February turned to March, the days lengthened and the fields glowed with fresh hues of orange, gold and lemon as new varieties came into bloom. Almost a month had gone by since Adam had flown out on Valentine’s Day and Jess had accepted their split was final, and that he might well be gone for good.
To cheer her up, Maisie had asked her to lunch at their favourite restaurant overlooking Hugh Town’s harbour, so Jess wangled a few hours off to join her friend. They met up outside the clinic on St Mary’s after Maisie’s latest antenatal appointment and hurried to the restaurant under a shared umbrella as it had started to rain. Over a drink, their conversation had all been focused on how ‘Little Sprog’ was. The fact that Mother’s Day was coming up in just over a week’s time, seemed to add to the mood of anticipation of the baby’s birth. He or she was set to appear in August and Jess was delighted to talk about something other than Adam, although she knew the topic couldn’t be put off for long.
‘So, how are you, hun? Heard anything from him?’ Maisie asked once their starters had arrived.
Jess toyed with a prawn in her seafood salad. ‘No, and I don’t expect to … I passed by his place the other day. He must still be paying the rent because his ancient curtains are still up in the windows and his bike was chained up under the lean-to.’ As if he intended to come back for it, thought Jess, laying her fork on the plate.
‘So, no sign of him moving out permanently. I don’t know how he can afford to pay the rent and live somewhere else,’ said Maisie.
Jess knew that her friend was trying to gently hint that Adam might have moved in with someone willing to provide him with a free home. It was tough love from Maisie, but Jess couldn’t be angry. Adam must be living somewhere, and she had to face up to the fact it might not be with parents or mates.
‘I’m sorry for raking it – and him – up again when we’re meant to be having a lovely time. It’s none of my business, but I want you to be happy,’ said Maisie. ‘Bugger, that makes me sound like your mum – and mine.’
‘Well, you may as well get in some practice,’ said Jess and they both laughed.
‘True. Why don’t you have another glass of wine? It’s your day off.’
Maisie ordered a fresh white wine for Jess and a soft drink for herself and they moved on to talk about Patrick’s plans to decorate the spare room of their cottage on Gull Island – or rather Maisie’s reluctance to make any preparations until Little Sprog was almost ready to arrive.
Jess started to tell Maisie about Gaby falling asleep in the shelter and Will going out in his pyjamas to ‘rescue’ her. Everyone at the farm knew about it now and half the island too. Will hadn’t teased Gaby half as much as Jess might have expected, and seemed pissed off when Jess joked about him cracking the whip.
‘Will and Gaby have been winding each other up since she arrived last summer, though it’s never gone further than teasing, as far as I know. Of course, I wouldn’t dare ask Will directly. All I do know is that since the “shelter incident” the banter’s cooled down and they’re both trying to ignore each other.’
‘Any idea what actually happened in the shelter, if you know what I mean …’ said Maisie, topping up her own glass with elderflower fizz.
‘No idea. I interrupted them …’ Jess paused. Will and Gaby had seemed very startled, so maybe there had been something going on … ‘Will was obviously worried he might have worked her too hard. We both checked her room earlier in the evening and he seemed happy with that, but then he went out later in his pyjamas to look for her. Turns out she’d tried to pick the whole field and nodded off in the field workers’ shelter. She came back to the house for a drink after. I don’t think Mum likes her, which is a sure sign she thinks Will does.’
‘Any particular reason?’
‘Mum sees her as a threat and worries she might take Will away from the farm, though he’d never leave, of course. Gaby’s lovely, but I don’t really know why she’s working for us. But then, as you’ve discovered, this is the sort of place that attracts all kinds of people for different reasons at different times of their lives.’
‘You can say that again.’ They both knew Jess was referring to Patrick.
The main courses arrived and Jess started her seafood risotto and Maisie tucked into her halloumi salad, while they chatted about the plans for Little Sprog’s arrival. With the company of her best friend and a large glass of Sauvignon, Jess started to relax. It was fantastic to see her friend so blooming. When Maisie had met Patrick last autumn, she had found it hard to trust him because of their rocky start and especially his deception over being heir to Petroc. In a dramatic night in January, Maisie had had a fall and revealed to Patrick and her family and friends that she was carrying Patrick’s child. Sadly, she’d lost one of the babies but the other twin had survived. Soon afterwards, Patrick had persuaded Maisie to give him another chance and since then they’d seemed blissfully happy, although she and Patrick were naturally anxious about the baby.
The scans today had shown all was well with the remaining twin, and now Maisie was eighteen weeks’ pregnant. Her relief and bubbliness rubbed off on Jess, who realised that she herself felt, if not quite happy, then definitely not miserable for the first time in weeks.
