‘Well, he is a bastard, isn’t he?’ Evie taunted. ‘Scott Stevens’s bastard.’ She gave a malicious laugh. ‘You know, I can still see your mother’s horrified expression the day she discovered who had actually got her daughter knocked up. One of her husband’s employees …’ She shook her head. ‘Absolutely priceless.’
‘You can be such a bitch at times,’ Gareth replied, holding back on the urge to catch hold of his wife and shake her. Evie had been one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Funny, how sometimes the things you wanted most of all didn’t make you happy. She was a social climbing witch, far worse than his mother had ever been. To her Selina was an embarrassment; someone to be passed on the street and ignored. Evie had always hated Luke and when Selina died and he informed her he was bringing the lad to live with them she’d almost trashed the kitchen, so great was her rage.
‘He’s a grafter and a good man manager,’ he said. ‘Gets on well with everyone. That’s why—’
‘Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?’ Evie interrupted. ‘You’ve never allowed Jordan the opportunity to show what he can do. He’s bored in that pathetic little sales job you’ve given him. He deserves better.’
‘Better?’ Gareth scoffed. ‘Like a manager’s job, you mean?’
‘Yes. He should be allowed to show what he can do.’
‘Despite the expensive education he’s been treated to, he’s not qualified to do anything, Evie. He dropped out of school at sixteen, remember? Not one GCSE to his name. And since then, hey!’ He raised his hands. ‘Life’s been one big party.’
‘You are cruel and unfair,’ she rounded on him. ‘Ever since he was eight Jordan has had to live in the shadow of Luke Carrack. You treat him more like a son than your own flesh and blood.’ Gareth heard the resentment in her tone as she paced back and forth. ‘Well I’m sick of it all, I can tell you. Absolutely bloody sick. And now,’ she waved a hand at him, ‘I’m off to bed.What’s the point in trying to talk to you? You don’t listen. I doubt you even care. I’ve had it with you. Oh, and you can find somewhere else to sleep tonight.’ She fired her final barb before leaving. ‘I don’t want you anywhere near me.’
As Evie disappeared, closing the door behind her, Gareth retrieved his glass and poured himself another large shot of whisky. Sliding back the bi-fold doors to the terrace, he stepped out, feeling the warm evening air on his face. He reached the edge of the balcony and stood for a moment, savouring a mouthful of the ten-year-old malt as he stared out into the darkness at the lights of Newquay shimmering on the horizon.
He had to admit there were times when he’d have given anything to have Luke as his son. Unlike Jordan, the boy worked hard and made a success of everything he did. Gareth was proud of his sister’s son, someone who went on to get a first class honours degree in Business Management at Exeter. After this success Gareth had no problem with him taking time off to travel before returning to work permanently for him. Evie, of course, accused him of exploiting the family’s generosity, educating himself at their expense and then disappearing. She predicted he wouldn’t return, saying they would hear from him when he wrote advising them he’d got a job abroad. ‘He probably won’t even use that fancy education of his,’ she’d told him scornfully. ‘He’ll end up as a barman or a barista in some godforsaken South East Asian tourist bolthole.’
Gareth was tempted to tell her that Luke wasn’t like their son but he knew it would only generate a tirade of abuse. Jordan was her precious child: her only child. Problems during his birth had meant no more babies in the Hunter household. Evie had dedicated her life to Jordan, making sure he was given everything and denied nothing. It would be pointless telling her he had no work ethic; that the sales department carried him. His attendance record was abysmal. And when he did bother to turnup he was pretty useless. He knew the team preferred him not to be there at all, but kicking him out of the job would play right into Jordan’s hands, giving him the opportunity to become a full time layabout, and that was the last thing he was prepared to do. Gareth felt angry and frustrated. His son could be charm itself. If he’d applied himself properly he would have been a first class salesman, moving on quickly to promotion and greater things. But for Jordan, life was about good times; chasing girls and getting wasted. He felt powerless to address the problem, given the fact his son had three other equally well-heeled partners in crime, all with the same overblown sense of entitlement and non-existent work ethic. Any thoughts of withdrawing Jordan’s allowance or trying to pull him into line would, he knew, bring Evie down on his head. Between a rock and a hard place there was nothing he could do.
Of course, he should have set ground rules years ago when Jordan was a small boy, but by that time it was too late, Evie had complete control.
Jordan grew up blond and handsome but the years he’d been cossetted by his mother left their mark. He was arrogant, lazy and totally self-absorbed. Gareth knew it was too late to change him. He was a lost cause because Evie was still there, hovering in the background, continually bringing her influence to bear on everything affecting Jordan’s life. Little wonder it triggered arguments, which eventually led to huge irreparable cracks developing in their already delicate relationship. Tonight was yet another example. Now, to the outside world, they still appeared the happily married couple who had it all. But behind closed doors theirs was a sad world; when things got bad Evie sought refuge from her demons in the bottle, and as for him? Well, his way of coping was spending evenings in the arms of another woman five miles up the coast.
