The Rebel of Penhally Bay

‘You were just misunderstood.’

He wasn’t so sure about that. He grunted and looked around, not wanting to get into the past he was so keen to avoid. ‘So—what’s going on here? It looks a bit different to the last time I saw it. I haven’t been in here since I did work experience when your brother was the GP.’

‘Well, it’s certainly changed since then. We reopened it five years ago.’ He paused, his face troubled, and Sam realised he looked suddenly a great deal older. As well he might. Then he seemed to pull himself together and stood up. ‘Come and have a look round. I doubt if you’ll recognise it now. We’ve extended out the back, built a new minor injuries unit and X-ray and plaster rooms, but we’re also planning to build another extension on the side into what used to be Althorps’. The boatyard burned down in September, and it worked in our favour because we were able to buy part of the site—do you remember Kate Althorp? James’s widow?’

‘Vaguely. I know the name and I remember James dying in the storm.’

A quick frown flitted across Nick’s brow. ‘Yes. Well, her brother-in-law wanted to sell up, and without the income Kate’s half was redundant, so they cashed in on the insurance and sold the site. We bought enough land at the side of the surgery to extend it further, and to provide some more consulting rooms so we can extend the facilities offered by the MIU, which will give us a much better use of our space here. Come and see. You’ll be impressed, I hope.’

He was—but he wasn’t fooled. Nick was angling, but Sam wasn’t biting. Under any other circumstances—but they weren’t. They were what they were, and what they were was too damned hard to contemplate. They were standing at the top of the stairs discussing Nick’s vision for the future of the surgery as a multi-disciplinary health centre with dental and osteopathy services when Nick was called to the phone, and he left Sam there and went into a consulting room to take the call.

And Gemma, who’d been the one to find Nick and tell him he was wanted on the phone, was left standing there with Sam, her soft grey-blue eyes wary, her body language defensive. As if he was in some way a threat.

That was a laugh. She was far more of a threat to him than he would ever be to her. She was the one who’d walked away.

He held her eyes, hardening himself to the expression in them, refusing to be drawn in. ‘My mother said you were back.’

‘Yes, I’ve been working here for a year now. How is she, Sam? Nick said she was improving.’

‘Doing really well. Rather shocked, I think. We all are. She’s only fifty-seven.’

‘I know, but she’s had high blood pressure for years, and her diet’s a bit lacking.’

‘What, in anything other than chocolate?’ he said with a wry grin, and then felt his heart turn over when she smiled back. Oh, God, he wanted her—wanted to haul her into his arms, up against his chest and bury his nose in that thick, soft waterfall of hair, to breathe her in and see if she still smelled the same.

‘She said you’re still single,’ he told her with an edge to his voice, and the smile faded instantly as she looked away.

‘Well, we both know that’s not true,’ she said under her breath.

‘I never could work it out. All this time, and you haven’t asked for a divorce. And I wonder why not.’

‘Well, you haven’t, either.’

‘No. It’s not really been an issue. I’ve been busy.’ Busy trying to forget her, busy pretending to himself that he didn’t need a social life, that his marriage was just on hold and one day…

‘I gathered. In Africa, saving the world. So how did you fall off this bike?’

‘Oh, you know me—always taking risks, pushing my luck, playing the fool.’

‘You’re thirty, Sam. Isn’t it time you grew up and stopped worrying your mother sick?’

He swallowed. Oh, he was grown up. He’d grown up the day he’d come home late from work with a bunch of flowers for her and found her letter.

Nick returned from taking his call. ‘Sorry about that. Right, where were we?’

‘I’ll leave you to it. Send Linda my love,’ Gemma said, and fled back into her room, her heart pounding, her legs like jelly and her stupid, stupid hormones racing through her body and dragging it from an eleven-year slumber into vibrant, screaming wakefulness…

‘So—what do you think of the set-up?’

Nick had concluded his guided tour after a walk through the minor injuries suite downstairs and a quick chat with Lauren, the physio, a local girl whom Sam vaguely remembered, and they were back in Reception when Nick asked the question, his expression hopeful despite the simple words.

Except of course there was nothing simple about them, and it didn’t take a genius to read the subtext.

‘Excellent—but I’m not falling for it, Nick,’ Sam said softly. ‘I don’t want to work here.’ Not with Gemma.

