Turning the Tide Read Online Free PDF Page A

have been asleep for a hundred years, but it doesn’t mean that I’m fooled by the first handsome prince to try his luck. Let’s not waste any time pretending it’s my good looks or my personality you’re interested in, okay?’
    Matthew jumped down from the wall, laughing. ‘It’s all right, Harry, your body’s safe with me. Seducing owners to get my hands on their land isn’t one of my usual business methods.’
    Especially not those reeking of brown sauce, thought Harry self-consciously.
    ‘So,’ he said, the hazel eyes watching her closely, ‘what’s your price?’
    ‘My land ,’ she said, through gritted teeth, ‘is not for sale.’
    ‘I don’t imagine that a boat yard sold on the open market would reach anything like the amount I’d be able to offer you for a parcel of land,’ he suggested, softly.
    ‘Forget it,’ said Harry, ‘I’m not so easily bought.’
    ‘I’m only trying to show you that, if things don’t pick up, you might not have a choice. And who knows,’ he murmured, reaching out very slowly to trace a line across her cheek with his thumb, ‘I might end up with more than your land.’
    Harry flinched, hating the flush of colour she could feel staining her face.
    ‘Stop taking the …’
    ‘Brown sauce,’ said Matthew, raising his thumb to show her. ‘Trust me, I’m trying to help.’
    ‘And I’ve already told you,’ Harry said, as firmly as she could, ‘that I can manage by myself.’
    He considered her for a moment, the hazel eyes flicking over her face to see if she was about to crack. ‘Whatever you say, Harry.’

Chapter Three
    Just three and a half miles away, as the gull flew, Great Spitmarsh lay on the opposite side of the mudflats and backwaters to its smaller neighbour. The much-hyped marina development was bland, unimaginative and had done as much to reinvigorate the town as a set of gleaming acrylic nails on a wizened old paw. Far from creating a millionaire’s playground, the yacht owners it attracted turned out to be an aloof bunch who, although content to wander a few yards for breakfast at Tesco’s or dinner at the marina bar, brought most of their supplies with them and rarely ventured as far as the old town. In Harry’s opinion, the unsympathetic development had destroyed the town’s character and turned the high street into a ghost town. No way, she vowed, would she allow Matthew Corrigan to subject Little Spitmarsh to the same fate.
    Having collected an order from the marine engineer’s, Harry decided to take another look at the marina. She liked to think that Watling’s attracted all the true sailors, the salty old dogs who weren’t afraid to go a few days without a shower and drank strong tea in tannin-stained mugs; but, casting her eye over row upon row of gleaming white hulls and expensive sails set simply for the sake of showing off, she could certainly see where the smart money lay. A lot of people were prepared to spend a lot of cash to keep their boats lying safely idle.
    Utterly depressed, Harry returned to her van and was about to drive away when there was a tap at the window. From the small gap left between a full set of whiskers, enormously overgrown eyebrows and a nautical cap, a pair of beady blue eyes bored into her. Eric Drummond, Commodore of the Spitmarsh Yacht Club, had unwittingly been the cause of more grief to her than he would ever know, thought Harry, sighing as she switched off the engine; but he was a well-meaning old boy who had known her father and didn’t deserve to be ignored.
    ‘You can’t run off without thanking me!’ he said, leaning down to give her a hairy kiss. ‘Not only have I fixed it so you don’t have to watch the old clubhouse falling down any more, but you’re also, it seems, going to have the best restaurant in town right on your doorstep.’
    ‘Not much use to me, I’m afraid,’ said Harry. ‘I’m not really the eating-out kind.’
    ‘Ah, that’s because you’ve had nowhere to go until