As she drove off to the beach in her little van, she thought it reminded her of Davey: battered and showing signs of age but indefatigable. Although she’d joked about him looking tired, she’d thought there was a weariness underlying the dry humour and his eyes had been red-rimmed, perhaps from lack of sleep.
Davey and Breda had known each other for years; they’d met at an exhibition of their work. She’d occasionally helped out in the Harbour Gallery, although it had been a few weeks since her last stint in there.
If Tammy’s instincts were right, she and Davey weremore than good friends and fellow artists. Tammy was certain that Breda stayed over with Davey some nights, but as neither of them had let her know there was anything ‘official’, Tammy had minded her own business. However, why Davey was reluctant to let Breda help in the gallery when he needed her most, Tammy had no idea.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ruan had had a busy week which had ended with a late-afternoon meeting with a client in Truro. Afterwards, he drove to a riverside pub to have dinner before heading home to the caravan and sorting all his kit to be ready for the following morning’s first session.
While he waited for his Cornish paella to arrive, Ruan was determined not to answer any business calls, yet he couldn’t afford to switch the phone off entirely in case anyone rang with something genuinely important. Gaverne’s was a lot smaller than his former Bristol practice, and that meant everyone had to be prepared to share the workload and be available out of hours if necessary.
His boss, Hector Gaverne, sounded as though he was from the last century and loved to live up to the image, sporting braces and brogues to work. In reality, he was actually only in his late forties, his bark was definitely worse than his bite, and clients loved him. He reminded Ruan of a milder version of Siegfried Farnon from the James Herriot books.
Despite the initial shock of his first encounter with Hector at the interview, Ruan had been made to feel that he would very much be welcome at Gaverne’s. While it wasn’tthe biggest practice in Cornwall, it was well established and highly regarded. Its reputation for dealing fairly with clients had spread, and the practice was recommended to Ruan when he asked around before accepting the job.
The offices occupied part of a handsome Victorian building on the edge of Penzance, offering a glimpse of the sea and St Michael’s Mount. This was in stark contrast to his modern ‘cubicle’ in Bristol which had a view over the gents’ toilets.
He’d been working there for six weeks before his fateful appointment in Porthmellow where he’d met Tammy and his life had changed.
He was allowing himself to remember that joyous moment when a call came through from someone that he was happy to answer immediately.
‘Hi, Kane. How’s it going?’ he asked, pleased to hear from one of the friends who’d fished him out after his accident and had gone to A & E with him. Kane ran a bar in St Ives when he wasn’t on the water.
‘Pretty good. And you? How’s the shoulder?’
‘I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.’
‘So, youarecoming?’ Kane said with what Ruan hoped was mock incredulity.
‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’
‘No. I thought youwouldand that’s what was worrying me. I don’t want you to get hurt again, but if you’re happy with your shoulder, then I think it’ll be good for you to get back out. I tried to call Tuesday night, but it went straight to voicemail.’
‘Yeah, I was – working,’ Ruan said.
‘At eleven p.m.?’
‘I had to prepare for a breakfast meeting about new capital gains tax legislation,’ he said, avoiding any hint that he’d also been out earlier with Tammy. They’d exchanged a couple of messages since, mostly jokey banter about how busy they were. She’d asked if he’d be wearing his suit to kitesurf. He’d said he might. He smiled at the thought.
‘Fascinating,’ Kane said sarcastically. ‘You know you’re a nerd and you work too hard?’
‘Says the man who runs a bar and hardly sleeps.’
‘Yeah, but I’m not hunched over a laptop all day. You need some fun. It’s time you got back out there.’
Was Kane referring to kitesurfing or women? Probably both. Ruan didn’t dare explain he’d already met someone.
‘Um …’
Kane seemed to take his hesitation for nerves about the weekend. ‘You are OK, aren’t you, mate?’ he asked, an edge of real concern in his voice. ‘Don’t feel under pressure to do too much too soon.’
Ruan laughed off the question, although he was secretly touched. ‘I’m fine, mate. Looking forward to it. See you tomorrow.’
His hand wasn’t quite steady as he sipped his Coke after hanging up. Despite his bravado, he was far more jittery than he’d expected.
Although he’d made light of his accident to Tammy, it was the closest he’d ever come to thinking his time was up.
He’d never forget being dragged through the churningsurf towards the cliffs. Completely at the mercy of the wind and waves, he’d braced himself to be smashed to pieces on the rocks. The impact had knocked him unconscious but not before he’d endured the searing pain of connecting with the jagged reef, which had shredded his wetsuit. Only his helmet had saved him from a fractured skull or worse. He’d lost a lot of skin from his left leg. It was lucky he hadn’t needed a skin graft.
