Winter Storms by Lucy Oliver Page B

when she approached, pointing to the blank spaces on the counter in front of him. A couple of years ago, he never would have helped out at something like this. Until her accident, Liam thought only of himself, but seeing the help she received from the town had changed him.
    “We’ve done well,” he said. “Sold nearly all the stock, just a couple of cashmere scarves left.”
    “I had a feeling they’d stick, they’re the most expensive items,” Carly said, reaching out to stroke the soft wool. “But the cold wind might persuade people later. The gala’s about to open, did you want to see Imogen’s speech?”
    “No, that’s all right, I’ll stay here. You should go, can’t miss your own gala opening after the work you put in.”
    She nodded, not wanting to watch it, but knowing she should be there, if only to show a bit of support for the girl who’d turned up last night to receive bad news. The situation between Daniel and Imogen wasn’t her fault, but it made her feel uncomfortable.
    “I’ll see you in a bit then, let me know if you need a break.”
    Her cane slipped on the thin coating of snow as she strode away and she slowed down, cheeks stinging from the increasing wind. Crowds lined the harbour, young men standing on tiptoe for a better view of Imogen, who’d certainly drawn far more people than the mayor would have. She just had to hope that there was something for them to watch.
    Reaching the rail, she resisted the urge to glance down to see if any people sat in the small sailing dinghies moored to the jetty.
    “Heard you’re having problems with your competitors?” a voice said.
    Duncan stood behind her, shrouded in a black winter coat that reached his feet, making him appear taller and more menacing.
    “Daniel’s talking to them,” she said.
    “Good old Daniel, handy your boyfriend returned to rescue you.”
    “He’s not my boyfriend.”
    “No, I suppose not. He’s got that other girl with him now, I see, blonde and very attractive.”
    “What do you want, Duncan?”
    “I don’t want anything, I’m just here helping out. Talking to people, checking it’s all going well, because we don’t want any mistakes now, do we? Not with the media here, there’d be nothing worse than a publically reported humiliation.”
    “What media?”
    “Oh, didn’t anyone tell you? The local news teams have turned up to televise the races, should be on tonight at six. Unless we don’t have enough competitors of course, or people of such low value that it’s not worth the effort. At which point they might do a programme on the terrible waste of police and council time over a gala that was destined to fail from day one.”
    She swallowed, staring at his wide, flat face, her fist bunching in her pocket, how tempting it was to smack him straight between the eyes. The old Carly would have gone ahead and taken the consequences, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction now. She could just picture his bruised face and woebegone expression at the next fundraising meeting, the one when she was thrown out for assaulting a member of the committee. No, she had to play this carefully, he had reasons for not wanting a life station in Haven Bay and by getting herself banned, she’d be doing exactly what he wanted.
    She grinned. “That’s excellent, I’m glad they’ve arrived, extra publicity. We might get some more donations into the fund. Now, excuse me Duncan, I’ve got work to do.”
    Walking away, she dug her cane into the cobblestones. No doubt some of the people he’d been talking to that morning were the sailing crew, telling them that the committee had plenty of money for prizes and that they were foolish to risk their boats for such a small fee. She had to find a way to get him off the committee; he’d changed from a mere irritation into someone who could be downright dangerous. If she had solid evidence, she’d go to Mick and tell him. The thought of the brave coxswain of the lifeboat crew