Second Chance At Sea

CHAPTER SIX

‘THIS IS SO good.’

‘Better than your Pinot Noirs and Sauvignon Blancs?’

Lawrie took a long sip of the cool, tart cider and shook her head. ‘Not better—different. I’m not sure I’d want to drink it in a restaurant. Too filling, for a start,’ she finished, turning the pint glass full of amber-coloured liquid round in her hands, admiring the way it caught the light.

‘They have a micro-brewery on site.’ Jonas was reading the tasting cards. ‘Rhubarb cider—that sounds intriguing. I wonder if they would want a stall at the festival? Talking of which, have you made a decision on the bands yet?’

Lawrie pulled a face. ‘It’s so hard,’ she said. ‘They were all good, and so different. Seriously, how do you compare punk folk with rock with acoustic?’ She shook her head. ‘Who would have thought punk folk even worked, and yet they were fab. Can I ask them all?’

‘You’re the organiser; it’s up to you,’ Jonas said. He gave her a mock stern look. ‘Not last night’s support, though. We want people to enjoy their festival-going experience.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Lawrie smiled at him sweetly. ‘I thought the part where she read out poetry to a triangle beat was inspiring. Especially the poem about her menstrual cycle.’

‘Stop!’ Jonas was covering his ears. ‘Those words are seared onto my brain. As is that triangle. I swear I could hear it in my sleep. Ting, ting ting.’ He shuddered.

Lawrie laughed and took another sip. ‘I think the triangle represented her feminine aura.’

It was amazing, how comfortable she was. How comfortable they were. Having him around, driving, tasting, listening, bouncing ideas—it had made the whole trip easy, fun. And it hadn’t been awkward. Well, hardly at all. Lying in the upper berth listening to his deep breathing had been a little odd. A little lonely, maybe. But nothing she couldn’t shake off.

And he’d been a perfect gentleman. Which was good, obviously.

‘It was a good idea of yours to stay an extra night,’ she said with a small, happy sigh.

Jonas had been right about the views. The final campsite was perfectly placed in the dip of a valley, with the beach and sea clearly visible from their sheltered pitch. Lawrie wriggled back in her chair and closed her eyes, savouring the feel of the late-afternoon sun on her face.

‘It seemed a shame to get a pitch with these views and then not be around to enjoy them,’ Jonas said. ‘Besides, we deserve some relaxation. And we discovered this cider.’ He held up his pint with a satisfied smile. ‘And that crêperie this morning. I think you should consider that patisserie too—their croissant was a work of art.’

‘Hmm...’ Lawrie opened her eyes and reached down to the folder at her feet. Picking it up, she flicked through it thoughtfully. ‘They were good, weren’t they? And the bakers near Liskeard were superb. I think that’s enough pastries and bread though, don’t you? We need some diversity. Two ice cream suppliers, four breweries, one Indian, one Thai and an Indonesian takeaway. Paella, the baked potato stall...’

‘Stop right there.’

Jonas held his hand up and, startled, Lawrie let the folder slip shut.

‘Lawrie Bennett, it is Sunday afternoon. You have been working day and night all weekend. Relax, enjoy the view, and drink your cider.’

A warm glow spread through her at his words. Nobody else had ever cared about how hard she worked, told her to slow down. She needed it. Somehow, when brakes were being handed out Lawrie had been last in line.

They lay side by side, sprawled out in the deckchairs, united in a companionable silence. That was another thing, she thought drowsily. He was easy to talk to but she didn’t have to talk to him, to entertain. She was free to be lost in her own head if she wanted.

It was nice to be sitting here with no plans, nothing to tick off on her physical or mental to-do list. It was just... Lawrie shifted in her seat. What were they going to do tonight? At least her schedule had meant there were no awkward gaps to be filled. Their conversation had revolved around the food they were tasting, the music they were listening to. But tonight stretched ahead—empty. Maybe there was another band playing locally. Or another restaurant to check out. A seafood stall might be an interesting addition to the mix.

‘Stop it.’

