Summer Loves

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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017

Copyright © Georgia Hill 2017

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Georgia Hill asserts the moral right to

be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Ebook Edition © June 2017 ISBN: 9780008211073

Version 2017-04-27

To the people and town of Lyme Regis, Dorset. Thank you for the fabulous holidays.

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

April was a beautiful month in Berecombe. As Millie walked an excited cockapoo across the deserted beach she could feel the early morning sun on her face and a sea breeze lifting her hair, lilting and gentle. It was a most glorious morning and something she used to take great pleasure in. She threw Trevor’s tennis ball, shading her eyes to see where it bounced on the hard, flat sand. A movement on the harbour wall caught her attention. A figure stood there. Tall and masculine. Millie’s heart faltered. She screwed up her eyes to see better but he was just a silhouette against the morning light. It couldn’t be Jed, could it? It had been weeks since he’d left Berecombe. Since she’d angrily sent him away. Trevor skidded to a halt beside her and jumped up, tennis ball in mouth, eager for her to continue the game. Bending down, she took the ball from him and threw it. When she looked towards land again, the figure on the harbour had disappeared.

Of course it hadn’t been Jed. Why would he come back to Berecombe? With a heavy heart, Millie turned to return to the café. She had the Yummy Mummies and the WI Knitting Circle coming in this morning, so would be busy. Last night she’d slaved over getting a batch of Battenberg cakes ready and still wasn’t happy with them. She was finished if her baking was going off-kilter, she mused, as she trudged over the softer sand near the prom. It was almost as if the kitchen sensed her mood. Ever since Jed left, part of her heart had gone too. She couldn’t seem to throw herself into things with the same enthusiasm. Even her baking was something to be done more as a chore rather than a pleasure. Jed would have loved the Battenberg. She stamped the sand off her feet, exasperated at how her thoughts kept circling back to him.

She unlocked the café door and inhaled the familiar sweet smells. Forcing herself to think positively, she grinned down at a sand-covered dog. ‘At least Dora is back in town, though, eh Trevor?’ Going through to the kitchen to switch on the kettle, she called back, feeling a little more cheerful, ‘And life’s never boring with Dora around!’

Chapter 2

If one more person pulled her duck’s tail or made one more lewd remark about ‘little duckies’ Dora would seriously lose it. She tugged at her escaping tights and waddled through the White Bear’s public bar, rattling her money tin. ‘Buy a number for the duck race,’ she called. ‘Raise some money for a good cause.’ She’d have serious words with Millie later. How the hell did she get roped into this? It was little more than ritual humiliation.

‘Oi oi,’ called a man in a lecherous voice. ‘What have we got here?’

What got into these men? It was barely nine o’clock. Had she been away from her home town so long she’d forgotten all about these riotous Friday night drinking sessions? No, alcohol alone couldn’t excuse their behaviour; it must be the duck outfit that got them going. Male hormones obviously went into overdrive at the sight of a woman dressed in yellow feathers and red tights.

Dora adjusted her duck head to peer down at her latest assailant. He reached out and pulled her tail hard.

‘That’s enough,’ she yelled. ‘I’ve had enough. You can buy a duck for that.’ She held out her money box as a demand for payment. And swore. Hard.

‘How much?’

‘They’re a pound a duck.’

‘I don’t see any ducks,’ he sniggered. ‘Apart from you.’

‘No,’ Dora explained, for what seemed the thousandth time that evening. ‘You buy a number and then come along to the river tomorrow afternoon. All the ducks will have a number on them. We set them off and if yours wins, you get a prize.’

‘What’s the prize? You?’

Dora was having difficulty containing her temper. Her feet hurt, her head was sweaty from wearing the ridiculous duck headdress and she wanted to go home. Why was it such hard work separating people from their money? It was only a measly pound.

‘You get a fifty-pound voucher to spend at Millie Vanilla’s, the café on the front.’

‘So tell me again why I’ve got to buy a duck?’

‘I think the idea is it raises money,’ another voice interjected. ‘For the Arts Workshop. Am I right?’

Dora froze. She knew that voice.

With difficulty, she turned her head to the left. The drunk man had a friend. A man who was sitting next to him and who had been screened out of her sightline by her ridiculous duck head.

Shock reverberated through her. It was him.

It was not the way she wanted to bump into the guy she’d fallen so hopelessly in love with in sixth form. Whose heart she had broken when her parents had insisted that Berecombe’s bad boy wasn’t good enough for her. The years spent acting in the States vaporised. She was seventeen again.

