A Perfect Cornish Escape by Phillipa Ashley Page 0,37

life.

Marina smiled and mouthed: ‘You’ll be fine.’

Tiff scanned the crowd for Dirk, still grinning like an idiot despite feeling like an unwanted sack of potatoes.

‘Now I’m going to start the bidding myself here. I could do with putting my feet up for the day,’ Evie said.

‘Thirty quid!’ A deep local voice boomed from the crowd. It was a fisherman in yellow waders, a pint in one hand.

‘Fifty!’ Evie said. ‘Thirty is an insult.’

‘Too bloody right,’ Tiff said through gritted teeth, wanting to hug Evie but hoping an OAP wouldn’t have to use her pension to spare her humiliation.

‘Seventy-five.’ That came from a woman near the lifeboat station. Tiff recognised her as the owner of a local hotel. She’d written a feature on it the week before and the woman was forthright but quite jolly. It might not be too bad working at the hotel for a day – and Tiff was definitely not above cleaning toilets.

‘Ninety. I need someone to help me empty the slurry pit at the farm.’

‘Now, Trevor, that’s generous but I can’t see Tiff muck spreading, can you?’

It was at that moment that Tiff caught sight of Dirk, stepping out from the front of the lifeboat station. He was at the back of the crowd but her height on the dais gave her a good view of him. Their eyes locked and his firm jaw might have slightly dropped.

‘One hundred!’ Hotel woman shouted and Tiff’s shoulders slumped in relief. She’d decided that working for Joanna was the best she could hope for and smiled at her, willing her to keep bidding. Meanwhile, out of the corner of her eye she could still see Dirk, lurking near the back of the crowd. He must be having an absolute field day.

The bidding went up, whipped up by an almost breathless Evie. Gabe Mathias offered a hundred and fifty, and Tiff telegraphed him a look of unbridled joy. Working in his kitchen for the day would actually be enormous fun, and she could get a story out of it. This might not be so bad after all …

‘Any other bids?’ Evie called; gavel poised.

Silence, head shakes from the audience.

‘Joanna?’ Evie nodded to the hotel owner.

Joanna shrugged in regret. ‘Out of my league, I’m afraid.’

‘OK. Looks like Gabe has won. Thank you for the very generous bid, Gabe. Going once …’

Tiff’s shoulders sank with relief with the realisation that she wouldn’t be gutting fish or muck spreading.

‘Two hundred!’

Heads turned, twisting around, standing on tiptoes.

‘Did you say you’d do anything within reason?’ Dirk shouted from the edge of the audience.

Despite her layers, Tiff shivered from head to toe. The idea of being at Dirk’s beck and call was both horrifying and worryingly sexy. ‘Within reason,’ she said, hoping her voice wasn’t too croaky. ‘I’m up for a challenge.’

‘Any further bids for this wonderful lot?’ Evie asked, raising her gavel. ‘Gabe?’

Tiff stared at Dirk. His expression was positively angelic. She could kill him.

Gabe laughed. ‘Two hundred and twenty. It’s for a good cause.’

Evie pointed at Dirk. ‘Dirk?’

Dirk stayed silent, keeping his gaze on Tiff while she tried to look amused by the whole situation.

‘Well, it’s a damn sight better than thirty quid and cleaning out the slurry pit,’ she joked.

‘Going twice!’

‘Three hundred.’ Dirk’s voice was strong and clear.

‘Wow. Three hundred. Someone must want you very badly, dear,’ Evie said helpfully.

The crowd laughed and some stared at Dirk. Tiff let out a tinkly laugh but had murder in her heart.

‘Gabe?’ Evie said.

Tiff’s eyes pleaded with Gabe. ‘You can make me peel the potatoes,’ she said lightly. ‘Or do the washing up all day?’

Gabe smiled. ‘We have machines for both those things and anyway, I don’t want to deprive a mate …’ He nodded at Dirk. The audience buzzed like a swarm of bees; Dirk had made it obvious in the most public way that, for whatever reason, he was interested in Tiff. Only Tiff knew that he was out to humiliate her.

Evie banged the gavel. ‘Penultimate lot. Tiffany Trescott sold to Mr Dirk Meadows for three hundred pounds.’

With the banging of the gavel and the applause still ringing in her ears, Tiff jumped off the stage and made her way through the crowd to Dirk. She’d no interest in what her Ed Sheeran lot went for any more; she had to find him.

She grabbed his arm. ‘Hey, you, what the bloody hell are you playing at?’

‘Making a generous donation to the SAR funds.’

‘B-but … You bid for me! Why? What could you possibly want