Lawrie turned her head in surprise. ‘Stop what?’

‘Timetabling the evening.’

How did he know? ‘I’m not,’ she said. Then, a little more truthfully, ‘I was just thinking about later. Wondering what we were going to do.’

‘We haven’t stopped for three days,’ Jonas pointed out. ‘Do we have to do anything?’

‘No...’ she said doubtfully. ‘Only what about food? Or when it gets dark? Not that I’m not enjoying the sun and the view, but it will start to cool off in an hour or so.’

‘Good thing we packed jumpers, then.’

The teasing tone was back in his voice and Lawrie squirmed, hot with embarrassment. It was unfair of him to make her feel uptight. Just because she liked to know what was coming next. Hugo had liked her organisational skills. Maybe that was what had attracted him to his secretary? Not the leopard print thong but the way she organised his diary.

‘Okay.’

Jonas was sitting up in his chair and she could feel his eyes fixed on her, despite the sunglasses shielding them.

‘I haven’t made notes or a list, and I don’t own a clipboard, but I had vaguely thought of a walk, finishing up at the farm shop for cheese and bread and more of this excellent cider. Then back to the van, where I can finally take cold-blooded, nine-year-old revenge for quilling on a triple word score. If you’re up to the challenge, that is?’

That sounded really pleasant. In fact it sounded perfect. Almost dangerously so.

‘Misplaced confidence was always your problem,’ Lawrie said, adjusting her own sunglasses, hoping he couldn’t see just how much the evening he had outlined appealed to her. ‘There have been many high-scoring words since then, Mr Jones. But if you are willing to risk your pride again, I am more than willing to take you down.’

Jonas leant forward, so close his face was almost touching hers, his breath sweet on her cheek. ‘I look forward to it.’

* * *

‘That is not a word!’

‘It is.’ Lawrie couldn’t hide the beam on her face. Ah, the sweet smell of victory. ‘Check the dictionary.’

‘I don’t care what the dictionary says,’ Jonas argued. ‘Use it in a coherent sentence.’

Foolish, foolish boy. He should know better than to challenge Lawrie Bennett at Scrabble. Or at any game.

‘How many exahertz are these gamma rays?’ she said, sitting back and enjoying his reaction.

‘You have never, ever used that sentence in your whole life!’

‘No,’ she conceded. ‘But I could. If I went to work at CERN, for instance, or had a physics laboratory as a client. Besides, the rules don’t specify that you have to have used the word in everyday conversation.’

‘They should do,’ Jonas grumbled, staring at the board in some dismay.

As he should, she thought, looking at the scores neatly written down on the pad in front of her. There was no way he could win now. And if she could just prevent him from narrowing the gap too much...a two-hundred-point lead was so satisfying.

Leaning back against the bench, she began to add up her points. They were both sitting on the floor of the camper van, the amost full board between them. The van doors were slid fully open, giving the scene a dramatic backdrop as the sun sank into the sea, leaving a fiery path on the top of the calm waves.

‘That is thirty-one tripled, plus fifty for getting all my letters out. It’s a shame it’s the H on the double letter score, but all in all not a bad round. Okay, your turn.’

‘I don’t think I want to play any more,’ Jonas said, disgust on his face as he surveyed his letter tiles. ‘Not even you could manage to make a word out of three Is, a U, two Os and an R.’

Lawrie bit back a smile as she surveyed the board. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said, keeping her face completely serious. ‘I think the official Scrabble term for your situation is screwed. Ow! What was that for?’

‘Excessive smugness.’ Jonas held up a second cushion. ‘Don’t think I won’t,’ he threatened.

Retrieving the cushion he’d already lobbed in her direction, Lawrie held it up in front of her, half shield, half offensive weapon. ‘You just try it, Jones.’

He eyed her. ‘A challenge? Really, Lawrie? You may, on this occasion, have won on brains, but I am always going to win on brawn.’

‘Brawn,’ she scoffed, uneasily aware of a tightening in her abdomen—a kind of delicious apprehension uncoiling—as she brandished her pillow. ‘At your age?’

