Second Chance At Sea

He looked back at the computer screen and started again on the first line. It was gobbledygook.

Jonas’s jaw set in determination. If Fliss had forgotten that she had a lot to do, he hadn’t—and he was going to go down there and tell her. Right now.

* * *

At first Lawrie hadn’t recognised the small redhead hurtling towards her. Nine years ago Fliss had sported a pink bob and multiple piercings and wouldn’t have been seen dead in the smart black trousers and blouse she was wearing today, but the generous smile and the mischievous twinkle in the hazel eyes were just the same. After five minutes’ excited chatter it was as if they were still teenage waitresses, hanging out after work, although so many things had changed Lawrie could barely keep up.

‘You’ve been working for Jonas all this time?’ Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the incredulous tone out of her voice. ‘What about acting and RADA?’

‘Turns out I am a great amateur.’

Lawrie looked sharply at her but Fliss was still smiling, and there was no hint of disappointment in the candid eyes. ‘I am also a great brand and marketing manager—who would have thought it?’

‘But you wanted to do so much—had so many plans.’

‘I have so much! Wait till you meet Dave. He moved here after you left, came for a week’s surfing and never left.’

The two girls giggled conspiratorially.

‘I have my drama group, and I love my job. I may not have done the travelling or the big city thing, but I have everything I need and want. I’m a lucky girl. But your plans sound exciting. New York! I have always wanted to live there—starring on Broadway, of course.’

So she might have made New York sound like a done deal rather than a possibility, but Lawrie had had to salvage pride from somewhere.

She was considering her reply when a shadow fell across the table. Glancing up, she saw a stern-looking Jonas standing there, a frown marring the handsome face. An unexpected flutter pulled at Lawrie’s stomach, one she’d thought long dead, and she took a hurried gulp of her coffee, avoiding both his eye and Fliss’s sudden speculative gleam.

‘I thought you were off to see Suzy?’ His attention was all on Fliss.

‘I am,’ Fliss protested. ‘But I have just had a brainwave. How about Lawrie?’

Lawrie’s grip tightened on her cup. She could feel her cheeks heating up.

‘How about Lawrie, what?’ Jonas asked impatiently.

It was odd, being back with the two of them and yet apart, now an outsider. Lawrie took a deep breath and leant back in her chair, affecting a confidence she was far from feeling.

‘For Wave Fest, of course. No—listen,’ Fliss said, jumping to her feet and grabbing Jonas’s arm as he turned dismissively away. ‘She’s on gardening leave for the rest of the summer.’

‘Gardening what?’ He stopped and looked back at the table, catching Lawrie’s eye, a sudden glint of a humour in the stern blue eyes.

She knew exactly what he was thinking—knew that he was remembering her ability to kill every plant with a mixture of forgetful indifference and remorseful over-watering.

‘Is this some sort of corporate environmental thing? Time to learn how to garden?’

‘No, it’s a set period time to serve out your notice away from the office,’ Lawrie said, her own eyes warming in response to his and her pulse speeding up as his amused gaze continued to bore into her. ‘I’m on paid leave until the end of September.’

‘And she’s planning to stay in Cornwall most of that time,’ Fliss interjected.

‘Well, yes. I am. But I’m arranging my next move. I’ll be travelling back and forth to London a lot—possibly overseas. What’s Wave Fest, anyway?’

‘Oh, Lawrie, you remember the festival Jonas and I started, don’t you?’

‘Actually, Fliss, Lawrie was never at Wave Fest. She was on work placements for the first two.’

The humour had left Jonas’s face. It was as if the sun had unexpectedly disappeared behind a cloud. He didn’t say the words she knew he was thinking. She had left before the third.

‘I know we’re desperate, but Lawrie’s a solicitor, not a project manager—and she knows nothing about festivals.’

‘But we need someone organised who can get things done and she can do that all right. Plus, she’s here and she’s available.’

‘Fliss, you said yourself that at this time of year organising Wave Fest is a full-time job. If Lawrie’s got to sort out a move—’ the sharp blue eyes regarded Lawrie for an intent moment before flicking away ‘—she won’t be able to dedicate the time we need to it.’

‘Yes, for me it would be full time, because I have a neglected husband and the work of three people to do anyway, but Lawrie’s used to city hours—this will be a relaxing break for her!’