After dessert, Jess and Maisie were enjoying coffee and amaretto biscuits when a new customer walked into the café. Many of the out-of-season crowd were twitchers, toting binoculars and huge camera lenses, but Jess knew this visitor wasn’t here for the birdlife.
He’d obviously arrived by taxi because despite the showers outside, his charcoal-coloured suit was barely touched by raindrops. He wore no tie, just a fitted white shirt, and was carrying a laptop bag over one shoulder and a rugged leather holdall with Skybus tags in the other hand. Judging by his olive skin and beautifully cut suit, the stranger was either Italian or Spanish. He was also built like something out of an aftershave ad, complete with chiselled jaw and cheekbones you could grate parmesan on.
Jess and Maisie exchanged raised eyebrows and the waiting staff almost jostled with each other over who was going to serve him.
Maisie dabbed her mouth with her napkin in an attempt not to giggle. ‘Who is he?’ she mouthed, her eyes widening.
Jess shrugged and mouthed, ‘Wow,’ back, then frowned. She’d seen him before somewhere …
‘Italian?’ Maisie mouthed over the top of her decaf cappuccino.
Jess raised an enquiring eyebrow and quickly took a sip of her Americano, while trying to check out the mystery man. Apparently oblivious to the stir he’d created, he selected a table near the door and scrolled through his iPhone.
The restaurant owner whizzed over to his table. ‘Afternoon. What can I get you, sir?’
The man put his phone down and smiled at the owner who almost melted. ‘Are you still serving the lunch menu?’
‘Of course, sir,’ she said. Maisie raised an eyebrow at Jess. They both knew that the restaurant normally stopped serving lunch at two.
‘Great. I’m starving.’
‘Have you just flown in?’ the owner asked. ‘I heard there were some flight disruptions so you’ve done well to get here.’
‘That was at Exeter. Fortunately, I flew from Newquay but I had a very early start in London to get my connection, and so I’m starving. What do you recommend?’
‘Hmm. Local goat’s cheese salad to start and then the half lobster?’ She practically purred at the customer. Any moment now, and she’ll be fluttering her lashes, thought Jess.
He smiled. ‘Sounds great.’
‘And would you like to see the wine list, sir?’
‘No thanks. Mineral water will be fine.’
Every eye in the place was on him, every ear straining. Jess knew what Maisie was thinking: that by evening, everyone would know what the ‘Italian’ had ordered for his lunch. Although he didn’t sound very Italian with that BBC urban accent.
‘OK. I’ll get some bread in the meantime. Can’t have you going hungry on Scilly,’ the owner trilled and swept through the door to the kitchen after throwing pointed ‘get on with it’ glances at her waiting staff.
Maisie and Jess stretched out their coffees as long as possible in the hope of finding out more from the exotic diner. While he was waiting for his starter to arrive, he got up and headed towards the washroom.
‘Who is that?’ Maisie whispered once he was safely out of hearing.
‘No idea. He looks Italian.’
‘Whoever he is, he’s here for a couple of nights at least, judging by the smart bag and suit. I think I can make a wild guess where he might be staying.’ Maisie’s eyes gleamed mischievously.
‘Petroc?’ Jess replied. ‘It’s the most luxurious on the islands, that’s for sure. Did you notice his name?’
‘No, but I did see his watch. That’s a Breitling.’
As a bar owner, Maisie was used to assessing people in a glance. Jess’s knowledge of gentleman’s timepieces was limited, but even she knew that Breitlings could cost as much as a second-hand car.
‘Wow. Well, in that suit and with a laptop, he can’t be a birdwatcher,’ said Jess. ‘He must be here on business at the Petroc Resort. I expect he’s here to see Hugo.’ At her mention of Hugo, who still ran Petroc despite recently finding out that his cousin, Patrick was the actual owner, a light went on in Jess’s brain. ‘Oh, hold on a moment. I thought I’d seen our mystery Italian somewhere before.’
‘What? You didn’t say. Where?’
‘At the airport last August bank holiday. I was picking Gaby up with Adam.’ Jess pulled a face. ‘That’s why I didn’t remember at first …’
‘Unhappy memories?’ Maisie grimaced.
‘You could say so … but it was definitely him. While I was looking out for Gaby in the arrivals hall, this guy was waiting by the briefing area. He’d been chatting to Hugo and I only saw him for a few seconds, but I thought he was different from the usual passengers. I’ve not heard anyone talk about him on Scilly before so he must have made a flying visit.’
The Italian came back, carrying his jacket over his arm. He hooked it over his chair and thanked the waitress as she laid his salad in front of him. He speared a nugget of goat’s cheese on his fork while he glanced at his phone. The cuff of his snowy shirt had pushed back to reveal a sprinkling of dark hair.
His gesture prompted Jess to check her own phone, but they both knew that if they didn’t leave soon, she’d miss the tide for her boat trip home to St Saviour’s and even though it was officially her afternoon off, she had plenty of paperwork to do at the farm.