‘In the prime of my life,’ he said. ‘Never been in better shape. What?’ He laughed indignantly as Lawrie collapsed into giggles. ‘It’s true.’

‘Says the man sat on a caravan floor, unshaven and holding a cushion!’ It was hard to get the words out.

‘It’s not a caravan, you blasphemer. This is a classic and you know it. Besides, you can’t talk. If only all your fashion admirers could see you now they would be totally disappointed. Nothing chic about leggings and a sweatshirt—even I know that.’

Swallowing back the laughter, Lawrie hugged her knees to her chest. ‘Yoga pants and cashmere, actually.’

It felt good to laugh. Free.

Trying hard not to think about how long it had been since she had laughed like that, Lawrie fastened onto Jonas’s last words. ‘Hang on—what do you mean, fashion admirers?’

Jonas shook his head and pushed the Scrabble board away, sliding down so only his head and shoulders were propped up against the bench seat, the rest of his long, lean body sprawled comfortably along the floor.

He took up a lot of room. A lot of air. Lawrie swallowed and adjusted her gaze so that she was looking straight ahead, at the glorious sunset, at fresh air. Not at the denim-clad legs lying close to her. Close enough to touch.

‘I dress really conservatively for work,’ she said, probing for an answer as Jonas seemed disinclined to speak. ‘And my only night out was on my birthday.’

‘Apparently West London’s “conservative” is Trengarth’s cutting edge,’ Jonas said, swirling the Scrabble tiles around on the board and mixing up the words. ‘It’s all about the cut, or so I’ve heard. Definitely not High Street, they say.’

‘I do get my suits made for me by a tailor who specialises in women’s clothes.’ Why did it feel like an admission of guilt? ‘They fit better, though I wouldn’t call them fashionable. But I don’t know why I am explaining this to you.’ She rounded on Jonas. ‘If your suits aren’t handmade I’ll eat a Scrabble tile.’

He grinned, picking up an I and holding it out to her. ‘Here you go—there are too many of these anyway.’ Lawrie raised an eyebrow at him and he palmed the tile. ‘Okay, you win. I do frequent an establishment in Plymouth run by a gentleman who trained on Savile Row.’

‘I knew it!’ The moment of triumph was shortlived as the impact of his words hit. Lawrie’s chest tightened painfully and she breathed deeply, slowly. ‘Why do people care about what I wear?’

Jonas looked surprised. ‘They don’t—not really. Only you’re new, have history with me, and you look smarter than anyone else. It was bound to make a bit of a stir. It’s not a big deal.’

But it was. ‘I don’t like being talked about. No one even noticed my suits in the City. Maybe I should get some new clothes for the rest of the summer.’

‘What on earth for?’ He sounded incredulous.

A wave of irritation swept over her. ‘To blend in. The last thing I want is to be noticed for anything but my work.’

‘People aren’t exactly staring at you as you walk down the street,’ Jonas pointed out. ‘Wait...’ He pulled his legs in and sat up, facing her. Blue eyes studied her face intently. ‘Is this why you were so stressed about what to bring on this trip? You wanted to blend in?’

‘There’s no reason to sound so judgmental.’ Lawrie could feel her face heating up, a prickly and uncomfortable warmth spreading down her neck and chest. ‘I’m not comfortable standing out from the crowd. No big deal.’

He was still looking at her. Looking into her, as if he could see her soul. As if he was unsure about what he was seeing there. It took every bit of self-control that she had not to squirm or pull away.

‘Is it, Law?’ he said softly ‘Is it just about blending in?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ She wanted to pull away, look away, but it was as if his eyes had a hypnotic effect on her. She was paralysed, stuck to the spot, as he stared at her searchingly.

‘You didn’t sing in London. Not once in nine years.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Jonas, I was busy!’

‘What did you do? Apart from work.’

She tried to remember but it was all fog. It seemed like a lifetime ago. ‘We had dinner with friends. Went to the theatre, to museums and exhibitions. The usual things.’

