Pushing the door to Reception open with my bum, I shout to the kitchen where I left him making coffee. ‘Are the drinks ready? I hope you’re up for a monster custard fest.’ I ease the cake boxes onto the desk, confident he loves his flaky pastry and cream horns as much as I do.
There’s a click but it’s not from the kitchen. Instead the door to George’s office opens, and as I hear the unexpected sound of voices, my stomach wilts.
‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise …’ I bundle the boxes behind my computer screen then stand rigid hoping this isn’t a super-important client. With any luck my brightest Customer Service smile will cover my custard gaffe.
‘No worries.’ George raises one eyebrow at me, then returns to the guy he’s ushering towards the door. ‘Thanks for calling in, I’ll definitely let you know what Clemmie’s response is.’
I gulp as I hear my name. ‘Er …’
George fires a fierce glare at me then waggles his hand up by his ear in the ‘call me’ gesture and nods at the client. ‘The minute she gives me an answer, I’ll get back to you.’
My heart lurches. If this is someone else willing to buy the flat, it couldn’t have come at a better moment. Whoever this guy is, his cowboy boots are almost as scuffed as mine. He’s halfway to the door when he hesitates. ‘Thanks for your time, Mr Trenowden. I’ll saybuon appetitoand let you get on with your lunch.’ If he’s hanging round expecting us to share he’ll be disappointed. ‘Whatever cake is coming your way, it smells amazing.’
As his face breaks into a smile, my stomach lurches again, and next thing, I’m gabbling. ‘It’s the tarts, the strawberries are very ripe.’ There’s something unnervingly familiar about his broad cheekbones and tousled curls. And when our eyes collide, his irises are inky blue with green flecks. ‘They’re from Crusty Cobs, if you want some. On the right up the hill, you can’t miss it.’
There’s another flash of forest green as he blinks. ‘Thanks for that. I hope you left me some. Catch you soon.’ His smile splits into a grin, then he swings out.
I clamp my hand over my mouth making sure he’s gone. ‘What kind of a poser talks Italian in Cornwall?’ As I flip up the lids on the cake boxes I can’t quite move on from the feeling that he stole my actual teeth.
‘It’s probably because he’s just flown in from Italy.’ George heads for the kitchen, and soon comes back with two steaming mugs of coffee.
‘Where in Italy? It can’t be Milan, because when I was there a while back guys had their combs out all the time.’ I’m easing towards question time by being chatty.
‘Ravenna.’ George takes a deep breath and pulls up a chair opposite me at the desk. ‘Were those dreadlocks on his head then?’ The poor man is sonotstreetwise.
‘I’d say it was more ‘festival hair’.’ I’m getting a blank look from George. ‘Two days no brushing does that.’ It does to me anyway. ‘Dreads take more work.’
‘Right. Glad we’ve sorted that one out.’ He runs his fingers through his own inch-long hair as if he’s testing it for knots. ‘Thanks for buying the cakes. For the next part you might need to sit down and take a bite of the biggest, sweetest pastry you can lay your hands on.’ Considering he’s ordering me to stuff my face he’s looking a lot more serious than he should do. And I thought I was the one who’s supposed to be softeninghimup here.
‘In that case …’ I take a cream and strawberry puff and devour half of it in one bite. ‘Did I hear Señor Buon Appetito mentionmeback there?’ Hopefully talking through my crumbs makes the question seem less of a big deal.
The pause is so long there’s time to finish the whole pastry and pick every last flake off the desk top too. I feel completely mortified for jumping in. Of course it’s not me, there must be other people called Clemmie. Sinking my teeth into a strawberry tart is the perfect way to hide how much of a dumb-ass I feel for leaping to the wrong conclusion entirely.
George’s frangipane slice is still un-started in his hand. ‘There’s actually no easy way to say this. Itwasyou he was talking about, yes.’ He blows out his cheeks. ‘That was Joe Marlow … your half-brother?’
Fuck. The realisation hits like a smack in the face. ‘You’re joking me?’ A strawberry slithers down my dress and onto the carpet under the desk as I lurch, but I’m too gobsmacked to follow it. Thank Christmas my ditsy print dress is as forgiving for strawberry stains as it is for hiding bulges.
Considering George is a hard-nut solicitor, he looks like this is hurting him as much as it’s hurting me. ‘We’d notified him via Laura’s trust that you’d taken possession of the flat, and he’s come in wanting to make contact. I didn’t want to let him know who you were when he was here in case you’d rather not meet up.’
For once, I’m hugely grateful for the whole super-glue approach. Not to mention George’s quick thinking. ‘Not. No. Shit. Contact’s the last thing I want. You have to tell him that. And thanks for not giving the game away before.’ I let the remains of my tart slide onto the desk. ‘Why the hell would he come all this way though?’
George shrugs. ‘It could be to embrace family. Or he could be intending to challenge your right to the flat. Technically, it’s still part of the estate for the moment. Either would be legitimate options given the circumstances.’ His frown deepens. ‘You must have noticed though, you did look very alike. Especially side by side.’
I shudder. ‘What?’ even though I’m screeching I still don’t sound anything like as horrified as I truly feel.
George’s tone is very measured. ‘It’s not beyond the bounds of possibility thatherecognisedyou.’ He blows out his breath again. ‘He’s here until Sunday. I’m sure it’ll be fine, but to be on the safe side stay off your balcony over the weekend.’
‘Good idea. Thanks for that.’ It’s very sweet of him to be concerned. If Nell hadn’t scheduled two last minute All Laura’s Pavlovas evenings, I’d hide under the covers until Monday.
‘Oh, and by the way, there are three of them.’ George stares at his flan slice wistfully. ‘Altogether.’
‘Three of what?’ I’m in too much of a daze to keep up.
‘Half-brothers. Although only one’s here now.’ He’s nodding. ‘Joe, Jack and Jordan. Not necessarily in that order.’
I let out a sigh. ‘Better and better.’ I’d only just got my head around the shock of seeing Laura’s son in two dimensions on the photo. Coming face to face with his living, breathing, talking, three-dimensional offspring is the kind of mind-blowing I don’t need. Not just today, but ever.
George sits up and sends me the kindest smile. ‘Anyway, we don’t want to waste valuable cake eating time talking aboutthem. Remind me what we’re here for. How I can help?’
