me bum.’

Greer looked down at her own slim legs in their perfectly fitting Pepe jeans. The orange T-shirt might cover Loveday’s bottom, but it wasn’t going to disguise the two rolls of fat wobbling between the bottom edge of her bra and the elastic waist of the leggings.

‘There. What d’ya think?’ Loveday asked a few moments later. Greer looked up.

She wanted to say, ‘Loveday. You look ghastly. You couldn’t be wearing a less flattering outfit. Your breasts are too big, your stomach is enormous and your derrière huge.’

Instead, she said, ‘It’s very you.’ She stood up and smoothed her hands over her own trim derrière, brushing off imaginary flecks. Loveday was now at her dressing-table mirror. The dressing table itself was strewn with several used cotton wool balls and a large amount of ancient make-up; a cold, half-drunk cup of tea and an empty Diet Coke tin. Hanging from a glass hand with curved upright fingers were strings of gaudy beads and a worn pair of knickers.

Greer pulled the collar of her crisp white shirt up at the nape of her neck and checked that the cuffs of her sleeves were turned back as the models in her mother’s monthly Vogue magazine did. She wanted to get out and see Jesse. ‘Come on. The boys will be waiting for us.’

Loveday took one last look in the mirror and smacked her matte red lips together. Recently she’d been copying Madonna’s make-up, even adding the beauty spot above her lip with an eye pencil. ‘I can’t find my black pencil so I’ve used the green one. I rather like it. What do you think?’ she said, turning to Greer. ‘It shows off me green eyes, don’t it?’

Greer blew her cheeks out and thought for a moment. ‘I think you look … unique.’

Loveday hugged her uptight friend. ‘You are so sweet. Unique? Really?’

‘Really.’ Greer extricated herself from the miasma of Giorgio Armani’s Beverly Hills rip-off scent, bought in Truro’s pannier market.

‘And what does that mean? Sounds posh,’ bounced back Loveday, reaching for her heavily fringed and studded, stone-washed denim jacket.

‘It means you are a one-off.’

*

Jesse was first to spot the girls walking up towards the sheds. Loveday’s marmalade hair with its wash-and-wear perm gleamed in the sunshine; her beautiful body was gently undulating towards him in skin-tight green leggings, her large breasts swinging to the rhythm of the fringes on her jacket. He thought often about those breasts. Sometimes, when she wore her white T-shirt, he could see the outline of her nipples. He turned his back on the girls, feigning disinterest, and called over to Mickey, who was checking his quiff in the wing mirror of the Honda moped. ‘The girls are coming.’

Mickey smiled in the mirror at his own cheeky face. ‘I’m going to give Loveday a night to remember.’

‘Oh, yeah? When’s that then?’

‘Tonight.’

‘Never. She won’t touch you with a barge pole.’

‘She won’t need to. I’ve got me own barge pole to touch her with.’ Mickey ducked swiftly out of reach of Jesse’s punch and together they locked the precious motorbike in its shed.

‘All right?’ Mickey raced to get ahead of Jesse and be first to walk by Loveday’s side.

‘Yeah.’ She smiled at him and, for him, the sun seemed suddenly to be shining extra bright. Then he frowned.

‘You’ve got something on your lip.’ He lifted a finger to wipe at the mark on her face. She grabbed his wrist before it got to her.

‘It’s me beauty spot. Like Madonna’s. It’s unique.’

‘Oh. Looks like you’ve drawn on yourself.’

Loveday stopped and waited for Greer, who was a couple of steps behind with Jesse.

‘How does my beauty spot look?’

Greer and Jesse both looked at the green blob on Loveday’s sweating lip.

‘Well, it’s smeared a bit,’ said Greer.

‘Oh shit. Badly?’

‘A bit.’

Jesse looked through his pockets and found an old, dried-up tissue. ‘Shall I wipe it off for you?’ he offered.

‘Yes, please. Get it all off.’

He lifted the tissue to Loveday’s mouth. ‘Spit.’

She did so and, tenderly, he wiped all trace of the green pencil away. Standing so close to her, Jesse could sense the rise and fall of her chest, and smell the heady scent that emanated from her. Her dewy golden skin glistened in the sunlight and her emerald eyes were like those of an exotic cat. The combination was suddenly overwhelming.

‘There. All done.’

‘Thanks.’ Loveday gave her rescuer a hug, leaving him breathless on many counts.

She turned to Greer. ‘Has it all gone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Maybe I’ll try an indelible ink next time.’

‘Best not,’ murmured Greer.

Mickey muscled in and grabbed Loveday’s arm. ‘Have you eaten your tea?’

