The Boy is Back in Town

Mari ran her fingertip down her mother’s face on the photograph, just as the wind picked up and almost whipped it away, and she popped it back into her bag, made sure that it was safe and pulled on her gloves as quickly as she could.

Perhaps she was not as ready to see her old home as she thought she was? It had been her mother’s dream that one day she should be able to buy back the home she had loved so very much, but she’d died before Mari could help to make that dream come true. And it broke Mari’s heart to think that she had let her down when they had come so close to making it a reality.

But she still had Rosa to take care of, so she drove herself to work harder and longer to help her sister, no matter what the cost to her own dreams of running her own business.

Turning away from the cliff, Mari faced the wild buffeting wind from the sea and skipped down the path back onto the shore, walking faster and faster along the rough large boulders, sliding on the wet surface, squelching against kelp seaweed, until she was at the end of the jetty and in front of her was the curving bay and the rising cliffs of chalk towering above in the distance.

She took a couple of steps further along the beach and there it was, the low dip in the cliff made by a small river and the sloping grassy bank and the winding path from the shore which led to the cottages where they used to live. Bracing herself, Mari lifted her head, back to the wind, and looked up towards the houses she could see quite clearly now. At this distance, the aged and weathered old roofs blocked the view of the actual house itself, but she could see a large placard from the local estate agent announcing that the house was soon to be sold by auction and the contact details. She had talked to the elderly couple who owned it a few times, but they had not been interested in selling. Until now, when a broken hip had forced them to move into the village.

Tears pricked her eyes and she wiped them away with the finger of her glove. Cold wind and regret assaulted her eyes. But her mouth sheltered a secret smile.

It had taken years of working nights, weekends and public holidays for the extra salary she needed to build up savings but she had finally done it this week after her bonus for working over the whole Christmas and New Year holiday had been paid. It was hard to believe that she finally had enough for the deposit she needed to buy back the house their father had built brick by brick. This was probably the only chance she would have to make this house a home again for herself and her sister, where they could live and work side by side one day.

Other people had social lives. Lovely homes and designer clothing. Even boyfriends. Instead, Mari Chance had become the ‘go to’ single girl who was willing to work when her colleagues spent precious holiday time with their families. Promotion after promotion had meant travelling to some far-flung parts of the world at a moment’s notice. But she did it. And most of the time she loved her work. Loved the idea that she could arrive at a business office where the staff were panicking and walk out with the IT system working perfectly. That was deeply satisfying. Besides, she did not have any personal commitments, not even a pet. But all that travel came with a price.

The crushing loneliness.

And now the one thing she had been dreaming about for the last three years was finally going to happen—it was so close, she could almost feel it. Everything was ready. She had the funds, her place at the auction had been booked, and she knew the going rate for the property from recent sales figures.

This was the house she had been born in. The house she had loved and been so happy in, and now she could make the offer—in cash and above the expected price with a loan facility already agreed at the bank, if the price was higher than she had budgeted for.

She had to have this house.

She had to.

This was where her travelling and relentless activity and exhausting work was finally going to come to an end. This was where she was going to spend the rest of her life. Building a routine with Rosa in the place where she had grown up with extended family all around her. She was ready to come home to Swanhaven.

At that moment an icy blast ran up inside Mari’s coat and a deep shiver crossed her shoulders and down her back, making her stamp her feet and clap her hands together to restore some circulation. Time to get back to hot tea and toasted crumpets—Rosa’s favourites. She could come back and see the house any time she wanted—but perhaps not today.

Indulging in a brief smile and a final lingering look, Mari turned back into the wind as she strolled back towards the marina and the stone terraced cottage Rosa had made her own. Instantly Mari’s eyes were drawn to a small sailing boat which was coming towards the jetty from the west. It was the only boat on the sea and was too small to have crossed the Channel so it could not have come very far.

For a moment Mari wondered who was brave enough, or foolish enough, to be sailing in open waters on a day like this. Icy blustery wind and grey skies did not equate in her mind to a pleasant sailing experience. She continued walking, her head angled down against the wind, but she could not miss the small craft as it came closer and closer towards the shore and the safety of a berth in the sheltered marina. She walked swiftly to try and get warm but, even with her fast pace the stiff wind in the small white sail sped the light craft faster than she could walk.

It was coming in too fast. Much too fast. The closer she got to the marina, the faster the boat came towards her. He had not even lowered the sail and, oh, no, the crosswind was gusting now across the entrance to the marina. There was no way this boat could stop itself from being smashed against the jetty or the stone breakwater of the marina.

No! She had to do something. Shout. Call for help.

Mari looked frantically around—but there was nobody close enough to hear her call and the wind would snatch away any chance of being heard in the town.

The cellphone was useless—the lifeboat would never come out in time. There were only seconds to spare before the boat collided with the dock.

