Escape for the Summer (32 page)

Andi took a seat and resigned herself to spending the next couple of hours aboard Travis Chumley’s floating penis. The RIB glided away from the pontoon, drawing many admiring glances, and headed out into the estuary.

“This is the sexiest boat in Rock,” Travis boasted, turning around and flashing his Armitage Shanks white teeth at Andi. “She cost over a mil.”

Andi could only imagine what she would do with a million pounds. Definitely not buy a boat, even one as pretty as this and with a Bose stereo pumping out Lonely Island’s “I’m on a Boat” at about the same decibel level as a 747 taking off. As far as she was concerned,
Ursula
, despite all her quirks, was far superior. She had class, which was something Travis would never understand. Still, he seemed thrilled, as did Angel and Laurence, who were sunning themselves at the front. Turning around, Andi saw that Gemma – who was perched on the side – was looking worriedly at the boat just ahead. Callum South, a rubber mummy in his wetsuit, was balanced precariously on the stern. Even from here she could tell that his face was pea green.

“Is he OK?” she asked.

“He hates the water,” Gemma explained. Her brow pleated with concern. “To be honest, I don’t think he’s a very good swimmer.”

Andi was just about to ask Gemma quite how she knew this when a jet ski whipped past them, heading out towards the horizon in a blur of speed and spray.

“That looks awesome!” Angel said admiringly. “Wow! I’d love to go that fast!”

Travis screwed up his nose. “Think that’s fast? You’ve not seen anything yet. This little baby will whip his ass!”

And then, without so much as even a cry of “Hang on!”, he pushed the throttle to flat out and the RIB surged forward like Skippy the Bush Kangaroo. Quite how she stayed on board, Andi had absolutely no idea; bags went flying, screams ripped through the air and Angel’s suntan lotion splurted everywhere. The forwards motion shot Travis onto the deck with such a thud that he hit his head hard and lay gasping like a landed mackerel while the RIB hurtled across the river, heading straight towards a small sailing boat.

It was as though the world had turned upside down and the beautiful morning was morphing into a slow-motion horror movie. Out of the corner of her eye Andi saw Laurence holding his head with one hand, blood trickling through his fingers, while the other clung on to Angel with all its might. Andi glanced around wildly for Gemma. Where only moments earlier she’d been sunning herself on the side of the boat, now there was no sign of her. Andi’s heart almost rocketed out of her chest with terror. Gemma must have lost her balance when the boat had surged forwards, and shot straight off the stern and into the water! Jonty’s comment about how the propellers were little more than blenders was suddenly and dreadfully stark in Andi’s mind, and she began to panic. Where was Gemma? And was she all right?

Travis was still sprawled across the deck, and the small boat was getting alarmingly close. Somehow, and with strength she hadn’t known she possessed, Andi managed to lurch towards the console and yank the dangling kill cord with all her might. Abruptly the engines were silenced, everyone was jolted forwards and the boat reared to a halt.

With her heart hammering in her chest and her breathing harsh in her ears, Andi sagged against the console. For a moment she couldn’t speak.

“Are you all right?” Laurence was asking as he joined her. Taking the kill cord from her trembling fingers he added, “Bloody well done, by the way, for thinking to stop the engines. If you hadn’t done that...” He shook his head, freckling the white deck with blood. “Well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.”

Angel crouched next to Travis. “He’s hit his head really hard. I think he needs an ambulance.”

If he didn’t now, he certainly would when she got her hands on him, Andi thought grimly. What a moron.

“Never mind him; we’ve lost Gemma,” she said. “She must have fallen overboard when the boat took off. We have to find her: she could be hurt!”

Beneath ten layers of fake tan, Angel turned white.

“Oh my God! And she hasn’t got a life jacket on either!” She grabbed Laurence’s arm frantically. “We have to go back!”

Laurence’s face was dark with anger. “We certainly do. Keep your eyes open and see if you can spot her in the water. We can’t risk running her down.”

