Anyway, she had managed to banish her Queen of Clean tendencies when she’d met Dominic and had started to believe that, maybe, at last, there was someone in her life she could trust not to abandon her. Of course, things hadn’t turned out that way and so her demons had poked their heads above the parapet once again. Her pragmatic side told her that she had to come to terms with the fact that the only person she could truly rely on was herself – but that thought terrified her so she had shoved it into the darker crevices of her mind to be unravelled at a later, much later, date.
Having gathered a selection of cleaning products from the cupboard under the sink, Katie dragged her suitcase up the flight of stairs at the back of the café and ditched it in the flower-bedecked bedroom overlooking the village green. She took a moment to appreciate the uninterrupted expanse of the deep blue ocean that could be seen from the elevated vantage point, then she skipped back down to the kitchen, filled a bowl with hot soapy water, grabbed a pair of ancient yellow Marigolds, and made a start on the bay window, the focal point of the whole café.
Before she knew it, she was in the zone, humming a Balinese tune whilst scrubbing away the tension of her long journey. She almost had a coronary when the front door burst open causing the brass bells to jangle with ferocious indignation.
‘At last!’
Katie’s heart crashed against her ribcage. She spun round so fast that instead of greeting the café’s first visitor with grace and poise, her foot landed in the bowl of now-murky water sending a splash of heat to her cheeks.
‘Ooops,’ she muttered, trying to quash a nervous giggle whilst surreptitiously removing her soaking-wet Skecher and making a valiant attempt to compose herself in the face of the tall, dark, handsome stranger standing in front of her, eyeing her up and down as though she was the local comedy turn, before shooting out a smooth, well-manicured hand.
‘Greg Forbes, Forbes & Mortimer,’ he said, gifting her with a smile so white she almost reeled from the glare. His eyebrows rose high into his forehead as if expecting her to recognise him, and what? Swoon?
Katie accepted his outstretched palm, totally unprepared for the strength of his handshake, and couldn’t prevent a small yelp from escaping her mouth, which she managed to disguise as a cough.
‘Katie Campbell. Pleased to meet you, Greg.’
She took in his broad shoulders, clad in a beautifully cut designer jacket, with a starched white cotton shirt cracked open at the neck to reveal just a tantalising glimpse of mahogany chest hair. Their handshake had given him the opportunity to reveal a chunky gold Rolex, which he shook back into his cuff, his lips turning upwards slightly as he saw his mission had been accomplished.
Katie smirked. Whilst recent events had reminded her that she wasn’t the best judge of character in the world, even the most unobservant of onlookers would have guessed which business Greg was in, if not from his sartorial choices, then certainly from the way his sharp eyes flicked around the room, sizing up its ample proportions, its southerly aspect and tantalising glimpse of the sea, whilst the words ‘beachside’ and ‘bijou’ were clearly zooming around his brain. She chanced a quick glance out of the window and when she saw the shiny BMW Z3 with alloy wheels and tinted windows lingering at the kerb like a sleek black panther ready to pounce on its unfortunate prey, her suspicions were confirmed.
‘Good to meet you, too, Katie. You’ve no idea how happy I am to see you here.’
Greg stuffed his hands into the pockets of his suit trousers and settled his gym-toned buttocks against one of the tables as if he owned the place. A burst of heavy, spice-infused cologne mushroomed into the air between them like a nuclear fall-out cloud, causing Katie’s nostrils to tickle and her lips to twitch. Greg met her eyes, bared his teeth again and, even though her heart was frozen in an impenetrable block of ice and she was completely immune to any kind of flirtation or flattery, Katie knew she was about to be treated to a high-octane charm offensive.
‘I’ve been trying to locate the owner of this beleaguered little place for months. No one in the village seems to have the faintest idea where the elusive Agatha Carmichael might have disappeared to. Of course, it didn’t take much digging to find out what happened, and I’m the last person to blame her for escaping to pastures new. Can I ask, are you a relative of hers?’
‘No, I’m …’
‘Good, good, well, Katie, I might just be about to make your friend Agatha a very happy woman.’
‘You are?’
Greg vacated his perch on the rickety table and went to peer out of the newly sparkling front window that overlooked the row of shops on the other side of the village green – a hairdresser’s, a smart bridal boutique, and a pretty florist’s shop whose plate-glass window was filled with a cornucopia of colours – before twisting his head to survey the art gallery next door with the matching bay window. However, it was when his gaze settled on the sparkling sea to his right that she saw his lips twitch into a satisfied smile, and she could almost see the pound signs rolling through his eyes like a fruit machine.
‘So, if you’d just give me Ms Carmichael’s contact details, I’ll be on my way and you can get back to your … your scrubbing?’
‘Oh, yes, yes, of course, I’ll just …’
‘You know, instead of spending your holiday in Cornwall cleaning, you really should take in a few of the wonderful wine bars and seafood restaurants the area has to offer. If you need someone to show you around, I might be able to find a window in my diary next Tuesday?’ offered Greg in the affected drawl that seemed to match his personality perfectly.
Katie found her handbag and began to riffle through the assorted paraphernalia until she located her mobile phone, praying that it still had a trickle of battery left. If she was even remotely thinking of re-joining the dating game, which she definitely was not, Greg Forbes would not be a swipe right!
‘Actually, I’m not on holiday. I’m staying in Perrinby for a couple of months, but I don’t think I’ll have much time to do the tourist thing, I’m afraid.’
She turned round to find that Greg had followed her across the café to the marble counter and was standing peering over her shoulder; so close that when she saw the glint of expectation in his eye she was reminded of a pet ferret her ten-year-old neighbour had kept when she was growing up with her mother in Norfolk, which caused her to pause as she scrolled through her list of contacts.
‘What do you want Agatha’s number for exactly?’
‘I’m going to make her an offer she can’t refuse.’ He smirked, raising his bushy eyebrows in a suggestive manner as he continued to loom over her, invading her personal space.
A niggle of anxiety began to worm its way through Katie’s stomach, so she moved away from him towards the front door in case she needed to make a swift get-away. And yet, her curiosity was piqued.
‘What kind of an offer?’
‘Well, I would have thought that was obvious.’
Greg looked at her as though talking to a particularly dense toddler, his nose wrinkled with disdain as he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, revealing an expanse of purple silk lining, and whipped out his business card with a proud flourish.
‘Here!’