‘Why? You need a job, we need a doctor. Your mother and brother need you and, frankly, looking at you, I reckon you need us. Can’t I talk you into it—at least for a few weeks until we can get someone to take over? We’d be hugely grateful, and it would give you something productive to do while your mother recovers.’

‘I’ve got plenty to do. The garden can’t have been touched for years—’

‘Gardening leave?’ Nick said softly, his eyes mocking. ‘At least think about it. Maybe it’s time to come home, Sam.’

But then Gemma came downstairs again, and their eyes locked and pain lanced through him.

‘I don’t think so,’ he muttered, and, turning on his heel, he crossed the reception area in two strides and slapped the swing door out of his way.

Then and only then did he breathe again…

She didn’t know how she got through the rest of the day.

Sam had left the building, but his aura hung in the air, his presence filling every corner and bringing a huge lump to her throat every time she allowed herself the luxury of thinking of him.

Not that she had much time, because she had a busy afternoon surgery and afterwards she was due to go up to the high school for a careers evening. And on her way home to change, of course, she had to drive past his mother’s house, and his car was on the drive. At least she assumed it was his car, because it had a hire-car logo in the window.

Oh, why was she so fixated on him? She couldn’t afford to let herself do this. He was passing through, doing what he’d done over and over again, coming back only for long enough to do what was necessary and this time, just for good measure, tearing the scab off her wounded heart.

If she let him. She didn’t have to, of course. She could keep him firmly at a distance. She’d heard Nick ask him to stay, seen him leave the building as if it were on fire.

Sam wouldn’t be staying.

And she wouldn’t be letting him into her heart.

‘Sam! Hello, darling, I hoped you’d come.’

‘Hiya. How are you? You sound better—your speech is much clearer. That’s fantastic.’ He brushed a kiss over his mother’s drooping cheek—was it less noticeable?—and eased himself down into the chair beside her bed. ‘I’ve brought you some grapes.’

‘Not chocolate?’

He gave a short laugh. ‘No, Mum, not chocolate. Grapes are good for you and, besides, I like them.’ He helped himself to a handful and settled back in the chair, one foot crossed over the other knee. ‘Anyway, I want to talk to you. About Jamie.’

‘Oh, Sam, where is he?’ she slurred, her eyes welling. ‘I thought you’d bring him.’

‘No, sorry, I had to walk the dog, and when I got back he’d gone out—he sent me a text, though. He had to be at school, he said.’

‘He doesn’t want to see me.’

He didn’t tell her that the thought had occurred to him, too. ‘No, it’s legit. I rang the school—it’s a careers evening and he’s apparently volunteered to help out. I’m going over there as soon as I leave you to make sure he’s there and talk to the staff.’

‘Oh, dear,’ she said ruefully.

‘Mmm. I’m sure they’ll have lots to say, but so have I. Don’t worry, I’ll sort Jamie out. You just concentrate on getting better.’

She gave a funny little laugh, then her face creased. ‘How’s Digger? Does he miss me?’

Sam smiled. ‘I think he does, but he’s enjoying his walks. We had a lovely run on the beach this morning at dawn.’ Down to the other beach, to sit on the stumps of the old cabin and torture himself with the memories…

‘Don’t let him off the lead. He’ll go down a hole.’

Sam laughed softly. ‘I do remember you telling me how he got his name. I’ll keep him on the lead, don’t worry.’

‘So—did you go to the surgery?’ she asked after the slightest pause, and he braced himself for the inevitable questions.

‘Yes, I saw Nick.’

‘And Gemma?’

He felt his mouth tighten and consciously relaxed it. ‘Yes, I saw Gemma. She sends her love. She seems to know you quite well.’

‘Oh, she does. She runs the cont…’

She trailed off, exasperated by her uncooperative tongue, and Sam put in, ‘The continuing care clinic?’

‘Mmm. She does my blood pressure. She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Pretty girl.’

‘I didn’t notice,’ he lied. ‘I was a bit busy.’

God, it was a wonder his nose wasn’t longer than Pinocchio’s! He put the grapes back on his mother’s bed table before he crushed them all inadvertently, moved her newspaper and picked up her weakened left hand. ‘Come on, let’s do some physio. We need to keep these fingers moving.’

She shook her head. ‘They just won’t.’

‘They will. Keep trying. Here, come on, I’ll help you,’ he said, and, taking her fingers in his, he started working on them, giving himself something to do apart from conjuring Gemma’s image into his crazed mind.

