A Perfect Cornish Escape by Phillipa Ashley Page 0,31
wine, chocolates or bath gift set. She’d discreetly replaced the mushy peas with a packet of Thornton’s Continentals she’d bought out of her own pocket from another stall, and was delighted when a bowling club friend of Evie’s won it.
It was a fleeting moment of pleasure in a morning where nervous tension had tied her stomach in ever tighter knots at the thought of what might happen at the auction. Had she let down the little community by not securing a ‘proper’ prize? No matter what Marina said, she felt awful and her mind churned.
She saw Dirk laughing with Drew, the man who ran the sailing trust. She was under no illusions, they probably weren’t talking about her, but she wasn’t imagining the fact that he glanced her way a few times. After she’d spent an hour on the stall, Dirk sauntered up, unable to hide a smile. It was her first really close-up view all day. He was in jeans and a dark blue lifeboats polo shirt. It wasn’t exactly a uniform, but close enough for parts of her to do melty things that were very inappropriate in a community setting. Mind you, he could have turned up in sandals and socks and she’d have still fancied the pants off him.
His eyes swept over the stall. She’d re-stocked a few prizes from spare donations but things were looking a bit desperate with a bottle of HP sauce one of the prizes. ‘Hello. How’s it going?’
‘Pretty good, actually. Can I interest you in a ticket for the tombola?’ she said cheerfully. ‘There’s a still a bottle of wine left? I’m not sure it’s a vintage I’ve heard of or how long it’s been in someone’s cellar, but it might be OK to add to coq au vin.’
He switched his focus from the stall to her. Tiff felt the temperature soar. ‘How can I possibly resist?’ he said and dug in his jeans pocket for some change.
He handed over a pound coin, still warm from his pocket.
Mentally longing for an internal fan, Tiff twirled the drum. ‘There you go,’ she said breezily. ‘Good luck.’
Dirk delved inside and pulled out a pink ticket. ‘Ah. Lucky me. Sixty-nine.’
‘You’re joking!’
He frowned and held it out for inspection. ‘No? Why would I be? Look.’
Tiff took the ticket and sucked in a breath. It was indeed number sixty-nine. ‘Oh, I see. Right. Hold on, I think you have won something …’ Mortified by her innuendo – and that he didn’t seem to have got the joke – she made a meal of scanning the table. ‘Aha. The trio of red-hot sauces is yours.’ She handed over a pack of bottled chilli sauces.
‘Thank you. I’ll treasure them. Anyway, I must get back to the station. It’s my turn to show people round the lifeboat.’ He seemed about to leave, but then added, ‘And I’ll see you for the auction, of course?’ His eyes glinted wickedly. ‘I can’t wait to find out about all these exciting lots you’ve wangled.’
Tiff held onto her civility by a thread. ‘Ah, well, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed,’ she murmured.
He rubbed his hands together. ‘Can’t wait.’
‘Argh. That infuriating …’ Tiff muttered to herself, already wishing she hadn’t risen to the bait. It remained to be seen if Dirk would be disappointed by her ‘lots’ or not. Either way, he was bound to find her predicament hilarious.
She could see his head above most of the crowd all the way back to the lifeboat house. She pulled a flask of water and downed half of it, though what she really needed right now was a hose-down and a stiff drink, preferably with lots of ice.
Chapter Eight
Marina searched the crowds as the sun climbed higher in the sky. She was well into her second hour on the splat the rat stall, but there was still no sign of Lachlan. She hadn’t realised quite how much she wanted him to turn up – for his own sake as well as hers – or how disappointed she might be if he didn’t.
On the upside, her sideshow was doing a roaring trade.
The ‘rat’ was a small furry beanbag with a woollen tail and it was her job to drop it down a piece of plastic drainpipe fixed to a painted wooden board. The goal was to whack the ‘rat’ as it shot out of the tube before it hit the ground. Each go cost fifty pence and there was a small prize for anyone who scored a direct