She started jogging, running for the shore, waving her arms above her head, trying frantically to attract the attention of the sailor, who seemed to be totally oblivious to the danger he was in. Mari was shouting now, over and over, ‘Watch out, watch out,’ but the words were flung back into her face by the bitterly cold winds which attacked her cheeks and eyes so that she could hardly see with the tears of winter blurring her vision. Her hat was long gone, blown away in the wind.

Her heart was beating so fast that she thought she was going to pass out. Heaving lungfuls of cold air tipped with icy sleet, she reached the edge of the water and had to bend over at the waist, a hand on each knee, not daring to watch as the small boat was tossed violently from side to side like a plastic bath toy.

She knew exactly what was going to happen next and the horror of what was to come filled her mind. She could not watch.

Her face screwed up in pain, ready for the terrible sound of the hull smashing against the jetty, her hands ready to press against her ears to block out the horror and the cries of anguish from the lone sailor. Eyes closed, she knew what was coming and yet felt so powerless to prevent it that the horror of the moment washed over her with a cold shiver which ran across her shoulders and down her back.

She waited and the seconds seemed to stretch into minutes.

And then the minutes grew longer. And all she could hear was the smashing of the waves on the shore and the screeching of the herring gulls as they swooped down into the harbour in the wind.

Slowly, slowly, hardly daring to look, Mari lifted her head and pushed herself to a standing position.

Just in time to see a tall sailor step off his boat onto the jetty, coil the rope around a bollard on the pontoon one-handed and use his other hand to rake his fingers from his forehead back through his hair as if the wind had made a nuisance of itself by messing up his hairstyle.

The sail was down and neatly wrapped, the boat was perfectly aligned in a berth in calm waters and the sailor looked so composed he might have just stepped from a cruise ship on a lazy summer afternoon.

Stunned and totally bewildered, Mari could only watch in amazed silence as the man double-checked the rope, glanced at his watch and then turned around to stroll casually away from her down the walkway which led back to the town. And just for a second she saw his face for the first time.

Her heart missed a beat.

Ethan Chandler was back in town.

CHAPTER TWO

MARI lifted her head so she could look at Ethan again, just to make sure that she was not mistaken, except this time with her mouth half open in shock.

But of course it was him. Nobody else came even close to Ethan in looks or ability. He had sailed on his own around the world non-stop! Little wonder that he could moor a small boat on a floating pontoon in an English winter.

Ethan … She was looking at Ethan Chandler.

A bolt of energy hit her hard in the stomach and punched the air from her lungs. The blast was so physical that Mari clutched hold of the edge of the stone wall of the marina with both hands to stop herself from sliding onto her knees. Frozen with shock.

She could not believe this was happening. It had to be some sort of crazy nightmare brought on by lack of sleep and far too much caffeine and wine last night over dinner with Rosa.

There was nothing else to explain it.

The man-boy she had last seen ten years ago looking back at her from the backseat of his father’s car as they drove out of Swanhaven, leaving her behind, clinging to the wreckage of her life, was blocking her way back into town. Mari sucked in oxygen to feed her racing brain and the frantic pulsing of blood.

This must be what it felt like to have a heart attack.

The last person on the planet she had expected to see again was dressed in chinos and a pale blue shirt, under a luxurious all-weather jacket the colour of the smoothest latte.

Ethan Chandler. International Yachtsman of the Year. The boy whose family had rented the house next to her home each summer holiday and in the process became part of Swanhaven and the star of the sailing club for a few weeks and her home town’s only true claim for a celebrity. The village shop even sold bottles of the delectable designer aftershave he’d promoted a few years earlier.

The stylist who had chosen his shirt had done an excellent job and that particular shade of blue was a perfect match for the colour of his eyes, even in the grey February light which took the edge off a suntan cultivated under the Florida sunshine.

At the age of seventeen Ethan Chandler had been the best-looking boy in town. A natural athlete and champion yachtsman destined for greatness. Ethan at twenty-eight was a revelation. Of course she had seen his photo on TV and on the cover of magazines, clean and polished and with all of his rough edges smoothed out to create the perfect image. Male-model handsome, rugged and broad-shouldered.

But there was a world of difference between seeing Ethan standing behind the wheel of an ocean-going yacht, or modelling board shorts on the cover of a sailing magazine, and having the man himself standing so close that she could see the stubble on his cheek on the side of his face.

Ethan had always had that cocky and easy confidence in his own charm—but this was taking it to a completely new level. Six feet of broad-shouldered, tousle-haired hunk could do that to a girl.

The blood rushing to her cheeks and neck was so embarrassing. And Marigold Chance did not blush. Ever.

And then, almost as if he knew that someone was watching him, Ethan stopped walking, paused, and started to turn around to look in her direction.