Angela is in bed and fully clothed. She has had a flannel wash and combed her hair, just in case, and tries, without success, to concentrate on her book. Surely he was joking, a throw away line, a final tease so that he could say that he’d stood up an Emmett.
She listens closely to the sounds outside; the sea is quieter now. She turns out the light and sits by the window. A headlight beam is tracing its way down the opposite hill. She gulps, hoping it will make its way back up the other side of the cove. A white van turns into the pebbled lane and comes to a halt under her window, its engine thrumming quietly.
‘Shit!’ She pulls open the sash and carefully eases herself onto the wall below. She taps on his window. He motions her to get in. Again, she taps on the window.
He lowers it. ‘Get in.’
‘I’m not coming.’
He arches an eyebrow and smiles. ‘Bottled out, have you?’
She laughs and shakes her head, feeling the sea breeze lift the hair on the back of her head. ‘This is crazy.’
‘Come on, get in. They won’t let us in the pub if we’re much later.’
The wheels spin on the pebbles as he reverses out.
‘That was clever,’ she hisses. ‘Wake them all up, why don’t you?’
‘Sorry,’ he grins.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Padstow.’
‘Isn’t that miles away?’
‘It’s not that far. It’ll only take us twenty minutes.’ The engine screams its way up the steep winding hill.
Angela grasps the door handle. ‘Yes, at this speed it probably will.’
‘You think this is fast?’
They come to a junction where the road is wider and the hedges seem lower. A rabbit runs across in front of the van. ‘Bugger! I could have had him.’
She ignores him, closes her eyes and for a while they drive in silence.
‘Have you been out fishing then?’ She finally asks.
‘Yeah, we had quite a good catch. You must have brought me luck,’ he says turning down towards the harbour.
‘Your lucky night, is it?’
He pulls up on the harbour front with a screech. ‘Let’s hope so, shall we?’
He winks, and comes around the car to open her door. He extends his hand, bows low and pulls her out of her seat.
She laughs, ‘Mister Gallant.’
He leans forward, pushes her up against the side of the van and kisses her, seeking out the inside of her lips with his own. ‘You taste wonderful, Maid.’
‘Christ, you don’t waste any time, do you?’ She says pushing him away. She runs her tongue over her lips. She can still taste him. Peppermint.
He takes her hand and they walk along the harbour where the streetlights are reflected in the water. The moored boats chatter gently amongst themselves. I’ll have to get Alex to bring me here during the day, she thinks.
‘I like to get all the crap out the way. Get everything up front and out in the open.’
‘Sorry,’ she turns away. ‘What were you saying?’
He stops and kisses her again, longer, slower this time. She presses herself up against him.
‘And it’s obvious you agree,’ he says.
‘I wasn’t listening,’ she says, laughing.
‘So, you agree then?’ He turns up a side alley pulling her with him.
‘About what? Where are you taking me?’
He steps down off the street and opens a door. Inside she can see a bar.
‘Ev’nen, Paul.’
Paul, she muses, yes I suppose it suits him. Three men playing darts turn to look as the barman speaks. They nod over at Paul, giving her the once over.
‘Two rum and shrubs please, Albert.’
Angela wriggles herself onto a barstool. ‘Don’t I get asked what I want to drink?’
‘Listen, I’m take’n you out for a secret evening, so we’re having non-Emmett drinks.’
Angela takes a swig and gasps. ‘Christ, what’s that? It’s like bloody rocket fuel.’
Paul and the barman laugh. ‘Do you like it?’ Paul asks.
‘Yeah, it’s wonderful.’ Angela takes a cautious sip. ‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’
‘I wouldn’t think I needed to. Fresh, young, maid like you.’
‘Depends if I think you’re any good.’
‘And?’
‘Not sure.’
‘How are you going to find out?’
‘Mmm.’ She leans forward and sniffs his neck, and then nuzzles it with the end of her nose.
‘What you sniffing for? Aftershave?’
‘No.’
‘Good, ‘cos I hate the stuff.’
‘You smell nice, sort of outsidey, like washing that’s being on the line all day.’
‘Going to hang me out to dry are you?’ They laugh. He leans forward and sniffs behind her ear. His lips graze her neck down to her shirt collar. She shivers and pushes him away. He laughs, ‘Mmm, lovely. You smell like a foxglove.’
‘What does a foxglove smell like?’
‘I’ve no idea, but you make me feel like one of those days in June, when I’m driving along with the windows down and all the foxgloves are bending towards me from the hedgerows.’ He places his hands on the top of her thighs and rubs up and down her jeans, opening his eyes wide. She puts her hands on top of his and stills them.
‘Would you like another drink, Angela?’
‘You think you’re so clever ‘cos you found out my name don’t you, Sherlock?’
‘That’s not my name.’
‘No, I know it isn’t your name, Paul.’
‘What makes you think that’s my name?’
‘The bloke behind the bar thinks it is.’
‘Yeah, but that don’t mean it’s my name, does it? I call you Maid, but that’s not your name is it?’
She holds up her hands. ‘Okay, you win. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected to follow the logic of a man who calls me maid. I’ve never been called maid before, it’s quite quaint.’
He puts his hands on her shoulders. ‘Quaint, am I?’
She raises her eyebrows, ‘We’ll see, shan’t we?’
He laughs and shakes his head, changing the subject. ‘They made a Sherlock Holmes film near where you’re staying, you know? Have you seen that castle-looking place out on the headland?’
‘Yeah, I keep wanting to walk out to it. What was the film? The Hound of the Baskervilles?’
‘Oh yeah. The hounds rose out of the sea. Hey, I’ve got the key for that place. We could go there tonight.’
‘I hadn’t got you down as a between-the-sheets man.’
He laughs, ‘What do you reckon then, in the back of my van? You might get a fish hook in that lovely rump of yours.’
‘What makes you think it will be my rump?’
He rubs his hands together. ‘This gets better by the minute.’
She takes a sip of her drink and leans her elbows on the bar, pressing her hand into her forehead. He takes her other hand between his burred palms and rubs it gently. He plays with the underside of her Gran’s eternity ring, turning it so that the green stones are on the underside of her finger. He bends forward and kisses her on the cheek, as if he senses her doubt.
‘I’m just going to the bog,’ he says, letting go of her hand.
She watches him walk the length of the room. He has the self-assured swagger of a man that she would normally detest but there is something animal about him; an honesty that appeals to her, a raw sexuality. Even their conversation she finds sexual. She can’t remember the last time she fancied anybody so much. Yeah, she’d fancied Dan, he’d had all the right ingredients, but that magic spark just wasn’t there.
She thinks back to earlier that evening, sitting in the dark, listening to the stream, remembering what had happened between herself and Edward, and trying to make sense of it all. If only life were a dream from which she could awake.
She leans on the bar and gazes into the gaps of mirror between the bottles. The subdued lighting twinkles and sparkles amongst all the polish, glancing off from the oddest of places. She smoothes her hand along the bar rail and watches the glow blur and then clear. She feels warm inside, and wonders if it is the rum, or the dream.