did.
No one could agree. Emma suggested one of the Poldark books, Patrick offered a travelogue about walking in the Hindu Kush and Biddy wanted A Tale of Two Cities. Tash kept out of it. After all, she’d only agreed to come with Em for this first meeting, she had no intention of coming again and certainly wouldn’t bother reading any of the books. The arguments even continued throughout Millie’s excellent sandwiches and coffee. They re-grouped back in the reading area, with topped up wine glasses.
‘What about Wuthering Heights?’ Kit put in. Everyone stopped bickering and looked at him. He had a way of commanding attention. Perhaps it was the deep, authoritative voice. The sun had lowered almost into the sea and, as it shone through the huge windows, imbued the reading area with a warm orange glow. It deepened his suntan and picked out the red highlights in his hair.
‘Oh, I loved that when we had to read it at school,’ Tash said, impulsively.
‘I so adore the classics,’ Marti gushed. ‘Oh, Charlotte Brontë. The Mahler of the literary world, as I always like to think of her.’
The women who had come with her looked on admiringly and nodded.
‘It’s Emily Brontë, actually,’ Tash said.
Marti blinked. ‘Did I say Charlotte? I meant Emily, of course.’ She flushed unbecomingly.
‘It’s easy to mix them up,’ Emma said, ever the diplomat. ‘I never have a clue who wrote what.’
‘Haven’t read any Brontë for years,’ Biddy said. ‘And I was born in that part of the world. Be good to reread it. Cruel book though,’ she added and shuddered.
Amy looked from one face to the other. ‘Wuthering Heights, then? I mean, we could discuss a few more?’
‘I think most of us are in agreement, Amy,’ Kit said, looking around. The others gave a collective sigh, obviously relieved something had been decided. He looked at his watch. ‘And it’s getting quite late. I have to get back to put the chickens away.’
That was the cue for people to begin gathering their coats and bags.
‘Millie,’ Biddy roared, getting up and going over to her. ‘Got a new recipe for chocolate brownies. Think they might go down a storm in the caff.’
‘Same time in three weeks,’ Amy spluttered, aware she was losing control of the group and trying to regain it desperately. ‘I’ve got all your email addresses so I’ll be in touch. Thank you all for coming,’ she called, as they tripped down the spiral staircase and drifted out into the night. ‘And don’t forget the bookshop’s grand opening in a couple of weeks!’
Taking pity on her and seeing Millie had been ambushed by Biddy, Tash volunteered Emma and herself to help tidy up. They pushed the chairs back into position to the soundtrack of Amy’s effusive thanks. Kit glanced at Marti, as she ushered her coterie out. She was talking loudly about the importance of Emmaline Brontë’s poetry. He blew out a frustrated breath and began to collect glasses.
‘Put them in the kitchen in the café please, Kit,’ Millie said, having escaped Biddy’s clutches. Kit nodded and hefted a tray downstairs. ‘Nice man,’ she said, as the women watched him disappear.
‘Strangely attractive too, in a weird way,’ Emma added. ‘Scything muscles to die for.’
Tash looked at them in disdain. ‘Close your mouth Em, you’re salivating. And get a grip, you’ve got Ollie. I can’t see the attraction, personally. Big nose. Felt a bit sorry for you, Amy. He practically took over.’
‘I didn’t mind, actually.’ Amy blushed. ‘It was getting a bit out of hand, wasn’t it? I never thought we’d agree on a book. I was so relieved when he suggested Wuthering Heights. Thanks again for helping to clear up,’ she added and looked around, checking one last time. ‘See you next time.’
Tash followed Emma downstairs, careful to hold up the legs of her trousers. As they got outside she stopped for a minute and lifted her head to the night. ‘It’s so clear tonight. Look at the stars.’ She took a deep, cleansing breath and realised she felt much better, far more relaxed. Perhaps coming out had helped after all?
A tall, bulky figure strode out of the newly-installed bi-fold doors at the front of Millie Vanilla’s. Kit. He put up a hand in farewell and disappeared onto the promenade. With his long, loping strides, he’d reached halfway in seconds.
Emma followed Tash’s gaze as she watched his progress. ‘You going to come back for the next meeting, then?’
‘Maybe. Maybe I just will.’
They began the walk home, following in Kit’s footsteps along the prom.
A familiar deep-throated growl of an engine sounded. It was Adrian in his Porsche, coming towards them. He drove along the road bordering the promenade, slowed when he passed Kit and then accelerated again, before skidding to a halt in front of Emma and Tash.
The window buzzed down. ‘Thought I’d save you the walk up the hill,’ he called out cheerfully. ‘Hop in. You too, Emma, room for a little one in the back.’
‘Thanks Adrian,’ Emma said, as she clambered onto the miniscule back seat. ‘Great timing.’
Tash got into the passenger seat and clipped on her seatbelt. She could feel him staring at her.
‘That’s what I thought,’ he said and gunned the engine down the side street to home.
The next evening, as Tash parked her car on the drive after a long day at work, she felt her shoulders drop. She’d been on the phone for most of the day trying to persuade some clients not to pull out at the last moment. There was nothing the matter with the property they were buying, they were just nervous first-time buyers. The problem being the buying chain depended on them and would collapse if they changed their mind. Having flitted between them and their solicitor and the vendor of the house they were buying, she’d eventually coaxed them into agreeing to exchange the next week. A disaster had been narrowly averted and she’d driven home feeling satisfied. The challenges of her job were the things she loved most. Especially if the end result was a happy one.
As she slid her key in the lock and opened the front door, the aroma of chicken casserole, rich with herbs and wine, hit her. Glancing into the dining room, she saw the table was set with lit candles and their best Jasper Conran. A bottle of prosecco sat in the cooler. The exhilaration of a difficult day doing what she loved best and doing it well, fled. The seduction scene unnerved her. It was only too familiar. Adrian wanted something and she wondered what.
From the sounds upstairs, he was in the shower. Half of her wanted to sneak back outside and grab a pizza and beer with Emma. But if she came in late and smelling of alcohol, it would only make matters worse.
Biting her lip, she hung up her suit jacket and slipped off her heels. She padded into the dining room and poured herself a glass of prosecco. How had it come to this? She was skulking around in her own home, trying to second-guess just what might provoke Adrian into a mood.
It had all been so
