‘No, don’t worry. I think we know each well enough after last night, don’t you?’ Sabrina gave him a seductive little glance, then shifted back to seriousness. ‘I’m surprised you can sublet these units, actually.’
Lowen looked suddenly annoyed. ‘So, to clarify, you’re OK to pay all the balance in cash, minus this three hundred, by next Friday?’
‘Yes, I just said that.’ Sabrina looked quizzical. ‘What’s wrong with you, moody pants?’ She ruffled his quiff. ‘Get out of someone else’s bed the wrong side or something?’
‘Anything but the quiff.’ He patted it to check it was still in place. ‘OK. I’ll cancel all other viewings and lets meet here, say, midday a week Monday. And do you know what, just give me the rest of the cash then. I trust you, too, of course.’
‘Well, that’s good, because you should.’ She pushed her index finger gently against his nose and laughed.
‘So, in precisely nine days’ time, you will have a set of keys in your hand and will officially be a Ferry Lane Market stall holder. Lowen mirrored her nose press. ‘As a matter of interest, what did you do for work in London?’
‘Let’s just say I’m an international woman of mystery.’ She gently grazed his groin with her hand and kissed his neck causing him to groan lightly. ‘And, sure, a week Monday at midday is great. This is so exciting! I must be mad but I’m hungover and slightly delirious so give me that pen before I change my mind.’ Sabrina squiggled on the dotted line. ‘I’m heading to Frank’s for a fry up– fancy joining me?’
‘I’m sorry, Jilly, but I can’t. It’s best we are not seen together down here. It not really the thing if you’re a stallholder to be fraternising with the inspector, got it? And, well, no discussing what a great price I’ve let you have this for– you know what people get like.’
‘Ooh, look at you all serious.’
‘Also, the number you’ve got for me doubles as my work phone, so can we just keep it professional when you text me as I’m sure they monitor stuff, you know.’ His voice then softened slightly. ‘That’s if you fancied a rerun of last night, of course…’ He brushed her lips with his. ‘In fact, the dreaded hangover horn is upon me right now.’ He pulled her hand down to the bulge in his jeans.
‘Bloody hell, Lowen Kellow, you’re insatiable.’ A vision of Dominic’s broken face this morning flashed through her mind. But it was soon counteracted by thoughts of the French stick sleeping in their bed, and how vile Dominic had been to her about her fresh look. Sabrina Swift was angry and hurting, and like an addict, her emptiness needed a high to make her feel at least normal again.
As Lowen led her to the stairs that went up to the private flat. Sabrina giggled. ‘It says “No Entry”.’
The horny inspector gently rubbed a finger under the crotch of her jeans. ‘I don’t recall you saying anything like that last night.’ He locked the front door and led her upstairs.
Frank’s was a stand-alone oblong brick building located right on the edge of the estuary wall. It had a black-and-white striped awning and a pink neon sign saying plainly, Frank’s Café. In the summer months, to the right of the building there was a roped-off concrete area housing fixed wooden table benches with red and white sunshades, where market stallholders and visitors alike would companionably unwind and watch the sun go down over the sea as boats of all shapes and sizes negotiated the busy waterway.
A slightly flushed and tousle-haired Sabrina pushed open the door to be greeted with the interior of an old-school American diner, sporting red leather booths, white Formica tables and a jazzy tiled floor. There were six high metal stools where you could prop yourself up at the counter and, if you didn’t fancy some of Big Frank’s infamous hooky booze, you could choose one of the milkshakes, hot drinks or plentiful juices on offer. Sabrina felt a sense of happiness on spotting the All-Day Breakfast sign propped up next to the till. She also loved that the walls were jam packed with black-and-white prints of the Hollywood stars of yesteryear. Sabrina smiled as she clocked Audrey Hepburn inBreakfast at Tiffany’s, the famous photo in which she is wearing a gorgeous tight black dress and seductively holding a cigarette holder.
‘Now there’s a girl who looks like she’s in need of an all-day breakfast, if ever I saw one.’ Frank Brady put a menu down in front of Sabrina, who was now sat at a table overlooking the water.
‘Is it that obvious?’ She smiled. She had always had a bit of thing for an Irish accent. Dominic had Irish roots but sadly that was as far as it went.
