A Perfect Cornish Escape by Phillipa Ashley Page 0,54
and chatter ringing out along the quayside. Her nostrils twitched at the smoky tang of food and Lachlan was also hungry after his run, so they headed straight for the barbecue to collect plates of burger and salad. One of the Wave Watchers volunteers had already offered to buy a round, and their drinks were waiting when they joined a group of familiar faces on one of the pub tables.
The sun was warm on her bare arms, and reflections sparkled in the harbour. Porthmellow was on its best behaviour. So far. Marina realised that her arrival with Lachlan was bound to have some people jumping to conclusions about the nature of their relationship. She knew that a handful might even be curious about how he came by his injuries and less than tactful in their reactions.
No one in her group of mates would be that crass, however, and she genuinely enjoyed introducing Lachlan to Sam Lovell and Chloe Farrow from the Food Festival Committee, and to Jude Penberth and Scarlett Latham who shared a cottage on the harbourside. Lachlan already knew Scarlett a little because her older sister, Ellie, was Aaron Carman’s partner.
‘How’s Ellie?’ Marina asked Scarlett, noting her absence.
‘She’s fine. She’s nearly four months gone now but she’s feeling knackered tonight so she and Aaron decided to stay in.’
Lachlan chuckled. ‘Aaron’s like a mother hen with Ellie.’
Scarlett laughed. ‘Ellie does her own thing. She won’t let him wrap her in cotton wool.’
Marina realised that she envied Ellie. She had always wanted to have a family and after Nate had gone, she’d blanked that desire out, for the sake of self-preservation, she supposed.
Lachlan was chatting to Jude and found they shared a love of wild swimming and the great outdoors. Gradually, Marina relaxed. The sun began to slip behind the horizon and cast the harbour in shadow. Everyone pulled on jumpers but the twilight was also the cue for Drew and his musicians to start up.
They played a lively mix of folk and pop, together with the odd Cornish standard, that soon had people singing along, fuelled by plenty of local ale.
‘You were right. Drew’s band are pretty good,’ Lachlan whispered to Marina.
‘They’re not bad at all,’ Marina said, pleased that he was enjoying the music. She decided it was safe to tease him. ‘But don’t you miss the bagpipes?’
He snorted. ‘Bagpipes? Oh God, spare me. I can’t stand the things. They give Scotland a bad name, along with tartan trews and tinned shortbread. I never minded a good ceilidh though. We used to have them on the base for the families and I went to my fair share in the town …’ Lachlan stopped. Marina guessed that the thought had awakened memories of his previous life – good and bad.
While they listened to the music, the table rang with singing and laughter. Lachlan seemed to be fitting in well. Craig stumbled past them and into the Smuggler’s Tavern with a couple of his mates. By the looks of his unsteady walk, he’d already visited some of the other pubs in town beforehand. It wasn’t long before he came outside again, a pint in his hand.
The band took a break and Craig lumbered over.
‘Evenin’, Marina.’ He nodded to the others before staring at Lachlan’s face. He might simply have been trying to focus but Marina stiffened, dreading him saying anything about Lachlan’s scars.
‘Lachlan, isn’t it?’ he slurred. ‘You Schottissh, then?’
‘Last time I looked,’ said Lachlan.
‘Not wearing your kilt, though?’ He snorted. ‘What do you wear under it?’
Oh no, thought Marina, but Lachlan laughed.
‘I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.’ He smiled. ‘I’m joking, pal – I don’t even own a kilt.’
Craig gave a wobbly salute. ‘No offence, mate.’
‘None taken,’ Lachlan said pleasantly.
He turned to Marina. ‘I see you’re moving on from Nate,’ he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Marina was too shocked to reply but Craig was quickly gone regardless, loudly demanding that one of his mates get the next round in.
‘Anyone want another drink?’ she piped up. ‘It’s my turn.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Lachlan.
Lachlan took the orders and they ducked under the granite lintel of the door and joined the queue at the bar. It was stuffy after the fresh air of the harbour and her eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the dimly lit interior.
‘I’m sorry. Craig’s an old buddy of Nate’s and he took his death hard,’ Marina said.