Second Chance At Sea. Jessica Gilmore

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СКАЧАТЬ replaced by a younger model.’

      There was a dark undercurrent to her tone and he glanced at her sharply, but her face was as impassive as ever, the laughter gone as if it had never been, replaced by that cool mask she always put on.

      It had been her coolness that had first attracted him—the innocent look on her face as she said the most outrageous things a stark contrast to the noisy beach bums he’d been surrounded by. It had been the unexpected moments when she’d opened up that had made him fall head over heels in love with her—the moments when her mask had dropped and she’d lit up with laughter, with indignation, with passion.

      Dangerous memories. His hands tightened on the wheel as he navigated the narrow bends, the hedgerows high beside them as if they were driving through a dark, tree-lined tunnel.

      ‘I’m glad you’re driving. I’m not sure I’d find my way by road,’ Lawrie said conversationally, as if she were discussing the weather.

      As beautifully mannered as ever, Jonas thought.

      ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve been to Coombe End. I can’t imagine it without your parents there—how are they?’

      There were a million and one responses he could give to that. Jonas settled for the most polite. ‘Retired.’

      Lawrie made an incredulous noise. ‘Retired? Seriously? I didn’t think the word was even in their vocabulary.’

      ‘It wasn’t. It took a heart attack to make them even talk about it, and a second one to make them do it.’

      ‘I’m sorry to hear that. What are they doing now?’

      Jonas’s mouth twisted wryly. Making sure he knew just how much they regretted it. Just how much it hurt to see their profligate son undo all their hard work. Not that any of that was Lawrie’s business. Not any more.

      ‘Living in a respectable villa, in a respectable village in Dorset, and taking an inordinate amount of cruises—which they mostly complain about, of course. Still, every retiree needs a hobby.’

      Lawrie looked at him, concern in the deep grey eyes. Of course she knew more about his relationship with his parents than anyone else. He wasn’t used to that—to people seeing behind his flippant tone. He made damn sure that nobody did.

      ‘I can’t imagine it—your parents, of all people, taking it easy on cruise liners. How long since you bought them out?’

      ‘Coming up to four years.’ Jonas kept his answer short, terse.

      ‘Are they still involved?’

      ‘Now that, Lawrie dear, would mean them communicating with me.’ All this talk of his parents—his least favourite subject. It was time to turn the tables. ‘Talking about difficult relations,’ Jonas said, ‘how is your mother? Still in Spain?’

      Lawrie twisted in her seat and stared at him. ‘How did you know she was in Spain?’

      Jonas grinned to himself, allowing his fingers to beat out a tune on the leather of the steering wheel. Nice deflection, Jones. ‘I met her when she was over from Spain, introducing her new husband...John, isn’t it? He seemed like a nice bloke. Didn’t she come to London? She said she wanted to see you.’

      Lawrie’s mouth had thinned; the relaxed posture was gone. Any straighter and he could use her back as a ruler.

      ‘I was busy.’

      Jonas shrugged. ‘I think this one might be different. She seemed settled, happy.’

      Lawrie was radiating disapproval. ‘Maybe five is her lucky number.’

      ‘People make mistakes. Your mother certainly did. But she’s so proud of you.’

      ‘She has no right to be proud of me—she doesn’t know me. And if she was so keen to see me she should have come back for Gran’s funeral.’

      ‘Didn’t she?’

      He should have been at the funeral too. He’d said his own private goodbye to Gran on the day, alone at the cottage. But he should have gone.

      ‘She was on a retreat.’ It was Lawrie’s turn to be terse.

      Maybe it had been too successful a deflection. Jonas searched for a response but couldn’t find one. Lawrie had every right to be angry, but at least her mother wanted to make amends.

      His parents wouldn’t have known what they were expected to make amends for—as far as they were concerned any problems in their relationship were all down to him.

      He was their eternal disappointment.

      There was an awkward silence for a few long minutes, with Jonas concentrating on the narrow road, pulling over several times as tractors lumbered past, and Lawrie staring out of the window.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she said suddenly. ‘I’m glad she’s happy—that five husbands and goodness knows how many boyfriends later she’s settled. But it’s thirty years too late for me.’

      ‘I know.’

      And he did. He knew it all. He knew how bitter Lawrie was about her mother’s desertion, how angry. He knew how vulnerable years of moving around, adapting to new homes, new schools, new stepfathers had made her.

      He knew how difficult it was for her to trust, to rely on anyone. It was something he couldn’t ever allow himself to forget.

      When it all got too much Lawrie Bennett ran away. Like mother, like daughter. Not caring who or what she left behind.

      This time he was not getting to get left in her destructive wake.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      ‘WHAT HAVE YOU done with the helipad? And didn’t the ninth hole start over there? I’m not sure your father ever recovered from that lesson. Or your mother...although I did offer to pay for the window.’

      Lawrie would have bet everything she owned that a country house hotel catering for the rich was not Jonas’s style. But now she was here it was hard to pinpoint the changes she instinctively knew he must have made. Coombe End looked the same—a tranquil Queen Anne manor house set in stunning acres of managed woodland at the back, green meadows at the front, running into the vivid blue blur of sea on the horizon—and yet something was different. Something other than the change in owner and the apparent loss of a golf course and helipad.

      Maybe it was the car park? There were a few high-end cars dotted here and there, but they were joined by plenty of others: people carriers, old bangers, small town cars and a whole fleet worth of camper vans, their bright paintwork shining brightly in the sun. Last time she had been here the car park had been filled with BMWs and Mercedes and other, less obviously identifiable makes—discreet and expensive, just like the hotel.

      Lawrie hadn’t seen many camper vans in London, and the sight of their cheery squat box shape, their rounded curves and white tops, filled her with a sudden inexplicable sense of happiness. Which was absurd. Camper vans were for man-boys СКАЧАТЬ