rather think you’re just looking after it for me, old bean.’
It was a good job Barbara came in when she did, or Charlie would have floored him. ‘How many for supper?’ she asked.
‘We’re heading out this evening,’ mused Cato, pouting out a smoke ring, ‘it’s arranged. I suppose I ought to show Susanna what this backwater’s got to offer.’
‘Very well,’ said Charlie. ‘It’ll just be me, then, Mrs B-T.’
‘Oh, no, it won’t. You’re coming with us and you’re bringing that girl with you. I’d say an evening out was the very least you could do.’
‘Olivia?’
‘Of course Olivia—whom else would I be talking about?’
Beyond Susanna’s elegant pose Charlie spotted his new planter’s distant shape in the Sundial Garden, crouched over the foxglove bulbs. He had recognised Olivia the moment she’d shown up—the girl who used to hang around the Towerfield gates on her bike, bare legs smeared with mud from where she’d charged through a puddle or fallen out of a tree. It had been years, but he remembered. Charlie had observed her some days, sitting in the shade while she waited for the school bell, scribbling in a book or making a chain out of daisies. He’d wanted to go and talk to her but he hadn’t known what to say. She’d had a thing for the pretty boy—all the girls had, though he couldn’t see why. Adrian Gold didn’t play rugby in case it messed his hair up. He couldn’t put up a tent. He didn’t read books, or play music, or know how to tie a reef knot. He didn’t get jokes the first time and once during a test he couldn’t arrange the vowels in ‘beautiful’, which had struck Charlie as unfortunate because there was enough prettiness in the world but beauty was rarer to come by, and if Adrian was friends with Olivia Lark then he ought at least to know how to spell it.
‘Do you really want her running to the papers,’ Cato rampaged on, ‘saying Charles Lomax all but finished her off with whatever health and safety transgression the pedants’ contingent are creaming their frillies over these days? She might act like butter wouldn’t melt, but believe me: they’ve all got an eye for the main chance. If you don’t keep her happy it’ll be your name on the line.’
‘I would’ve thought that might have been yours.’
‘Don’t flaunt your ignorance, Charles.’
‘I hired her. That’s a line I don’t wish to cross.’
‘You might have hired her, but you very nearly did away with her.’
‘Wasn’t it you behind the wheel?’ His temper swelled, bright and lethal. ‘Forgive me if I’m sensing a pattern developing here—’
‘If I could interrupt.’ Barbara stepped between them, compelled to make the peace as she had done for the last twenty years. ‘I spoke with Olivia this morning and she’s adamant that no one’s to blame. She’d like us to forget the episode, if possible.’
‘Go away, Baps,’ said Cato.
The housekeeper dutifully retreated.
‘Do you get a kick out of being so vile all the damn time?’ demanded Charlie.
‘Ah, look at her.’ Cato came to stand next to him at the glass.
At first Charlie thought he was talking about Susanna. He wasn’t.
‘Such a pretty little thing,’ said Cato, ‘and so nice to have a bit of flesh to bite into. Susanna’s a minx but it’s all bone and sinew.’
‘Keep away from her, Cato. I mean it.’
Cato smirked. He puffed a bit more on the cigar.
‘Come on, Charles.’ He winked. ‘You know me better than that.’
SAFFRON ON THE SEA was the only restaurant in the British Isles to boast three coveted Gastronomy Stars. Despite this accolade it was entirely unpretentious, a simply festooned yacht moored in a quiet creek between two cliffs. In the summer it caught the moonlight perfectly as patrons feasted on its bulb-strewn deck, and in winter its cosy wooden interior was intimate and seductive.
Ex-model Serendipity Swain, a ravishing six-foot brunette, owned the restaurant with her husband Finn Avalon, a rock musician who had enjoyed modest fame in the nineties. The couple had started coming to Cornwall as a bolthole from their London lives, before the cove slipped under their skin and they decided to set up here permanently. A mixture of brilliantly selected chefs and star-sprinkled clientele ensured the business had grown from a pet project to a goliath in haute cuisine.
Serendipity greeted them at the bow, cinnamon hair teased by the breeze and her elegant trouser suit rippling against the ocean backdrop. The sea was as still as silk, bubbles of conversation streaming from the deck and the waves lapping gently.
‘Cato, this is an absolute pleasure.’
‘Serendipity, hi.’ He kissed her elaborately on both cheeks.
As Finn led the group to their table, a mercifully secluded spot roped off at the stern, heads turned to discreetly assess the newcomers, by nature of the restaurant too moneyed or too proud to surrender themselves fully to a blatant examination.
Susanna was beside herself, settling at the table and fingering the arrangement of wild flowers at its centre. In a moment, she would describe it as charming.
‘Isn’t this charming?’ she enthused. Charlie was learning she would happily apply the adjective to anything so long as she was surrounded by English accents.
‘Indeed it is, Mole.’
‘Cato, please—’ she objected, before he pulled her close and planted a very public kiss on her cheek, which made her start simpering all over again.
Charlie flipped open the menu. Saffron on the Sea was strictly fruits de mer. When Serendipity returned he ordered local Lustell oysters, enough for everyone, followed by hot shellfish with chilli and lemon, and a great deal of wine.
Next to him, Olivia looked as if she was moments away from tossing herself into the water and swimming for the shore. Cato had invited her, and despite her objections she’d been all but manhandled into the car. Saying no to Cato was like trying to reason with a shark.
‘It must be extra special for you, Olivia,’ commented Susanna, as she twirled the stem of a glass between two fingers. When their waiter arrived with a bottle she covered the flute with a dainty palm. ‘I can’t imagine you get out to places like this very much. You must be quite overwhelmed!’
Olivia spread her napkin on her lap, seemed to change her mind about it, and replaced it in a bundle on the table. ‘Yes,’ she replied, taking a swig of Chablis before Charlie had a chance to taste it. ‘It’s a far cry from KFC.’
Susanna frowned.
‘How are you finding work on the estate?’ she asked.
‘Oh, I love it.’ Olivia’s voice warmed to the