‘Usual for who? West London professionals like you?’ His gaze sharpened. ‘You’re a tribal animal, aren’t you, Lawrie? You like to dress the part, act the part—whatever that part might be. What is it you really want? You like? Do you even know?’

‘What do you care?’ The words were torn from her. ‘As soon as my life diverged from yours you gave up on me. So don’t you dare be so damn superior—don’t act like I’m letting you down by trying to fit in.’

‘But you’re not.’ He looked surprised. ‘Why would you be letting me down? But are you letting yourself down, Lawrie? If you spend your whole life hiding your own needs and wants away can you ever be really happy?’

‘Happiness is not about things.’ The words snapped out of her, surprising her with their fierceness, their certainty. ‘Clothes, hobbies, food—they’re just trappings, Jonas. I don’t care about any of them. All I want—all I have ever wanted—is to be successful, to be independent. To stick to the plan.’

‘Is this the plan? To be here with me?’

It was like a punch straight to the stomach, winding her with its strength. ‘No,’ she said after a long pause. ‘No, this wasn’t in the plan. But I’m adaptable, Jonas. I’m strong. Don’t ever mistake a desire to fit in with weakness. Lions blend in with the Sahara, you know.’

He threw his head back and laughed. The sound jarred with her jangled nerves.

‘Weak is the last word I’d use to describe you. Lioness, on the other hand...’

It was his turn to duck as she threw a cushion at him.

‘I was just agreeing with you,’ he protested.

‘If you had lived with my mother you’d have learned to fit in as well,’ Lawrie said. She didn’t know why she was telling him this—why she needed him to understand. But she did. She needed him to know that she wasn’t shallow or weak. ‘One moment I’m living in Stockbrokerville in Surrey, learning French and pony-riding, the next we’re in a commune near Glastonbury and my mother is trying to make me answer to the name of Star. She changed completely, depending on who she was with, and she never went for the same type twice.’

‘I know,’ Jonas said, pity softening the keen eyes. ‘It was hard for you.’

Lawrie shook her head. ‘I don’t need you to feel sorry for me. I’m just explaining. What I wore, ate, did, the friends I had—they were interchangeable, dependent on her whims. If I had cared, had tried to hang on to things, it would have been unbearable. So I kept my head down, I worked hard, and I vowed that I would be so successful that I would never have to be dependent on anyone. And I’m not.’

‘Is that why you and the fiancé split? Because you didn’t need him?’

‘No.’ Of course it wasn’t. Hugo had liked her independence. Hadn’t he? ‘It was...complicated.’ That was one word for it. ‘Is that why you wanted out? Because I didn’t need you?’

‘Oh, Lawrie.’ There was no lightness in his voice, in his face, at all. ‘I was used to that. Not being needed. And, if you remember, in the end you were the one that walked away.’

‘Maybe...’ Her voice was low. ‘Maybe I was afraid that I did need you.’

‘Would that have been so bad?’ He examined her face, searching for answers behind the mask.

She shook her head and another lock of hair fell out of the loose ponytail, framing her face. ‘Bad? It would have been terrible. I was barely started on my path. Oxford, an internship at one of the best City firms... And I seriously, seriously considered giving it all up. For you. For a man. Just like my mother would have. Just like she did again and again. I had to leave, Jonas.’ She turned to him, eyes wide, pleading for understanding. ‘I had to hold on to me.’

And in doing so she had let go of him. Jonas closed his eyes for a second, seeing a flash of his heartbroken younger self frozen in time. He hadn’t wasted a single emotion on his parents’ rejection, pouring all that need, all his love, into the slight girl now sitting beside him. It had been far too much for someone so young to carry.

He reached out and cupped her cheek. Her skin was soft beneath his hand. ‘I guess I needed you to choose me. I needed somebody to choose me. I still needed validation back then. It was a lot to put on you. Too much.’

‘Maybe you were right. We were too young.’ Her eyes were filled with sadness and regret. ‘I didn’t want to agree with you, to prove all the I told you so right, but we had a lot of growing up to do. We weren’t ready for such a big step.’

