Page 5 of Hearts Colliding
Alex whipped around, his whole body jerking, his hand tugging hard on Henry’s lead. Henry yelped, but Alex barely noticed. That voice,hervoice, her New York accent softened from years of living in the West Country. It was so clear, so real, so… much his imagination, an auditory hallucination brought on by tiredness, the stress of being back, and the pulsing headache that had been plaguing him for days.
Alex drew in a series of long, deep breaths. One in, one out, calming the galloping beat of his heart. Now he was imagining things. Yet another reason to turn tail and get out of the house and the village.
He looked down at Henry, still snuffling around.
“For god’s sake, Henry, we’ll be all night at this rate.” He jerked the lead, just a little, but the small dog took no notice of him at all. Alex tutted. In his world, Henry was the only one who could get away with such blatant disregard.
The night sky was ink dark, heavy clouds blocking out the moon and stars. Alex shivered. Summer was feeling more like autumn. It had been warm earlier, but not warm enough for him to jettison his Barbour and certainly not warm enough for a T-shirt. He sucked in his lower lip, his eyes narrowing.
The guy who’d barged his way onto the estate had worn one, a tight, torso hugging one, as he chased after his ridiculous looking dog, stinking of sweat, beer and attitude, ticking every single one of his boxes when no box had been ticked in too long a time.
Muscular but not brawny, his T-shirt had hardly seemed to contain him. The sunlight had picked out the deep red tones in his short, shaved at the sides hair, and dark stubble had shadowed his pale skin. But it had been his deep blue eyes that had caught and held his attention. They were the eyes of a man who wouldn’t drop his gaze, who wouldn’t look away. They were eyes that would challenge. But, more than anything, they were eyes that had sent a brief frisson dancing across Alex’s skin.
A burst of laughter, and lights spilling out onto the harbour front, wrenched him back into the present. A group tumbled out of the pub that dominated the square, their feet unsteady as they made their noisy, good humoured way along a winding road taking them up hill before they disappeared around a corner.
A small spotlight illuminated the sign for The Fisherman’s Arms. He’d forgotten all about the pub, but as he studied the place, what he did remember was that it hadn’t looked like this.
It had been the most popular of the village pubs, and it looked better, way better, than it had all those years before. Spruced up, and a lot more prosperous. Flower baskets hung from wall brackets, and up-lighters cast a soft, buttery glow over the whitewashed walls. The place wouldn’t have looked out of place in a West Country tourism brochure.
Alex looked around at the other businesses crowding the prime real estate of the harbour front, his gaze moving slowly, taking it all in with an appraising, professional eye.
A picture postcard black and white timber framed building was now home to a smart café, that had once been… He couldn’t remember. An intimate looking Italian restaurant, that wouldn’t have been out of place in Chelsea, Kensington, or Hampstead, every table full as far as he could see. A gallery, its window filled with light and watercolours of local views. All of it and more, all along the waterfront that had once smelled of the fish and diesel from the now largely defunct local fishing industry, now reeked of money.
Another burst of laughter tugged Alex’s attention back to the pub. It had offered food, he remembered that much. Straightforward, but good. His stomach rumbled, a growly reminder he’d not eaten for hours. There was nothing much to eat back at the house… He’d have dinner at the pub, and first thing in the morning he’d have his PA arrange suitable accommodation for him, someplace not too far, just long enough to get the ball rolling on the plans that’d bury the past for ever.
Scooping Henry up into his arms, Alex strode across the cobbles and walked into the pub he’d last set foot inside as a teenager.
* * *
A wave of warmth hit Alex as he opened the door, along with a rich savoury aroma that clawed at his stomach and made his mouth water. He stopped and stared, unprepared for the memories that came at him like a bullet.
The pub where he’d attempted, underage, to buy an illegal pint on a hot summer’s day. The formidable landlady had refused point blank to serve him but had instead presented him with a glass of ice cold lemonade, waving away his money. He smacked his lips, the memory of the sweet-sharp citrus tang as vibrant as the taste on his tongue had been.
One or two looked his way, showing no more than muted interest before turning back to their food and drink.
“Whether you’re coming or going, shut that bloody door,” a voice called out, the accent as thick and rich as the local clotted cream.
Alex placed Henry on the floor, keeping the little dog’s lead short. A few of the other customers were accompanied by dogs, their tails wagging at the new arrival, but Henry pushed hard against Alex’s leg and gave a low whimper, calming a little when Alex spoke to him in quiet, soothing tones.
At the bar, a middle-aged woman was polishing glasses. She looked up, a friendly smile on her face; it faltered slightly and her eyes narrowed, just for a moment. Did she recognise him? Did he recognise her? Alex wasn’t sure, just as the woman didn’t seem to be. Her smile slipped back into place.
“Good evening. What can I get you?”
Alex’s gaze swept along the bar, taking in the hand pumps and the outlandishly named local ales. “A gin and tonic, please. And I’d like to take a look at the menu.”
“A G&T we can certainly do, but there’s not one single, solitary pie left in the place.”
Pie?Alex couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a pie of any description, let alone wanted one.
“Pies aren’t really my thing, but if I can have the menu?”
The woman met his gaze with one as steady as his own. “Ah, of course. If you’re not from the village you wouldn’t know.”
Alex kept his mouth shut. No, he was not from the village. Not anymore.
“Tonight’s pie night, not that there are any left now, and on pie night pie is all we serve. Meat pie, vegetarian, vegan. On pie night, you can have anything you like. As long as it’s a pie.” The woman gave a good natured laugh. “But, if you’re hungry, I can do you a sandwich?” She leaned forward, almost conspiratorial. “Homemade bread fresh today, butter and cheese from a farm not half a mile away, locally smoked organic ham, and home made chutney. Plus something for your little friend.” She nodded towards Henry, slumped at Alex’s feet. “How does that sound?”
Alex’s stomach gurgled that it didn’t sound too bad at all. The woman laughed again.
