A Perfect Cornish Escape by Phillipa Ashley Page 0,57

that way.’

‘At least I was nice. I did say you were taciturn rather than bloody rude.’ She spoke gently. ‘I wanted to portray you honestly. After all, you’d surely hate me turning you into a saint?’

‘Too right!’ he burst out, then softened his tone too. ‘Look … it’s a good piece. More honest than most, more authentic, but you know I don’t like being in the limelight.’

‘It’s too late now. I’m sure the proposals of marriage will come flooding in when they see that photo.’

He laughed. ‘You scuppered any chance of that by making me out to be a miserable sod.’

Martha returned with the drinks. Tiff sipped hers but Dirk left his espresso. ‘Aren’t you going to drink that?’ she asked.

‘I didn’t really want anything.’

‘Why did you order it then?’

‘I don’t know.’ He leaned a little closer, wafting a subtle hint of spicy aftershave in her direction, and triggering a lethal cocktail of hormones that seemed to turn her body to mush. She wondered if heads had turned and tongues were wagging.

‘You don’t seem to know what you want, Dirk.’ Her voice had notched up a pitch. She cooled her palms on the glass.

‘I do know one thing I want.’

Before Tiff could reply, the sirens at the lifeboat station went off.

‘Oh God. Not now.’ Dirk sighed.

Seconds later he was already running towards the lifeboat house, leaving Tiff stranded at the café and screaming inside with frustration even as she felt a swell of pride that brought a most unexpected lump to her throat. She’d been in Porthmellow barely two months and she was already turning mushy – about Dirk and the town in general.

Tiff groaned. She really ought to guard against it. For now, all she could think of was how close she’d come to finding out what Dirk really wanted.

Chapter Seventeen

The bank holiday week over, Marina was thrust back into the whirlwind of college life, supporting her students during their exams, offering counselling, and attending meetings about the autumn term. Working with young people, helping them achieve their ambitions, had always made her feel alive and valued.

She was also busy with her volunteering because, with summer around the corner, demand for the Wave Watchers’ services was greater than ever. People took to the water on any item that floated – and many that didn’t – from luxury yachts to kayaks, surf boards to inflatable flamingos. The cliffs were covered with pink thrift, buzzing with bees and walkers hiking along the coast path that ran between the Lizard and Porthmellow.

Now that the evenings were lighter, the lookout was staffed from eight until eight. Marina was grateful that Tiff managed to pop in occasionally, although her own job kept her out long hours.

Lachlan had been back to Scotland for ten days to visit his family, and Marina had missed his presence and even her glimpses of him coming in and out of his cottage. On the bright side, he’d texted her a few times, asking if she’d like to go out for a meal when he returned.

On the Saturday lunchtime she expected him back in Cornwall, she was on watch with Gareth. It was the warmest day of the year so far, and the windows and doors were flung open to let the air flow through the building. By noon, the cove was a suntrap and peppered with families lazing on the sand, the little ones paddling in the rock pools. A few people were in the sea itself, mostly only wading or splashing around. It was a calm day, but Marina and Gareth still had to be vigilant.

Everything seemed relatively safe until around two p.m., when Gareth piped up, alarmed: ‘There’s a guy and a teenager in the cove. They seem to be taking a blow-up kayak into the sea.’

Marina winced, thinking immediately of Nate. ‘A kayak?’ The word always made her chest constrict. ‘Haven’t they read the signs? It says not to use inflatables of any kind.’

‘I think most people ignore it,’ Gareth said, dropping his binoculars to speak directly to Marina. ‘The weather report says the wind is already strengthening and there’s quite a swell outside the lee of the cove.’

‘That doesn’t sound good. We could do with some lifeguard cover on summer weekends, but the council can’t afford it,’ she replied, musing for a second. ‘I’ll pop down and have a word with the kayakers, if you’ll be OK on your own?’

Gareth sniffed. ‘Of course I will.’

She trotted down to the beach, enjoying the warmth of the