why he might well think that all her ilk were ruthless bitches.
‘Uh huh,’ she murmured under her breath, laying aside her copy of the Saturday Post. She fanned herself with a menu as Dirk made a beeline for the café. Despite it being a hot June day, he was clearly about to launch his own mini thunderstorm on her if his expression was anything to go by. The magazine in his hand was a bit of a giveaway as to the source of his wrath. She would have bet her new pumps on it being the very latest edition of Cream of Cornish, which had hit the cafés, hotels and gift shops only that morning.
She coolly sipped her affogato and braced herself as he made for her table. He was possibly the only man who could look brooding in a T-shirt and flip-flops, she thought, and noted that his hair was a wild mess, probably a result of too much angsty raking.
Without asking, he sat down opposite her and laid the magazine in front of her. ‘I got hold of this,’ he said in a low voice, possibly mindful of the glances of several locals who were on the terrace, or watching from the mobile seafood kiosk opposite. ‘I’d like a word with you.’
‘Only one? Wow. Fine – but first would you mind breathing into my cup?’
His brow furrowed deeply. ‘Breathe into your cup? What do you mean?’
‘I’d like you to re-freeze my ice-cream, if you don’t mind,’ she said sweetly. ‘You’re so frosty this morning, I’m sure you’d have no problem.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re absolutely—’
‘Yes?’
‘You’re infuriating.’ There was a tinge of amusement in his tone.
Tiff sipped her drink. ‘Shouldn’t you be tinkering with a propeller or something?’
‘I was tinkering until someone dropped off a pile of these,’ he said, tapping the magazine, ‘at the station. Do you know what the rest of the crew are calling me now? Do you have any idea of what you’ve done?’
She savoured the creamy coffee before replying. ‘You read my article about the lifeboat experience, then?’
‘Yeah, I read it.’
‘And?’
A young waitress arrived. ‘Can I get you anythin’?’ she said, looking utterly bored.
‘No … Actually, yes. Espresso, please, Martha,’ Dirk replied.
‘That all?’ Martha smirked.
‘I’ll have a glass of iced water,’ said Tiff, desperate to cool down. ‘Please.’
‘Still or sparklin’?’ said Martha. Tiff had the feeling Martha wasn’t one of her greatest fans.
‘Sparkling, please.’
After Martha had scrawled their order on her notepad and swept off, Tiff turned her attention to Dirk again.
‘So, our “matter-of-fact demeanour belies a fierce determination to save lives, no matter what the cost to ourselves”, does it?’ he said, nodding at the article.
‘Sorry. Slightly purple prose but, you know …’
‘Do you really think that about us?’
‘Yes, Dirk, actually I do. Sometimes we do write the truth, you know … my aim was to give my understanding of why a bunch of volunteers would knowingly risk their lives for strangers.’
‘And?’
‘You read it. Different reasons, some more obvious than others. The protect-the-herd mentality, where a small community helps each other, knowing it could be them … some of the crew have lost loved ones, for some it’s simply a generational thing, grandparents in the service in the days when you rowed out in a cork life vest.’
‘And me?’ Dirk asked.
‘I can’t quite fathom you, but if I had to bet my life on it, I’d say you enjoy a battle, and the more impossible the odds, the more you want to take on the fight.’
‘You can’t fight the sea. It’ll always win.’
‘Ah, but there are many small victories. Every time you pick someone off a lilo, or the rocks, or tow a yacht back to the harbour?’
‘It’s my job,’ he dismissed.
‘Yeah. And I was just doing mine,’ she replied, determined to stand her ground. Dirk was so close that she felt the hairs on his bare legs tickle her smooth ones under the table, though she wasn’t sure he’d noticed. One moment she felt as shivery as if she’d dropped ice down her top, the next as steamy as an espresso. Dirk had that effect on her most of the time these days. ‘It was a pretty good piece, though, wasn’t it?’ she teased.
‘I’m not going to massage your ego,’ he said.
‘Go on, admit it.’
‘OK. It was well-written – compelling even – but I can’t handle being paraded like this for people’s entertainment, even if it will boost the coffers. I’m not a hero. None of us want to be portrayed in