‘Only a bit. Mum did shepherd’s pie earlier. But I could do with some chips.’

‘Come on then.’ And, taking her hand he ran down the hill, forcing Jesse and then Greer to run after them.

*

Edward Behenna had been in the Golden Hind since he and Spencer had finished on the boat. Edward was full of beer and the memory of the row with Jan was disappearing as fast as a sea mist on a warm morning. The beer had warmed his heart and his humour. ‘Spence, you’ll ’ave another before ’e go.’

Spencer removed a battered tin of tobacco from the front of his canvas smock and nodded. ‘Aye.’

‘Good man, Spence. Good man.’ Edward lumbered heavily to his feet and clapped his friend on the back, dislodging the scanty twigs of tobacco from the near transparent cigarette paper that Spencer was balancing between thumb and grimy index finger. He hailed the landlord. ‘Same again, Pete.’

Pete, a very tall man with a stomach straining against the buttons and belt of his shirt and trousers, bent down so that he could see through the forest of pint tankards hanging from hooks on a shelf above the bar. ‘Skinner’s?’ he asked, reaching for the empties Edward had placed on the damp counter.

‘Aye.’

Without anyone taking much notice, the door of the pub opened and a slim man in his early forties entered. His quick, bright blue eyes skimmed the familiar faces and he nodded at those who acknowledged his arrival. His prey was at the bar, delving into a handful of change to pay for the two waiting pints. He walked lightly and quickly towards him. ‘I’ll get those, Pete, and a Scotch for me, please.’

Edward turned to see who was buying his pint. ‘Bryn Clovelly, you’re a gentleman.’ He turned his eyes to where Spencer was sitting. ‘Spence, Mr Clovelly bought you a pint.’

Spencer had rolled his cigarette; its smoking fragrance drifted towards the bar. ‘Thank ’ee, Mr Clovelly.’

Bryn ignored him and spoke to Edward. ‘So, Edward, when are we going to do business?’

Edward looked down at his feet, uncomfortably aware that Clovelly was completely sober.

‘Bryn, I’ve ’ad a drink. Me ’ead’s not straight for talking business.’

Bryn pulled up an empty bar stool and indicated for Edward to do the same. ‘It’s not business as such, is it?’ He unhooked the casual blue jumper he had knotted round his shoulders and draped it on the back of the stool. ‘We’ve known each other a long time, haven’t we, Edward?’

Edward rubbed a hand over his mouth and chin. ‘You’ve gone up in the world since we were nippers though, ain’t you, Bryn?’ Edward looked at Bryn’s clean hands. ‘Look at you. Smart clothes, smart way of talkin’, smart car outside. You’re different now, Bryn.’

Bryn placed his right hand on his chest. ‘Not ’ere. Not in my ’eart. I can still talk as Cornish as you, boy, and don’t ’e forget it. There’s nothin’ wrong in doing well and earning a little cash, is there?’

‘No,’ Edward agreed reluctantly. He had given more thought to Bryn’s continued insistence that their businesses were stronger together than he wanted to let on, but it didn’t do to show your hand too early where Bryn was concerned. Besides, what Jan and Jesse had said also nagged at his thoughts. Now that Bryn was sitting here in front of him, in his flash clothes and with a conceited look on his face, Edward’s doubts had once more risen to the surface.

‘I don’t know whether I want more. I’m happy with the boats and passing them on to Jesse.’

‘Not Grant then?’

‘No. ’E’s happy in the Marines. Best place for him.’

‘Is he settling well?’

‘Think so. Better to get all that anger out of ’im in hard training than ’ere in Trevay.’

Bryn placed his hand on Edward’s shoulder. He knew that Grant was a worry. A drinker with a short fuse and handy fists. ‘Maybe the discipline is just what he needs,’ he said.

‘Aye.’

Bryn remained silent, watching as Edward took a long mouthful of beer. Then he asked, ‘What does Jan think?’

‘With women you’ve got to pick your moment.’

‘So you haven’t told her about the offer that I’ve put on the table?’ Bryn leant closer to Edward. ‘’Tis a good offer, Edward. You know that these EU quotas could be the death of the Cornish fishing industry. We need to diversify and open up our markets if we’re to survive. We’re better together – you’ll never get an offer like this one again. The future of Behenna and Clovelly will be settled.’

‘But you getting fifty-one per cent: you’d have the controlling interest then. You might leave me high and dry.’

‘Look, Edward,’ Bryn leant in closer. Edward could smell the scent of cigars on his beautifully laundered Pierre Cardin shirt. ‘I’m prepared to sell you a share in the fish market, if that would sweeten the deal. We’d both sit on the board of Behenna and Clovelly and each have a fair shout on how the business is managed.’

