‘Thank you.’ She was surprised. ‘You’re obviously a busy man, I’m amazed you have time for television.’
‘I don’t normally.’
‘Of course, you’re two seasons behind over here.’
‘Of course.’ Mike echoed her lofty tone. ‘But a friend sends me the streaming links so I’m up to date.’
‘Oh.’ He’d always had friends who supplied him with anything he wanted. ‘What did you think of it?’ She hated herself for being desperate enough to ask.
‘Yeah. Good. Usual American shouting-and-waving-hands-around style of acting but it’s tightly written. You’re wasted in it, though.’
She stopped. They’d nearly reached the old mill beyond which there was a proper path. The once-abandoned building had been restored and its grounds tidied up. It looked as if someone lived there now. She banished the image that sprang up of her and Mike kissing passionately in the shelter of the long grass that long, scorching summer so long ago. Before it had all gone sour. She remembered the feel of his generous lips on hers, his eager hands inching under her t-shirt. Their hot panting breath. The fact that they were in the open, barely concealed by the meadow grass, had made it all the more illicit and exciting. Her throat closed with lust. When she and Mike were together nothing else had seemed to exist.
‘You’re staring again, Dora. And looking flushed.’ Mike was looking at her intently.
Fuck. He remembered too. How could he not?
Dora tugged her brain back into the conversation. Flustered by memories, she went on the defensive. ‘It’s the network’s biggest-grossing show. I hardly think my time is wasted.’
‘Oh Dora, Dora. You know that’s not what I meant.’ Mike chuckled, a throaty sound, which took her straight back to when they’d shared his post-coital cigarette. She’d had to eat an entire packet of extra-strong mints before daring to go home. If Mum and Dad thought she’d been smoking, they’d have killed her. Still would.
‘I’ve got to go. I’m meeting my parents in town.’ She knew she was coming across as prissy but it was her only defence against the desire that was curling in her loins. For him. Always for him.
At the mention of her parents, Mike’s face closed.
Millie came running up to them. ‘Mikey, I mean Mike! You’ve won! One of your ducks came in first.’ She waved a piece of paper at him. ‘Here’s your voucher. I do a great afternoon tea if you fancy it. Maybe bring Dora?’
He turned to Dora, his blue eyes glittering. ‘Maybe I’ll just do just that.’
Millie and Dora were sitting on the terrace of the Old Harbour Inn soaking up the last rays of sun.
‘Can’t believe we have to drink wine out of plastic cups,’ Dora moaned.
‘Health and safety,’ Millie murmured and topped up their glasses. ‘Still, the view alone makes up for it.’
She was right. the Old Harbour Inn was a little further west than the café and had views over to the beach on the other side of the harbour. It had the best view of the setting sun.
Dora sat back and inhaled the salty, vinegary, seaweedy smell of her youth. It was good to be home. ‘Do you remember when we thought an alco-pop was the height of sophistication?’
Millie giggled. ‘I think it was, back then.’ She swirled her wine around her glass before taking an appreciative sip. ‘Thank God things have changed a bit. Tessa’s really grateful for all your help, Dor.’
‘Not sure I did much but, bruises on my ducky bottom aside, I was glad to help out. Things all right between you two?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know, you just don’t seem as close as you used to be.’ Dora tapped her nose. ‘Call it actor’s intuition.’
‘Well, we had a bit of a falling-out a few months ago.’
‘I knew there was something. What happened?’
Millie explained how Tessa had agreed to supply bread to the Blue Elephant café, Millie Vanilla’s biggest rival. ‘She’s back baking for me now, when she can. Blue Elephant are making it hard for her to get out of her contract,’ Millie sighed. ‘It’s a real pain. I’m still having to get some bread from Berringtons.’
‘Ooh Berringtons,’ Dora said. ‘Remember their lardy cake? And their ham rolls were good too. Standard lunch at sixth form, I seem to recall. Don’t tell me Berringtons have gone downhill.’
‘I never understood how you ate lardy cake every day for two years without putting on an ounce.’ Millie shook her head. ‘Their bread is fine for sandwiches but, with the new menu I’ve got, I need something a little more unusual. Tessa’s been developing some rosemary bread, which is wonderful, and her walnut bread is gorgeous. It’s just that she hardly has time to breathe, let alone make bread.’
Dora, starved of carbs for eight years, salivated. ‘But you two are okay now? You know she’s never been my bag, but I know she’s a good friend to you.’
Millie nodded. ‘The whole family has. They’re my sort of adopted family, I suppose.’ She stroked a sleeping Trevor’s silken tummy with a bare toe.
‘He’s gorgeous, Mil. I’d love a dog but –’ Dora was interrupted by a couple asking for an autograph.
‘I told my Lee it was you. It is Theodora Bart, isn’t it?’ the woman trilled. ‘We saw you at the duck race this afternoon.’ They insisted on a selfie and a chat and by the time they’d gone, most of the pub’s other drinkers were staring.
‘Do you mind if we go, Millie. It’ll only encourage others if we stay.’
‘Of course,’ Millie murmured, casting a regretful glance at the half-full bottle.
Dora followed her look. ‘We’ll take this with us, shall we? Find somewhere secluded on the beach and hide. Grab the glasses.’
Giggling they tripped across the cooling sand and sat where the wooden groyne met the path which ran in front of the beach huts. Sheltered under the lip of the concrete path, which ran parallel to the promenade, they were more or less hidden.
‘I feel about fifteen again,’ Millie giggled as she flopped down. ‘We always used to come here to gossip.’
‘Best thing is you can still see all of the beach. Perfect for spying. Refill please.’ Dora held out her glass.
‘Does that happen often?’
‘What?’
‘People asking you for autographs.’
‘Not so much over here, although it depends. Not often when I’m going incognito like tonight.’ Dora gestured to her enormous sunglasses and straw hat. ‘It’s just if one person recognises me it seems to spark others off. Half of them don’t even know who I am. They just assume I’m famous enough to warrant a signature and a selfie. Once a guy got me to sign his arm and then had a go at me as he was disappointed I wasn’t Bonnie Wright. You know, out of the Harry Potter films?’
Millie screwed up her eyes. ‘I suppose you do look a bit like her. Not really thought about that before. Cor, my bestie the celeb! Not really thought about that before either!’
‘Yes well,’ said Dora, evenly. ‘Just remember, I’m really only Dora Bartlett, who held your hair off your face when you were sick the first time you got bladdered. And listened to you wax lyrical about, oh, who was it?’
‘Rick.’