‘Of course, not many fishermen live in Fisherman’s Row any more,’ she declared. ‘In fact, there aren’t many fishermen left in Penhally full stop. Too few fish to catch nowadays, and too many quotas, to make it a viable way of life.’ She waved to a dark-haired young woman who had come out of one of the cottages to scoop up a ginger cat. ‘That’s Chloe MacKinnon. You met her yesterday at Alison and Jack’s reception.’
‘Midwife like Kate, yes?’ Tom frowned. ‘Works in the village practice, and is currently engaged to, and living with, Oliver Fawkner?’
‘That’s the one,’ Eve said as the woman waved back and disappeared into her house. ‘You met Oliver at the reception, too.’
‘I remember.’ Tom nodded, then chuckled. ‘You know, if one of the local midwives and a practice doctor had been living together when I was last in Penhally, they’d have been tarred and feathered then run out of town.’
‘Times change even in Penhally, at least for some things,’ she murmured, and before he could say anything she pointed across the harbour to where a pretty cottage sat high on the hill. ‘That’s where Kate lives. Her house must have one of the best views in Penhally.’
‘Right,’ he said, shooting her a puzzled glance.
‘Dr Lovak used to live in Fisherman’s Row,’ Eve continued as they walked past the library and into Harbour Road, ‘but he and his wife, Melinda, moved out into the country in the summer. I guess with a baby coming they wanted more space.’
Tom was sure they did, but talking about where the members of the village practice lived was not exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d asked Eve to meet him today, and if she was going to spend the whole afternoon pointing out the homes of her colleagues it was going to be a very long afternoon indeed.
‘Eve—’
‘I’m sorry,’ she broke in, turning to face him, her expression contrite. ‘I know I’m babbling a load of boring drivel, but the thing is…’ She lifted her shoulders helplessly. ‘We don’t know each other any more, and I don’t know what to say, or talk to you about. I know we were…close…in the past, but—’
‘Us meeting again is fast turning into your worst date ever,’ he finished for her, and she coloured.
‘Maybe not quite that bad, but we’re practically strangers now, Tom, so why did you ask to see me again—what was the point?’
Good question, he thought, but how could he tell her that part of him had hoped to find her happily married so he could finally squash the dream that had haunted him for years—that he could somehow go back, change things—while the other part had hoped she was still single so he might be given another chance at happiness.
She would say he wasn’t making any sense, and maybe he wasn’t. Maybe nobody could—or should—ever try to go back.
‘Look, I won’t take offence if you just want to give this up, and go back to your hotel,’ Eve continued.
If her eyes hadn’t met his when she’d spoken he might have been tempted to accept her suggestion, but, lord, she really was as lovely as he’d remembered, and how could he have forgotten her eyes weren’t simply brown, but had tiny flecks of green in them? Because he’d forced himself to forget, he thought with a sigh, spent so many years trying not to remember, until a year ago, when…
Don’t go there, his mind warned. It’s better not to go there.
‘Tom?’
She looked awkward and uncomfortable, and he forced a smile.
‘Of course I don’t want to go back to the hotel,’ he said. ‘Leastways, not until you’ve pointed out Nick’s house and I’ve thrown a brick through his window.’
She gave a small choke of laughter. ‘I thought you said you were a mature man now?’
‘OK, I’ll see if I can capture some greenfly and let them loose on his roses instead,’ he said, and when she laughed out loud he linked his arm with hers, and began walking again. ‘Eve, I know it’s been a long time since we last met,’ he continued, ‘but it simply means we’ve a lot of catching up to do. And speaking of catching up,’ he added when she said nothing, ‘are you quite sure you don’t know why Nick appears to consider me dog meat?’
‘I thought you might know the answer to that,’ she observed, and he shook his head.
‘I knew him at school, and met him a couple of times when I went to med school, but he was a few years older than me, and his friends tended to be the more studious type, whereas mine…’ He grinned down at her. ‘Tended to be a little rowdier.’
‘I bet they were,’ Eve said dryly.
‘How many kids does Nick have?’ Tom asked, and Eve smiled as they reached the end of Harbour Road and turned towards the lighthouse.
‘He and Annabel had three of a family. Lucy and Jack, who are twins, and Edward. They’re all doctors.’
Tom pulled a face. ‘All of them! I don’t think I’d want any kids of mine becoming medics, would you?’
He’d said the wrong thing. He didn’t know why, or how, but her face had suddenly closed up completely, and he longed to hug her, or say something totally outrageous to bring the smile back onto her face, but no words occurred to him, and as for hugging her… In the past he wouldn’t have thought twice, but even thinking about doing it now made him feel ridiculously awkward, as though it would be too forward which was crazy when he remembered what they’d once meant to one another.
‘Odd time of day for a church service,’ he said, deliberately changing the subject as they passed the church and the sound of enthusiastic singing drifted out.
‘It’s not a service,’ Eve replied. ‘Reverend Kenner runs a club for the village youngsters on Sunday afternoons. Daniel’s a nice man. A good one, too.’
‘Single, is he?’ Tom said, feeling a spurt of something that crazily felt almost like jealousy.
‘Daniel’s a widower like Nick, with a seventeen-year-old daughter.’
And she didn’t look any happier, Tom thought as they walked on to the lighthouse. In fact, she looked even more strained and, in desperation, he pointed out to sea to where the wreck of the seventeenth century Spanish galleon, the Corazón del Oro, had lain for the past four hundred years.
‘Remember when we wished we could dive down there, find loads of gold coins, and make our fortune?’
‘Except neither of us could swim, so it was a bit of a nonstarter,’ she replied. ‘Still can’t swim, which is a dreadful admission for somebody who lives by the sea. What about you?’
‘I had to learn for my work so they sent me on a course and, believe me, being in a class of five-year-olds when you’re twenty-four, and five feet ten inches tall, doesn’t do a lot for your ego.’
Her lips twitched. ‘You’re making that up.’
‘Scout’s honour,’ he protested, and she laughed.
‘Tom, you were thrown out of the Scouts for disruptive behaviour when you were thirteen.’
‘OK, so maybe I was,’ he said, relieved to see her smile again, ‘but I honestly was stuck in a kids’ class. My boss reckoned it would concentrate my mind wonderfully, and it did. I always wondered why your dad didn’t teach you to swim, what with him being a sailor.’
‘He was too busy trying to make a living. My mum wanted me to learn, but you had to pay for lessons, and…’ She shrugged. ‘Money was always tight when I was a kid.’
‘Are they still alive—your