Edward frowned and rubbed his chin. Bryn looked appraisingly at him.

‘When did you and Jan last have a holiday?’

‘What do we need an ’oliday for?’

‘You’ll need a holiday from all the hard work we’ll be putting in running the new business together. Imagine. You could go up country and see the sights of London. Catch a plane to Italy or Greece. Or maybe have a week in New York.’

‘Who’ll look after the boats while I’m away?’

‘Me. And you’ll look after the fish market and the refrigeration factory for me when I’m away with my missus.’

Edward shook his head. He’d been thinking about Bryn’s ‘business’ plan since the idea had first been floated. It was all very well for Bryn to talk about them joining forces but, as the months had gone by and Bryn had kept on about Jesse and Greer getting married, it felt more and more like Bryn was leading them all down a road that led in one direction, where there was no turning back. As a reality, he knew where his moral compass was pointing.

‘No, no. The boy has his own life to lead, and that’s with me at Behenna’s Boats. The fishing fleet was built up by my dad and I’m building it now for Jesse. ’Tis enough.’

‘And I’m building the fish market business for Greer. But when she’s married she won’t want to work. She needs a man to run it all …’

Edward looked at Bryn sharply. ‘I’ve told you before. Jesse has to make his own decisions. I could no more make Jesse marry Greer than I could get Spencer over there to stick on a tutu and pirouette off Trevay harbour wall.’

Bryn laughed and picked up his Scotch to take a sip. ‘I was going to say partner, not husband. Someone bright. Someone we can trust and – yes – Jesse would be ideal.’ He took another deeper draught of his whisky. ‘It ain’t a case of forcing anyone. My Greer’s going to grow up to be a fine wife and mother. She’s refined; a good catch. Anyone can see that – your Jesse just needs a bit of encouragement.’

Bryn Clovelly reached into his pocket and took out a brown envelope and placed it on the table between them.

‘You’ve been blessed with two strapping boys, Edward. Greer is a daughter to make any man proud but … she’s not a man, with a man’s head for business. Imagine, Clovelly Fisheries and Behenna’s Boats becoming one big company. Your boats supply my market. We squeeze the opposition and supply the hotels and London restaurants at the best possible prices. Finally, when our rivals are no more, we call the shots and demand the best prices we can get whilst giving the best-quality fish and customer service. When you and I are retired, my Greer and your Jesse could run the business themselves. We will have created a really lasting legacy. The icing on the cake would be for them to marry and merge two great family businesses into one. A fairy-tale ending.’ Bryn swallowed the final mouthful of Scotch, pushed the envelope towards Edward and stood up, retrieving his jumper from the back of the stool. ‘Just think about it, Edward. A fairy tale. That’s all.’

Edward eyed the brown envelope warily.

‘Saw your Jan yesterday about Trevay. Looks like she needs that break, Edward.’ With this parting shot, Bryn slung his jumper over his shoulders and headed towards the exit. For a moment, Edward was filled with the urge to run after him and stuff the envelope into Bryn’s self-satisfied, smug face.

But he didn’t. Instead, he picked up the envelope and looked inside. A careful observer would have seen his eyes widen momentarily, then he opened his jacket and put it quickly in the inside pocket.

He nodded to the barman. ‘Another pint for me and Spence, Pete.’

*

The pain in Greer’s heart was real and tangible. She didn’t know how to make Jesse see her. Want her. She was slim, spoke nicely, dressed with style and had impeccable manners. A miniature of her mother who lived in the fantasy film-star world of the 1950s and 1960s. ‘Greer Garson was the most beautiful and gracious actress of her day. That’s why you have her name. If you’d had a sister, I should have called her Audrey after Audrey Hepburn. But your father and I were not to be blessed.’ Greer was happy to be an only child. Spoilt and petted and treated to anything she wanted. The one thing she wanted now, though, was Jesse, and not even her parents could fix that.

Jesse and Mickey were sitting either side of Loveday on the harbour wall. Greer glanced across at Loveday. They were best friends, of course, but Greer felt sorry for her, really. Loveday, with her ample frame, a face full of freckles and her yokelish ways. She was pretending to read Mickey’s palm. ‘Ooh, now, Mickey. You’re going to ’ave three children and a long life.’ With his hand in hers she traced a line across his palm. ‘There may be some unhappiness in your thirties, but you’ll travel to faraway places and live to be an old man.’

‘’Ow old will I be when I die?’

