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—GoodreadsonHoneymooning with Her Brazilian Boss
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
JACKTRELOARSATback in the rather uncomfortable stone seat and surveyed his fellow audience members. No surprises here. The audience was exactly what he had expected, people from the village and the surrounding towns, mostly friends and family of the cast, together with a smattering of tourists. An easily pleased, uncritical, warm audience predisposed to be supportive of the amateur production.
Everything he wanted to change.
Although he had to admit to being pleasantly surprised by the performance itself. Yes, it was amateurish, yes, the costumes were clearly home-made, and the backdrops and props owed more to enthusiasm than skill, but some of the acting was really good, good enough to transport him—momentarily—from noticing the chill of the stone seat and the laboured scene changes. Juliet was especially good, although that was no real surprise. After all, Clem Beaumont was a professional, one who, in Jack’s opinion, should go back to finding proper paid work and spend less time poking her nose into his business.
At least what hehopedwould be his business if he could just win round the very community sitting here to his vision. He allowed his gaze to wander around the auditorium once again. This place was a gem, an open-air amphitheatre, stone seats rising up from a semi-circular stage, the sea visible beyond creating a truly atmospheric backdrop as the early June sky began to tinge pink, the sun sinking at last.
At least, it should be a gem. But right now it was more unpolished diamond than jewel in the village crown. Ticket-buyers for the pitifully few shows put on here headed in through a plain reception area where, instead of a bar and restaurant, volunteers sold lukewarm white wine and cans of beer from a trestle table. There was nowhere to mingle, to enjoy an interval drink, to soak up the atmosphere. But the potential was here for anyone with half an eye—and Jack had that eye. He could turn this theatre and Polhallow into adestination. A place people flocked to not just for the sea, beautiful as it was, or for the scenery or any of the other reasons that made the Cornish village such an attractive place to holiday, but for the theatre, just as people visited St Ives for art or Padstow for food. Jack had done his research; the stage was big enough to tempt the major touring companies, and the venue could host bands as well as musicals and plays. He could put Polhallow on the map.
But to say that the local community didn’t share his vision would be putting it mildly; you’d think he was planning on tearing the whole thing down and replacing it with some kind of concrete monstrosity rather than trying to bring jobs and prosperity to the village outside the crucial summer season. He’d even guaranteed that the local schools, dance troupes and amateur companies could still use the theatre—so why couldn’t the village see that everyone would benefit? Probably because he was the one behind the scheme. Clearly it didn’t matter how rich and successful he was, the people of Polhallow would only ever see him as the town tearaway.
Well, they would learn to look again. Polhallow was the right place to raise his daughters—fresh air, outdoor pursuits and less of the monied hedonism that characterised their affluent London neighbourhood. If he had to win the townsfolk round to smooth his daughters’ path then that was what he would do. Not that he would mind seeing respect, no matter how grudging, in the eyes of everyone who had doubted or judged him in the past.
Jack had intended to leave at the interval but, despite himself, he found himself getting caught up in the tragedy unfolding on the stage, even though he knew all too well where teen melodrama could lead. The play was brought to life by Clem’s charisma and skill and the rest of the cast rose to meet her, some of them achieving what Jack suspected were hitherto unexpected heights. By the time Juliet collapsed on her lover’s tomb and the final epilogue was spoken, Jack was shocked to feel the prickling of tears in his eyes. He looked around hurriedly, hoping nobody had seen the weakness. He needn’t have worried, because although his presence had attracted a few stares and pointed comments when he’d arrived, most people were too absorbed in the play to give him more than a second glance and were now applauding the cast with gusto.
The woman sitting next to Jack was no exception. She was on her feet clapping and whooping as if she had been watching the Royal Shakespeare Company, tears trickling down her cheeks, visible despite her huge sunglasses, her shouts of ‘Bravo! Bravo!’ ringing out. She sat back down, removing her sunglasses to quickly wipe away the tears, and caught Jack’s amused gaze with a slightly self-deprecating shrug.
‘Wasn’t that amazing?’ She spoke English fluently and with no real discernible accent but there was a trace of something he couldn’t place, almost Spanish, or southern French.
‘It wasn’t what I expected,’ Jack said diplomatically. Amazing was maybe pushing it, but he couldn’t deny the play hadn’t been the car crash he had been expecting.
‘Clem is so talented, I had no idea.’ The woman continued clapping again enthusiastically and bouncing to her feet as the lead actress came forward. There was a definite similarity between the smiling actress and his neighbour, both had long dark curls and a similar slant to their high cheek-boned oval faces with long-lashed hazel eyes above full mouths. A sense of recognition tugged at him.
‘Have we met?’ Jack asked.
She shook her head, replacing the sunglasses firmly. ‘I don’t think so, I’m not from around here. I’m a cousin of Clem’s.’