It was almost amusing, listening to them bicker over her as if she wasn’t there. Lawrie took another sip of her coffee, letting the words wash over her. After the shock of the last week it felt nice to be wanted, even if it was for a small-time job she had no intention of doing.

Suddenly she was aware of an extended silence and looked up to find two pairs of eyes fixed on her expectantly.

‘What?’

‘I was just asking why you are on leave?’ Jonas said, with the exaggerated patience of somebody who had asked a question several times already. ‘If “gardening leave” means you’re serving out your notice then you must be leaving your firm—why?’

The all too familiar sense of panic rose up inside her, filling her chest with an aching, squeezing tension. None of this was real. It was some kind of terrible dream and she would soon wake up and find Hugo snoring beside her and her pressed suit hung on the wardrobe door opposite, ready for another day at work, doing a job she was darned good at.

‘I felt like a change,’ she said, choosing her words carefully. ‘They were offering good severance deals and I thought, what with turning thirty and everything, that this could be a good opportunity for a new start. After all, it seems silly to specialise in international law and never spend time abroad. I have lots of contacts in New York, so that seems like the logical choice.’

She had repeated the words so often to herself that she almost believed them now.

‘That sounds amazing,’ breathed Fliss, but Jonas looked more sceptical.

‘You deviated from that all-important ten-point plan? Wasn’t thirty the year you should have made partner?’

He remembered the plan. Of course he remembered it—she had gone over it with him enough, been teased about it enough. ‘Lawrie needs to make a plan before we go out for a walk,’ he used to tell people.

She took a deep breath and forced a casual tone into her voice. ‘People change, Jonas. I followed the plan for long enough, and it was very successful, but I decided that now I’m single again it might be time to see something of the world and enhance my career at the same time. It’s no big deal.’

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t pursue the point.

‘But you won’t be able to start your new job until after September so you are free to help out with Wave Fest.’ Fliss wasn’t giving up.

‘Fliss, Lawrie isn’t interested in the festival; she has a job to find. Plus, if she’s still being paid by her firm then she won’t be able to work for us—will you?’

‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘It’s not law, so it’s not a conflict of interest, but I don’t think I can take paid work whilst on gardening leave. I’ll have to check the contract, but it would be unusual if it was allowed.’

‘Volunteer! We could pay your expenses and it would look great on your CV, using your time to help out with a charity event. Come on, Lawrie. It’s total serendipity, you being here just when we need you. You can’t argue with fate!’

‘Fliss!’

Jonas was sounding annoyed, but the word ‘volunteer’ had struck a chord with Lawrie. She tuned the pair out.

She liked to keep busy, and the thought of spending the forseeable future with nothing to do but job-hunt terrified her. Besides, her CV was already with the best recruiters in the business, so there was little she could do until they got in touch. Most importantly she had been racking her brains, searching for a likely explanation for her sudden departure from Forrest, Gable & Garner that prospective employers would find acceptable—laudable, even. If she could tell them that she’d taken the opportunity of severance to help out with a charity festival surely that would stand her in good stead? Every company liked a bit of free CSR in these straitened times.

Okay, it wasn’t part of the ten-point plan, but which part of the last few weeks had been? Not finding Hugo labouring over his naked secretary, not watching the senior partners close ranks as they took his side and forced her out with a nice settlement and a good reference for keeping her mouth shut.

She had returned to Trengarth to lick her wounds, to regroup. Why not wring something positive out of her situation?

‘Please?’ Fliss looked pleading. ‘Come on, Lawrie, you’ll be perfect.’

‘I’ll do it.’ The words left her mouth before she knew exactly what she was going to say.

Fliss squealed and flung her arms around Lawrie, but Jonas took a step back, his mouth tight, his eyes unreadable.

What have I done?

‘If that’s okay with you, of course, Jonas,’ she added, not entirely sure what she wanted his answer to be—whether he would give her a get-out clause she didn’t even know she needed. But he didn’t answer—just continued to look at her with the same cool, steady regard.

Fliss jumped in before the silence stretched too far, got too awkward. ‘It’s fine, isn’t it, Jonas? This is fantastic! I was going to get all the stuff from Suzy today, but why don’t you come with me and meet her? Is tomorrow okay? Oh, Lawrie, it’ll be just like old times, us working together.’

