A Seaside Affair Read Online Free PDF Page B

an Iron Age settlement or bloody King Arthur’s Camelot – which doesn’t exist, by the way – I’m not interested.’
    His two cats, Bosun and Sprat, were winding themselves round his feet waiting for scraps. He chucked down a couple of fish skins.
    Helen, who had rolled her shirtsleeves up and was busily covering the fish fillets in flour, patting them gently before placing them on a clean tea towel ready for the frying pan, turned to him crestfallen. ‘I hate that Camelot wasn’t real. Are you sure?’
    ‘Aye.’
    ‘But there was an Arthur, wasn’t there?’
    ‘There’s no evidence, no.’ Piran carried on focusing on the job in hand, his curls bouncing over his forehead as his strong weathered hands dexterously removed the last remaining bones.
    ‘So no Guinevere?’
    Piran slapped the final fillet on the plate in front of her and pushed his hair out of his eyes with the back of his wrist. ‘No – thank God. She was supposed to have broken his heart, wasn’t she? Ran off with his best mate. Typical bloody woman!’
    ‘Typical chauvinist comment.’
    He stuck his sharp knife, point down, into the wood of his kitchen table so that it quivered like an arrow. ‘I’m making you supper, aren’t I?’
    Helen opened her eyes wide and cooed, ‘You are one hundred per cent new man! Would you pour me a glass of wine?’
    He glowered at her for a moment then kissed her nose. ‘Don’t go pushing your luck, maid.’
    *
    The mackerel were delicious, served simply with hunks of buttered crusty bread and large tumblers of local cider. Helen got up, threw the bones in the bin and made a move to put the plates in the sink but Piran reached up and stopped her. ‘Don’t bother with those. They’ll keep till the morning.’ He found her hand and she felt the roughness of his skin on her palm. ‘You smell nice. Are you staying tonight?’
    ‘Would you like me to?’
    ‘I’m not going to beg. Your decision, Helen.’
    ‘Sometimes I’d like you to beg.’
    ‘I thought you didn’t want to feel crowded, that you liked your independence.’
    ‘I do …’ An image of Gull’s Cry, the dream cottage that she’d made a reality, flitted through her mind. Once the children had flown the nest, she’d realised that she couldn’t go on sharing a Chiswick townhouse with her philandering husband. So she’d asked Gray for a divorce and uprooted herself to Pendruggan. She’d settled in so well, it was hard to believe only two years had gone by since she moved in. And after years of playing housekeeper and homemaker to her family, it was a luxury to be free to do her own thing.
    She was brought back to the present by Piran squeezing her hand. ‘Something tells me there’s a “but …” coming,’ he said.
    ‘No – well, sort of. I do like my independence, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t appreciate a bit of spontaneous passion now and again.’
    ‘Why are women so bloody contrary?’ growled Piran in mock exasperation. ‘If it’s passion you want, maid, I’ll sling you over my shoulder and carry you upstairs.’
    ‘Oooh, would you – right now?’
    Her laughter echoed up the stairs as Piran make good on his threat.
    *
    Piran’s bed was a big old wooden thing, made, he said, out of the wreckage of a fishing boat that had run aground years before. It was the most comfortable bed Helen had ever known. She stretched herself out then curled herself around Piran as he slept with his back to her. Bosun and Sprat lifted their heads as they were gently bobbed about on a sea of tartan blanket, waiting for her to settle. When she was finally still, they put their heads down and curled their tails round their noses. Piran mumbled something.
    Helen lifted her head slightly, the better to hear him. ‘What did you say?’
    He spoke a little louder.
    ‘I said, What time is it, cloth ears.’
    ‘Seven fifteen.’
    ‘Want a cup of tea?’
    ‘Yes please.’
    For a big man he moved with a fluidity that never failed to