A Perfect Cornish Escape by Phillipa Ashley Page 0,21
I feel a bit sorry for him, to be honest, the rumour mill is red hot.’
‘At least they won’t be talking about me any more.’
‘I wouldn’t bet on it. The woman who runs the chip shop was trying to find out who you were and how long you were staying.’
‘It really is a small world. I wonder how long Mr Something-Scottish will stay?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ she said briskly. ‘I need to pop to the garage for some more vermiculite. The garages are behind the houses on the other side of the road so I’ll probably be a few minutes.’
Vermicu-what? Tiff had no idea what Marina meant so she concentrated on digging tiny holes for the young geraniums. It was strangely therapeutic, pulling them carefully from their trays and patting the soil around them, imagining them blooming in a few weeks’ time.
Tiff’s mind drifted once again to another of Porthmellow’s intriguing men. She’d now spotted Dirk three times on her way into and out of the cottage and once in the post office in Porthmellow. He’d inclined his head a millimetre to her on his way out, while she queued to post a birthday parcel for her father. Every time she saw him, he had a greater impact on her. He seemed taller, darker, and more delicious – like a chocolate tasting session where each sample was more delectable than the last. Her mouth watered at the very thought of him.
She knew she should dismiss him from her mind – she hadn’t come all this way to fall for another man – but it was becoming very difficult. Maybe she could take up swimming in cold water, like Lachlan Something-Scottish. And on that matter, he was intriguing – not as intriguing as Dirk of course, but it was clear that Marina had warmed to her new Scottish neighbour. Tiff hoped so, in one way, as long as Lachlan didn’t make matters worse.
First impressions of him hinted at someone pretty intense and Marina deserved some light-hearted fun. Judging by the reception Marina had received on the beach, he wasn’t the most sociable of neighbours.
Tiff patted in the final geranium and straightened up to stretch her back. Mm, maybe she could gently nudge Marina in the direction of someone else. Marina was still young, attractive, kind and vivacious, there must be at least one single guy in Porthmellow to help her move on from Nate.
‘Evening.’
Tiff jumped and swung round to find Dirk standing barely a few feet away. The top of his chest was visible above the wooden fence, but fortunately he had a T-shirt on. His sudden appearance so close to her set off a Catherine wheel low in her stomach, swirling and shooting sparks of lust.
‘What are you doing there?’ she blurted out, fighting for her composure. ‘I mean, I didn’t expect you to be next door …’
She heard a faint meow and momentarily Dirk disappeared, only to pop up again with a furry bundle in his arms.
‘I’m watering the plants and feeding the cat for our neighbour Gwen,’ he said, stroking the tortie cat with a finger. ‘She’s in hospital for a few days so she asked me to look after the house and Bumble here.’ Ensconced in Dirk’s arms, Bumble looked like a cat who’d got a whole pint of clotted cream complete with a strawberry on the top.
‘Oh, I see. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy,’ she said.
‘Really? I thought that was your job. Professional nosiness.’
‘I hardly think freelancing for Cream of Cornish counts as professional nosiness,’ Tiff said haughtily.
She met his eyes as Bumble rubbed her cheek against Dirk’s stubble. Tiff went shivery. She wouldn’t have minded being Bumble right at this moment. Then she came to her senses. He’d been very blunt. ‘I’m Marina’s cousin, just here to enjoy her company over the summer and to have a change of scenery while I’m between jobs,’ she said.
‘Of course you are, and I’m sure you’d never dream of digging around in anyone’s life,’ Dirk said, running his hand over Bumble’s fur.
‘What do you mean?’ Tiff demanded.
‘Isn’t that what all journalists do?’ he asked, while Bumble purred loudly in his arms.
Tiff on the other hand didn’t feel like purring at all. She was too full of indignation at Dirk’s implications and her body’s treacherous reaction to him.
‘If you don’t mind,’ Tiff said coolly, trying to hide her annoyance at his rudeness, ‘I need to get on with this planting. I’m sure Bumble needs her litter tray emptying.’