Fliss beamed at Lawrie, who couldn’t help but smile back. Her old friend’s joy was infectious.

‘It looks like that’s settled, then.’ Jonas’s face was still blank, his voice cool and professional. ‘Lawrie, I’ll chat to you tomorrow and go over the work involved, discuss how this will work as a volunteering role. Be sure this is something you can take on, though. Wave Fest raises tens of thousands for local charities. If you can’t manage it it’s imperative you let us know sooner rather than later.’

He sounded dismissive—as if he was expecting her to fail, to walk away.

How dared he? She’d negotiated million-pound contracts, painstakingly going over every single word, scrutinising each clause, routinely working sixty-hour weeks, often on short notice. One month sorting out a small local event would hardly tax her.

She lifted her head and looked straight at him, matching him cool glance for cool glance, every bit the professional, well-trained lawyer. ‘I’m sure I’ll manage. I like to see things through.’

He kept her gaze, scorn filling the blue eyes, turning them ice-cold. ‘I’m sure you’ve grown up,’ he said. ‘But if there’s a chance you’ll get a job and leave before the contract ends I need to know. Promises aren’t enough.’

She swallowed down her rage. If she had learnt anything from long hours of negotiating complex contracts it was how to keep her temper, no matter what the provocation. If he wanted to judge her on events that had happened nine years ago, so be it.

But she had promised to love him till death did them part. And that promise she had broken.

Did she actually need this hassle? The sensible thing would be to walk away, right now, lock up the cottage and go back to London. But then what? She had nowhere to live, nothing to do. At least in Cornwall she had a house, and now a way to occupy her time whilst finding the perfect job, getting her life back to the calm, ordered way it was supposed to be. And if that meant showing Jonas Jones that he was wrong—that the past wasn’t as clear-cut as he obviously thought—well, that was just a bonus.

She smiled sweetly into the freezing eyes.

‘I’ll need to take time to sort out my move, of course,’ she said, proud that her voice was steady. ‘And there is a chance that I may need to travel abroad for interviews. But there will be plenty of notice. There shouldn’t—there won’t be a problem.’

‘Then I’ll see you tomorrow.’

The interview was clearly over.

‘Enjoy the rest of your birthday.’

Fliss looked up in shock. ‘It’s your birthday? Here I am, thinking about spreadsheets and emails and offices, and what I should be doing is ordering you a cocktail to go with that cake. What are you doing later? I’m sure you have plans, but we could meet here for cocktails first?’

Lawrie’s first instinct was to lie—to claim company, plans, unavailability. But Jonas had stopped, turned, was listening, and she couldn’t let him know she was ashamed of her lone state. ‘Actually, Fliss, I was planning a quiet one this year. I have a nice bottle of red and a good book saved up.’

It was the truth, and she had been looking forward to indulging in both. So why did it feel like a confession?

‘A good book? I know you’ve been gone a long time, but nobody changes that much. Of course we’re going to celebrate. I’ll see you here for cocktails at seven, and then there’s Open Mic Night later. Perfect! Jonas, you can pick her up. We don’t want the birthday girl to be late.’

‘Honestly—’ Lawrie began, not sure what panicked her more: Jonas picking her up like old times, the chance that she might let her guard down after a cocktail, or spending her thirtieth birthday with the same people who had celebrated her eighteenth. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Don’t be silly.’ Jonas’s expression was indecipherable, his voice emotionless. ‘Fliss is right. You can’t spend your birthday alone. Besides, you used to enjoy singing. It’ll be just like old times.’

And that, thought Lawrie, was exactly what she was afraid of.

CHAPTER TWO

‘SO THIS IS where you’re hiding.’

Jonas looked far too at home as he rounded the corner of Gran’s cottage. And far too attractive in a pair of worn jeans that hugged his legs in all the right places, and a plain grey T-shirt emphasising his lean strength. ‘I thought you had run away.’

‘I thought about it,’ Lawrie admitted, tugging at the hem of her skirt self-consciously.

