Summer Loves. Georgia Hill
Читать онлайн.| Название | Summer Loves |
|---|---|
| Автор произведения | Georgia Hill |
| Жанр | Современная зарубежная литература |
| Серия | |
| Издательство | Современная зарубежная литература |
| Год выпуска | 0 |
| isbn | 9780008211073 |
April was a beautiful month in Berecombe. As Millie walked an excited cockapoo across the deserted beach she could feel the early morning sun on her face and a sea breeze lifting her hair, lilting and gentle. It was a most glorious morning and something she used to take great pleasure in. She threw Trevor’s tennis ball, shading her eyes to see where it bounced on the hard, flat sand. A movement on the harbour wall caught her attention. A figure stood there. Tall and masculine. Millie’s heart faltered. She screwed up her eyes to see better but he was just a silhouette against the morning light. It couldn’t be Jed, could it? It had been weeks since he’d left Berecombe. Since she’d angrily sent him away. Trevor skidded to a halt beside her and jumped up, tennis ball in mouth, eager for her to continue the game. Bending down, she took the ball from him and threw it. When she looked towards land again, the figure on the harbour had disappeared.
Of course it hadn’t been Jed. Why would he come back to Berecombe? With a heavy heart, Millie turned to return to the café. She had the Yummy Mummies and the WI Knitting Circle coming in this morning, so would be busy. Last night she’d slaved over getting a batch of Battenberg cakes ready and still wasn’t happy with them. She was finished if her baking was going off-kilter, she mused, as she trudged over the softer sand near the prom. It was almost as if the kitchen sensed her mood. Ever since Jed left, part of her heart had gone too. She couldn’t seem to throw herself into things with the same enthusiasm. Even her baking was something to be done more as a chore rather than a pleasure. Jed would have loved the Battenberg. She stamped the sand off her feet, exasperated at how her thoughts kept circling back to him.
She unlocked the café door and inhaled the familiar sweet smells. Forcing herself to think positively, she grinned down at a sand-covered dog. ‘At least Dora is back in town, though, eh Trevor?’ Going through to the kitchen to switch on the kettle, she called back, feeling a little more cheerful, ‘And life’s never boring with Dora around!’
If one more person pulled her duck’s tail or made one more lewd remark about ‘little duckies’ Dora would seriously lose it. She tugged at her escaping tights and waddled through the White Bear’s public bar, rattling her money tin. ‘Buy a number for the duck race,’ she called. ‘Raise some money for a good cause.’ She’d have serious words with Millie later. How the hell did she get roped into this? It was little more than ritual humiliation.
‘Oi oi,’ called a man in a lecherous voice. ‘What have we got here?’
What got into these men? It was barely nine o’clock. Had she been away from her home town so long she’d forgotten all about these riotous Friday night drinking sessions? No, alcohol alone couldn’t excuse their behaviour; it must be the duck outfit that got them going. Male hormones obviously went into overdrive at the sight of a woman dressed in yellow feathers and red tights.
Dora adjusted her duck head to peer down at her latest assailant. He reached out and pulled her tail hard.
‘That’s enough,’ she yelled. ‘I’ve had enough. You can buy a duck for that.’ She held out her money box as a demand for payment. And swore. Hard.
‘How much?’
‘They’re a pound a duck.’
‘I don’t see any ducks,’ he sniggered. ‘Apart from you.’
‘No,’ Dora explained, for what seemed the thousandth time that evening. ‘You buy a number and then come along to the river tomorrow afternoon. All the ducks will have a number on them. We set them off and if yours wins, you get a prize.’
‘What’s the prize? You?’
Dora was having difficulty containing her temper. Her feet hurt, her head was sweaty from wearing the ridiculous duck headdress and she wanted