Gareth threw back the last of his whisky, stepped back into the lounge and closed the doors. He’d made a big mistake this evening announcing Luke’s new job in front of everyone. What the hell made him do such a stupid thing? Alcohol mostly, he acknowledged, and being on a high after Étienne’s arrival. Reunited with his two old friends he had automatically been drawn back to happier days. Days when they were young and all of life was still ahead of them. There were so many choices to be made then and they’d embraced them with vigour. Ruan eventually married black-haired interior designer, Cassie Blakely – his ‘older’ woman. Étienne’s future was already mapped out for him in the shape of hotel heiress Isabella Baccari. And he had bagged Evie Morgan the most beautiful girl in Cornwall. Such bright futures. So many hopes and dreams. Where had it all gone wrong? With a tired sigh he turned off the lights and headed for bed.
Chapter Twelve
Cat spent the morning with another client Siobhan had set up in her absence – Mrs Wentworth, and her daughter, Charlotte. The big day was due to take place in two weeks’ time, so this consultation was simply a final box-ticking exercise to make sure everything was in place. Mrs Wentworth’s husband, a small rotund Yorkshireman whose catchphrase was, ‘Nothing’s too good for my Charlie and her Eric’, was thankfully not present. Business in Exeter, Tessa Wentworth confided. Cat was relieved. Mr Wentworth had become a bit of a nuisance, questioning every aspect of the wedding planning. Thankfully, this morning she only had to deal with the two women, a quick session, over in less than an hour. They finished up with a glass of champagne on the house. Cat felt it was the least these two deserved after having to put up with the pompous Mr W.
As they left, Nathan appeared in the doorway of his office.
‘Time to clock off and catch some surf. You promised, remember?’ he said with a grin as he tapped his watch. Yes, of course she had. After their first visit a couple of weeks ago, Nathan had suggested making this a regular weekly thing. Within moments she had shut down her computer, closed her office door and followed him to get changed.
West Beach was busy, packed with holidaymakers as well as those who had come to ride the waves. Red and yellow flags indicated the swimming areas, while the black and white flags marked the surfing-only part of the beach. A white flatbed truck towing a jet ski was parked towards the back of the beach, indicating the presence of patrolling lifeguards watching for any problems.Cat and Nathan’s surfing gear were kept with Sam, who rented out lockers, so it was merely a case of changing into their wet suits, collecting the boards and heading for the sea.The surfers’ beach had a rough car park currently occupied by a variety of four-by-fours and VW camper vans. It was almost a full house, today’s offshore wind giving near perfect conditions.
Reaching the water’s edge, Cat and Nathan, joined by a late and rather apologetic Jodie, slipped their leashes around their ankles and waded out. ‘Sea’s warmer than I thought,’ Cat heard Jodie comment from a few feet behind her. It had become second nature now; flipping onto the board, paddling out to reach the right spot, watching for the wave to arrive, turning the board, feeling the pressure build behind and then raising herself up and riding it to the shore. Cat concentrated on keeping her balance, bare feet firm against the surface of her surfboard. She ignored everything else around her, aware only of every single movement of the board as it carried her towards the beach. With the sun on her back and wind and spray in her face, she felt the adrenalin rush and embraced that special moment of being at one with the ocean.
Later she shared a glass of chilled wine with Jodie on the decking out front of Sam and Beni’s. Jodie, back from her London/Manchester trip revealed that she had secured a contract with a major High Street retailer for her knitwear and jewellery.
‘And not only that,’ she continued, ‘at the exhibition this woman approached me. Said she was very impressed with my collection. She gave me her business card, I gave her a brochure and she said she’d be in touch. Well, you know what it’s like. People say things and then you never hear from them again. It’s happened before so I didn’t think any more about it. But today I received an email. She’s a freelance fashion journalist and wants to do a piece on Strawberry Starfish for one of the high end women’s fashion mags.’
‘That’s amazing,’ Cat enthused. ‘It looks as if things really are beginning to happen for you.’
‘Don’t get too excited, it’s an interview, nothing more.’ Jodie was quick to play down the whole thing. ‘It might not come to anything.’
‘Oh come on, you might be the next Ryan Roche.’
‘I wish.’ Jodie smiled, distracted by the arrival of half a dozen tanned girls in an assortment of colourful beachwear.
Cat watched as the small group, who she recognised as Jordan’s followers, seated themselves along the far end of the veranda with a loud scraping of chairs and noisy chatter. ‘That’s funny,’ she remarked, ‘isn’t that Chantelle? Why isn’t she with Jordan?’
‘Yes it is, I wonder what’s happened,’ Jodie said as they continued to watch.
Having stacked his board away and changed, Nathan arrived, agreeing to stop for a quick drink, needing to be back within the hour for a meeting. Benita arrived with a beer for him. ‘Must be the hottest afternoon so far,’ she declared, fanning her hand in front of her face before making her way along the veranda to take the girls’ orders.
As Beni moved away Nathan joined them at the table and conversation resumed. ‘Right,’ Jodie fixed Cat with a curious stare, ‘now you’ve heard all my news, what have you been up to? Have there been any sightings of the delicious Mr Carrack during my absence?’