Angel was crying now, her mascara running like Alice Cooper’s, but Andi was beyond tears. As Laurence started the RIB she scanned the water desperately for signs of her friend. It was only when they were almost back at the pontoon that she realised the film crews were no longer anywhere near the bogey-green ski boat. Instead, their RIBs were out in the middle of the river and she could hear shouts and laughter. Screwing up her eyes against the sun’s glare, Andi could just about decipher two shapes bobbing about in the water. One was seal-black and clinging tightly to the second which, from Andi’s distant vantage point, looked like a big white blob. Even from this far away it was impossible to miss the flash of cameras.

“Over there!” Angel shrieked, pointing in exactly the same direction. “She’s in the water by those boats!”

Without hesitation, Laurence put the RIB into gear and moments later they were alongside. Sure enough, Gemma was floating in the water, her long skirt spread up around her waist, making her look for all the world like a giant jellyfish. She didn’t look any worse for her ordeal, but when Andi thought how she must have missed the propellers by inches she felt sick to her stomach. The film crew must have caught the accident frame by frame.

But it wasn’t the accident that had captured the attention of the press. As Laurence manoeuvred the boat carefully around to lower the ladder, Andi realised that Gemma was floating easily but supporting in a life-saving position another swimmer, who was thrashing around and spluttering, his eyes wide with fear. Callum South, reality TV star and macho footballing hero, was also overboard – and the press was relishing every second of his terror.

Chapter 29

Angel was beside herself with excitement. What a day this was turning out to be! OK, so the near-death experience on the water was something she could have done without, but the events that had followed completely made up for it. Not only had Laurence been the most demonstrative and attentive so far, holding her close to his heart and brushing butterfly-soft kisses onto her mouth, but now he was sweeping her away from Rock and the trauma to Kenniston Hall.

Angel had Googled Kenniston so many times on her iPhone that it was a miracle she hadn’t worn the web pages out. She could hardly wait to see the place in the real world. What she didn’t already know about the Palladian mansion, with its landscaped gardens, follies, grottos, lakes and thousands of acres of land, wasn’t worth knowing. If she were to go on
Mastermind
her specialist subject would be the Elliotts of Kenniston Hall, and she wouldn’t have any problem answering questions about the Capability Brown landscaped parkland or the catalogue of Chippendale furniture. As Laurence’s Aston Martin purred along the high-banked Devon lanes, each mile bringing them closer to his ancestral home, Angel thought she would combust with excitement, leaving just a pair of Louboutins (borrowed from Vanya) smouldering gently on the bushbaby-soft carpet.

“You’re still shaking,” remarked Laurence as his left hand strayed to her knee. He squeezed it gently and her stomach fluttered. “I am so, so sorry about everything that happened earlier. I could murder Travis with my bare hands for what he did to you all.”

If Angel was shaking, it was because her nerves were strung more tightly than violin strings at the thought of seeing Kenniston, rather than because she was suffering some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder from the boating accident. To be quite honest she was feeling remarkably chipper about the entire episode. It had all taken place so fast that it had been over before she’d even realised quite what had happened. One minute she’d been sunbathing on the bow, and the next she’d been catapulted into Laurence’s chest – which wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened – before her sister had somehow managed to stop the RIB. Gemma was fine, if sodden; Andi was furious and Travis concussed, but there was no real harm done. Personally, Angel thought her sister was a bit OTT with all the boat safety stuff anyway, but when she’d seen how concerned Laurence was about her she’d managed to dredge up a few tears – thinking about her overdraft usually did the trick – and before long she was being folded into his arms and treated like glass. Result! Murder Travis? Not likely. In fact, Angel could have kissed him!

“I’ll be fine,” she told Laurence bravely now. “Honestly. The main thing is that everyone is safe. Gemma’s a strong swimmer and she was just a bit soggy, so no harm done there. Andi will calm down eventually too.”

Laurence looked doubtful. Actually, Angel thought, given the blast of wrath that her sister had fired at Travis, concussed or not, he was probably right to be wary. Andi didn’t have red hair for nothing: beneath her usually calm exterior there was a fiery temper, that was for sure. Once she’d finished telling the two men exactly what she thought of their boating skills neither could have been under any illusion about her opinion of them.

“City boys with more money than sense and toys they can’t handle!” Andi had raged, green eyes flashing as she’d helped Laurence moor the RIB. “Showing off like that could have had us all killed! Morons!”

