Lisa thought back over all the petty incidents of the past week. Bruno probably knew all the suppliers in the area. It wouldn’t take much for him to have a quiet word in the odd ear. If he considered himself top dog, he probably would take pleasure in sabotaging their efforts.
‘Bastard!’ she spat.
Leonard blinked.
‘Don’t shoot the messenger.’
Lisa laughed, despite herself.
‘Not you. Bruno Thorne.’
She slammed her glass down on the counter. Leonard picked it up.
‘Top up?’
‘No thanks.’ Lisa slid off her seat. ‘If I have another drink I’ll probably end up punching him.’
‘It’s no less than he deserves,’ opined Leonard, watching in ill-disguised admiration as Lisa marched out of the pub, her curls streaming behind her.
The receptionist at the Mariscombe Hotel looked alarmed when Lisa demanded to see Bruno.
‘He’s not here,’ she stammered. ‘I think he’s working from home this morning. Shall I tell him who called?’
‘I’ll go and see him at home.’
‘He did say he didn’t want to be disturbed.’
‘Tough.’
Lisa marched back out of the reception area and through the revolving door. Hannah wondered if she should phone ahead and warn Bruno that there was a wild-eyed creature on the warpath heading in his direction. But then the phone started ringing and by the time she had dealt with the enquiry there was a queue of people at the reception desk waiting to check out. And by the time she’d dealt with that she had forgotten all about the interruption, because she was too busy daydreaming about the letter she’d received that morning.
She had an appointment! They’d booked a bed for her in two weeks’ time. And she’d managed to book a fortnight’s holiday to coincide. She’d been lucky to get leave, but because it was just before the high season she’d managed to wangle it with Bruno, who noticed from her records that she hadn’t had any time off since Christmas and had scolded her gently. But she’d been saving it up deliberately, because it would take that long to convalesce. She didn’t suppose Bruno would take kindly to a receptionist who looked as if she’d done two rounds with Mike Tyson.
And now the operation was imminent, she couldn’t believe it. She’d been to see the consultant on her last day off, and it had been quite surreal, looking through his before and after portfolio, discussing possible sizes and shapes with him. He’d even done a computer-generated reconstruction of what she might look like, and she’d been thrilled with the images.
‘If you’re nervous about anything, just give my secretary a ring,’ he had said. But Hannah wasn’t nervous at all. Unfeasibly excited, perhaps. But not scared. After all, this operation was going to change her life!
Lisa knew exactly where Bruno lived, because Leonard had pointed his house out to her from the window of the Mariscombe Arms one evening, and she had admired it ever since. It was typical of him, she decided, to buy the most expensive house in the village. It was set in a secluded location halfway along the beach, a square, flat-roofed Art Deco jewel with a curved frontage overlooking the sea, with panoramic views. It had to be worth a couple of million.
It was so secluded, in fact, that there wasn’t even a proper road leading to it; just a rough track that meandered parallel with the dunes, bordered with bracken and fuchsia hedges. Chiffchaffs and stonechats skittered across the path in front of her and jewel-bright butterflies wove their way in and out of the undergrowth.
It was a great deal further than Lisa had anticipated. By the time she arrived at his front door, the new flip-flops she had bought in the surf shop two days ago had rubbed the space in between her toes red raw and she had worked herself into a fury. Who did Bruno Thorne think he was? Lisa could exactly imagine what he was like – she’d met his type often enough in her job. Loud, flashy, jumped-up men who expected everyone to jump to attention when they clicked their fingers. She could already imagine his oversized Rolex; probably a thick gold chain round his neck too; designer sunglasses. Awash with expensive aftershave. Well, he’d better watch out. She knew exactly how to deal with his species and she didn’t take any prisoners.
She lifted the heavy knocker on the front door and rapped assertively, squaring her shoulders, ready to look him in the eye. She waited a few moments and was about to knock again when the door opened.
She wasn’t remotely prepared for what she saw. Bruno Thorne was wearing a dusty-blue polo shirt and baggy shorts, his feet bare. His black curly hair was unkempt and he clearly hadn’t shaved yet that morning: there was a smattering of blue-black stubble over his jawline. He held a mug of coffee in his right hand.
It was the man from the bakery.
‘Hello,’ he said uncertainly, his face a picture of bemused puzzlement. ‘We’ve met, haven’t we?’