But it didn’t work, her image was still there larger than life, her soft, wounded, wary eyes torturing him, so after a few minutes he put his mother’s hand down and stood up. ‘Right, I’m off to the school to sort out young Jamie. I’ll see you tomorrow. Be good.’

‘What else?’ she said sadly, and her eyes filled again, ripping at his conscience. ‘Bring him—come for longer. I miss you, Sam. You don’t know…’

His conscience stabbed him again, and he sighed softly. ‘I do. You tell me often enough. But my life’s not here, Mum.’

‘Could be.’

‘No. No, it couldn’t. Just the moment you’re better and I’m given the all-clear by the physios, I’m going back to Africa.’

Her fingers tightened on his, her right hand clutching at him in desperation. ‘No, Sam! Don’t! You can’t go back!’

That was probably true, although not the way she meant it, but he wasn’t giving in. Not yet. ‘Mum, I have to go,’ he repeated, and, freeing his hand, he dropped a swift kiss on her cheek and walked out.

‘Sam! I didn’t expect to see you here. It’s the last place!’

‘Well, ditto,’ he said, and his smile looked strained. ‘Have you seen Jamie?’

‘He’s here somewhere,’ Gemma said, trying to control her see-sawing emotions. ‘Doing the name badges and the drinks for the parents? He will have done the careers thing last year, so he’s only helping. I don’t like to be unkind, but it doesn’t sound like him.’

‘Maybe it was just a reason not to go and see Mum. He hasn’t been in yet. I think he’s scared, but while I’m here I need to speak to his teachers and find out what I can about him hanging around with Gary Lovelace.’

‘Well, Lachlan D’Ancey’s here, he’ll fill you in. He’s Chief Constable now, but he just comes to support the school and sell the police force. Nick Tremayne’s here, too. If Lachlan’s busy I expect Nick could use some help, there are always lots of people thinking of studying medicine.’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t think the school would be interested in my support. I wasn’t exactly their star pupil.’

‘That’s rubbish, Sam, you got four As at A level!’

‘Only because I was constantly being grounded.’

She smiled slightly, remembering the tales of how rebellious he’d been, how he’d pushed everyone to the limit of their patience, worried his mother senseless and alienated half of the town.

Which, of course, had only made him even more attractive.

She dragged her eyes from Sam and looked at the girl who was hovering behind him. ‘Hi. Did you want to see me?’

‘Um—yes, please. I’m thinking of going into nursing, and I wondered if you could tell me about it.’

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sam lift his hand in farewell as he walked away, and she stifled a sigh of regret.

Foolish, foolish woman. It’s over. Forget it.

But she couldn’t, and for the rest of the evening her eyes were constantly searching for him, and every time they found him, her silly, stupid heart would lurch against her ribs.

It might be over, but apparently she couldn’t forget it. Not for the last nearly eleven years, and certainly not now, with Sam right here under her nose, his presence reminding her of everything she’d lost…

CHAPTER TWO

‘SAM—good to see you.’

He stifled a wry grin at the blatant lie from the man who’d had altogether too much to do with him in his youth. ‘Hello, Lachlan. How are you?’

‘Very well. Great, actually. Married again.’

Sam hadn’t known he’d got unmarried, but he wasn’t surprised that yet another thing had happened in Penhally without him knowing. He’d done his best to distance himself, so it was hardly rocket science, and he made some trite and socially acceptable remark and then Lachlan brought the conversation, not unexpectedly, around to Jamie.

‘Your brother’s getting himself in a bit of bother these days,’ he murmured. ‘You want to have a word with him. He’s going to end up with a criminal record if he goes on like this, and it’s a crying shame because he’s a good lad really. Sharp as a tack, which is half his trouble, of course, like it was yours. What he needs is a good role model.’

‘Well, don’t look at me,’ Sam said with a low laugh. ‘I’m the last person to give him advice.’

‘I disagree. You’re just the person—he reminds me a lot of you.’

‘What—loud and unruly?’

‘No—lost,’ he said, and Sam looked away, uncomfortable with Lachlan’s all too accurate interpretation of his youthful emotions. ‘You need to get him out of the influence of that young Gary Lovelace. He’s a nasty piece of work—God alone knows what Jamie sees in him, but he’s leading your little brother into all sorts of mischief.’

