who the joker was – some middle-aged man – and caught sight of Mike standing high up on the meadow. He was with Phil and Kirstie and another man, tall and blonde. Before she could control it, her body reacted, as it always had, to Mike and she willed herself to turn back to Millie and Tessa. She could still feel Mike’s gaze burning into the back of her neck. ‘Insufferable man!’
‘Oh don’t worry your bones about him,’ Tessa said with a grin, misunderstanding her. ‘There’s always one and it’s usually him. I got him to buy thirty tickets, so he’s cracking out the jokes in revenge. Very witty, Dennis,’ she yelled to the man. ‘Now crawl off under your stone.’ She turned to Dora. ‘You ready?’
‘I’m not sure what to say.’
‘Just keep an eye on my boys and when they release the ducks, say the race has started. You’ll be fine, bab. No takers, then?’ Tessa yelled, once more to the crowd. ‘Right, I’ll hand over to our very own, home-grown Hollywood star, Theodora Bart!’
Dora glanced over to where Tessa’s three sons were standing knee deep in the middle of the river. As they held up sacks full of little plastic ducks, she took a deep breath, prepared to project and called out, ‘I declare this duck race well and truly started!’
She wasn’t sure what she expected. A casual stroll to the bridge, where the River Bere met the sea, maybe. She certainly hadn’t anticipated the mad dash of duck racers running along the riverbank, the squealing, the competitiveness.
As the ducks bobbed and meandered their way down the river, the crowd yelled with excitement and ran alongside. Dora let them go. The kitten heels she thought matched her floaty dress so perfectly proved themselves totally impractical. As she picked her way along the gravel beach, taking care to avoid the cowpats, she was left well behind by the crowd.
‘Ouch!’ Her heel caught on a piece of flint. She would have stumbled had it not been for a strong arm on her elbow.
‘Careful there, can’t have you going arse over tit in that rather lovely dress, can we?’
It would be him, wouldn’t it?
Mike picked up her sunglasses, which had flown off her face as she tripped. ‘Here you go. Undamaged.’ He peered at them and whistled. ‘Chanel. Nice. Just as well they’re in one piece, then.’
He was looking edible. Loose white shirt, scruffy faded denims and a red-and-white spotted scarf at his neck. It didn’t quite conceal the rugged chest exposed by the open buttons of his shirt. Dora’s mouth watered. He’d never been as well muscled at eighteen. His shoulders had been far narrower and he certainly hadn’t the thick covering of dark chest hair. She itched to trail her nails through it.
‘Dora? You’re staring.’
‘Am I?’ Snatching the glasses back, she put them on. There was a smear of dust on one lens but she didn’t bother cleaning them; she needed the protection – and not from the sunshine.
‘Can I walk with you to the finish line?’
She shrugged.
They followed the excited jumble of people, some of whom were paddling in the river, shrieking at the cold, in order to rescue their duck, lodged against a branch or rock.
They walked in silence, but eventually even Dora thought she was being ungracious. ‘Thank you,’ she said, at length.
‘You’re welcome.’
‘It’s been a while.’
‘Certainly has.’
Of course, he wouldn’t make this any less awkward, would he? She cast about for a subject matter with which to fill the silence. ‘Who was the blonde man with you? The one who was so impeccably dressed?’
Mike gave a knowing grin. ‘Thought you might notice him. Knows Phil slightly. Jed. Friend of Millie’s, apparently.’
‘That’s strange. She’s never mentioned him. Your friend Phil, he looks like a banker.’
‘Financier. He invests in pet projects I have going.’
‘So you have to keep him sweet, no matter how much a drunken boor he is.’
‘What a very Dora word.’ Mike laughed. ‘Boor! He’s actually a nice guy as long as he keeps off the scrumpy.’
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Dora said sourly, then added, ‘Where’s the finish line?’ as her ridiculous shoes were beginning to pinch her toes. She never had to walk anywhere in LA.
‘Ken Tizzard’s at Bere Bridge. He and his team are catching the ducks before any get lost at sea.’
‘It’s mad.’ She stumbled and winced as her ankle turned over. Mike took her elbow again and his hand was hot on her bare skin.
‘But a great way of raising money for a good cause, don’t you think?’
She’d forgotten his ability to make her feel small-minded. ‘Of course,’ she replied coolly. God he smelled good. Had he always smelled like that? She couldn’t remember.
‘I’ve enjoyed The English Woman.’
‘Thank you.’ She was surprised. ‘You’re obviously a busy man, I’m amazed you have time for television.’
‘I don’t normally.’
‘Of course, you’re two seasons behind over here.’
‘Of course.’ Mike echoed her lofty tone. ‘But a friend sends me the streaming links so I’m up to date.’
‘Oh.’ He’d always had friends who supplied him with anything he wanted. ‘What did you think of it?’ She hated herself for being desperate enough to ask.
‘Yeah. Good. Usual American shouting-and-waving-hands-around style of acting but it’s tightly written. You’re wasted in it, though.’
She stopped. They’d nearly reached the old mill beyond which there was a proper path. The once-abandoned building had been restored and its grounds tidied up. It looked as if someone lived there now. She banished the image that sprang up of her and Mike kissing passionately in the shelter of the long grass that long, scorching summer so long ago. Before it had all gone sour. She remembered the feel of his generous lips on hers, his eager hands inching under her t-shirt. Their hot panting breath. The fact that they were in the open, barely concealed by the meadow grass, had made it all the more illicit and exciting. Her throat closed with lust. When she and Mike were together nothing else had seemed to exist.
‘You’re staring again, Dora. And looking flushed.’ Mike was looking at her intently.
Fuck. He remembered too. How could he not?
Dora tugged her brain back into the conversation. Flustered by memories, she went on the defensive. ‘It’s the network’s biggest-grossing show. I hardly think my time is wasted.’
‘Oh Dora, Dora. You know that’s not what I meant.’ Mike chuckled, a throaty sound, which took her straight back to when they’d shared his post-coital cigarette. She’d had to eat