Mikey Love.

Still with that gypsy-dark hair, although it was now threaded through with silver and not quite so unruly. Still with those wicked blue eyes and the grin that made you go weak at the knees and completely at his mercy. Whatever that involved. Sheer charisma. She’d never met a man with as much, even in the torrid world of American television. She hadn’t seen him for years. Since leaving Berecombe. Had never set eyes on him again. Until this moment.

‘Someone up there must really have it in for me,’ she muttered, the yellow felt headdress muffling her words.

Someone really had got it in for her. Millie and Tessa chose that moment to catch up with her. They’d obviously been treated to a drink and had given up all thought of fund- raising. Both held a glass of white in one hand, their duck head in the other. Deeply uncool, seeing as it was Tessa’s Arts Workshop they were raising money for.

Her bad temper was affecting her judgement. It seemed she was wrong.

‘Ooh, laters, babes,’ Tessa cooed. ‘Just spotted Dennis. A local councillor should be good to cough up a few bob.’ She made her way through the crowded bar, cheerfully batting off the stares and wolf-whistles.

Dora could admire the woman’s self-confidence, even if she found her loud voice grating. They must breed them tough in Birmingham.

Millie came up to her with a kind smile. ‘Just sold my last number. What’s been holding you up?’

Dora glared at her through the yellow. ‘Maybe you weren’t being molested all night,’ she hissed. ‘My legs will be black and blue after this.’

‘Oh I know, my lovely,’ Millie sympathised. ‘Me too. Swiped more than one bloke with a wing and then guilted them into buying a duck. How many tickets have you got left?’ she asked. ‘I’ll take a few and sell them for you. Actually,’ she reconsidered. ‘You know your trouble? You’re getting all hot and bothered. Take your head off.’ Without warning, Millie yanked off Dora’s headdress, leaving her marooned like a headless chicken, or rather duck. If anything, Dora now felt even more of a fool. At least, with her outfit complete, she made sense. Now, with an enormous yellow body out of all proportion to her head, she knew she must look ludicrous. What was more, with red hair and pale skin, Dora did not do heat in any way that was attractive. She knew perfectly well her face was scarlet and shiny with sweat and her hair flattened and greasy-looking. She scrunched up her eyes, waiting for the inevitable and tried to brave it out. With any luck, in this state she might be unrecognisable.

‘Dora!’

‘Fuck.’

‘Oh my God. It is isn’t it? It’s Dora Bartlett. Or should I say Theodora Bart?’ Mike sounded amused. ‘You’ve learned to swear in a very unladylike way since you left school.’

‘Oh my,’ said his friend. ‘Now we can see what the filly looks like. Or should I say duckling?’ He roared at his feeble joke.

‘That’s enough, Phil.’ Mikey stood up. ‘Forgive him, he’s had a bit too much to drink.’

‘Well, I had to try the cider now I’m in the West Country,’ Phil protested and turned to someone. Dora heard a very female giggle.

She opened one eye to see Mikey staring at her. Oh, how she remembered those naughty blue eyes. What the hell was he even doing here? The last thing she’d heard, he was working in London.

‘Hello Mikey,’ she managed eventually. How could he still make her legs go weak, her insides churn around in the most delightfully revolting fashion, just as he had when she’d been seventeen and in his thrall.

He came closer, or as close as the fat feathery costume allowed. ‘Hello Dora. It’s lovely to see you again,’ he said quietly.

‘Isn’t it,’ she mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.

Millie, her eyes on stalks, interrupted. ‘Mikey, wow! Whatever are you doing back in Berecombe?’

‘Back working in the Regent,’ he said, naming Berecombe’s little theatre on the sea front. ‘Putting on Persuasion as a fund-raiser for it. The old place is looking a bit sad. Needed some cash input, so thought I’d help.’

‘Oh yes,’ Millie continued. ‘You’ve made quite a name for yourself, haven’t you? Directing or something. Up in London.’

‘I’ve had some success.’ The modest words belied his tone.

He’d always been so sure of himself, Dora thought. Some said brave, bearing in mind his background. Some said cocky. It depended on your point of view.

‘How nice.’ She couldn’t keep the edge from her voice. She hated being wrong-footed like this. If she’d thought, coming back here, she’d bump into him, she would have gone to her villa in Siena. But something had called her back to Berecombe and, besides, her parents had been due a visit. If fate engineered a meeting with Michael Love, then Dora would infinitely have preferred it to be when she was looking at her best. In control. The very image of the successful actress.

