England wasn’t perfect.
Chapter Five
She slept badly, frustrated that she’d got herself into a fix and angry that Aaron, even if only as Jermaine’s flunkey, was apparently prepared to make a quick buck out of exploiting those without the right paperwork.
At seven, she abandoned the quest for sleep and checked her email. Her smile at seeing a message from her sister turned to a frown when she saw the subject line:A message from Stef.
Hi Honor,
I saw Stef’s dad, Will, and he gave me a message for you. He says, please won’t you go and talk to Stef? Xxx
Honor clickedreply.
Hiya Jessie,
Thanks for trying to help and please tell Will that I’m sorry — but I said everything I need to say to Stef. And Stef knows it.
She signed out of her email account quickly, in case Jess was up late in her chaotic bedroom with her latest Lord & Taylor purchases spilling everywhere, and came up with something else Honor didn’t want to hear.
The English weather had decided on sun this morning, falling in a tempting patch on the corner of the front patio near the house. She dragged the wooden lounger into its warmth. Such early sun wasn’t hot enough to bother her recent burns so she wasn’t risking another self-inflicted dermabrasion. Drinking coffee and eating one of the bananas bought on the rain-curtailed trip into Rottingdean, she watched the glitter of the ocean through the gaps in the early traffic.
She was feeling pleasantly relaxed when she heard rapid footsteps and Martyn Mayfair appeared in the drive below in running gear, long strides quickly covering the ground between the gateway and the steps. She froze. Ouch! The wet T-shirt episode.
Before she could escape, he reappeared right in front of her, almost tripping over the splayed wooden legs of the lounger. ‘Hell!’ His breath was coming just about quickly enough to show he’d been running. ‘What are you doing there?’
‘I rented the place.’ She forced herself to speak calmly, thinking hard about not thinking about wet T-shirts.
He smiled. ‘Sorry — I suppose I expected you to be indoors. Clarissa sent me to see if you’re over the sunburn.’
‘Boy. Does she always take her landlady act so seriously?’
He shifted from leg to leg, keeping his muscles warm. ‘How are landladies meant to act?’
She considered. ‘Aloof.’
‘In Eastingdean? You must be joking. Nobody’s aloof in case they miss something interesting. So, you’re enjoying the better weather?’
‘Much better than the rai—’ She faltered.
‘Yeah, the rain. Probably best to forget about the last time it rained.’ He bounced on the thick soles of his running shoes, fiddling with his watch, and she was certain it was to hide the laughter in his dark eyes.
But if he was prepared to pretend amnesia, then she was glad to do the same. ‘I saw a lot of runners on the Undercliff Walk, yesterday. Looks great to run by the ocean on such a lovely morning.’
‘It is, I do it most days. Want to run with me?’ He kept his legs moving, his denim-blue sports pants moulding and clinging to well-muscled thighs.
She sat up, exhilarated by the idea of a run. ‘Will you wait, while I put on my running gear?’
‘Sunblock would be good, too. This is for you, by the way.’ He took out a small white envelope. ‘When you sent the money for the groceries, you overpaid by ten pounds.’
‘Oh.’ She flushed. ‘I thought I ought to include something for your trouble. Don’t you do that, here?’
His eyes danced. ‘We don’t tip friends — but thanks. You get changed and I’ll jog around out here to keep warm.’
She ran indoors, dropping the envelope in the kitchen. She couldn’t make him take a tip if he didn’t want it but she wished he would.
Pulling on sweatpants and a long-sleeved sweatshirt and slathering her face and neck with sun block, she hooked on a navy-blue New York Yankees baseball cap, swinging her hair in a ponytail through the gap at the back. When she stepped outside he was jogging up the terrace steps, looking cool and breathing evenly.
‘I’ll keep moving while you stretch.’ He pivoted on the top step and jogged down.
