'Look!' said Amanda suddenly, and they saw Drew put a light to the base of the bonfire, and watched the slow orange sparking as the fire began to crackle.
The smell of smoke mingled with the smell of the sea while the sound of chattering voices competed with the rush of the waves, and as Shelley let her guard down she began to relax more than she had done for ages. 'See how quickly the fire has taken,' she murmured, watching as tongues of flame began to lick at the wood.
'Do you want to come and meet some people?' smiled Amanda. 'Drew said to make sure you had a good time because hosts get tied up!'
'Not literally, I hope!' Shelley quipped as a rather disturbing image popped into her mind. Of Drew bound helplessly by hand and foot …
She looked over to where he stood by the bonfire, his head bent as he listened to what a tiny woman in a micro-skirt was saying to him. Shelley took a hasty mouthful of punch and looked away. She'd leapt to all the wrong conclusions about Amanda-so maybe it was time she gave up on that kind of thing. 'Yes, I'd love to come and meet some people, Amanda!'
She chatted to Charlie, who told her that word on the ground was that a clothes shop would be a very welcome addition to the village.
'So will you think about it?' he added.
'I'll think about it!' she promised.
She met a couple who had holidayed near Marco's villa and wanted to talk restaurants, then caught up with the two old schoolfriends Drew had mentioned. She hadn't seen Marianne and Nicola for years and both were married, with one expecting twins!
'Everyone here seems to be pregnant!' exclaimed Shelley.
'Must be something in the water!' Marianne surveyed her swollen stomach with a rueful expression. 'Remember that time we all sunbathed topless on the beach, Shelley?'
'Do I?'
'And Drew came over all furious and protective and masterful,' Nicola sighed.
Shelley nodded. 'That's right. He did. Some people might have said that he came on very heavy!' She knew what was coming next. A question on the lines of what exactly was happening between her and Drew nowadays. A question she did not want to answer, simply because she couldn't. She didn't know herself. Maybe nothing.
Maybe it was naive to suppose that, just because they were no longer hurling abuse at each other, something romantic was waiting to burst into life instead. The only thing she was sure of was that he still wanted her physically, only this time he was prepared to follow through. And this time she didn't even have the reassurance of knowing that he loved her. It was time to move away.
She raised her empty glass. 'I'm going to find another of these before the fireworks start,' she said.
'There'll be fireworks starting any minute now if my husband has much more to drink,' said Nicola grimly, her eyes fixed on a tall man at the other side of the garden who seemed to be having difficulty maintaining his balance.
Shelley looked around the garden for Drew but couldn't find him, so she wandered off towards the house to see just what he had done with it.
He had certainly kept it simple-but then, it had such a fabulous location that fussy decor would have taken attention away from the stunning views.
The kitchen was painted in a soft turquoise, with units in a deeper shade. There were windows on three sides of the room, and one which directly overlooked the sea. Now the water was as dark and glossy as oil, but she thought how wonderful it must look during the day-almost as if you could reach your hand out and touch the waves themselves.
She filled her glass and strolled down the corridor leading to the sitting room, where she could see a log smouldering in the grate of an enormous fireplace. She liked the kitchen. She liked it very much. She wondered what he had done to the sitting room.
The floor was made of bare boards and her deck shoes made no sound on the polished wood. She passed a set of exquisite mirrors, each one different, their frames encrusted with shells.
She only got a brief impression of what the interior of the room was like-sky-blue walls and a vast painting of a boat-because a noise from the far end of the room distracted her, and when she looked she could see a big, book-lined study.
But that wasn't the only thing she saw. Two figures stood engaged in deep conversation, one instantly recognisable and one not.
The recognisable one was male and tall and rangy with dark, honey-tipped hair, while the unrecognisable one was female, freckled and had an aggressively assertive tilt to her pelvis.
And of course, on closer inspection, she wasn't completely unrecognisable-because it was the woman who had been talking to Drew so animatedly by the bonfire, noticeable mainly for the length of her skirt. Or rather the lack of length. Shelley had thought that on a bitterly cold night it was a little pointless to wear a mini-skirt-especially when every other female in the place was in jeans.
But maybe it wasn't so pointless. If the point had been to attract Drew Glover, then it looked as though she had succeeded very well.
Shelley hunched her shoulders up as she shrank against the wall and watched them, like an animal retreating into the protection of its shell, and for one crazy moment she could have sworn that Drew saw her. But no, he was too wrapped up in what was happening in front of him to notice anything.
She saw the woman, or girl-for she looked virtually pre-pubescent in such a ridiculous outfit-reach her arms up around Drew's neck and push that assertive pelvis towards him.
He didn't push her away.
Like watching a silent movie, Shelley saw her laughingly say something before raising a moist, eager mouth to his …
Shelley wanted to scream from the base of her lungs, but she couldn't bear to add humiliation to her agony. She slunk back along the corridor like a thief and put her glass down on the table with trembling hands. And once outside she was swallowed up by the darkness, unnoticed by the laughing faces collected round the now blazing bonfire.
Shelley knew the area like the back of her hand; she knew which paths were unobserved and which ones to take so that she would not be followed.
But who was she fooling? There was no sound of frantic footsteps. No hot pursuit on her heels. And why would there be? Drew was a free agent. He could do what the hell he liked. Just because she had started to imagine happy-ever-after or some kind of resurrection of their doomed affair, that didn't make him an active participant in her fantasies.
She waited until she was clear of the house before she started to run, and then the sky started to explode in a cascade of golden rain and a shower of silver stars which were brighter and more dazzling than the real thing.
Someone must have let the fireworks off.
She thought that the pub must have lit theirs at almost the same time as Drew, for there were far too many to be just from one source. She heard the gunfire sound of bangers and saw a breathtaking eruption of emerald and deep rose-pink against the backdrop of the sky, but mainly gold, always gold-so that the sky looked lit up in celebration.
Some celebration!
She ran nearly all the way home, only slowing down as she approached her house. She didn't want the sound of pounding footsteps to alarm Jennie.
But Jennie's curtains weren't drawn and Shelley could see her moving around the sitting room, bending down to pick up discarded toys and putting them unenthusiastically into a box.
Her whole body carried an air of defeat about it, as if life held no joy for her. And maybe that was exactly how she felt. She was in love with the father of her child who in turn was made to feel inadequate because he worked like a dog simply to break even. Even if Jamie did move in next door, he would still have to live with the galling knowledge that Drew was his disapproving landlord.
And Shelley suddenly discovered that it was easy to channel her feelings of hurt into those of righteous indignation. Because you would think that Drew-of all people-would sympathise with Jamie. Hadn't he once been in the same position himself?
Why wouldn't Drew give Jamie the financial help he needed to make something of himself? Not because he wasn't able to, that was for sure.
She had seen the boat and been convinced of its investment value. So had Gerald O'Rourke. She had watched Jamie hard at work, and heard the respect with which Gerald spoke about him. And old boatmen like Gerald didn't give their approval easily.
An idea grew in her mind with the speed of a weed pushing its way up towards the sun. It was so simple she wondered why she hadn't thought of it before. Why didn't she step in and help out? Why not use some of her savings to help Jennie and her partner-just for the sheer altruistic hell of it?