Lisa faltered, but only for a second. She didn’t care if he’d given her the last almond croissant. She had a bone to pick.
‘Yes,’ she snapped. ‘I’m Lisa Jones. And you’ve pinched my plasterer.’
Bruno’s eyebrows, thick and dark, shot skywards.
‘Have I?’
‘Don’t pretend you know nothing about it.’ Lisa wasn’t going to give him an inch. ‘It’s out of order. You might think you can own everyone just by waving your chequebook, but you’re wrong. I’ll fight you every inch of the way, if that’s the way you want to play it—’
‘Hey, hey, hey – slow down a minute.’ Bruno put his hand up to stop her tirade. To her annoyance, he was grinning. ‘Do you want to stop and tell me exactly what it is you’re on about?’
‘Don’t patronize me!’ Lisa shook back her hair.
‘I didn’t mean to patronize you at all. Why don’t you come in?’
His tone was light and he seemed totally unruffled by her accusations as he opened the door wider and waved his cup to usher her in. Disconcerted, Lisa hesitated. She’d been braced for immediate battle, not a disarming invitation.
‘OK,’ she agreed, and followed him through a light, airy hallway with an open-tread staircase. He opened another door and stood to one side to let her past.
‘Go on through.’
As she passed him, she caught the faintest trace of his cologne again. Lime? Basil? Bergamot? Something so subtle and delicious she wanted to breathe it in again.
The next moment her breath was taken away entirely. The room she was in was at least thirty-foot square. The curved outside wall was made entirely of folding glass doors leading out on to a veranda, while the others were painted in a very pale eau de nil that seemed to be a reflection of the water outside. In the centre of the room, facing out to sea, was a three-sided arrangement of sofas in cream suede surrounding a chunky driftwood coffee table. On the wall behind were three large canvasses, each about six-foot square, of brightly coloured abstracts – one was deep purple, one deep pink and one deep red. Tucked away in a corner was a baby grand piano – the very fact that it seemed small indicated just how large the room was. There was a large inglenook fireplace on the far wall, flanked on one side by a pile of neatly stacked logs that reached the ceiling; the other side was lined with shelves on which were ranged a vast selection of books, from thick, glossy tomes on art right down to a selection of battered airport paperbacks. A worn zebra-skin rug was slung in front of the fireplace and lounging on it was an enormous golden dog whose ears twitched as Lisa looked around her in amazement.
It was the room of someone who knew exactly what he wanted but had nothing to prove. Entirely the opposite of what she had expected.
Bruno indicated the central sofa and she sat down squarely, rather wrong-footed by her environment. It was so stylish, so utterly right. She felt the suede of the seat underneath her: it was incredibly soft and inviting. How divine to flop down on to it, put your feet up and just watch the sea . . .
Bruno sat down on the adjacent sofa, throwing his arms behind his head and stretching his legs out in front of him.
‘Now, do you want to tell me exactly what this is all about?’
Lisa was determined to stand her ground. She might have been temporarily fazed, but she wasn’t going to let it unnerve her. Bruno might have immaculate taste, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of playing dirty.
‘I don’t know what your game is, but I’ve just come to say that we’re not giving up, so you might as well.’
The side of his mouth turned up in a smile.
‘Game? I’m afraid I don’t have much time for games these days.’
‘Mysterious objections to what we’re doing? The man from the council being bloody-minded and moving the goalposts? The electricity board not turning up when they say they will? The plasterer letting us down and mysteriously turning up at your place?’
Bruno ruffled his curls in bemusement.
‘Sounds like everyday life in North Devon to me.’
‘We know you wanted The Rocks and you didn’t get it.’
‘I can assure you if I’d wanted it that much, it would be mine by now. But it wasn’t worth what you were prepared to pay for it.’
Lisa felt a small prickle of unease, but she was determined not to be put off.
‘I saw the plasterer working at your hotel. You pulled him off our job. You’ve put our schedule out completely.’
Bruno rubbed his jaw as he considered what she was saying.
‘Charlie probably came to me because he knows I pay. There’s a lot of new people in town who don’t, and the local labour’s had their fingers burned more than once. I’m sorry, but it’s not my fault if he’s passed you over.’
‘Someone actually called to tell him not to come to us.’
‘Well, it wasn’t me. I promise you.’