Millie was completely star-struck, however. She’d always had a soft spot for Mikey when they were all at school together. ‘Ooh lovely, one of my favourites. I love Persuasion. When’s it on?’

‘Later in the summer. Early days yet, we haven’t even cast it.’ Mikey directed his words to Millie, but his eyes were fixed on Dora.

‘Are you Theodora Bart? It is, isn’t it? Oh. My. God.’ A Sloaney female voice. Very young. Very gushing.

The evening just got worse. A fan.

The woman Dora had heard giggling with Cider Phil stood up and joined them.

‘I absolutely love you in The English Woman. I literally can’t wait for the next series. When’s it due out?’

Dora tried to pin on a gracious smile but was desperate to get away. The duck costume was making her claustrophobic, her red tights were far too big and threatening to fall down and she couldn’t bear Mikey’s gaze. ‘Thank you,’ she said in cool tones. ‘I’m afraid I’m not sure about the next series.’

‘This is Kirstie Fielding, my first assistant director,’ Mikey explained. ‘And one of your biggest fans.’

‘I’ll say,’ Kirstie went on. ‘When I found out you and Mike came from the same town, went to school together, even, I was literally so thrilled. And I can’t believe I’ve met you! And in a duck costume too! I’ve just got to get a selfie with you.’

‘Phil and Kirstie?’ Millie laughed, thankfully interrupting. ‘Really?’ She turned to Mikey. ‘And you’re no longer Mikey?’

He gave a regretful look. ‘Dropped the ‘y’ when I left Berecombe. We all need to reinvent ourselves, occasionally, don’t we?’

He left the words hanging but Dora knew his inference. Panicking, she clutched at straws. ‘Look, I’m so sorry but we have to go. I’ve still got a ton of ducks to sell.’ As Kirstie got her phone out, she put up her hand. ‘No really, no pictures. The fund-raising isn’t about me. It’s about the Workshop.’

‘No doubt we’ll bump into each other again, Dora.’

‘I’m sure we will Mikey. I mean Mike.’ She grabbed Millie’s arm in a vice-like grip, but before they could escape Millie rattled Dora’s tin at Mike.

‘How many have you left?’ he asked.

‘Twenty-five.’ Dora said it as a challenge, sticking her chin out. ‘Pound a duck.’

The challenge was accepted. ‘I’ll take them all,’ Mike said, with a defiant gleam in his eyes.

Dora peeled off the last numbers from the sheet, took his money and, with barely a thank you, steered Millie away. She shoved her unceremoniously through the crowd to the door. As they left they heard Kirstie’s Made in Chelsea tones complaining that you should never meet your heroes as they always disappoint.

Chapter 3

‘How could you show me up in front of him, of all people?’ Dora fell onto the sofa in Millie’s flat.

‘Who?’ Millie dropped her duck head with a relieved sigh. ‘Ooh, it’s been a long night. My feet are killing me. No, Trevor, she warned as the cockapoo nosed it with interest.’

‘Mikey Love, that’s who. Or maybe we ought to call him Mike now.’

‘Yeah, he’s definitely more a Mike now he’s all grown up and gorgeous. Mind you, he was gorgeous at school too.’ Millie’s voice was dreamy. ‘All the girls had a crush on Michael Love, although I seem to remember he only had eyes for one girl.’ Getting up, she went into the kitchen and foraged in the fridge. Brandishing a bottle of white and two glasses, she added, ‘Think we’ve earned this. Tessa was really grateful we helped out.’

‘So she should be.’

Millie poured the wine. ‘Why are you so cross?’

‘Those men! They treated us like shit.’

‘All in good fun. Millie shrugged. ‘They didn’t mean any harm. You just need to elbow them where it hurts.’

‘Is it always like this on a Friday night now?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘So much drinking.’

‘Think you’re a bit out of touch with us commoners,’ Millie observed. ‘Maybe you’ve lived in LA for too long? It was just ordinary Friday night banter.’ She passed over a glass. ‘Here, have some of this.’

Dora sipped her wine and tried not to grimace. It wasn’t the smooth white Californian she was used to. Maybe she had been in the LA bubble for too long? After all, when was the last time she’d been out without a protective entourage? Granted, it was more necessary in the States as she had a bigger fan base there. Putting her wine down, she slipped out of the duck costume, kicked off the horrible tights and lay spread-eagled on the sofa in only her underwear. ‘Oh, that’s better,’ she sighed, feeling better immediately.

