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  A Jersey Kiss

  The Jersey Scene series, Book 1

  Georgina Troy

  Praise for A Jersey Kiss:

  “Enticing, enchanting, intriguing - with a gloriously romantic island setting - I absolutely loved this book!” Christina Jones

  Published by Green Shutter Books Ltd 2018

  Copyright © Georgina Troy 2018

  The right of Georgina Troy to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Green Shutter Books Ltd, Greenacres, St Ouen, Jersey, JE3 2DA

  Dedication

  To Tess Jackson, who has read every book I’ve written and always believed in me.

  Acknowledgements

  To my husband Rob and my children James and Saskia, together with my wonderful and slightly eccentric extended family, whose actions never fail to provide me with an endless supply of inspiration for my books.

  To my constant writing companions, Jarvis, Claude and Rudi and not forgetting my darling Max.

  I’m grateful to Carol O’Regan McQuillan, as it was a journey we took together that inspired A Jersey Dreamboat.

  To one of my favourite authors and dearest friends, Christina Jones, for her fabulous cover quote, and to the other Blonde Plotters, Gwyn GB and Kelly Clayton for the fun we have together and their constant support with my writing.

  ONE

  June - Blowing Dandelion Clocks

  “I'm coming, I'm coming,” Bea shouted breathlessly, stepping out of the shower and almost losing her balance as she slipped on the mat. She grabbed hold of the shower curtain, to stay upright, snapping it from its rings in the process before wrapping the nearest towel she could reach around her dripping body and running down the stairs.

  “Bloody builders,” she cursed stubbing her toe on the oak banister. Why did they choose today to arrive early, the one time she was running late? She pulled open the heavy front door.

  “Sorry, love,” a man in paint-spattered overalls said, his eyes widening as he took in her lack of clothing. “We, um, seem to have caught you on the ’op.”

  “Yes, well, I’m in a bit of a rush.” She held the door open for the builder and his apprentice to enter the hallway. Making sure she held on tightly to the front of her towel with one hand, Bea pushed back a stray lock of her blonde hair with the other. “I’ll take you up to my bedroom.” The spotty-faced boy stifled a giggle, raising a pierced eyebrow at his boss until he was nudged sharply in the ribs. Bea cleared her throat. Realising what she’d just said, she added, “So that I can show you the work I need you to quote for.”

  “Right you are, love.”

  She could hear the builder grumbling under his breath to his apprentice and led the two men up the carved oak staircase trying not to think about how little her towel was covering and hoping they couldn’t see her bottom. “My bathroom is en-suite, or at least I hope it soon will be,” she explained, her face hot and cheeks pink at the thought of what she'd just said. “So, I thought the best place to start would be my room.”

  “Righty oh.”

  “I'll need the wall from this room knocked through, and a doorway put in down that end.” She pointed across the room, noticing her knickers and bra had dropped off the chair and onto the floor. Kicking them under the bed, she took a breath to continue.

  “Can’t be done,” said a gruff voice from the hallway.

  She took a backwards step out of her room to see who was talking. “Why not?” she asked, her intended rant immediately catching in her throat when she came face-to-face with the owner of a pair of the most piercing blue eyes she’d ever seen. Bea was sure he must be handsome under all that facial hair and despite her annoyance with him couldn’t help staring.

  “This is a very old house, and that, young lady, is a load bearing wall,” he said, his perfect lips drawing back into a slight smile she instinctively knew was more amusement than appreciation of her appearance. He cleared his throat before tapping the wall for emphasis. “I wouldn’t advise you to knock through it.”

  Young lady? He couldn’t be much older than her, she mused. Then again, thought Bea, he could almost be any age under all those whiskers. “But I’d planned to,” Bea argued, not liking his condescending manner or his amused gaze. He may be used to women being stunned into submission by his overpowering presence, but she had just got rid of a bullying husband and wasn’t about to replace him with a bossy builder.

  “And you are?” she asked, wishing she wasn’t in such a compromising position. Being late was one thing, but not being dressed in front of this scowling builder was another entirely.

  “Luke Thornton,” he said studying the wall. “I was a bit delayed and asked Bill to come ahead.” He motioned for Bea to follow him and walked down the hallway to another bedroom the other side of hers. “This would be a better option.” He narrowed his eyes, contemplating the wall in front of him. “This box room would make a perfect en-suite.” He peered out of the window. “Imagine soaking in your bath and staring across the fields at that view of Corbiére lighthouse.” He stepped back making room for Bea to have a look. She leant forward and gazed at the uninterrupted view across the fields to the white tower perched at the edge of the sea. He was right. She always enjoyed looking at this majestic building on the rocks at one end of St Ouen's Bay.

  “Pretty spectacular, don't you think?” he said, coming to stand behind her.

  Bea gripped her towel wishing she’d at least taken the time to put on her underwear and nodded. He was right of course.

  “Then,” he continued without waiting for her to answer, “you could keep the other as the house bathroom. It’s bigger, after all, and closer to the rest of the bedrooms.”

