A Perfect Cornish Escape by Phillipa Ashley Page 0,53
on this glorious May evening, with the light mellowing and the colours intensifying as the sun sank lower. The sky was a cornflower blue, the breeze whispering through the gorse and carrying its toasted coconut scent.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Lachlan said, standing by her side.
‘It is. I do love it.’
‘Working up here, sometimes on your own. Does it not bring back unhappy memories?’ he asked.
‘Sometimes … though they are memories now. I made peace with myself a while ago. I accepted that I couldn’t change the past, but I could, even in a small way, help to change the future for someone else. That’s comforting.’
‘I wish I was at that stage.’
Marina found herself wishing he was too, but she understood better than anyone how much time he might need. ‘It will come.’ She waited for him to speak some more, perhaps unspool his fears and doubts, but he stayed silent – lips pressed together, eyes fixed on some nameless spot out over the waves.
‘Scotland must be very beautiful too …’ she ventured. ‘Can you believe I’ve never been?’
‘What? Ach, you must put that right. It’s quieter and wilder; there are far fewer people, which is fine by me. The mountains, glens and lochs have a way of seeping into your soul without you realising it …’ He shook his head, a little awkward. ‘I’m romanticising. I have to admit the weather is much better here.’
Marina thought he sounded almost lyrical, and she found it endearing. ‘We have our moments with the gales and high seas.’
He laughed. ‘Aaron’s dad loves telling me about the giant waves. They seem to get bigger every time Troy tells the tale.’
Marina smiled. ‘Well, those waves can be quite something. A few years ago, in one winter storm, the sea threw shingle over the cliff so high that our kitchen window was broken.’
‘That’s scary.’
‘It was a long night …’ She suddenly realised he was only in a running vest and shorts. Not that she wanted him to put more clothes on, but he must be getting cold. Plus she had promised to meet up with her friends in town.
‘You must want to get back after your run?’
‘I’m in no rush.’
This was promising. ‘I said I’d go to the pub with a few mates. It’s barbecue night at the Smuggler’s Tavern, and Drew’s band is playing outside on the quayside. He runs the sailing trust for his day job,’ she explained, in case Lachlan didn’t know who he was. ‘But he’s in a folk band too and they’re really good. In fact, I was on my way home to change out of my uniform. Would you like to join us?’
He hesitated. ‘I’ll not say no to a burger and a pint, but I don’t want to spoil a party.’
‘You won’t. There’ll be loads of locals there. Everyone turns up and joins in.’ She gave him time to refuse, realising that he’d only recently said that he found it hard to join in with community events. At the same time, she realised how very much she wanted him to say yes. ‘It’s pretty casual but don’t feel you have to.’
‘OK. Yeah, I’d like that. I need a shower first though or I’ll probably clear the whole pub.’
Marina didn’t think so. She thought he looked hot in the running gear and wished he hadn’t mentioned taking a shower because it was conjuring up images in her mind that she probably ought not to dwell on.
‘Great. D’you want to knock on my door when you’re ready? Half an hour, enough?’
‘It’s a deal.’
Back in her cottage, Marina showered, changed into a casual dress and was lacing up her pumps when Lachlan knocked the door. His arrival stirred a tickle of excited nerves in her stomach. He was in cargo shorts, a polo shirt and flip-flops: standard Porthmellow uniform, except that the vast majority of men in the town didn’t have a physique that had been honed by swimming in lochs, hiking and climbing. His scars were becoming part of him for Marina. It wasn’t that she ceased to notice them; more that her subconscious had accepted them like any other feature of his face and body.
If he was apprehensive about meeting everyone, he didn’t show it, although she supposed that could all have been an act for her sake.
There were already a couple of dozen people outside the Smuggler’s when they arrived, milling around the tables. On this balmy late May evening, the place was packed with locals and holidaymakers alike, their laughter