Jonas had been right about the views. The final campsite was perfectly placed in the dip of a valley, with the beach and sea clearly visible from their sheltered pitch. Lawrie wriggled back in her chair and closed her eyes, savouring the feel of the late-afternoon sun on her face.
‘It seemed a shame to get a pitch with these views and then not be around to enjoy them,’ Jonas said. ‘Besides, we deserve some relaxation. And we discovered this cider.’ He held up his pint with a satisfied smile. ‘And that crêperie this morning. I think you should consider that patisserie too—their croissant was a work of art.’
‘Hmm...’ Lawrie opened her eyes and reached down to the folder at her feet. Picking it up, she flicked through it thoughtfully. ‘They were good, weren’t they? And the bakers near Liskeard were superb. I think that’s enough pastries and bread though, don’t you? We need some diversity. Two ice cream suppliers, four breweries, one Indian, one Thai and an Indonesian takeaway. Paella, the baked potato stall...’
‘Stop right there.’
Jonas held his hand up and, startled, Lawrie let the folder slip shut.
‘Lawrie Bennett, it is Sunday afternoon. You have been working day and night all weekend. Relax, enjoy the view, and drink your cider.’
A warm glow spread through her at his words. Nobody else had ever cared about how hard she worked, told her to slow down. She needed it. Somehow, when brakes were being handed out Lawrie had been last in line.
They lay side by side, sprawled out in the deckchairs, united in a companionable silence. That was another thing, she thought drowsily. He was easy to talk to but she didn’t have to talk to him, to entertain. She was free to be lost in her own head if she wanted.
It was nice to be sitting here with no plans, nothing to tick off on her physical or mental to-do list. It was just... Lawrie shifted in her seat. What were they going to do tonight? At least her schedule had meant there were no awkward gaps to be filled. Their conversation had revolved around the food they were tasting, the music they were listening to. But tonight stretched ahead—empty. Maybe there was another band playing locally. Or another restaurant to check out. A seafood stall might be an interesting addition to the mix.
‘Stop it.’
Lawrie turned her head in surprise. ‘Stop what?’
‘Timetabling the evening.’
How did he know? ‘I’m not,’ she said. Then, a little more truthfully, ‘I was just thinking about later. Wondering what we were going to do.’
‘We haven’t stopped for three days,’ Jonas pointed out. ‘Do we have to do anything?’
‘No...’ she said doubtfully. ‘Only what about food? Or when it gets dark? Not that I’m not enjoying the sun and the view, but it will start to cool off in an hour or so.’
‘Good thing we packed jumpers, then.’
The teasing tone was back in his voice and Lawrie squirmed, hot with embarrassment. It was unfair of him to make her feel uptight. Just because she liked to know what was coming next. Hugo had liked her organisational skills. Maybe that was what had attracted him to his secretary? Not the leopard print thong but the way she organised his diary.
‘Okay.’
Jonas was sitting up in his chair and she could feel his eyes fixed on her, despite the sunglasses shielding them.
‘I haven’t made notes or a list, and I don’t own a clipboard, but I had vaguely thought of a walk, finishing up at the farm shop for cheese and bread and more of this excellent cider. Then back to the van, where I can finally take cold-blooded, nine-year-old revenge for quilling on a triple word score. If you’re up to the challenge, that is?’
That sounded really pleasant. In fact it sounded perfect. Almost dangerously so.
‘Misplaced confidence was always your problem,’ Lawrie said, adjusting her own sunglasses, hoping he couldn’t see just how much the evening he had outlined appealed to her. ‘There have been many high-scoring words since then, Mr Jones. But if you are willing to risk your pride again, I am more than willing to take you down.’
Jonas leant forward, so close his face was almost touching hers, his breath sweet on her cheek. ‘I look forward to it.’
* * *
‘That is not a word!’
‘It is.’ Lawrie couldn’t hide the beam on her face. Ah, the sweet smell of victory. ‘Check the dictionary.’
‘I don’t care what the dictionary says,’ Jonas argued. ‘Use it in a coherent sentence.’
Foolish, foolish boy. He should know better than to challenge Lawrie Bennett at Scrabble. Or at any game.
‘How many exahertz are these gamma rays?’ she said, sitting back and enjoying his reaction.
‘You have never, ever used that sentence in your whole life!’
‘No,’ she conceded. ‘But I could. If I went to work at CERN, for instance, or had a physics laboratory as a client. Besides, the rules don’t specify that you have to have used the word in everyday conversation.’
‘They should do,’ Jonas grumbled, staring at the board in some dismay.
As he should, she thought, looking at the scores neatly written down on the pad in front of her. There was no way he could win now. And if she could just prevent him from narrowing the gap too much...a two-hundred-point lead was so satisfying.
Leaning back against the bench, she began to add up her points. They were both sitting on the floor of the camper van, the amost full board between them. The van doors were slid fully open, giving the scene a dramatic backdrop as the sun sank into the sea, leaving a fiery path on the top of the calm waves.
‘That is thirty-one tripled, plus fifty for getting all my letters out. It’s a shame it’s the H on the double letter score, but all in all not a bad round. Okay, your turn.’
‘I don’t think I want to play any more,’ Jonas said, disgust on his face as he surveyed his letter tiles. ‘Not even you could manage to make a word out of three Is, a U, two Os and an R.’
Lawrie bit back a smile as she surveyed the board. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said, keeping her face completely serious. ‘I think the official Scrabble term for your situation is screwed. Ow! What was that for?’
‘Excessive smugness.’ Jonas held up a second cushion. ‘Don’t think I won’t,’ he threatened.
Retrieving the cushion he’d already lobbed in her direction, Lawrie held it up in front of her, half shield, half offensive weapon. ‘You just try it, Jones.’
He eyed her. ‘A challenge? Really, Lawrie? You may, on this occasion, have won on brains, but I am always going to win on brawn.’
‘Brawn,’ she scoffed, uneasily aware of a tightening in her abdomen—a kind of delicious apprehension uncoiling—as she brandished her pillow. ‘At your age?’
‘In the prime of my life,’
