Page 2 of One Cornish Summer With You
‘Well, in that case, I’m happy to take your cash and hand it over to the charity shop later.’
‘Great!’ He delved into his cargo shorts pockets, scooping out coppers and silver.
Tammy retrieved her small waterproof bag that served equally well for car keys, her mobile – and coins.
‘I’ve got a tip for you, too.’ A woman in a striped top and white jeans thrust herself into the circle around Tammy. ‘These coppers are weighing down my purse.’
The woman and a couple of other onlookers added coins to Tammy’s bag. It amused and alarmed her in equal measure that some were so keen to hand over the ‘burden’ of their small change. Used to doing everything with a card, the coins had lost their value, yet Tammy knew how precious they would be to so many people in the village.
‘I promise I’ll take it to the charity shop later,’ she repeated, keen to reiterate that she wasn’t going to keep it for herself. A quick glance at the sea wall and she noticed the stranger had now ditched the tie.
‘You’re a saint, though I’d be tempted to hang on to the cash after all that hard work,’ the woman said. ‘You have to earn a living.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, I manage,’ Tammy said, itching to get away.
People circled her creation. Tammy wanted them to go, but her work was public now and wasn’t that what she’d intended? She wanted them to think about the man it was meant for, even if they’d never met her father. Otherwise, she’d have chosen a secret beach, not the main one in Porthmellow.
A girl of about six was kicking at the far side of the design, the sand spraying into the air.
‘Robyn! Don’t do that!’ The shout came from a woman with a grey bob. ‘The lady will be upset.’
‘It’s OK,’ Tammy muttered, though her stomach clenched. ‘The sea will take it soon anyway.’
The woman, who seemed to be the girl’s grandmother, pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘That’s as may be, but it’s not right, damaging a work of art. She has to learn to respect other people’s property.’ She marched after her granddaughter, taking her hand and ushering her away.
Tammy gave an inner sigh. The sunrise in the sand wasn’t her property now. The sea would take it back soon enough. But that was the natural process which should happen, rather than it suffering an untimely destruction by a child’s tantrum.
A young guy with a goatee dropped some euros in the duffle. ‘Thank you for your beautiful art,’ he said in a French accent.
‘You’re welcome,’ Tammy replied and, before anyone else could approach, she trotted up the steps that led away from the beach so she could grab a few photos and watch nature take its course. She hadn’t been there when her father had been taken; his loss was out of her control. At least when she created her annual tribute, she could be with him in spirit.
Besides, if she didn’t get a move on, Mr Suited and Booted would be gone and she’d never have the chance to find out who he was.
CHAPTER FOUR
Realising the artist was heading straight for him, Ruan’s stomach did something strange and unexpected. He refused to say ‘it flipped’ because stomachs couldn’t actually do that: it was simply a romantic metaphor. On the other hand,somethinghad definitely connected his brain and his gut, turbocharging his senses.
No wonder. The artist was even more mesmerising up close. There was something elemental about her, from the sandy dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks to her skin, bronzed by the sun: she seemed almost part of the wild surroundings she worked in and with.
Even her hair reminded him of wavy ridges carved into the sand by the sea. And the colour had surely taken on the warm shades of a Cornish sunset. It was a sunset he’d rarely had time to see until recently, since he’d been so engrossed, some would say obsessed, with his work.
Once again, Ruan was struck by how fanciful his thoughts were about this woman he had yet to say a word to. It was not his job today to dream. As a private-client solicitor, his role was to establish the facts and to back them up with proof that, if necessary, would stand up in a court of law. That was difficult when, to do his job successfully, he had tosuppress the side of him that was – according to his ex – a hopeless romantic.
Alexandra had been right in one sense: it had been hopeless to think the two of them had ever had a future. Ruan had turned out not to be the man of her dreams after all. Now here he was in a small seaside town, killing time before his meeting by daydreaming about a woman who made a living by drawing in the sand. Alexandra would be laughing her cashmere socks off if she could see him.
Yet she couldn’t, and by reminding himself that those days were gone, Ruan sensed a weight being lifted from his shoulders. Seeing the artist strolling towards him along the harbourside, even the law itself felt a world away.
She took a few pictures on her mobile before lowering it and observing the waves creep closer to the rising sun she’d created.
‘Your work is very beautiful.’ His words escaped almost against his will.
She lowered her phone. ‘Thank you,’ she said with a brief smile for him before she refocused her gaze on the beach, perhaps calculating when the waves would reach her handiwork.
He was compelled to break the silence. ‘Can I ask something?’
She gave him her full attention, again with a smile on her face, although Ruan felt it was tinged with weariness or possibly resignation. She must be asked a thousand questions, and here he was, burdening her with another. ‘Of course.’
‘How does it feel when your work is taken by the waves?Do you regret all those hours you spent creating it? Are you angry that the sea destroys it?’