The sight of the imposing and heavily tattooed Frank Brady made her wonder what was in the water down here, for this man took up a lot of space. Six feet four of it, in fact. What with Isaac and Lowen, it was like a battle of the giants. But the café owner would most certainly win on both looks and charm, with his wild Romany look, black collar-length hair and eyes so dark they were impossible to read.
With a full English breakfast, Americano and a full-fat Coke on order, Sabrina felt a little tingle go through her as she thought back to the fast and furious sex she had just had with Lowen Kellow. He was confirmation that bad-boy blood definitely made the heart beat faster. Her lust had counteracted the guilt she had felt in having sex on another man’s bed, and she wasn’t even put off by the thought that any man who carried a condom in his wallet probably wasn’t the type you’d want to take home to your mother. If you had one, that was. But she was savvy enough to realise that he wasn’t anywhere near her Mr Right. He was her Mr Right Now, a sticking plaster over the knife wound that Dominic Best had firstly driven in and then turned at the announcement of crumbs now being left in her bed by the French stick.
But whatwasshe doing with him? And how could she be doing it so soon after supposedly wanting to marry the man she had once fallen deeply in love with? Maybe the relationship hadn’t been what she thought it was with Dominic. That when the first honeymoon period had ended and they’d gone into frenetic everyday life, she assumed that was what her relationship with him was destined to be like. But now she had been away from it for a while, she was already beginning to question its substance. They rarely spent time together and she couldn’t remember having sex like she had just had with Lowen with him. Not since the early days anyway. But sex like that was just a snack, a McDonald’s cheeseburger, a momentary fix of a primal urge and not a fulfilling and tasty roast dinner of intimacy and enjoyment. And yes, to a degree, she had had roast beef and all the trimmings with Dominic. But she was now beginning to realise that perhaps the custard on the apple pie had been missing all along.
Maybe Belle was right in saying that by removing herself from her hectic and sometimes false lifestyle, she could now concentrate on herself as a person, not as an actress, and focus on what she really was feeling. She had also ruminated a lot on what Dee had said about it being a good chance to realise what she did actually miss about Dominic. She looked to her phone to see if her dear Essex girlfriend had replied to her messages. Nothing. Sabrina felt a stirring of disquiet. She hoped that she was OK. It was hard to be so far away from her mate, where there was normally nothing they couldn’t sort out over a cup of tea and biscuits at the Dickinson family’s kitchen table.
She thought back to their last conversation, where Dee had conveyed an almost over-the-top reaction of joy at her sleeping with Lowen. At the time it had seemed like her friend was just being supportive, but now… She brought her overthinking mind back to the moment, gave herself a mental shake. Trust was the word. And she trusted her lifelong friend with her life.
‘So, two eggs, two bacon, two sausage, black pudding, two toast, mushrooms, tomato, baked beans and a little special hair of the dog to welcome you to my establishment, as I don’t believe you’ve been in before.’ Big Frank placed a huge oval plate full of food down in front of her, along with a shot glass of a purple liquid. He winked. ‘Sloe gin, but if anyone asks, it’s blackcurrant cordial.’
Sabrina knocked the sharp elixir back in one and felt her face contort like a bulldog chewing a wasp. ‘Slow is the operative word this morning,’ she gasped, ‘but thanks so much– that would get a sloth going!’
‘Just visiting for the day, are you?’ Frank enquired, removing the empty tray from her table.
‘Actually, no. I’m going to be selling in the market very soon.’
‘Oh. Are you now? You took Brian’s place, I take it. Well, I’m so glad you’ve come in today, then. I’m open to suit the stallholders’ needs and you’ll be very welcome here. You also get a ten percent discount on food. And…’– he did a little drum roll on the side of her table with his free hand– ‘you also get an invite to the exclusive Frank’s end of season party for stallholders and their families.’
‘That sounds like the hottest ticket in town.’ Sabrina grinned and for a second felt like her old warm and witty self. ‘When is this extravaganza?’
‘Look at you, giving out the cheek already, so you are. You’ll be giving Charlie Dillon a run for his money at this rate.’
A guy wearing shorts and a bum bag around his waist had just come charging in the back door adjacent to her table. ‘Charlie Dillon? The most un-PC man in town, you mean.’
