was a beautifully clear night and she stopped briefly to breathe in the salt-laden air.
Even from where she stood she could see the ocean—see and hear it, the soft, lulling sound of the outgoing tide distinctly soothing to the ear.
She moved, her bare arms caught by the sudden breeze that sprang up and she shivered slightly as she hurried down the flagged path to the cottage door.
She had changed into a comfortable cotton jumpsuit for the drive, and the sea wind flattened the fabric across the fullness of her breasts.
The cottage had no bell, just an old-fashioned lion-headed knocker. However, just as she lifted her hand to touch it, the cottage door opened.
It was a rather odd sensation, staring into complete blackness, and Jenna hesitated uncertainly on the threshold until common sense came to her rescue and she realised that Susie must have heard her drive up.
Stepping inside she said quickly, ‘Susie, I’m afraid I’ve let you down and you’re in for a shock …’
‘Unfortunately, Jenna, I suspect the shock is going to be yours.’ She gasped as Simon stepped out from the shadows. ‘Please excuse the rather theatrical darkness, but I can’t find the blasted paraffin lights, and the generator is on the blink.’
Electricity had never reached the remoteness of the clifftop, and for years the Townsends had kept on hand some old-fashioned storm lanterns for those occasions when the temperamental generator refused to work.
‘I think your mother keeps them on the cold slab in the small cellar,’ Jenna responded automatically, shock giving way to ire, as she demanded, ‘What are you doing here, Simon? You told me you weren’t going to come down until tomorrow.’
‘So I did, but I changed my mind … I must admit it never struck me that you would be so quixotically loyal to my idiotic sister as to drive down here yourself! It can’t have been a comfortable journey in that tin can of yours.’
‘I’m not driving the Mini,’ Jenna snapped. ‘Craig lent me his Porsche.’
Now that her eyes were accustomed to the gloom, she could see the derisive lift of Simon’s eyebrows quite clearly.
‘Really? He must be more besotted than I’d imagined, or you, my lovely Jenna, must be far more … talented.’
She flushed beneath the barb of the deliberate sexual innuendo, hating him for the mockery it held.
‘Unfortunately, both of us appear to have made a wasted journey, because Susie isn’t here.’
‘Not here! But she told me …’
‘She lied to you, I’m afraid,’ Simon interrupted her coolly. ‘She isn’t here, nor has she been here … I must admit I was a little surprised to learn that her luxury-loving friend was prepared to spend close on two weeks down here. The Côte d’Azur is more in his line.’
He said it with a hard disdain that made Jenna wince.
The burst of adrenalin which had fuelled her determined drive to Cornwall had gone. In its place was a weary exhaustion that locked her muscles and made her ache for sleep.
There was only one thing left for her to do now and that was to return to her flat. The thought of the long, tiring drive was not a tempting one.
As she turned round and started to walk away, Simon caught hold of her arm.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Back to London.’
She saw him grimace, a weary, almost self-mocking tightening of his facial features, which surely must only have been the trick of the light, because Simon had never viewed himself with self-mockery in all his life—of that she was quite sure.
‘Rather dramatic, don’t you think? I know you loathe the very sight of me, Jenna, but you’re hardly going to be contaminated by spending half a dozen hours under the same roof. I shouldn’t think your boyfriend would be too pleased if you wrote off that expensive piece of equipment he’s loaned you. You’re in no fit state to drive back to London now,’ he added firmly. ‘I suspect we’ll find that half the bedding’s damp and the cottage is freezing but, thanks to my dear sister’s notorious selfishness, we have no other option but to stay here.’
Jenna frowned. Susie selfish!
‘She didn’t know we’d follow her down here. I suppose she changed her mind at the last minute and …’
‘Didn’t she?’ Simon asked her sardonically. ‘I think you’ll discover that Susie never had the slightest intention of coming down here. If I’d given it more thought at the appropriate time, I should have guessed she’d given you a red herring. Susie was never overly fond of the place. She’d certainly never choose it as a lovers’ rendezvous.’
‘Susie loved it down here,’ Jenna protested. ‘We both did.’
The look Simon gave her as he turned to study her upturned face in the darkness of the hall made her feel odd—weak and vulnerable, somehow, as though she had said something very betraying.
‘Susie’s a city dweller,’ Simon told her. ‘Not like you. What made you go and live in London? I thought you were going to spend the rest of your life in Gloucestershire.’
‘What as?’ Jenna asked him bitterly. ‘The village spinster?’
Simon ignored her gibe and added tauntingly, ‘What happened to the husband and two-point-two offspring you were so convinced you wanted?’
‘That was when I was fifteen—I’ve changed since then.’
‘Yes, yes, I believe you have. Stay here, I’ll go down to the cellar and get the lamps.’
Much as she objected to his high-handed manner, Jenna knew there was little point in following him down the steep flight of stone steps into the cellar.
The house was built into the cliff side, and as teenagers she and Susie had amused themselves by searching the stone rooms for secret doorways that might conceal passages down inside the cliff face, as in the best tradition of smuggling stories. Or rather, she had amused herself, Jenna realised painfully. Susie had always been rather inclined to scoff at her romantic imaginings.
She made her way to the larger of the cottage’s two sitting-rooms, and pushed open the door. In the dim light she could see that the furniture was swathed in covers. The air smelled cold and faintly stale, and she went over to open one of the windows.
Simon was right, there was little point in her driving back to London tonight, and yet she still felt a small prickle of unease at the thought of being alone here with him. It was ironic really, when for so many years she had been filled with foolishly romantic dreams of just such an event.
How old had she been when she had become infatuated with him? Fifteen? Fifteen! Why deceive herself? she asked herself ironically. She could remember exactly when it had happened. It had been here at this very house, the summer she was fifteen. Simon had made an unexpected visit and she had been sitting in the garden when he arrived. Tall and bronzed from his French Riviera holiday, where he had been crewing on a friend’s yacht,
