unfurrowed and her eyes not full of ready tears, leaning against a rock with the crossword from the day before, looking out to sea. Miranda wanted to ask her about the ashes and when (and how) they were going to deal with them, but yet again this didn’t seem to be the moment. You couldn’t exactly start discussing something so potentially painful when everyone was chilling on a beach full of happy people relishing the sun. It would completely wreck the mood and she’d be the one who copped the blame.
She tried to settle to reading her book but kept being distracted by thoughts of Steve. In theory, it was ridiculous to be completely fine about seeing Andrew again after all these years and yet to feel terrified of running into Steve. But of course it was different. Shehadn’t had sex with Andrew. She hadn’t been brutally callous about chucking him, hadn’t laughed in his face when he’d hoped she was serious about him, or treated him like some holiday flirtation she’d used when she was bored and he was convenient and then discarded without a backward glance once her usual friends showed up. She wasn’t proud of herself for any of that. What a spoilt, snobby little horror she must have been at sixteen. And he’d been a very lovely boy. What could have been more romantic than rowing her to moonlit beaches with a bottle of wine and peaches from his family’s tree? She hoped he’d found someone thoroughly lovely and forgotten all about her. And the village might be small but he was working and hardly likely to be trailing around it with the holidaymakers. With luck, she wouldn’t bump into him again, but the thought that he could be round any corner, that she could come face to face with him at almost any time in the shop or the pub, upped her heart rate from sheer apprehension. She distracted herself by resorting to thinking about work, to the date in her diary three weeks from now when she’d be meeting a team from a Europe-wide chain of upmarket boutique hotels who wanted an exclusive range of designs for fabrics for blinds and cushion covers. The designs and some samples were ready with a range of colour-ways; spreadsheets with all the costings were done and in theory it was a done deal. It was just a matter of whether thebuyers liked the final details. It could only take one silly intern making a flippant comment, saying the bluebell pattern looked like seahorses or something equally irrelevant and the whole thing might collapse. No pressure then. No matter that this project made the difference between whether she had a major chunk of income for the next few years or not. No, no pressure at all.
It was barely half an hour later that Harriet became bored and fidgety, taking off her hat and then fussing with her wind-blown hair.
‘It’s a bit cold when the breeze strikes up,’ she grumbled. ‘I think I’ll go back to the house and sit by the pool. I haven’t got the newspapers yet, either. I need to go to the shop before they sell out.’
‘You can’t wait till after we’ve all had some lunch? I thought we’d get some hot dogs or something from the café,’ Clare said. ‘I’m hoping they do crab sandwiches too. They always used to.’ She squinted across to the board outside the café but the writing was all curly and fancy and couldn’t be easily read from a distance.
Harriet shuddered. ‘Sorry, Mum. That would be a total carb overload for me. I just couldn’t. Tell you what, though, I could get a load of food for tonight. Didn’t you say you wanted prawns, Miranda? I could get them at the village shop, and I’ll marinade some chicken as well. Have you got any couscous? That would be easy, with lemon and loads of coriander and parsley. I sawsome herbs growing in pots on the terrace up by the kitchen. The house owners will never know if we use them.’
‘That would be great. Thanks, Harriet,’ Miranda said, feeling almost tearfully grateful for the unexpected offer of help. ‘And,’
She tried to settle to reading her book but kept being distracted by thoughts of Steve. In theory, it was ridiculous to be completely fine about seeing Andrew again after all these years and yet to feel terrified of running into Steve. But of course it was different. Shehadn’t had sex with Andrew. She hadn’t been brutally callous about chucking him, hadn’t laughed in his face when he’d hoped she was serious about him, or treated him like some holiday flirtation she’d used when she was bored and he was convenient and then discarded without a backward glance once her usual friends showed up. She wasn’t proud of herself for any of that. What a spoilt, snobby little horror she must have been at sixteen. And he’d been a very lovely boy. What could have been more romantic than rowing her to moonlit beaches with a bottle of wine and peaches from his family’s tree? She hoped he’d found someone thoroughly lovely and forgotten all about her. And the village might be small but he was working and hardly likely to be trailing around it with the holidaymakers. With luck, she wouldn’t bump into him again, but the thought that he could be round any corner, that she could come face to face with him at almost any time in the shop or the pub, upped her heart rate from sheer apprehension. She distracted herself by resorting to thinking about work, to the date in her diary three weeks from now when she’d be meeting a team from a Europe-wide chain of upmarket boutique hotels who wanted an exclusive range of designs for fabrics for blinds and cushion covers. The designs and some samples were ready with a range of colour-ways; spreadsheets with all the costings were done and in theory it was a done deal. It was just a matter of whether thebuyers liked the final details. It could only take one silly intern making a flippant comment, saying the bluebell pattern looked like seahorses or something equally irrelevant and the whole thing might collapse. No pressure then. No matter that this project made the difference between whether she had a major chunk of income for the next few years or not. No, no pressure at all.
It was barely half an hour later that Harriet became bored and fidgety, taking off her hat and then fussing with her wind-blown hair.
‘It’s a bit cold when the breeze strikes up,’ she grumbled. ‘I think I’ll go back to the house and sit by the pool. I haven’t got the newspapers yet, either. I need to go to the shop before they sell out.’
‘You can’t wait till after we’ve all had some lunch? I thought we’d get some hot dogs or something from the café,’ Clare said. ‘I’m hoping they do crab sandwiches too. They always used to.’ She squinted across to the board outside the café but the writing was all curly and fancy and couldn’t be easily read from a distance.
Harriet shuddered. ‘Sorry, Mum. That would be a total carb overload for me. I just couldn’t. Tell you what, though, I could get a load of food for tonight. Didn’t you say you wanted prawns, Miranda? I could get them at the village shop, and I’ll marinade some chicken as well. Have you got any couscous? That would be easy, with lemon and loads of coriander and parsley. I sawsome herbs growing in pots on the terrace up by the kitchen. The house owners will never know if we use them.’
‘That would be great. Thanks, Harriet,’ Miranda said, feeling almost tearfully grateful for the unexpected offer of help. ‘And,’
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