‘Argh. I’ll have to leave you very soon,’ Jess announced.
Maisie winked. ‘Shame. Can’t you find an excuse to stay?’ she said, delving into her bag for her purse. Patrick was meeting Maisie shortly too.
‘No, the tide’s turning and I don’t want to have to leave the boat in the harbour and hitch a lift back.’
‘We could drop you on the way back to Gull if you want to hang around,’ Maisie teased.
‘Much as I’m enjoying the spectacle, I’d better go back because I’ve left Will holding the fort.’ Jess stole another glance at the Italian who had a forkful of rocket poised while he scrolled through his phone again. Must be something important to distract him from his lunch.
Maisie paid the bill with her card and Jess gave her half of the bill in cash. They got up and Maisie made her way between the tables towards the door.
‘Oh!’Maisie stumbled and seemed to trip, throwing out a hand to steady herself on the back of the Italian’s chair. Immediately he was on his feet, holding onto her arm. His eyes – espresso brown as Jess had imagined – widened in horror when he spotted Maisie’s bump.
‘Are you OK? Oh God, did you trip over my bag?’
‘It’s fine.’
‘Maisie. Are you OK? Did you feel faint?’ Jess asked, not afraid to interrupt where her friend’s welfare was concerned.
‘No. I just caught over the strap of the bag with my heel. I’m absolutely fine.’
‘I’m great, thanks but sadly, we both need to go. Don’t worry about it.’
‘Well, please accept my apologies …?’
‘Maisie,’ said Maisie, introducing herself. ‘And this is my friend, Jess.’
‘Nice to meet you, Maisie,’ he turned his eyes on Jess. ‘You too, Jessica,’ Jess was taken aback. No one ever used her full name and it was odd that a stranger had, although perhaps he’d misheard. ‘And again, I’m sorry if I nearly caused an accident. Have a safe journey to wherever you’re going.’
With a smile that could have lit up the whole of Hugh Town on a December night, he gathered up the offending bag and stuffed it under his feet.
‘Come on,’ muttered Jess, noticing that everyone in the restaurant had homed in on them.
‘Oh. Can you hang on a mo? I need to visit the bathroom. Again. Sorry.’ Maisie grimaced. ‘One of the joys of being pregnant, if that’s not too much information,’ she said to the Italian guy.
He smiled gallantly before retaking his seat. ‘No need to be sorry– and congratulations by the way.’
Leaving Jess stranded in the middle of the restaurant, Maisie scooted off to the loo. Jess glanced back at their own table but the waitress was clearing it. She could have waited for Maisie outside if it wasn’t now pouring so hard, raindrops were bouncing off the outside terrace.
The Italian smiled. Jess smiled weakly back, feeling cut adrift.
‘When’s the baby due?’ he asked, taking her by surprise. His gaze was very direct, forcing Jess to meet his eyes which were the colour of the burnt caramel on her crème brûlée. ‘Your friend’s baby, I mean. Naturally,’ he added, seeming to have lost interest in his salad entirely. Jess noticed the linen napkin, casually draped over one thigh. It really was a lovely suit, and a very nice thigh too. She refocused her attention on his face.
‘Erm. It’s August.’
‘Not so far away then. Are you two sisters?’
‘Oh no. We’re just friends. Close friends. We were at school together on St Saviour’s.’
‘And you live there now?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I run the flower farm.’
‘Wow. A flower farm. Sounds idyllic.’ He heaved a sigh and Jess wasn’t sure if he was joking or not.
She decided he was just making polite conversation. Maybe he felt obliged to chat to her until Maisie emerged from the loo, which Jess sincerely hoped she would as soon as possible. ‘It might sound idyllic, but you wouldn’t think so when you’re thigh-deep in mud in the middle of a raging storm.’
His eyebrows shot up his tanned forehead. ‘Thigh-deep in mud. Now there’s an image …’
Jess’s eyes were drawn to his lap again. She was becoming fixated. ‘I’ve exaggerated a bit. We’re knee-deep, mostly. The mud doesn’t always get that far up unless it’s been really wet. Like today for instance.’ Argh. Jess cringed at her unintended innuendo. She glanced towards the bathrooms, but Maisie was nowhere to be seen but she couldn’t leave without her. That would look very awkward.
‘Yes, I think I might get wet on the way down to the quay,’ said the man. So he was getting a boat to Petroc, she thought.
‘It might blow over. I have to leave soon though or I’ll miss the tides for my boat.’
‘You have your own boat?’ He sounded impressed.
‘It’s my family’s boat. Only a small motorboat but it’s essential for getting around.’
‘You must know the waters well around here.’
