Sophie scans the crowd. ‘Hot and then some. I think he’s something to do with some property consortium.’
‘And?’ Nell’s waiting expectantly. ‘The least you can do for a jawline like that is check the guest list.’
Plum and Sophie both start peering at their phones, but Plum’s first to look up.
‘Got him. At a guess that’s Charlie Hobson, he’s down here as “local developer”.’
Nell’s got a gleam in her eye. ‘I may have to Google him on behalf of the singles’ group. Whale Watching would pass a whole lot quicker with that kind of dark charisma in the bows.’
‘Dark being the important word there.’ However much he looks like he strode straight off the pages of GQ magazine, as expressions go, objectionable doesn’t begin to cover it. If I was at sea with that particular long face I’d have to jump ship.
Sophie shakes her head at me. ‘And the big blond man by the door is George Trenowden, our legal whizz. He’s single but as he’s your solicitor too, I take it you won’t throw a wobbly if I introduce you once the crowds thin out.’
I ignore the jibe because it will be useful to meet him after years of only communicating by letter. ‘Great, I’m seeing him about the flat first thing tomorrow.’ Although I couldn’t feel less enthusiastic about that.
Sophie laughs. ‘No need to look so worried, he gave up eating mermaids years ago.’ Her brow wrinkles. ‘Do you want me to come with you to hold your hand?’
I can’t think of anything better, but I didn’t like to ask. ‘Aren’t you busy?’
She whips out her phone again. ‘Let’s check the family spreadsheet. Milla’s at school, my mum’s taking Marco and Matilde, so that only leaves Maisie.’ Her face breaks into a grin. ‘It says here that tomorrow morning is officially booked out for hangover recovery. So, Maisie and I are all yours.’
‘In that case I’ll celebrate with more macaroons.’ I’d hate to see any go to waste after all the effort I put in. And I’ll risk another cocktail too. I point myself towards the drinks station. ‘Anyone like anything bringing over?’
Nell perks up. ‘If you strike up a convo with the lush Mr Hobson you could tow him back with you. We always need more men at events.’
I pull a face. ‘As if.’
Sophie checks her phone. ‘Don’t spoil your appetite, the bakery is bringing in food soon.’ She’s forgetting, when it comes to me and eating there’s no such thing as too full.
As if to cue the start of the party, the Serenity Spa music that’s been wafting around us cuts out, and after a beat of silence the Sugababes start belting out ‘Push the Button’. As I dance my way through the crowd, I’m careful to stay well away from any suited shoulders. But I’m only halfway to the edge of the room when there’s a shout: ‘Pies are ready!’ The next thing I know the crush of bodies is enough to lift me off my feet. By the time I’ve grappled my way to the refreshment table I’m breathless. I grab a handful of macaroons from what’s left of the tower, then close my eyes to savour the moment. As the sweet almond deliciousness melts onto my tongue a low voice rumbling in my ear brings me crashing back to reality.
‘Do pasties always cause a stampede in St Aidan?’
As I open my eyes a glimpse of a grey jacket cuff has me spitting out my buttercream. ‘Only the hot ones.’ I’m silently cursing because I’ve landed next to the one guy I meant to avoid. Up close his eye lashes and his scowl are both blacker than they were from a distance. If I’m swallowing hard at the sight of his slightly loosened tie knot and the open top button of his shirt it has to be because I don’t come across many guys dressed for the board room. In the bars where I serve drinks if you meet a James Bond lookalikey he’ll probably be in fancy dress. To judge from Charlie’s glower, either he hates product launches, or he’s rocking the male equivalent of the resting bitch face. But there’s something so raw about the moody shadows under his cheekbones that for a second my heart squishes.
‘I suppose canapés haven’t reached Cornwall yet? Personally, I’d rather stick with these.’ He couldn’t sound more bored but as he waves a macaroon at me his frown deepens. ‘Did you know you have a starfish stuck in your hair?’
When someone really doesn’t get the irony, you have to take the piss. Especially when you’re kicking yourself for being ridiculous enough to let the word ‘sexy’ flash through your head when the man in question really isn’t at all. ‘That’s where I store my starfish until I’m hungry. It’s what mermaids do when they come ashore.’ I know I’m getting way too far into character, but he’s the one who’s missing the joke here.
He gives a bemused stare as he wolfs down his macaroon then holds out his hand. ‘Well, great to meet you, and your surviving starfish. I’m Charlie Hobson, I work for Bay Holdings.’ His heartfelt sigh suggests there’s nothing ‘great’ about this for him.
Unlike Nell, I’m not falling over to introduce myself to random strangers, especially not ones who are faking their enthusiasm, so I dodge his hand. I’m not that impressed by corporate credentials either. But on behalf of local mermaids, I reckon I should be pushing this. ‘So which “bay” would that be?’
‘All the bays.’ As he takes his hand back and picks up a leather zip folder from the table there’s finally a glint of interest in his eyes. ‘Wherever there’s development potential we’ll maximise it. We’re working our way around the coastline.’ He makes it sound chillingly methodical. Scary news for locals and sea creatures then.
Nell’s giving me a double thumbs up as she threads her way through the crowd towards us. From her excited bounce, she can’t have any idea how dull Charlie Hobson is.
I grab a stack of macaroons and a tea pot, fill some tea cups, and manage to loop my fingers through three handles. ‘Great, well enjoy the rest of the party, Charlie, is it?’ I’m saying this ironically too, because it’s obvious he wouldn’t know a good time if it hit him on his perfectly chiselled designer-stubbled chin. ‘And good luck with whichever bays you decide to plunder.’ It’s a bit heavy on the well wishes, but as a parting shot it’s got a nice ring. I’m aiming for a tail swing and a grand exit without spilling the cocktails. But as I swish around, there’s a tug on my thigh, like a rope tightening. ‘What the …?’
A deep growl echoes my cry. ‘… hell are you doing?’ Mr Hobson is holding his zip folder at arm’s length, and the further he lifts it up, the more my netting lifts too.
I let out a hiss. ‘Your man bag’s caught on my netting.’
No idea how Nell does it, but in two bounds she covers the length of the room. ‘Just give it a pull, Charlie, that should set her free.’ She’s skipped the intros and gone straight to ordering him around. ‘Go on then.’
‘Or we could …’ I’m squeaking, still hanging on to my biscuits and cups. ‘Is it too much to ask to unravel it gently?’
Nell shakes her head. ‘Leave it to us, we’ve got this. One two three, go …’
As Charlie wrenches at the folder the yank he gives is big enough to pull a lifeboat ashore. My cocktails fly out of their cups as I lurch, let out a yelp, then my entire tail pulls free. It sails through the air, skittles a tea cup and demolishes the remains of the macaroon tower as it thumps onto the table. I stand open mouthed as the macaroons explode off the walls and skid across the floor.
‘Jeez.’ Charlie Hobson’s personal gloom cloud has turned thunderous.
‘Sacré starfish.’ Even though I’m staring down at the skimpy skirt of my bridesmaid’s dress, without my tail I feel strangely undressed.
Plum’s