Someone to Love by Tracy Corbett

Author:Tracy Corbett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Canelo
Published: 2022-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Sunday, 26th May

Matt took in a deep breath as he admired the views ahead, savouring the chill of fresh morning air hitting his lungs. Wispy clouds moved at speed through the mottled blue sky, and the distant trees moved in unison as the breeze toyed with them, bending their branches and scattering the nesting birds. Three large flags flapped in the wind, each one attached to a pole, advertising the unique combination of rural countryside and commercial tourist attraction. The Cornish flag, a Union Jack, and a skull and crossbones. The Jamaica Inn had certainly lucked out in terms of location. There wasn’t another building in sight, only the expanse of Bodmin Moor stretching ahead, green, wild and enticing.

Tempted as he was to head off exploring, he’d promised to meet Beth after breakfast and check out the hotel’s remaining attractions, including the farm shop and the museum. Neither venue topped his list of appealing activities, but it was on their itinerary, and he knew better than to upset Beth’s rigid scheduling.

As he left the sunshine behind and entered the stone outbuilding converted into a museum, he fully expected his good feeling to fade. It seemed criminal to waste such a sunny day being stuck inside. But then he remembered how it had felt last night, dancing with Beth, and the idea of spending another day with her kept his mood afloat. Especially when he entered the museum and saw her dressed in a black cape, eyepatch and huge tricorn hat.

Unaware of him standing there, she was threatening the rubber parrot attached to Blackbeard’s shoulder. A warm sensation filled his gut as he discreetly watched her. She leant against the makeshift bar of an olde-worlde tavern and pretended to load the barrels of a huge pistol, blowing make-believe smoke away from the tip, as if it had just been fired. This was a side of Beth he hadn’t seen before. Playful, daft, relaxed.

His mind drifted back to the previous night, when their eyes had locked on the dance floor and he’d felt something pass between them – until she’d run off in a fluster. The optimist in him wondered if she’d felt the connection, too, and simply panicked. The pessimist in him told him she was drunk and had probably run off to throw up.

‘Hand over your silver, you bilge-sucking scallywag,’ she said, aiming the pistol at the statue.

‘I hope that thing’s not loaded,’ Matt said, making Beth startle and nearly drop the pistol.

She turned and aimed the gun at him. ‘You’ll pay for your treachery, you son of a biscuit eater.’ Then she frowned and said, ‘Apparently, that’s an insult.’

He moved closer. ‘I think it means bastard.’

‘Oh, right.’ She gave a small shrug.

‘Nice outfit.’

‘I was thinking of wearing it to the hen do. It’s that or a barmaid wench, which I can’t see me pulling off.’ She tilted her head quizzically. ‘My mother, maybe. Me, not so much.’

‘You’re still insisting on fancy dress?’

‘It’ll be fun,’ she said defensively, her scowl returning.

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