Maggie Kingsley – A Baby for Eve (страница 7)

‘If you hurry up,’ Tom continued as he sat down on the top step, and began pulling off his shoes and socks, and rolling up his trousers, ‘we’ll have the beach to ourselves—just the way you used to like it.’

How had he remembered that? she thought with surprise, and he’d also remembered she used to sit at the foot of the lighthouse when she wanted to think. They were such little things—such inconsequential things—and yet he’d remembered, and the water did look tempting, so very tempting, but she could just imagine what the gossipmongers would say if somebody saw her.

Eve Dwyer went paddling with that Tom Cornish yesterday. Paddling, and with that Tom Cornish.

‘Tom, maybe we should just go back into the village,’ she began, and his green eyes danced as he looked up at her.

‘Eve, I’m not suggesting we go skinny-dipping. Though I’m game if you are.’

Her lips curved in spite of herself.

‘In your dreams,’ she said.

‘Chicken.’

He was the second person to have called her that in twenty-four hours, and she discovered she didn’t like it. She didn’t like it one bit. OK, so skinny-dipping was completely out of the question but, hell’s bells, even in Penhally she could surely paddle if she wanted to, and she discovered she wanted to.

‘OK, move over,’ she said, and he slid across the step so she could sit down beside him.

‘So, are we paddling, or skinny-dipping?’ he said, and, when she gave him a hard stare, his eyes glinted. ‘Pity. I was kind of looking forward to shocking the good people of Penhally.’

‘I bet you were,’ she said dryly as she unbuckled the straps of her shoes and slipped them off. ‘Right. Turn your back while I take off my stockings,’ she added, and when his mouth fell open, she said, ‘I’m not having you staring at my thighs, and making snarky comments about cellulite, so turn your back.’

‘I don’t even know what cellulite is,’ he protested, but he did as she asked, and when she eventually stuffed her tights into her skirt pocket and stood up, he said, ‘You’re an idiot—you know that, don’t you?’

‘Probably,’ she agreed, picking up her shoes by their straps, and walking down the steps. ‘So, are we walking or not?’

He shook his head at her as he followed her down the steps.

‘You didn’t used to be so shy,’ he observed, and a stain of colour spread across her cheeks.

He was laughing at her, she knew he was, remembering all the times he’d seen her completely naked, and she bit her lip, waiting for him to point that out, but he didn’t.

‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget you dancing and singing on this beach,’ he said instead, completely surprising her. ‘It was the height of summer—the place was packed with tourists, and families from the village—and suddenly you began singing that Whitney Houston song at the top of your lungs.’

‘“I wanna to dance with somebody”!’ she exclaimed with a choke of laughter. ‘I’d forgotten all about that. I got into such a row with my mother after Audrey Baxter told her I’d made a public spectacle of myself.’

‘Audrey Baxter would say that,’ he replied with feeling as they began walking along the beach.

‘And you told me I had no taste,’ she reminded him. ‘That if I wanted to sing, then I should have sung one of Bruce Springsteen’s songs because he was the only singer worth listening to.’

‘Still is,’ he insisted, and when she rolled her eyes he laughed, and said, ‘Do you still have that dress?’

‘What dress?’ she said in confusion.

‘The red dress you wore that day. It had a big wide skirt, and puffy sleeves, and when I first went to the States I couldn’t turn on the radio without hearing Chris de Burgh singing “The Lady in Red”, and every time I heard it I thought of you, singing on this beach.’

‘Did you?’ she said faintly, and he nodded.

‘You wouldn’t believe how homesick I got whenever they played that song.’

But not homesick enough to write to me, or phone me, she thought, but she didn’t say that.

‘I’m afraid I threw the dress out years ago,’ she said instead.

‘Pity,’ he murmured, picking up a pebble and sending it skimming across the water in front of them. ‘I always liked that dress, and the little red boots you used to wear.’

‘My pixie boots!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’d forgotten all about them, too. I loved those boots. Couldn’t wear them now, of course.’

‘Yes, you could. You’ve still got great legs. Great figure, too,’ he added.

‘Not that good,’ she said, feeling the wash of colour on her cheeks return as his gaze swept over her. ‘Years ago I could eat whatever I wanted and never put on a kilo. Now I just have to look at a cream cake, and, pouf, on goes the weight.’

