‘I haven’t met Molly yet, so I have no comparison. But at least I now know that her hair is jet-black. I’m meeting her today.’
‘Molly! That was her name. I’m afraid I couldn’t remember. But I didn’t see her often.’ He gave a tiny cough. ‘Anyway, you said you’re here for a month? I’m Greg, by the way. Greg Bishop. I live in Blubell Cottage. Right next door. Which means we’re neighbours. If there’s anything you need, please just ask.’
‘Thanks. I’m pleased to meet you, Greg.’ Jemma held out her hand and Greg clasped it in his, sending yet more tingles through her. And even more when he looked down at their joined hands and then up into her eyes. ‘Erm. I’m … Jemma. Jemma Granger. I’m on a sort of working holiday.’ That wasn’t strictly true, but now that she had met her handsome neighbour, she was determined to see if she could have some fun in between her work.
His brows knit together. ‘Jemma Granger. Why does that name sound so familiar? We haven’t met before, because believe me, I would remember you. And yet … I thought when I saw you that there was something about you that … Wait. Are you…? Bloody hell! I don’t believe it.’ His eyes opened wide with incredulity as he stared at her. ‘You are. How could I be so blind?’ He let go of her hand as if he had been holding a red-hot poker. ‘You’re Jemma Granger, the author of ‘The Fitzglover Legacy’ books. Also now a TV series.’
Jemma couldn’t tell from his expression whether he might be a fan or not. He seemed more astonished than anything else.
‘Guilty as charged,’ she replied, feeling a little self-conscious. ‘Erm. Dare I ask? Have you seen any of the TV series? Or, maybe, read one of my books?’
‘No,’ he said, and he may as well have slapped her across her face. It was blunt and to the point.
‘Oh. But you know someone who has?’ He knew who she was, so he must have heard about her from someone, or from somewhere. Perhaps he had merely read about her so-called overnight success.
‘I know millions of people who have. Not personally, you understand. Although I do know my regulars, of course. Erm.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I own a bookshop in Folkestone, called Bishop’s Books. Your books are in one of my front window displays.’
‘You own a bookshop?’ It was her turn to be surprised. ‘I don’t believe this. I know it’s a small world and everything, but honestly, what are the odds?’
‘I know. Right?’ he was smiling once more. ‘And you might find this hard to believe, but you’re not the only famous author here in Betancourt Bay. I assume you’ve heard of Laurence Lake?’
‘Laurence Lake? Hasn’t everyone? He’s here? In this village?’
Greg was nodding eagerly. ‘He lives here. Just a couple of roads away. He’s a good friend of mine. And I’m not just saying that. He is.’ He grinned. ‘I knew him before he was famous. I’ll introduce you, if you like. Oh.’ His tone was sombre now. ‘He’s in hospital at the moment. Erm. He was in a massive pile-up on the motorway yesterday. He’s not seriously hurt. Just a broken leg and a cut on his forehead, but they kept him in overnight.’
‘Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry. Gosh. Laurence Lake lives here in Betancourt Bay. I can’t quite believe it. And … this is neither here nor there, but I was also on the motorway yesterday afternoon. Luckily for me, I wasn’t involved in the accident. Justin the traffic jam aftermath. That sounded as if I’m complaining and I’m not. Sorry, I don’t know why I mentioned that. I think I’m a little star-struck.’
‘I’m glad you weren’t involved in that. Thankfully no one was seriously hurt but it could’ve been a total disaster. I was in shock yesterday myself when Laurence called me. I’ll be picking him up from the hospital later today, assuming he gets the all-clear, but he may have to wait until Monday.’
‘Please give him my best wishes. Or is that a bit presumptuous?’
‘Not at all. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. I can tell you, he’s a fan.’
‘Of mine?’ Jemma was the one who was thrilled.
‘Of yours.’ Greg nodded. And then he smiled sheepishly. ‘Erm. Didn’t you say you were going for a walk along the beach?’
‘I did,’ Jemma said. He clearly wanted to get away.
‘Well … I know we’ve only just met – and please say so if you’d rather be alone, but if you’re happy to have some company, a walk along the beach appeals to me more than a run right now. Would you mind if I joined you?’
‘Joined me? Not at all. I’d love to have your company. And as I’m new here, maybe you could show me the way?’
‘I’d be delighted. Come with me.’
As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he held out his bent arm for her to link her own arm through. And as she did, Jemma’s heart made a little leap.
He wasn’t trying to get away. In fact, he was trying to spend more time with her.
Betancourt Bay really was the perfect place.
