Starting? Ha!
And Jackson? He stood staring down at her for a long minute, and very gradually the laughter died from his eyes. Finally he nodded, and it was as if he’d come to a decision.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘We know when we’re not wanted.’ And he turned and walked back down the passage without a backward glance.
By the time she’d dressed and dried her hair she almost had herself under control. Almost. Molly was badly flustered and it showed. She blew dry her hair and didn’t concentrate, so she had to do it again-it was that or wear an unruly mop for dinner. Even when she wet and reblew it, her curls still flew everywhere.
No matter. It didn’t matter. Did it?
No. She dressed in jeans and a clean shirt, then changed her mind and donned a skirt-then went back to jeans. By the time she finished she was thoroughly disconcerted, and Sam was asking questions.
‘Why is it taking you so long? Don’t you know Mr Baird is waiting?’
It was exactly because Mr Baird was waiting that she was taking so long, Molly thought. She gave her curls a last despairing brush and headed for the kitchen, Sam skipping by her side.
Because, yes, Mr Baird was waiting.
To her dismay Doreen and Gregor had no intention of joining them for their barbecue.
‘Gregor hates sand,’ Doreen told them, casting an affectionate glance at her husband. ‘You’d think after forty years of living at the beach he’d grow accustomed to it.’
‘I’ll never get accustomed to sand,’ Gregor said morosely. ‘Foul stuff gets everywhere. You even find it between your toes!’
‘Don’t you like sand between your toes?’ Sam asked, his eyes falling to Gregor’s severely laced boots. The vision of Gregor’s old toes was somehow fascinating and repelling all at once.
‘Don’t tell me you do?’ Gregor demanded. ‘Well! There’s no accounting for taste. But that’s why Doreen’s packed you a hamper of everything you might fancy to eat on sand while I eat my dinner at the kitchen table like a gentleman.’
And that was that. They were, it seemed, dining on the beach alone. Just Molly and Jackson and Sam.
Great, thought Molly, and…help?
But the setting itself was magic. At any other time Molly would have loved it. The sun was sinking over the mountains, the surf was rolling in long, low swells onto the wide ribbon of beach, and the sand was still warm from the heat of the day. Gregor had been down before them and had lit a fire.
‘Main course is a nice piece of beef I’ve buried in the coals, and there’s spuds down there as well,’ he told them. ‘Just dig when you get hungry.’
Or eat the rest of their food? They could certainly do that. The appetisers alone would have satisfied even the hungriest of diners. Doreen had done them proud. They unpacked onto the picnic rug and discovered prawns on ice, and scallops and oysters in their shells. There were tiny sausage rolls, still warm. Delicate sandwiches, asparagus, chicken and avocado, smoked salmon…
And the sweets…
‘And this after morning tea, lunch and afternoon tea… The Grays must think we starve in our other lives,’ Molly said, awed, and Jackson grinned and reached for a prawn.
‘Who’s complaining? Sausage roll, Sam? Lemonade? Champagne, Miss Farr?’
‘There’s four different types of wine.’ Molly was practically dumbfounded. ‘How did they do this?’
‘Mrs Gray rang up some people while you were out today,’ Sam told her. ‘They delivered stuff.’
They certainly must have. ‘You’ll have to push me home in a wheelbarrow if I wrap myself round this lot.’ She shook her head as Jackson offered her wine. ‘I’ll have lemonade, please.’
‘You’re not scared things might get out of control?’ he asked, gently teasing, and she flushed.
‘No. But I’m careful.’
‘Because of my reputation?’
‘I hardly think you’ll try a spot of seduction with Sam here,’ Molly snapped, and she got what she asked for.
‘What’s seduction?’ asked Sam.
‘Making ladies kiss you when they should know better,’ she told him. Her response was out before she could stop herself, and there was a crack of laughter from Jackson.
‘That means your Aunty Molly would really, really like to kiss me but she thinks she’s too respectable.’
‘Is that why she changed three times before she decided what to wear tonight?’ Sam asked, interested in this weird adult behaviour, and Molly was torn between embarrassment and laughter.
Suddenly laughter won. Well, why not? It was either laugh or blush to the roots of her hair, and Jackson had the upper hand already.
‘Hand me a sausage roll,’ she told Sam. ‘I’m missing out on valuable eating time talking about stupid things like kissing.’
‘I thought girls liked kissing.’ Sam was looking from Jackson to Molly and back again, trying to figure things out for himself. ‘You mean you don’t want to kiss each other?’
‘What, kiss Mr Baird? Why on earth would I want to kiss Mr Baird?’
Sam thought that one through and found it a reasonable question.
‘Well, I wouldn’t want to. But some people might.’
‘Kissing’s dangerous. You’ve read your fairy stories. Jackson could turn into a frog.’
‘Or a prince.’
‘Not a prince,’ Molly said decisively. ‘Millionaires don’t turn into princes. They always turn into frogs. It’s in the rules.’
‘But we like frogs.’
‘A frog called Jackson? I don’t think so. And besides, it’d be a toad.’
‘Thanks very much,’ Jackson said drily.
‘You’re welcome.’ Molly gave him her sweetest smile. ‘Now, Sam, I suggest we shut up and eat. Otherwise we might go hungry.’
‘What, with all this?’
‘And afternoon tea was so puny,’ Molly agreed mournfully. ‘I’m starving to my socks.’
Sam gave up the kissing issue as a bad job and giggled, a cheerful small boy sound that added to the impression of magic that was all around them. He’d laughed so little since his parents died, and here he was wolfing down sausage rolls and spreading his toes in the sand-and leaning back against Jackson, for heaven’s sake, almost as if he belonged there.
‘Me, too,’ he said cheerfully, munching his fourth sausage roll and giving a direct lie to his statement. ‘Mr Baird, are you starving to your socks?’
‘Deeper,’ Jackson said with aplomb. ‘I’m starving to my toenails.’
CHAPTER SIX
IT WAS a magic meal. A magic night. They ate their fill and then took Sam down for a paddle in the shallows. The child had spent very little time at the beach in his life. Despite Jackson’s reassuring presence he was still wary of the water, so Jackson and Molly held him between them and did one-two-three-jumps over the waves until they were all exhausted.
And wet.
‘Why didn’t we wear our bathers?’ Molly demanded as they paused for breath. ‘Look at us. Sam, you’re wet up to your neck.’
‘Speaking of swimming-Sam, how do you feel about having a shot at real swimming tomorrow?’ Jackson asked him, adult to adult. ‘I’d be pleased to show you how.’
