A Perfect Cornish Escape by Phillipa Ashley Page 0,9

the ball, Cinderella,’ she said, moving away from him.

Dirk let out a laugh. ‘It’s no ball. It’s a fundraising gala dinner for the lifeboats. A necessary evil.’

‘Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad.’

‘It depends on whether you like these sorts of things. I expect you’d be in your element at one.’

She frowned. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘You’ve obviously been to a lot of black-tie dos.’

‘As a matter of fact, I’ve been to way more than my share but that doesn’t mean I enjoy them,’ she shot back. Not any more, thought Tiff. In fact, she hadn’t been to a smart do for a while and never wanted to again, but perhaps if she went to one with Dirk, she might change her mind … Immediately, she reminded herself again that post-Warner she should steer clear of any event that involved the company of charming, handsome men. Not that Dirk was charming, but he was dangerously handsome.

‘I can’t stand them myself.’

‘Come on, you might surprise yourself by enjoying the evening,’ she murmured, unhappy associations cooling her desire to banter with Dirk. She was suddenly weary after her journey and eager to be gone.

‘I doubt it … and I must leave now or I really won’t make the dinner.’ He was brisk again; the temperature had dropped by several degrees on his side too. ‘Thanks for tying this,’ he added. Tiff took the hint, and was half relieved, half disappointed at his coldness. They’d been almost flirting but the storm clouds had come back over for some reason.

‘No problem,’ she said, deliberately choosing a neutral reply instead of, ‘A pleasure.’

He showed her out and shut the door with no further words of thanks, and certainly not with a ‘see you around’, which was odd when he knew she’d be staying nearby.

On the rest of the short walk to Marina’s house, Dirk filled her mind as her suitcase rattled over the stony pavement. She had a good memory for faces and names, honed by twenty years as a reporter and journalist on various regional and London papers and magazines. Even as she’d grown older, she still had the ability to search through her mental filing cabinet when a story or a person triggered a spark of recognition. Often a face would jog a feeling, an emotion, more than an instant name to go with it. She’d picture the person in a situation; tragic, comic, joyous or dramatic … how she had felt when she’d seen that face and heard or read their story.

Dirk was definitely sending out tragic and dramatic vibes and they had nothing to do with his amusing nickname. Tiff was convinced she’d seen him before but couldn’t for the life of her think where.

Chapter Three

‘Woohoo. Muscadet. That’s a blast from the past.’ Tiff thrust out her glass as Marina produced a slender bottle sheened in condensation.

‘It goes very nicely with the hake I bought from the harbour fish kiosk,’ Marina said, amusement tingeing her voice as she poured Tiff a glass. She’d told Tiff she was ready for some wine herself after her experience with the ‘body’ earlier that day at the cove.

Tiff savoured the crisp, lemony Muscadet before swallowing it. ‘And it’s very nice. You’re spoiling me.’

‘Yeah. You look like you feel guilty,’ Marina replied, pouring a glass for herself. ‘I’ll put the oven on. I got the hake ready earlier. I wrapped it in pancetta … I hope you like it?’

‘I love it. Now, you really are spoiling me. It’s lovely of you but I don’t expect special treatment.’

‘Good because you won’t get it. I thought you might be ready for a treat after the journey. I’m going to pop it in the oven with the potatoes.’

Refusing any help, Marina scooted into the kitchen, leaving Tiff alone in the sitting room. She curled up on the sofa, admiring the quirks of the cottage. Nothing was straight; not the thick walls, the floorboards or even the windowpanes. Marina had told her before that it was very old, having been an ale house and a smuggler’s haunt – then again, wasn’t every old cottage in Cornwall?

Marina and Nate had bought it a year or so after they were married. Tiff had been there only once in the past seven years, while Marina had visited her in London a few times.

They’d kept in touch regularly by phone, however, and when Tiff had lost her job that horrible day in January, the first person she’d thought to call had been her