It shouldn’t take a grown woman two hours to get ready for a few drinks and some badly played guitar, and yet Lawrie had found herself paralysed by indecision. Her clothes were too conservative, too expensive, more suited to a discreet yet expensive restaurant or a professional conference than a small Cornish village.

In the end she had decided on a dress that was several years old—and several inches shorter than she usually wore.

Taking a deep breath, she pulled her hands away from the skirt and tried to remember the speech she had painstakingly prepared earlier, rehearsed at length in the shower.

‘Thanks for coming to collect me—it’s very nice of you. I know Fliss kind of forced your hand—’ Lawrie stopped, her cheeks warm, the speech gone. ‘Actually, she forced your hand in several ways earlier, and I should have thought... If you don’t want me around—if it’s awkward, I mean—then I’ll tell her I can’t do it.’ She stumbled to a stop.

Great—in her former life fluency had been one of her trademarks. It looked as if she had lost that along with everything else.

‘Fliss thinks she gets her own way, but if I didn’t want you working for us you wouldn’t be.’ The blue eyes held hers for a moment. ‘She’s right. You’ll do a good job—and, let’s face it, we are a bit desperate. Beggars can’t be choosers.’

Charming. It wasn’t the most ringing endorsement she’d ever heard.

‘I just don’t want our past relationship to be an issue.’ Lawrie was aware of how pompous she sounded. She’d been trying for offhand. A smirk at the corner of his mouth confirmed she had failed.

‘We’re both mature adults,’ Jonas pointed out. ‘At least I am. And it’s your significant birthday we’re celebrating, so hopefully you are too. I’m sure we can work together without too much bloodshed. In fact...’ He moved away from the cottage and sauntered gracefully over the lawn towards her, a flat tissue-wrapped square in his hand. ‘Happy Birthday.’

Lawrie stared at the proffered parcel in shock.

‘Take it. It won’t bite,’ he teased. ‘I promise. Think of it as a peace offering and a birthday present in one.’

He moved closer until he was standing next to her, leaning against the balcony, looking down on the curve of beach and sea below.

After a moment’s hesitation Lawrie took the present, taking a moment to enjoy the thrill of the unknown. It was her only present, after all.

‘Your gran always had the best view in the village,’ Jonas said. ‘It’s so peaceful up here.’ He shot her a glance. ‘I meant to write after she died, send a card... But I didn’t really know what to say. I’m sorry.’

She turned the parcel round in her hands. ‘That’s okay. I think people were upset we had the funeral so far away, but she wanted to be buried next to Grandpa...’ Her voice trailed away and there was a sudden lump in her throat. It had been six months since the funeral but the pain of loss still cut deep. ‘I wish I had telephoned more, visited more.’

‘She was very proud of you.’

Lawrie nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Swallowing back the tears, she turned her attention to the present, wanting to change the subject.

She slid her finger along the fold in the tissue, pulling the tape off slowly as she went, carefully opening the paper out to reveal a silk scarf the colour of the sea below. ‘It’s beautiful!’

His voice was offhand. ‘It always used to be your favourite colour.’

‘It still is.’ She looked over at him, ridiculously overcome despite his casualness. He’d remembered. ‘You really didn’t need to, but thank you, Jonas.’

‘No problem.’ The blue eyes swept over her assessingly. ‘It matches your dress.’

‘I’ll go and put it on. I won’t be long.’

Walking through the back door, Lawrie felt yet again as if she had gone back in time—as if she was once again her sixteen-year-old self, skipping in to say goodbye to Gran before heading out on a date, full of possibilities, full of life and desperately, achingly in love.

Only there was no Gran.

And the world no longer felt full of possibilities. She was all too aware of her limits.

Oh, to be sixteen again, walking on the beach at night after her shift ended, unable to believe that her handsome boss had asked her if she fancied a stroll. She still remembered the electric shock that had run through her when his hand had first bumped against hers. The tightness in her stomach when his long, cool caressing fingers had encased hers. The almost unbearable anticipation drying out her throat, weakening her knees, setting every single nerve-end ablaze as she waited for him to kiss her. And, oh...! The almost unbearable sweetness when he finally, oh so slowly, lowered his mouth to hers as the waves crashed against the shore.

It had been Lawrie’s first kiss and for five years she hadn’t thought she would ever kiss anyone else.