  She thought through his suggestion for a moment. “I see what you're saying, but I’d got the whole set up planned out in detail,” she said, not wishing to give in to him too readily, but desperate to put on some clothes. “It doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice really, so I suppose I’ll have to go with your suggestion.”

  Luke shrugged. “You can do as you like, it’s your house.” He studied the clipboard Bill handed to him. “According to my secretary, apart from replacing the house bathroom and creating an en-suite, you also need the downstairs cloakroom to be refitted, some plastering in the hall, and a bit of painting and decorating throughout the rest of the house.”

  Bea nodded silently. It sounded as if this was going to be mammoth when he listed everything like that. Luke withdrew a biro from the top of the clipboard and began making notes. “You two can get going if you like, I’ll catch up with you later.” He walked slowly down the stairs, his hand grazing paint surfaces as he passed the walls.

  “Don’t mind him, love,” whispered Bill from behind her. “He doesn’t mean to be so abrasive, it’s just his manner.”

  “He’s had a lot goin’ on,” the apprentice added, before receiving another nudge in his bruised ribs. “Ouch, what was that one for?”

  “You can get in the van.” The builder shook his head and frowned. “Bloody kid is too ready to give his opinion when it’s not needed.” He tilted his head in Luke’s direction. “He’s a grand chap though.”

  Bea glan
ced at Luke’s broad back as he stepped into the downstairs cloakroom. “He hides it well, doesn't he?” she murmured before hurrying to her bedroom to dress. Once clothed, she slipped on her shoes and went to wait for him in the kitchen at the back of the house. What was his problem with her anyway? He made her earlier moodiness seem positively chirpy.

  Bea checked the time and wished he would hurry up. She didn’t have long. It would take at least fifteen minutes to get to her appointment, even if she took the open road all the way along St Ouen's Bay past the sand dunes and over by the Golf Course to St Brelade’s Bay. She took out a small mirror from her handbag and re-applied her cherry lip-gloss. Butterflies imitated kanga-hammers in her stomach; she wasn’t looking forward to this meeting. Business associates were one thing, but dealing with the spoilt wife of her biggest client was another entirely.

  “Wow, this room's a shrine to orange Formica,” Luke announced from the doorway.

  Bea frowned. He was right, but there was no need to be rude. “It is a bit, but I can’t afford to do everything I want with the house, unfortunately. It's functional, even if it is a little, um, orange, so it’ll have to wait until I can find enough money to fit in a new one.”

  Luke raked a hand through his messy brown fringe. “It's not too bad.”

  She noticed the glint of merriment in his eyes. “I think that's a matter of opinion.” Bea raised her eyebrows, unable to help glancing up at the kitchen clock and checking the time once again.

  “Right,” he said, smiling down at her. “You obviously have to be somewhere, and I’ve made all the notes I should need. I’ll pass this on to my secretary in the morning, and she’ll post a quote on to you.”

  Bea couldn't help noticing how his smile seemed to light up his entire face, or what she could see of it through his stubble. Her stomach did an involuntary flip when his dark blue eyes gave away his amusement, and looking away from him, she pushed her hand deep into her bag. She wished her aunt was still with her; they’d have laughed about his stunned expression on seeing the kitchen for the first time. “I can never find anything in here,” she said, aware of him watching her as she rummaged around trying to locate her car keys.

  “I know better than to comment on women's handbags.” He shrugged. “Was there anything else you need me to add to this list before I go?”

  Flea jumped out of his basket and started barking. He trotted over to the French doors and tapped the glass with his paw, frantic to be let out. “Stop it,” Bea snapped, knowing the aging Miniature Schnauzer her aunt had adored wasn’t listening to her.

  “What’s wrong with him? Did he see something do you think?” He squinted out of the window in the same direction as the dog.

  Bea bent to pick Flea up and put him down in his basket. “Stay there. You know you can’t catch the birds.” She looked over at Luke. “He goes mad if a bird comes into the garden. He also does the same in the autumn if a leaf dares to blow past the window. It can get a little exhausting at times.”

  Luke shook his head and smiled. “Silly boy.” He stroked Flea’s soft fur. “He’s a character though, I’ll bet?”

  Bea nodded. “He can also be a pain in the bum, but I love him to bits.” She remembered the time and tried not to panic. “Right, about that work?” Bea mulled over what work she’d asked Luke to price for. Picking up her suit jacket from the back of her chair, she hesitated. “This is a bit awkward,” she said. “I’m not sure I'll be able to afford to have all the work done at once.” She chewed her lower lip. “When I spoke to my sister about contacting you I’d hoped to be able to take out a loan for the work.”

  His expression softened. “Yes, I was sorry to hear about your aunt. I heard she was a remarkable lady.”

  Bea swallowed. It was too soon to hope to be brave when talking about Aunt Annabel, but she needed to at least try. “She was.” She cleared her throat determined to draw her mind away from her heartache. She couldn’t afford to mess up her mascara now; she didn’t have time to fix her face before leaving. “If you wouldn’t mind only quoting for the bathrooms and plastering for now, I’ll probably have to do the rest myself.”