He grinned. ‘Well, you’re looking good from where I’m standing.’

So was he, she thought. With the sun on his face, and the wind ruffling his hair, he looked exactly like the town bad boy he’d been all those years ago, whereas she…

What had she been back then?

Naïve, yes. Trusting, most definitely, but mostly so full of dreams, and hopes, and plans. Tom had been the same, but her dreams hadn’t been the same as his. He’d wanted to get as far away from Penhally as he could, to live a life of adventure and excitement, and she… She’d simply wanted him.

‘Let’s have some fun,’ he’d said when he’d come back to Penhally as a fully qualified doctor that summer, and she’d been so happy because he’d finally asked her out that she’d chosen not to believe him when he’d told her he would be heading for the States at the end of September.

He’ll change his mind, she’d told herself, and for four wonderful, glorious months they’d walked, and talked—lord, how they’d talked—and they’d made love. She’d been a virgin when they’d first started going out and he’d teased her about it, said a woman could have just as much fun as a man without fear of the consequences, and she’d gone on the Pill to be safe, and then after four far too short months he had left.

‘What are you thinking about?’

She looked up to see him gazing at her quizzically, and managed a smile.

‘I was just wondering where the last twenty years had gone,’ she said. ‘Sometimes it seems like a lifetime, doesn’t it, and sometimes just a few months.’

‘And I can’t believe you’re still single,’ he observed. ‘The men in Penhally must be either blind, or stupid, or both.’

‘I almost got married once,’ she replied, kicking the sand in front of her so it sprayed out as they walked, ‘but…’

‘It didn’t feel right?’

‘Something like that. What about you?’ she asked. ‘Were you never tempted to take the plunge?’

‘I’ve had a couple of semi-serious relationships, but…’ He shrugged. ‘My work makes it difficult because I never know where I’m going to be from one day to the next.’

‘Maybe you’re just not the marrying kind,’ she said. ‘Some people aren’t.’

He stared out to sea, then back at her, and to her surprise he looked suddenly wistful, almost sad.

‘And maybe I simply got my priorities all wrong.’

His eyes were fixed on hers, refusing to allow her to look away, and her heart gave an uncomfortable thump. This conversation was getting too personal, way too personal, and she had to change it. Now.

‘Last one to reach the end of the beach is a wimp,’ she said, and, before he could reply, she was off and running, her bare feet flying over the sand, her skirt billowing above her knees, her shoes swinging from her hand.

From behind her she heard him shout a spluttered protest, but she didn’t stop. She just kept on running and when she heard his footsteps begin to thud behind her she suddenly, and inexplicably, began to laugh.

To laugh like the girl she’d once been. The carefree young girl who had once sung on a beach, feeling nothing but the joy of being alive, and she knew she probably looked like a demented lunatic, but she didn’t care. For this moment—for just this one moment—with her hair streaming in the breeze, and the taste of the sun and the sea on her lips, she felt like that girl again, and it was wonderful.

‘You cheated!’ he exclaimed when he caught up with her, and grasped her by the waist, spinning her round so fast she had to catch hold of his shirt to prevent herself from toppling over.

‘Sore loser,’ she threw back at him, laughing breathlessly as she pushed her hair away from her face. ‘You’ve been spending far too much time behind a desk.’

‘Too much time…?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I’ll make you pay for that remark, Eve Dwyer.’

‘Oh, no, you won’t,’ she said, turning to run again, and he made a grab for her, and she jumped back to escape him, only to let out a yell as she ended up ankle deep in the sea. ‘Oh, my God, it’s freezing.’

‘Serves you right.’ Tom laughed but, when she scooped up some water and threw it at him, he splashed into the water after her. ‘Play rough, would you? OK, you deserve a complete ducking for that.’

‘You wouldn’t,’ she cried, trying to evade him, but he caught her round the waist again and swept her up into his arms.

‘You think?’ he said, deliberately lowering her towards the water, and she shrieked and threw her arms round his neck.

‘Tom, no!’

He grinned. ‘OK, if you don’t want to be ducked, you’ll need to pay a forfeit, and I think you know what that forfeit is, don’t you?’