Sam straightened. ‘Not drugs?’

‘Not that we know of, but I shouldn’t be surprised. But Gary’s a thief, and a bully, like his father and his little brother, and you need to get Jamie away from him before something bad happens.’

Sam sighed inwardly. This was the last thing he needed.

‘So how’s your mother? I was sorry to hear about her stroke—she seems far too young.’

‘Yes. But strokes can happen to anyone, from tiny babies upwards. She’s making great progress, but we just need to know why it happened to stop it happening again.’

‘You ought to speak to Gemma. It was Gemma who found her. She went round after work and checked up on her because she was worried.’

‘Did she?’ he said softly, wondering why Gemma hadn’t mentioned it. Because she didn’t want to talk to him any more than she had to? Very likely. He didn’t really want to talk to her, either, and so far all their exchanges had been carefully contained, with all hell breaking loose just under the surface—at least, on his side. But if Gemma had found his mother, she could easily have been responsible for saving her life, and at the very least he ought to thank her. Not even he was that churlish.

‘I’ll go and have a word. Thanks, Lachlan—and if you hear anything I need to know about Jamie, let me know.’

‘Will do. And you do the same.’

‘Sure.’

He went back towards Gemma, but there was a crowd of young girls around her, so he wandered over to the desk where Jamie was handing out name tags and soft drinks to parents.

‘Checking up on me?’ Jamie said, his mouth set in a defiant line, and Sam just smiled.

‘No. I don’t need to, I’ve got the rest of Penhally doing that, by all accounts. How long are you going to be here?’

‘Another few minutes, then I’m going out with my friends.’

Sam frowned. ‘Why? It’s a school night. You’ve got your exams in a few weeks, you should be working.’

‘Nah. I’ve got it all under control, Sam. You don’t have to come home and play the heavy brother with me.’

‘That’s not what I’m hearing.’

‘Well, tough. What do they know?’

‘Well, I gather Mr D’Ancey knows quite a lot about you—probably rather more than is healthy.’

Jamie’s eyes slid away and his face took on a defensive cast. ‘Whatever. I’m out tonight. My work’s up to date, I’ve got nothing outstanding—and don’t even think about suggesting I tidy my bedroom. All I hear from Mum is that I’m just like you.’

Sam stifled a smile and gave up—for now. ‘OK. But not late. Ten.’

‘Ten-thirty.’

‘Ten-fifteen—and if you’re so much as thirty seconds late, you’re grounded for a week.’

‘What? Where do you get off—?’

‘Suit yourself. Ten-fifteen or you’re grounded. I’ll see you later.’

And without giving his brother a chance to argue any further, he walked away. Gemma was free now, and he crossed to her quickly before another wannabe nurse appeared. ‘Can we talk?’

Her eyes widened with alarm, and he realised she’d misunderstood. Or maybe she hadn’t, not really, but he wasn’t getting into all that now. He could barely keep a lid on his emotions as it was. The last thing he needed was to have a deeply personal conversation in public with the woman who’d shredded his heart. ‘About my mother,’ he added, and saw the alarm recede.

‘Sure. When are you thinking of?’

‘After you finish? I haven’t eaten yet, I don’t know if you have, but I thought we could go up to the Smugglers’ and have something there while we talk.’

She nodded slowly. ‘That would be fine. Give me another few minutes, and if nobody else comes, we can go.’

‘Fine.’ He gave her a brisk nod, and walked off to find Nick.

‘Ah, Sam, just the man. This is Dr Cavendish—he’s been working in Africa with an aid agency—was it Doctors Without Borders?’

‘No, but it’s similar,’ he said. ‘Why?’

‘Young David here is considering medicine and wants to work in that field. Can you give him some advice?’

He dredged up a smile for the youngster. ‘Sure. What do you want to know?’

‘Sorry about that, I got caught up.’ ‘So did I. Nick found me a young lad with a death wish. He wants to work in Africa—he’s talking about doing a gap year with an aid agency before he goes to med school.’

‘So what did you say?’

‘Don’t do it. Are you all done now?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then let’s get out of here—have you got your car?’

‘Yes. Shall I meet you up at the pub?’

‘Good idea.’