Millie laughed. ‘I’ll open a window. Cool you down a bit. Going to be a hot summer, I think. It’s boiling now and it’s only April.’ After opening the window and letting the sea breeze float in, she disappeared to her bedroom and changed. Five minutes later she flopped down on the chair near the window and cackled. ‘If only your adoring fans could see you now.’

Dora didn’t bother opening her eyes. ‘They’ve seen me in less.’

‘Wasn’t quite what I meant.’

This got through. Dora giggled and sat upright. She took another sip of wine and found it tasted better this time. ‘Oh, I’m sorry I’m such a grouch, Mil. Too hot, too tired, too jet-lagged.’

‘Too spoiled?’

Dora pursed her lips. ‘You might have a point. God, I’d love a smoke.’ She gestured to the rejected duck costume, ‘But if all this yellow polyester caught light it would start a fire that would wreck half the town.’ She poked it with a disdainful toe.

‘You’ve never smoked,’ Millie exclaimed in horror.

‘Keeps the weight down.’

‘Dora, you hardly weigh anything now.’

Dora shrugged. ‘A size zero is the norm.’

‘Oh my God, that’s awful.’ Millie drank her wine in one go as a protest.

‘That’s the reality of acting in the States. If you’re under forty, they’ll only cast you if you’re a lollipop head and, if you’re over forty, they don’t cast you at all.’

‘Just as well you’ve still got another ten years, then,’ Millie observed drily.

‘Fifteen. I took five years off and go backwards a year with every birthday.’

‘What a way to make a living. Just as well they pay you so many squillions.’

Dora giggled. ‘True. And there are other perks. Lovely beachfront house in Malibu, hot chauffeur permanently on call.’

‘Well, it’s no wonder you found Friday night in the White Bear a little plebeian.’

‘You been reading those books again?’

‘Have to get my education where I can. Some of us didn’t make it out of Berecombe.’

Dora was silent for a moment. For all her problems, she had at least escaped to go to drama school and, more importantly, still had both parents. No matter how strained her relationship was with them. Poor Millie had had her entire family wiped out in one cruel second when a drugged-up idiot had driven head-on into her parents’ car. ‘I’m sorry, Millie. I’m turning into a real spoilt LA bitch.’

‘Yes you are,’ Millie agreed, without rancour.

‘Love you.’ Dora saluted her oldest friend with her glass before drinking it dry and holding it aloft for a refill. That was the beauty of a proper friendship; you could pick up where you left off.

Millie topped up Dora’s glass. ‘So, is this just a flying visit again?’

‘It will be if you continue to force me to dress up as a duck,’ Dora complained. ‘I’d hardly got off the plane before you attacked me with a feathered head.’

‘Sorry. Zoe was going to do it, but she’s knee-deep in A-Level revision. So come on, how long have we the pleasure of Berecombe’s most famous export this time?’

Dora paused, took a deep breath, then said, ‘Can you keep a secret, Mil?’

‘Me? You know I can.’

Dora sighed and stared morosely into her glass. ‘Might be back for good, as the sainted Gary Barlow would say. Long story short: ratings plummeted, show pulled. No more made.’

Millie sat up. ‘That’s awful.’ She shook her head. ‘But it’s the most popular thing on the box over here. Zoe loves it.’

‘Well, you’re two series behind, so you’ve still got something to watch.’ Dora fiddled with a long strand of hair, trying to control the urge for a cigarette. She was trying to give up. ‘It’s the way American TV works. As soon as a show gets even a whiff of a ratings drop, it’s axed. You have to admire the business ethic, I suppose. It’s all about the profit.’

Millie wasn’t sure she did. It sounded far too ruthless for her and, besides, she was off anything American at the moment. ‘So, what are you going to do?’

‘Shack up with Mum and Dad for a bit. I haven’t seen much of them over the last few years. Walk on the beach if I can borrow Trevor. Have lazy mornings in bed. Have a holiday, enjoy myself!’

‘Get to know Mikey Love again?’

Dora gave her friend a shuttered look. ‘No way. Not going near that heap of trouble again. Nope. Me and Michael Love belong firmly in the sixth form. I do not intend to rake up all that shit again. Ever!’

Millie thought her friend protested too much. She’d seen the looks flashing between Mike and Dora. And who could resist a man who looked like he did? She finished her wine in silence. Dora and Mike had been besotted with one another when they’d all been in sixth form. They’d been the hottest couple in school. Surely feelings that intense never really went away? In the pub they looked as if they wanted to jump on one another and rip their clothes off there and then.