She held his hand up to her face and squinted. ‘At least sixty-five.’

Jesse was getting impatient. ‘Do me now, Loveday. What do you see?’

‘Well now, let’s ’ave a look.’ She held his hand softly in hers and looked into his sea-green eyes. Without looking at his palm she said, ‘I feel you ’ave met the woman you will marry. There’ll be two beautiful boys and you’ll have lots of money.’

Jesse looked down into Loveday’s mischievous green eyes; it took all of his restraint not to reach out to her and kiss her like he longed to.

‘Is that right?’ They held each other’s gaze steadily and, for a moment, Mickey and Greer faded out and it was as if they were alone on the quay.

‘Aye.’ Loveday wanted more than anything for Jesse to kiss her, but not here in front of Mickey. She adored Mickey and he made no bones about his feelings for her. She’d do anything not to break his heart, but Jesse was the boy she loved and he was looking at her now with such a look …

Greer stepped forward from the cold metal railing she’d been leaning against. ‘Let me read yours, Loveday.’

The spell was broken and Jesse pulled away.

Loveday laughed good-naturedly, ‘OK, Greer. What do you see?’ and stretched her hand towards her friend.

Greer had no idea what she ‘saw’ but she said, ‘Hmm. I see you married to a really nice man. I see the initials C and M and …’ She folded Loveday’s hand into a fist and examined the creases that her palm made by her little finger. ‘I see three children.’

Loveday was impressed. ‘Really? I’d love three children. I wish I had brothers and sisters, but when Dad died … Mum would love to have lots of grandchildren.’

Mickey was thinking who they knew whose initials were CM. ‘Who’s this CM bloke?’

‘Dunno,’ said Loveday, thinking that Jesse’s initials were JB.

Greer helped them to figure it out. ‘Well, it might be MC, I suppose.’

Mickey’s face lit up. ‘Those are my initials!’ He looked as pleased as punch and Greer felt, for the second time that evening, a pang of guilt.

‘Read my palm, Greer.’ Jesse opened his hand to her.

She took it happily, touching his warm, dry skin and smoothing her fingertips over the calluses caused from helping his father on the boats.

‘Well, I see a very happy marriage for you and lots of children. Your wife will love you with all her heart.’

‘Can you see any initials?’ Jesse asked. Greer thought for a moment; she knew she couldn’t say her own so she truthfully said, ‘No. I can’t see any letters this time.’

Mickey let out a big laugh and started to play-fight with Jesse. ‘No letters for you! And French letters don’t count.’

Across the harbour car park, the door of the Golden Hind opened and Bryn Clovelly stepped out. He looked across to see where the laughter was coming from.

‘Greer? Is that you?’

‘Yes, Dad.’

‘Come on then. Time you were home. Your mother’ll be mithering me else.’

The pain in Greer’s heart seared again. The last thing she wanted to do was go home now. Why wasn’t she allowed to stay out, like her friends were?

‘I can walk up later.’

‘Get in the car now.’

Greer was far too well behaved to either make a scene or to defy her father, no matter how crestfallen she felt at having to leave. ‘OK, Dad,’ she acquiesced.

She hugged Loveday, who clung onto her dramatically. ‘Bye, Greer, and thanks for helping me get ready tonight.’

‘Night, G,’ said the boys.

‘Night, Mickey, goodnight, Jesse.’

Greer lingered momentarily and cast a meaningful glance at Jesse, but he was looking beyond her and watching her father as he walked towards his new BMW, casually pointing the automatic key fob at it. Four orange lights flickered twice as the car made a beeping sound and the locks clunked open.

‘That’s frickin’ awesome,’ declared Mickey.

‘Gonna get some on the Honda, are you, Mick?’ laughed Jesse.

Greer walked towards the car and heard more laughter from her friends, knowing that they had already closed the gap that she had occupied. She climbed into the car.

Her father started the engine, steering the car away from the harbour towards home. From the depths of the leather front seat, Greer craned her neck to wave at her friends, but they weren’t looking at her now. Loveday was walking on the sharp upturned stones of a low wall and flapping her arms to keep her balance. Jesse went to help her but, to Greer’s satisfaction, Mickey beat him to it.

As both Mickey and Loveday lost their balance and slipped off the wall, Greer couldn’t help but notice Loveday’s ample bum and bosom wobble as she clumsily tried to regain her balance. Greer looked down at her own slim thighs and taut stomach, feeling pleased with what she saw and vowing that she was never, ever going to let herself end up like poor Loveday. But as the threesome slipped out of view, Greer wondered again what it would take to capture Jesse’s undivided attention once and for all.