LITMIR.BIZ

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      And then Hugh surprised her.

      ‘There’s a fête on the green tomorrow. Two o’clock. Would you like to come?’

      ‘A fête?’ Martha’s father had always termed the village fête ‘a fête worse than death’ but they’d always gone anyway, she and her parents, and bought things they didn’t really need or want because they felt sorry for the stall-holders. She hadn’t been to a fête in years.

      ‘I know. Very old-fashioned things, but it’s for a good cause. They hold two or three during the summer on the green the other side of the promenade and I usually go if I’m in the area. Please say you’ll come.’

      ‘I don’t think I can,’ Martha said. She knew she didn’t have a good excuse if Hugh pressed the issue. It was beginning to feel like a date, this invite, and she wasn’t ready to date yet.

      ‘It’s for a good cause.’

      ‘From my childhood memories of fêtes, they usually are. The church roof or the Scouts’ trip to summer camp or somesuch.’

      ‘Neither of those,’ Hugh said. ‘This one’s for the local hospice. It’s where my brother spent his last few days.’

      Martha hadn’t expected that, but the actress in her made her hang on to her composure – a composure she didn’t feel inside. Inside she felt crass, and gauche, and uncomfortable, as though Hugh had fed her his final line on purpose to test her reaction.

      ‘I’m very sorry for your loss,’ she said. ‘But I still can’t come. Now, if you’ll excuse me…’

      She got to her feet and pulled at a corner of her beach towel.

      ‘Of course,’ Hugh said, standing up, although it took a second or two for him to get his balance because of his bad leg. ‘Thanks for the loan of the beach towel.’

      ‘And for the coffee and biscuits,’ Martha responded, pulling the towel towards her.

      It was only as she got halfway up the steps that she realised she’d left her newspaper on the sand where it had been underneath the beach towel. Well, she wasn’t going back for it now.

      But when she got to the door of her chalet and glanced round, she saw Hugh had made it to the top of the steps and was dropping her newspaper in a litter bin. The kindness of his action in getting rid of something about which she had been upset earlier brought a lump to Martha’s throat. He really was such a good and kind man, wasn’t he? But at the back of her mind was the thought that she couldn’t be entirely sure if the invite to the fête had been because she was Martha Langford or… Serena Ross.

      Martha tossed and turned all night. She’d been unforgivably rude walking off like that. Hugh had said his brother had died in the hospice and although she didn’t know how old Hugh was, his brother couldn’t have been very old either. Panic had made her behave the way she had and she was going to have to get over that.

      Martha took a mug of tea and a round of toast and marmalade out onto the deck at half past eight the next morning. She took one of the throws and draped it over her knees while she sat at the metal bistro table and waited for Hugh to emerge from his chalet for his morning run.

      But there was no Hugh that morning. Martha waited until almost ten o’clock then went in search of him.

      ‘Well, good morning. This is a nice surprise,’ Hugh said, opening the door to her knock, as though the fact she’d rebuffed him the day before hadn’t happened. He was in checked pyjama bottoms but naked from the waist up. And his feet were bare. His hair was damp and curling every which way as though he was fresh from the shower and she’d knocked and interrupted him just as he was about to put a comb through it.

      ‘I’ve come to apologise for my appalling behaviour yesterday,’ Martha said. ‘I meant it when I said I was truly sorry to hear about your brother’s death, but I was rude to rush off the way I did without asking you about it. I’m sorry.’

      ‘Apology accepted,’ Hugh said. ‘After Harris – that was my brother’s name, by the way – died there were people who crossed the street to avoid saying anything to me at all.’

      ‘Oh God, that’s awful. Sometimes people simply don’t know what to say, I suppose, and say nothing rather than say the wrong thing. I’ve done it myself.’

      ‘It’s exactly that,’ Hugh said. ‘I’d ask you in but this is serious bachelor-pad land at the moment. I’m going to have to give it a thorough going over before I hand it back to my parents.’

      Martha tried to peek around him to test the truth of his statement but his not inconsiderable body was blocking her view.

      ‘I can be messy on occasion,’ she said. ‘As more than a few flatmates have mentioned! But, well, I just came to say I’m truly sorry for how I reacted and if you want to talk to me about Harris, I’ll be happy to listen. But I’ll go now.’

      ‘Okay. As you see, I’m hours behind. But how do you feel about joining me for a spot of lunch later? The Shoreline does a mean burger, and lots of interesting fish, and salads for the diet-conscious. Do you know it?’

      ‘Give me a rough direction.’

      ‘Halfway between here and the harbour. Keep going in a straight line. You can’t miss it. It’s got fantastic views.’

      ‘I think I know where you mean.’

      ‘Good. Harris and I used to eat there in the holidays. I could tell you about him.’

      ‘I’d like that, Hugh,’ Martha said.

      ‘So would I. So, can I ask you to meet me there?’ Hugh asked. ‘About one o’clock?’

      ‘Of course,’ Martha said. She hadn’t planned her day beyond apologising to Hugh, but now she had a lunch date – was it really a date so early in the acquaintance? – she thought she might get into her newly purchased running kit and go for a run. It might help to clear her head. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

      ‘Me too, Martha Langford,’ Hugh said with a grin.

      He was letting her know it was as Martha he was wanting to get to know her, not just because she was also known as Serena Ross, wasn’t he? Martha’s heart lifted a little.

      Martha was early, only about fifteen minutes, but she decided to go on in and find a table.

      Oh! Another surprise because there were full-length windows on three sides, the ceiling was very high with Raffles-style fans, and the whole place was filled with light. Outside there was a small balcony along two sides. Tables and chairs were set up outside but Martha decided it wasn’t quite warm enough to sit out, although a few people were.

      She chose a table for two, by the window facing the sea. The restaurant was built over the road, closed for the summer to traffic, and with the tide high it was as though she was sitting in the prow of a ship. She hadn’t expected that – it was almost like being on a cruise in the Mediterranean if she allowed her imagination to run away with her. She picked up the menu. Lots to choose from. Was Hugh going to offer to pay or should she suggest they go Dutch. If they went Dutch it would be easier to say, ‘Well, that was nice, but I don’t think we have a future together.’

       Red snapper or crab? Quinoa salad or pesto pasta?

      ‘Penny for them,’ Hugh said.

      ‘They might cost a little bit more than that.’ Martha laughed, looking up into his smiling face.

      Hugh laid a hand of greeting, briefly, on Martha’s shoulder and sat down opposite. ‘Thanks for coming.’

      ‘I’m glad to be here and, seeing as I had my first ever run this morning after I left you, I’m rather hungry.’

      ‘Really? The first? Ever?’

      ‘Yep. Although I’ve been guilty of being a bit of a gym bunny in my time, and

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