Lisa looked down at the floor. There was something in Bruno’s stance that told her he was telling the truth. A small nagging doubt in the corner of her mind spread into a larger one. Had she got the wrong man? He certainly seemed too cool for petty phone calls; she couldn’t imagine him bothering.
She cleared her throat and tried to find her voice.
‘Maybe there’s been a . . . misunderstanding.’
‘Maybe you should do your homework before you start making accusations. I could probably sue you for slander.’
Lisa tried to swallow down her panic, thinking that she’d made an utter fool of herself. For an awful moment, she thought she was going to cry. She put her head in her hands, desperately pushing back the tears, realizing she’d completely overreacted, that she’d been so overwrought by recent events. And now the most powerful man in Mariscombe was threatening to take her to court—
‘Hey – it’s OK. I’m only joking.’
Bruno was standing over her, looking anxious. She could smell his cologne again. Mandarins? No, something more peppery. Whatever it was, it was making her head swim.
‘Look, I’m just about to have some lunch. Why don’t you join me? We can talk everything over.’
Ten minutes later, Lisa found herself sitting at a table on the wooden veranda overlooking the sea. Bruno brought out a big white plate on which was perched a thick wedge of oozing, creamy Brie, a chorizo sausage and a mound of gleaming black olives.
‘Help yourself,’ he instructed, then disappeared back inside only to emerge with a French stick, a bottle and two glasses. He poured her a glass of wine so cold that condensation instantly coated the outside of the flute. The glass was heavy, with an elongated stem, and Lisa clutched it tightly. The liquid inside sparkled pinky gold.
‘Prosecco,’ he informed her. ‘It’s the only thing to drink at lunchtime. It’s so light, it won’t give you a thick head or make you want to fall asleep.’
Lisa sipped it appreciatively. It was sweet, redolent of peaches. And despite his reassurance that it was barely alcoholic, it made her feel slightly giddy. As if the bubbles were in her head. A not unpleasant sensation. Then she remembered she’d already had a drink, at the Mariscombe Arms. She’d better be careful. She didn’t want to make a bigger fool of herself than she already had.
‘This house is . . . stunning,’ she ventured, realizing her words were insufficient.
‘What were you expecting?’ he grinned. ‘Some sort of hideous shag-palace? White carpets and mirrored ceilings? A revolving bed?’
‘No!’
‘Don’t worry. I know my reputation round here. I’m a diamond geezer with more money than sense.’
‘Perhaps you shouldn’t turn up in a helicopter, then.’ Lisa knew she sounded impertinent, but it annoyed her when people moaned about their reputations when they clearly courted them.
Bruno didn’t seem ruffled, however.
‘Not mine, I can assure you. I’ve got a friend with a place down in Cornwall and he sometimes offers me a lift from London when he’s going down. Saves me a tedious four-hour drive.’
Lisa took another sip. She knew she should apologize and the effect the wine was having made her realize she needed to do it sooner rather than later.
‘I’m so sorry I flew off the handle earlier.’ She lowered her lashes bashfully. ‘It’s been a stressful couple of weeks for more reasons than I can go into.’
She wasn’t going to mention ex-wives and stepchildren jumping out of the woodwork. It sounded preposterous. And, anyway, it was none of his business.
‘Don’t worry.’ He flashed a sympathetic smile. ‘I know how frustrating life can be down here when you’re trying to get things done.’
‘People were very quick to point the finger at you.’
Bruno’s eyebrows went up again.
‘Don’t tell me. Leonard Carrington.’
Lisa looked at him in amazement.
‘How on earth did you know?’
Bruno sliced himself a chunk of Brie while he considered his reply.
‘Leonard can never resist the chance to have a pop at me. He wanted to buy this place and I pipped him at the post. He’s never forgiven me.’
Lisa’s mouth dropped open in outrage.
‘But he said
you
wanted to buy the Mariscombe Arms, and that you tried to sabotage
him
when he ended up buying it.’
‘Hasn’t he stopped bleating about that? Yes, I was going to buy it, but I pulled out because I thought I was overstretching myself at the time. He was just pissed off because I bumped the price up. I certainly didn’t sabotage him. He did that very successfully for himself. No one wanted to go near him because he always expects something for nothing.’ His eyes creased up as he twinkled at her. ‘Unless there’s a pretty girl involved, and then he’s more than generous.’