heard him approach.
‘Oh!’ Robin jolted and wiped at her eyes. ‘Sorry, I didn’t see you there.’
‘Spectacular, isn’t it? A new artist, Arthur Durrant. This is the only one we have of his at the moment, though we’ve more on commission. It’s a special introductory price.’
Robin nodded. It wasn’t cheap, but if it was the centrepiece of the room, on the wall facing the bed, then she could make it work within budget. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she managed, her voice croaky. ‘If I pay for it now, can I bring my car down later to collect it? I’m not sure it’ll fit in here.’ She gestured at the jute bag and smiled.
‘Of course. We’ll package it up for you when you’re ready to pick it up.’ He remained quiet, his movements small, but she could see the gleam in his eye – whether at a large sale or someone else appreciating the art that he loved, she couldn’t tell.
She stepped outside and took a deep breath, which turned into embarrassed laughter. She took the bag off her shoulder and swung it as she walked. Did she really think she could buy a few original paintings and pop them in a shopping bag? Shaking her head at her own ridiculousness, and distracted by an orb lamp glowing at her from its matt silver stand in a shop window, she wasn’t looking where she was going.
‘Whoa,’ said a familiar voice, and Robin turned just in time to see an overcoat-clad man take a quick sideways step.
‘Sorry, I—’ she stopped as the breath left her in a single exhalation. Overcoat man had a crop of blond curls, very blue eyes and, as their gazes met, a winning smile. ‘Tim?’ He didn’t belong in her reverie about Neve and paintings and the guesthouse. He belonged in a different part of her thoughts altogether – one that she was trying not to visit too often.
‘Robin Brennan. I was wondering how long it would take for us to bump into each other, though I hadn’t expected it to be quite so literal.’
His hand was on her arm, and he applied gentle pressure. For a horrifying moment she thought that he was going to hug her, but instead he leaned down and kissed her cheek. His skin was smooth, as always – he’d never sported even a hint of designer stubble in the time she’d known him – and she could tell that his overcoat, and what she could see of the suit beneath, was expensive. She had to admit that, despite the years that had passed without her seeing him, he looked as good as ever.
‘You look well,’ she managed. ‘Things are – OK?’
‘They’re great. Really good.’ He was appraising her unashamedly, his blue eyes taking her in, which she supposed was only fair as she was doing the same to him. ‘It sounds like you’re heading in a new direction, too. Back from London for good, and taking over your parents’ guesthouse?’
She nodded, cursing the Campion Bay rumour mill, though Molly had reminded her it was still in full swing, and she shouldn’t be surprised that Tim knew about her plans. ‘It’s a work in progress at the moment. I’m refurbishing the rooms. Bookings are always down in the winter, so we can concentrate on one room at a time, working around any guests we do have.’
‘Your parents are still here?’
‘They’re moving to France in April.’ She found she was stuck on a constant nod, the encounter having more of an effect than she had been prepared for. She’d spent a lot of time thinking about him but the reality was altogether different, somehow exhilarating and claustrophobic all at once. He’d cheated on her, had seemed almost proud of it at the time, and yet here he was without a hint of embarrassment or shame, acting as if it was only the distance that had ended their relationship.
‘Robin, you look incredible. Let me buy you a coffee, I’d love to hear how you’ve been.’
‘You don’t have to get back to work?’
‘Not for a while.’ His gaze lingered on her, his smile hinting at some secret between them, his ability to make her seem like the most important person in the world returning in a flash. ‘Half an hour, Robs. You can’t deny me that.’
Robin looked away, watched a seagull strutting down the street as if on patrol, and realized that she couldn’t say no. She wanted to hear about Tim as much as he seemed to want to know her news. ‘Half an hour,’ she agreed. ‘But only if you take me somewhere they have Bakewell tart.’
Tim laughed; a loud, open laugh that Robin had always loved. ‘It’s a deal. You haven’t changed, Robs. Not one bit.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ she said, but she let him take her arm and lead her up Seagull Street towards an independent café called Cool Beans, and tried not think about how the closeness of him was making her feel.
‘I can’t believe you’ve brought me to a café called Cool Beans,’ she said after they’d sat in rounded, chocolate-brown leather armchairs, and the waiter had taken their order. Their table was low and very small, almost an afterthought, and Robin felt exposed without anything significant between them. She made a mental note that her guesthouse shouldn’t lose sight of practicality for the sake of style. Not that this place was stylish, but it definitely thought it was.
‘Hey,’ Tim said, eyes wide with mock hurt. ‘You set the parameters. This is the only place in town that’s guaranteed to do you a slice of Bakewell tart, and it’s good tart, too.’
‘The Campion Bay Teashop does Bakewell tart. Roxy and Ashley were telling me that they make all their own cakes and pastries.’
‘The place just along from you?’ Tim wrinkled his nose and sat back in his chair, elbows on the armrests. Robin could see the shimmer of silver cufflinks as his shirt protruded from the expensive grey suit. ‘We’re in town, and I don’t have time to head out to the seafront.’
‘So you do have to go back to work? I heard that you were doing well, that you’ve moved up to junior partner in your property firm.’
He ran a hand over his jaw, but he couldn’t hide the smile. ‘Things couldn’t be better, if I’m honest. I’m working on my own portfolio of sites, looking to develop them, bring Campion Bay a bit more up to date.’
‘You’re not a fan of the quaint seaside feel any more?’
‘Quaint is fine, but there are too many buildings – domestic and commercial – that are unlived in, unloved, and it has an effect on the whole area. Malcolm’s firm is working hard to eradicate those, to turn them back into desirable accommodation. I’m proud to be a part of that.’
‘Not least because it’s lucrative, I’ll bet.’ She gave him a quick smile, but Tim wasn’t offended. He never was. He was entirely sure of himself and of his place in the world, and wasn’t afraid to let people know it.
He spread his arms wide. ‘I’m not going to apologize for being successful. And isn’t that what you’re doing, just on a smaller scale? Taking your parents’ fading guesthouse, renovating it, smartening it up and looking to make a profit?’
‘Yes, but without me doing all that the guesthouse would close.’
‘And these buildings would become dilapidated if we did nothing, having an effect on adjoining properties. It’s no different.’
Robin narrowed her eyes, but she knew he was right. ‘Is that what you’re planning with number four Goldcrest Road?’
He gave her an amused, almost admiring look. ‘Nothing’s been confirmed about that site yet.’
‘But it’s on your radar?’
‘We’re looking into who owns it, seeing what options we have. And, if I’m honest, the thought of working on the building next to yours has moved it near the top of my wish list. But no decisions have been made, as yet.’