He nodded. Suddenly he didn’t feel any anger or contempt towards her or towards their shared past. Just an underlying sadness for the idealistic kids they had once been. For their belief that love really was all they needed.

He was still touching her cheek. She leant into him trustingly and he turned his hand to run the back of it down the side of her face, learning once again the angle of her cheekbone, the contours of her chin, the smoothness of her skin.

Jonas had made some rules for himself before he came on this trip. No talking about the past, no flirting, and definitely, absolutely no touching.

But sometimes rules were meant to be broken.

Slowly, deliberately, he let his fingers trail further down her face, brushing her full mouth before dipping down to her chin. He let them linger there for one long, agonising moment, tilting her face towards him, giving her ample time to pull away, to stop him, before he leant in slowly—oh, so slowly.

It was a butterfly kiss. So light, so brief, their lips barely touching. Jonas pulled back, searching her face for consent. Her eyes were closed, her face angled towards his, lips slightly parted. Expectant. It was all the agreement he needed.

He shifted closer to her, closing the space between them as he slid one arm around her slender shoulders. The other hand moved from her chin to the sweet spot at the nape of her neck. She moved in too—an infinitesimal shift, yet one that brought her body into full contact with his. Her face lifted, waiting, expecting. Jonas looked down at her for one moment—at the face at once so familiar and yet so strange to him, at the dark eyelashes, impossibly long, improbably thick, the creamy skin, the lush, full mouth waiting for him.

And a gentleman should never keep a lady waiting.

Another fleeting kiss, and another, and another. Until, impatient, she moaned and pressed closer in, her mouth opening under his, seeking, wanting. She tasted of cider, of sunshine. She tasted like summer, like coming home, and he deepened the kiss, pulling her even closer until they were pressed together, her arms wound around his neck. His own arms were holding her tightly to him, one bunching the silky strands of her hair, the other caressing the planes of her back through the lightness of her top.

It was like being a teenager again, entwined on the floor of the camper van, mouths fused, hands roaming, pulling each other closer and closer until it seemed impossible that they were two separate bodies. There was no urgency to move, no need to start removing clothes, for hands to move lower. Not yet.

Seconds, minutes, hours, infinities passed by. All Jonas knew was the drumming of his blood in his ears, the fierce heat engulfing him. All he knew was her. Her touch, her taste, her mouth, the feel of her under his hands. When she pulled back it was as if she had been physically torn away from him, a painful wrench that left him cold. Empty.

She looked at him, eyes wide, dark with passion, her pupils dilated, mouth swollen. ‘I think...’ she began, her voice husky, barely audible.

Jonas readied himself. If she wanted to be the voice of common sense, so be it. He looked back at her silently. He might not argue, but he wasn’t going to help her either.

‘I think we should close the doors.’

Her words were so unexpected all he could do for a moment was gape. The van doors were still open to the night sky. The sea breeze floated in, bringing the taste of salt and the faint coconut-tinged smell of gorse.

Then the meaning of her words hit home. Anticipation filled the air, hot and heavy, making it hard to breathe as excitement coiled inside him.

‘There’s no one out there.’

They were in a secluded spot, parked at the very edge of the field. As private as you could be in a campsite full of tents and caravans. Not as private as they could have been if he’d planned for this.

‘Even so...’

She smiled at him, slow and full of promise, and slowly, as if he were wading through treacle, he got to his feet and swung the sliding door firmly closed. The outside world was shut out. It was just the two of them in this small enclosed space. The air was heavy with expectation, with heat, with longing.

‘Satisfied?’ He raised an eyebrow and watched her flush.

‘Not yet.’ She was turning the tables on him. ‘But I’m hoping to be.’

Passion jolted through him, intense and all-encompassing. In swift, sure steps he closed the space between them, pulling her in tight. ‘Oh, you will be,’ he promised as he lowered his mouth to hers once again. ‘I can guarantee it.’