  Luke nodded and scribbled something in his notebook. “Not a problem. Give me a call if you’re happy with the quote. The guys should be able to start early next week.”

  Bea was surprised they would be beginning the work so soon, but didn't like to say so. “Okay, thank you.” She walked through to the front door with him. He’d seemed so gentle then for a moment. “Sorry to rush you, but I’m a little late for an appointment and need to get a move on.”

  She waited for him to go out and step into his blue pickup truck and watched in silence as he disappeared down her long gravel driveway in a cloud of dust. It was like blowing a dandelion clock, she mused, you never knew where the seeds would end up. She sighed heavily. This was no time to start panicking about the massive responsibility she was taking on. How many people would swap places with her in a second if they could own a house and garden as grand as The Brae, she wondered. Bea glanced around the large panelled hallway. This house should be enjoyed by a family though, not a solitary, newly separated, grieving thirty-year-old. Was she mad to try so hard to keep this place?

  She walked back to the kitchen to check Flea was calmer and still in his bed. “Good boy,” she soothed. “I won’t be long.”

  As she walked through the hallway to the front door, Bea looked up at the assortment of paintings hanging from the panelling. “Are any of you A Jersey Kiss?” she asked, doubting it very much. None of them looked like they could be. What was A Jersey Kiss anyway and why hadn’t her aunt left some sort of clue in her will?

  TWO

  July - A Thorny Issue

  “Have you discovered what A Jersey Kiss is supposed to be yet?” Mel asked. “Do you think it could be a painting or something?”

  Bea wished she knew. Ever since her aunt’s lawyer had told her that she’d inherited something called A Jersey Kiss, she’d been trying to figure out what it was. “I've no idea. I've never seen anything that looks as if it could be called that and I’ve checked all the paintings in the house.”

  “Mum said it could possibly be a piece of jewellery. Didn't Antonio used to buy your aunt lovely pieces? She said they sometimes have names, if they're extra special?”

  “Maybe,” Bea said, trying once again to picture the contents of her aunt's jewellery box and wondering why her stepmother, Mel’s mum, who had never shown any interest in anything either she or aunt had ever done before, was now trying to unlock this mystery. “Then again, the lawyer told me that Aunt Annabel made her will over twenty years ago. She's always needed money for her garden projects, so maybe she sold it during that time?”

  “Probably,” Mel said, looking disappointed. “Well, if it isn’t the long-lost kiss thing that’s making you look so thoughtful; I suppose something must have gone wrong with your visit to where?”

  “Shoe shopping, to Heavenly in Heels, Paige’s shop in De Greys where she sells her designs. I don’t know why she couldn’t go by herself, but I didn’t like to argue. She’s now the proud owner of four pairs of the most expensive designs. So, I suppose, Paige has had a good day.”

  Mel pulled a face. “Lucky cow, I’d kill for a pair of those shoes. So what’s up then? You look like a bulldog chewing a wasp.”

  “You’re so kind,” she said groaning. “If you must know, I was thinking about Luke Thornton.” Bea dragged a black chiffon top over her chest, wishing, not for the first time, that her boobs were a couple of cup sizes smaller. Maybe she’d been a little over optimistic to think that she could fit into the clothes Mel had kindly brought to her house for her to try on.

  “Oh yes, the famous Luke Thornton. I’ve never met him, but Grant tells me he’s a pretty forceful guy.”

  “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” Bea said raising an eyebrow. “Although does your soon-to-be fiancé also explain why Luke's so moody?”

  “Problems with his partne
r, I think.” Mel tilted her head to one side and studied Bea's torso thoughtfully.

  “You mean she had the sense to leave him?” Bea couldn't help asking.

  Mel shook her head. “Not his girlfriend, a bloke, his business partner. I think he disappeared taking Luke’s money, or something. Someone said he’s been struggling a bit with it all.” Mel narrowed her eyes. “You seem very interested in someone you said was horrible.”

  “I’m only asking,” Bea said pulling on a different top and scowling at her reflection in the cheval mirror. “It’s too tight. I knew this would be a waste of time. There’s no way I can fit into any of your clothes and I’ve worn all mine to death.”

  Mel tugged at the hem from behind her in an attempt to pull the top into shape. “Will you hurry up and get ready?”

  “I can’t wear this.” Bea dragged off the offending article with a little difficulty and dropped it on her crumpled duvet cover with the ten or so other outfits lying in a heaped mess on the bed.

  “We’re going to have to think of something,” Mel said, folding the top angrily.

  “This is my first time out since Aunt Annabel, well, you know.”

  “She died, Bea. Yes, I know and I’m sorry, but you have to get a grip and move on.” Mel pulled back a few clothes hanging in Bea’s wardrobe, checking for a suitable top. “I know it was shit of Simon to leave so soon after, but tonight’s my engagement party and I’m not going to let you mope at home.”

  “You just don’t want to have to deal with Joyce if I don’t turn up.” Bea raised an eyebrow and grabbed hold of a purple silk peplum top that she seemed to wear to every smart occasion.

  “Listen, we may not share the same mother, and I know she’s a bit of a pain, but she only wants the best for me.”