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‘Must have been before I got involved with their sports programme,’ Will said. He saw Cleo’s lips tighten. ‘You don’t surf, Cleo?’ he asked.
To Will’s surprise, she shuddered.
‘No.’ she took a sip of tea.
‘I know,’ Owen said. ‘Why don’t you teach Han’s mum, Dad. He’s the best teacher, Mrs J. Been doing it for years.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Cleo looked away.
‘Why not, Mum?’ Hannah asked. ‘It could be fun. Then we could surf together.’
*
‘I said no, Han.’ Cleo was annoyed. How had this happened? She and Han had been enjoying a lovely cup of tea together, finishing off the strawberry flan left over from the café. Then Will and Owen had arrived, and suddenly there was all this talk about surfing.
Will was back to his disreputable self, a far cry from his smart appearance in the club and last night when she’d been ready to change her opinion of him. Okay, he might have come straight from the beach, and there was a gale blowing out there, but he could have taken time to at least comb his hair. With the strands of his sun-bleached blond locks tumbling to his shoulders, and his muscular chest straining against the black tee-shirt bearing his surf school logo, he looked… sexy.
Cleo swallowed and tried to rid her mind of the image of Will wearing swim shorts and little else, of his bronzed body, of his hands touching her while he… ‘I’m not interested in learning to surf,’ she said. ‘It’s all right for you. Han. I’m too old for such things.’
Will chuckled.
How dare he!
‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘Ailsa took lessons from me, and now she and Martin go out together. It’s never too late, and you’re not old.’ He grinned, his teeth white against his tan, his blue eyes twinkling.
Damn the man, and damn Ailsa, who was older than she was. ‘It’s not something I want to do,’ she said, conscious of how uptight she sounded. ‘But I’m sure you’re a good teacher,’ she said to Will, in an attempt to soften her refusal.
‘Pity,’ he said, giving her a look which made her feel as if he was mentally undressing her.
She shivered, unsure whether it was from revulsion or anticipation. ‘No more weird messages?’ she asked Hannah to change the subject.
It was a mistake. Hannah shook her head, but her question immediately attracted Will and Owen’s attention.
‘Is someone stalking you, too?’ Will asked, sounding sympathetic.
Hannah glared at her mother. ‘No, it’s someone who’s claiming to be my sister, and I don’t want to talk about it. And, no, Mum, before you ask, I don’t intend to reply to her.’
Cleo felt herself shrivel. In trying to change the subject she’d inadvertently annoyed her daughter. ‘I should go,’ she said, rising.
Will followed her to the door. ‘Sorry about all the surfing stuff. I hadn’t realised how you felt about it.’ He scratched his head, pulling out more of the strands remaining in his unkempt ponytail.
‘No reason why you would,’ she said. Cleo didn’t know herself why talk of surfing made her feel so uncomfortable. Maybe it was something she’d need to get used to.
‘The message you mentioned,’ he continued. ‘If you want to talk about it…’
‘Not now.’ But as she drove home, Cleo reflected that Will might well provide a good sounding board when she was ready to talk more about the issue. But not yet, and her opinion of Will Rankin kept altering from one day to the next. What was it about the man that managed to get under her skin?
Fifteen
Cleo was glad when Monday came around. She cringed every time she remembered the conversation about surfing with Will on Saturday, and how it had seemed the three of them ganged up in an attempt to persuade her to change her mind about surf lessons. She was pleased she’d managed to remain adamant. Though she was curious to discover what had motivated Ailsa to learn. Perhaps it had been meeting Martin. But there was no way anyone was going to persuade Cleo to get out in the ocean on one of those boards. Even thinking about it brought back bad memories.
Tonight was the monthly meeting of the book club she’d joined a year earlier and she was looking forward to discussing the novel they’d been reading. Elizabeth George was one of her favourite authors and this latest one, with its underlying theme of female mutilation was sure to provoke a lively discussion.
It was a mixed group. Three of the women were quite a bit older than Cleo. Dot Butler who seemed to be the club’s leading light, and her sister, Grace, must both be in their sixties. Cleo had recently learned from Ailsa that Grace’s partner was Ted Crawford, a former surf champion who was a friend of Will and Martin. What was it about this town that everywhere you turned there was something or someone linked to surfing?
Libby, who worked in the library with Grace, was older, too. She was the one who managed the selection and borrowing of books. The library kept a collection of boxes of books for the town’s book clubs, each box containing eight books. The other members of the club were closer in age to Cleo. There was Greta who owned the fashion boutique,Birds of a Feather,Sassy – Cleo was never sure if it was her real name – who ownedSassy’s, another boutique on the esplanade which sold beachwear, and Kate who ran the local childcare centre,Kiddie Korner.
‘How was your weekend?’ Bev asked, when she dropped by the café just as Cleo was closing up.