I haven’t thought about that in years. She pushed the memory of vivid, haunting dreams filled with waves, passion and familiar blue eyes firmly to one side.

She glanced up at the wall, where a framed photo hung. A much younger Lawrie looked out from it, her hair whipped by the wind and framing her face in a dark, tangled cloud, laughing, her eyes squinting against the sun. Jonas had taken it twelve years ago, on her eighteenth birthday—their wedding day.

It was all such a long time ago. Who would have thought then that they would end up like this? Apart, near-strangers, exchanging polite remarks and stiff smiles. If she’d known what lay ahead would she have made the same choices...the same mistakes?

Lawrie shook her head wildly, trying to clear the questions from her mind. She couldn’t allow this temporary setback to derail her, to make her question her choices, her past. It was time to face her future—and if the plan had gone awry...well, she would tweak it.

But first her birthday. She needed—she deserved some fun. Maybe she could relax—just a little, just for a short while. Maybe Lawrie Bennett was allowed to let go for just one evening.

* * *

It was one of Jonas’s favourite things, watching the Boat House being transformed from a family-friendly, light and airy café to an intimate bar. It was more than the deepening dusk outside the dramatic picture windows, more than the tea lights on the tables, more than the bottles of beer and wine replacing the skinny lattes, the tapas in place of cream teas.

It was the way the atmosphere changed. Grew heavier, darker. Full of infinite possibilities.

Tonight was the monthly Open Mic Night—a tradition carried through from the earliest days. Before he’d held a bar licence he used to invite friends over to the café after-hours to jam; he’d always fancied himself as a pretty mean guitarist. Once he’d licensed the premises it had become more of an organised event, yet still with a laid-back, spontaneous feel.

Folk violinists rattling out notes at an impossible speed, grungy rock wannabes, slow and sweet soul singers—there were no exclusions. If you had an instrument and you wanted to play, you could sign up. There was a magic about Open Mic Night, even after all these years. The room might be full of regulars but there were usually one or two surprises.

And yet tonight he was wound tight, the tension straining across his shoulders and neck. Even the familiar feel of the sharp strings under his fingertips, the crowded tables, the appreciative applause, the melding and blending of notes and beats and voices couldn’t relax him.

His eyes, his focus, were pulled to the small table in the corner where Lawrie perched, toying with a glass of champagne, her head resting on her hand, her eyes dreamy as she listened. The dim lighting softened her; she looked like his teen bride again, her dark hair loose, curling against her shoulders, her huge grey eyes fixed unseeingly on the stage.

On him.

A reluctant tug of desire pulled deep down. It was definitely the memories, the nostalgia, he told himself grimly. Why was she back? Why had Lawrie Bennett, the girl who put her work, her career, her plans before everything and everyone, given up her job and moved back?

And why did she look so scared and vulnerable?

It was none of his business—she was none of his business. She had made that clear a long time ago. Whatever trouble Lawrie was in she could handle it herself. She always had.

Resolutely he tore his gaze away, focussed on the room as a whole, plastering on a smile as the song ended and the room erupted into applause. Jonas exchanged an amused look with his fellow musicians as they took an ironic bow before vacating the stage for the next musicians—a local sixth form experimental rock band whose main influences seemed to be a jarring mixture of eighties New Romanticism and Death Metal.

Maybe he was getting old, Jonas thought as he made his way back to the bar. It just sounded like noise to him.

* * *

‘I should be getting home.’ Lawrie got to her feet and began automatically to gather the glasses and bottles. Just like old times. She stilled her hands, looking around to see if anybody had noticed.

‘Don’t be silly—the night is just beginning,’ Fliss said in surprise.

Lawrie looked pointedly at the people heading for the door, at the musicians packing away their instruments, at vaguely familiar faces patting Jonas on the back with murmurs about babysitters, getting up for work and school runs. Since when had most of his friends had babysitters and office hours to contend with? The surf-mad mates of his youth had matured into fathers, husbands and workers. The night might feel like a step back in time, but everything had changed.

‘This is the fun bit,’ Fliss said, grabbing a tray filled with lurid-coloured drinks from the bar and handing a neon blue one to Lawrie. ‘We get to hog the stage. What do you want to start with?’