He followed her down past the surgery to the harbour and turned right along Harbour Road past the shrouded site of the Anchor Hotel, over the River Lanson at the bottom of Bridge Street and along to the end, past Nick Tremayne’s house and his mother’s house next door, then up the hill, past the little church on the left with the lighthouse beyond it on the headland, and then over the rise to the Smugglers’ Inn.

The place was doing well, if the number of cars outside on a week night was anything to go by, and he parked in the last space and got out, breathing deeply and drawing the fresh sea air into his lungs.

God, that smelt good. It was one of the few things about Penhally that he missed—apart from Gemma, who was walking towards him now, her eyes unreadable in the dimly lit car park. Her hands were stuffed into the pockets of her coat, and she looked wary and uncertain, as if she was regretting saying yes.

She didn’t need to. He wasn’t a threat to her. He had no intention of getting into any personal territory at all. Not even slightly.

‘Lots of cars,’ he said, aiming for something neutral. ‘Do you think we’ll get a seat?’

She looked round and shrugged. ‘I don’t know. We could always sit outside on the terrace,’ she said doubtfully.

Hell, no. They’d spent whole evenings on that terrace, and it was the last place he wanted to go. ‘It’s not warm enough, the food might get cold.’

‘There might be room inside.’

‘We’ll see.’ Oh, God, endless pleasantries, and all he really wanted to do was touch her, thread her hair through his fingers, feel her body soft against his…

He yanked open the door of the pub and ushered her in, and as they walked into the bar, a hush fell.

‘Well, by all the saints, young Samuel. Come home to cause havoc, have ‘e, lad?’

‘Ignore him,’ Gemma muttered, but he went over to old Fred Spencer and shook his hand.

‘How are you, Mr Spencer?’

‘Better’n you, by all accounts. Why you limpin’?’

‘Fell off my bike,’ he said economically. ‘And don’t say it.’

‘Well, I ‘spect it was your fault.’

‘Why not? It always was, wasn’t it?’

The old man cracked a laugh and turned back to his companions. ‘Always had to have the last word, young Sam.’

Only not always. Not with Gemma. There’d been no chance to have the last word, to talk things through, to get to the bottom of it—and he wasn’t starting now.

Leaving Fred with his mates, they went over to the bar and ordered drinks and scanned the specials board.

‘The steak’s still good,’ Gemma said. ‘I think I’ll have that—just the small one.’

‘Rare?’

She nodded, surprised and yet not that he would have remembered. They’d always had the steak frites in here, and it had always been good, and she’d always had it rare.

Listen to her! Always, indeed. What was she thinking? It had only been—what? Ten, maybe twelve times in all, over more than a year? But it was all the time they’d had together, and it had been precious, every last second of it.

He ordered the steak for her, but to her surprise he ordered beef Stroganoff for himself—just in case she thought it was all too cosy down Memory Lane? She wasn’t sure, not sure at all, about any of it, and she didn’t really have any idea what she was doing here with him, tearing herself apart, when she could have been safely tucked up at home.

‘Ah, there’s a table here,’ he said, and led her across the room to where a couple were just leaving. He held the chair for her to sit down, and as he did so, his hand brushed her arm.

Dear God, he thought, desperately resisting the need to touch her again, to reach out and let his fingers linger over that soft, slender arm, to run them over her shoulder, to slide the lightweight jersey top aside and press his lips to her skin…

He retreated to the safety of the other side of the table and sat down opposite her, flicking his eyes over the menu even though he’d already ordered, staring out of the window as she shuffled in her seat, organising her bag, placing her drink carefully in the centre of the beer mat with great precision.

And then, once they were settled and there was nothing left to fidget with, there was a silence that was so full of unspoken words it was like a roar in his head. And he had to break it or go mad.

‘So—you came back to Penhally,’ he said, trying to find something neutral to talk about and failing dismally at the first hurdle.

She glanced away, but not before he’d seen a shadow in her eyes. ‘Yes. I love it here.’

Especially when he wasn’t there. His mouth tipped in a mocking smile. ‘I thought it was too small for you? Too pedestrian. Too provincial. Wasn’t that why you left to see the world and didn’t come back?’

Hardly. It was the place where her heart was, where she’d found a love she’d thought would last forever, but she couldn’t tell him that or she’d have to tell him why she’d gone, so she just gave him a level look and lied in her teeth.

‘You know why I left—to go travelling while I considered my career options. And you can talk about leaving to see the world, Sam. It’s me who’s living here now. You’ve hardly been home.’