“I’m so sorry,” Travis had moaned for the hundredth time, holding his head in his hands and looking as though he was about to vomit. “I never meant any of it to happen. I didn’t think the throttle was so sensitive…”

Andi had rounded on him, her curls bouncing in fury. “You didn’t think at all! Thank God Gemma was picked up by Cal’s film crew and that the propellers missed her, or you’d be up for manslaughter.”

Angel, worried that Andi would be the one up for manslaughter if she didn’t calm down, had diverted her sister’s attention by crumpling into a heap and sobbing. Laurence had been horrified and before long she had been wrapped up in a blanket, had a very good brandy administered by one of the yachters from the sailing club and was being driven back up to Laurence’s house in Rock. There she had spent the rest of the day being pampered and tended to, which had been a much better option than doing bikini waxes for Vanya and her friends. By the time Andi and Gemma had decided to go back to the caravan, Angel had been very busy pretending to be fast asleep on Laurence’s king-size bed. Of course, nobody had had the heart to disturb her after such a traumatic morning, although later Andi had prodded her very hard and snorted rudely when Laurence pointed out that the stress of it all had really upset her. Angel had nearly frowned but then remembered just in the nick of time that she was supposed to be fast asleep. When Laurence had offered to drive Andi and Gemma home, though, she genuinely had felt stressed, especially when Andi had almost accepted. Now, Angel shook her head as the countryside whizzed by in a green blur. She was going to have to have firm words with her sister. There was no way she was risking having her mystique blown now. Not when she was so nearly there!

Once the house had fallen quiet, Angel had been hoping to finally get Laurence to herself. Draped across his bed with her hair artfully spread out across the pillow, she’d just about managed to make out her reflection in the mirror. With the white Egyptian cotton sheet slipping off her tanned shoulders, Angel had thought she looked just the right blend of delicate and desirable.

God. If
she
were a man she’d have shagged her! What on earth was Laurence waiting for? All this gentlemanly stuff was really starting to do her head in. Still, she’d mused, now that they had the house to themselves, surely he would crack? She’d yet to meet a man who could resist the Angelique Evans magic.

She just hoped that Laurence wasn’t the exception to the rule…

In any case, Angel never got to find out, because at this point Travis had returned from Treliske Hospital, wearing a bandage around his head and filled with more regrets than a Shakespearean tragic hero. There had been a murmuring from the drawing room, followed by raised voices, and then the next moment Laurence had been flinging clothes into a monogrammed weekend bag and telling Angel that he was taking her to Kenniston for the night, where he was going to look after her. He hadn’t said very much else, but she could tell that he and Travis had fallen out. Angel thought it was very generous of Laurence to be the one to leave, rather than throwing Travis out, seeing as this was his own house – but then she supposed that Trav was injured. It just went to show what a good and selfless person Laurence was.

Anyway, who cared about whether Travis stayed or left? She was off to see Kenniston Hall, ancestral home of the Elliotts! And, if she was lucky, maybe her home too one day?

So now, as the Aston Martin bore left onto a lane hemmed by a high red-brick wall, Angel sneaked a glance at Laurence and her stomach did the most delicious bellyflop. Oh Lord. He really was gorgeous. That stern profile and that commanding air really made her go weak at the knees. Even if he hadn’t been a viscount and heir to one of England’s most stunning stately homes, she would have fancied him rotten. A girl would have to be practically dead not to feel her pulse skitter just by looking at him. But did he feel the same way about her? For the first time in her life Angel felt uncertain. He had taken her away from Rock, had treated her like she was made of glass and was about to introduce her to his mother. Surely that had to mean something?

She liked him
so much
. Surely he felt the same?

The red wall went on for several miles, following the gentle swell of the landscape. At one point they swept past an enormous gate, topped by a statue of a stag, and Angel craned her neck to peer through, wondering who and what lay within. Goodness, but it looked like the opening section of
Rebecca
, with the wrought-iron gates all bound with rusting chain and tangled with grasses and bindweed. What remained of the drive was long smothered by nature’s tenacious fingers and the parkland was little more than a rippling hay meadow. A mile or so later they passed another similar gate, this one topped with a huge stone lion the size of a small car, and similarly neglected. Beyond the wall, land stretched as far as the eye could see.