‘I was practically born in a boat.’ She smiled but stopped herself from adding that their father had taught her and Will to handle the vessel from when they were small children. He didn’t need to know that, or anything more about her, in fact. While she felt awkward about making small talk with a stranger, he seemed unfazed and certainly not bothered about his food or his phone. ‘No choice really,’ she added. ‘Oh, look. Here’s Maisie. I’ll have to go. Nice to meet you.’
‘Ciao,’ said the man. ‘Maybe I’ll bump into you again while I’m on Scilly.’
Jess flashed him a weak smile and moved swiftly towards the door before Maisie could come up with any more reasons for thrusting her and the man together, however easy on the eye and apparently charming he was.
‘Are you OK?’ Jess demanded as soon as they were safely outside. There was still rain in the air, spotting their faces, but the black cloud that had unleashed its load was already being driven away by the brisk wind.
‘Of course I am. It was only a stumble.’ Maisie grinned. ‘Luckily it happened in exactly the right place.’
Jess gasped. ‘Oh my God. Did you do that on purpose?’
‘Would I?’
‘Oh my God. Maisie. We’re too old for pulling stunts like that. It was OK when we were teenagers but not now. You’re forty, remember?’
‘Cheek! And you’re never too old to take a chance, although it fell a bit flat. He didn’t give his name, did he? Probably too embarrassed that he’d almost injured a pregnant woman.’
‘More likely too scared we might stalk him!’
‘I thought you were the adventurous one,’ said Maisie teasingly. ‘Remember when Patrick first turned up at the Driftwood? You chatted him up.’
‘Only because I wanted to try and make Adam jealous. Oh, that sounds terrible, because Patrick’s gorgeous and lovely, but …’
Maisie laughed. ‘Don’t worry, hun. I’m not offended. I never could be offended by you, but I was only trying to find out more about the mystery man. Did you get his name?’
‘No, I didn’t.’ But he knows mine, Jess thought, and where I live and work. Why did that slip out? The man had skilfully found out, without revealing a single thing about himself. He was probably just polite, to cover both their embarrassment at being manoeuvred together so unsubtly by Maisie.
‘We can always ask the restaurant owner. She’ll see his credit card.’
‘You can’t do that, Maisie!’
Maisie waggled her eyebrows. ‘I can. And I might …’
‘Noooo.’
‘I’m joking! But it’s time you had some fun. Now’s your chance. There was no wedding ring or even a pale mark where one might have been.’
‘That means nothing. Not that many men wear rings these days.’ Besides, thought Jess, she’d been too fixated on his eyes – and thighs – to notice his hands much.
‘And besides, you’re not interested because of Adam?’
‘Not because of Adam,’ Jess said firmly.
‘Aha, you don’t deny being interested then?’
Jess tutted. ‘Being pregnant doesn’t give you a licence to matchmake everyone on Scilly and behave like my mum.’ Jess tried to sound stern but she was amused by Maisie’s efforts even if she had found it excruciating to be thrown together so obviously at the time.
Maisie linked arms with her and gave a gleeful, wicked smile. ‘Oh, it gives me a licence to do anything I want. Not that anyone could ever match your mother … Now, he clearly travels here regularly from what we’ve already deduced. I’ll see if Patrick can find out more from Hugo.’
‘Patrick won’t want to ask Hugo, will he?’ said Jess, knowing the fraught relationship between Patrick and Hugo Scorrier. Even though they were cousins, Hugo had – understandably – not been impressed when Patrick had turned up out of the blue to claim ownership of Petroc. The island lay on the opposite side of the channel to Maisie’s pub and they had to meet to discuss business but were hardly on friendly terms.
‘He might make a few enquiries. If you’re interested, that is,’ said Maisie.
They’d reached the harbour now. Jess thought there were definitely more tourists around and once the Islander started its services at the weekend, Hugh Town would be bustling with life. Spring was here … had it really been almost six months since she’d split up with Adam? Time seemed to race by quickly when your whole life was governed by the changing seasons.
Jess forced a smile for Maisie. ‘Don’t trouble Patrick for my sake. I doubt this new guy is staying more than a couple of days and he probably has a glamorous Italian wife and a brood of ludicrously attractive bambini running around his villa in the Abruzzo.’
‘It would be fun to find out anyway,’ said Maisie.
Jess spotted half a dozen people she knew queuing by the ticket office for the boats to the smaller islands and several more working on the quay. A handsome Italian wouldn’t stay mysterious for long. ‘Yes. Although the rumour mill will already be white hot,’ she said.
‘In that case, we’d better make sure we have the full facts. I’ll message you or call if I hear anything. Have a safe trip back to the farm and I’ll see you very soon.’
With a hug, Maisie walked off to meet Patrick in one of the coffee shops in Hugh Town, while Jess got a move on to untie her boat and set off for St Saviour’s. In her world, time and tide really did wait for no man – or woman.