Tim spotted me and headed my way, every pair of eyes in the room following him as he negotiated tables, groups of silent drinkers, a corgi and two yappy bundles of indeterminate breed who had a go at his trouser legs.

“Hi, Marnie.” He leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek, treating me to a waft of something spicy with citrus undertones and very likely a pretentious French name. “You look lovely.”

“Thanks.” I felt myself grow hot again, and then a smirk I couldn’t stop spread across my face. Laura and Gary stared in open-mouthed astonishment, and I gave them a finger-waggling wave and didn’t dare look at Windy Miller.

“What would you like?” Tim asked, catching the barman’s eye.

“Oh, er, a Coke, please.”

Tim asked for a beer and my order, and the barman said, “Is that a diet Coke?”

Tim stared him out. “You saying my girlfriend’s fat?”

“What? No, no. I just –”

“I’m kidding. Sorry.” Tim grinned at the man’s pained face, then at my stunned one. “Inappropriate humour again. I never learn.”

I felt more discomfited by the term ‘girlfriend’ when he could have said ‘date’. Or maybe I was overreacting, reading too much into nothing. Perhaps I should have ordered something alcoholic to help me relax – but too late now. The barman served Tim, and we took our drinks and stepped away from the bar towards the far corner of the room. Three tourists rose from a table and waved us forward as we approached. “Here you go; grab it while you can.”

“Thanks.” Tim and I slid onto the padded bench seat at the back and sat side-by-side. Tim sipped his beer and eyed the room. “For some reason, I don’t feel like turning my back on this lot.”

“Me neither.” Conversation stuttered and grew around us. “At least when you came in, they stopped staring at me and discussing my marriage breakdown.” I sipped my drink, glanced at the locals and realised that they were now probably discussing my audacity instead. I hadn’t let the grass grow under my feet, had I? Maybe this affair with Tim was why Jeff packed his bags and left.

I began to wish I’d ordered a double brandy.

“I thought it was too quiet. Talk about making an entrance.” Tim shook his head. “Why did you suggest coming here?”

‘I was pissed as a fart’ didn’t seem like the answer he’d be looking for, so I shrugged and said, “I forgot how busy it gets and how quickly news travels.” I wondered who had shared my domestic woes around the village, recalled Mark Cooper outside the newsagents when I’d blurted it out…and then remembered Mr Simpkins had also been there. Mystery solved. “The joys of village life.” I thought of my earlier worry over conversational gambits and made an effort. “So, do you live in Lufton?”

“No, I have a flat in London. I rent out the spare room to a friend, and he’s looking after the place just now. I came down to help Dad in the shop while his assistant’s on holiday.” He looked at me. “I would ask about you, but I know from Reg that you used to visit a lot, moved here a year ago, and now your husband’s left you.”

“Ah, yes, Mr Simpkins. The one-man information service for the village. Who needs a town crier?”

“I dropped my old man off at his place tonight. He and Reg are fuming about their bowling club.”

“Oh?” I tried to look interested. Of all the conversations I might have imagined, this wasn’t one of them. “What’s happened, then? Not enough cucumber in the sarnies? Too many women? Not enough women? The grass not green enough, or too green?”

“Probably all of those, but mainly the new member. Reverend Thorpe.”

My cola went down the wrong way, and I spluttered and coughed for a few seconds before waving a hand at Tim. “Sorry, carry on. You were saying…?”

“This vicar has wangled instant membership – normally it takes ages and references, and there’s a waiting list, but he’s joined and playing like a demon.”

I almost choked again. “A demon?”

“According to Dad, Reverend Thorpe plays like a man possessed. He practises all hours, wins every game he plays, and entered the club competition. If he wins that, he’ll go national.”

I was searching in vain for an appropriate response when conversation dwindled around the room for the third time. “Oh, hello. Another newcomer has entered.”

“How d’you know? I can’t see.” Tim craned his neck.

“Because it happened for me, you came in, and it transferred to you. I’ve only lived here for a year, so I’m classed as a newcomer. Now someone else is in for it. Dexter Bay residents don’t react like that to guests or tourists.”

“A local bar for local people.” Tim grinned. “I should take notes if I come up for a part as a pitchfork-wielding villager.”

This comment came perilously close to Jeff’s opinion of Dexter Bay’s occupants, yet it made me laugh. I sipped my drink and stole a glance at my companion. I was sitting beside a young Paul Newman; he was engaging and funny, and every woman in the place had checked him out. A few looked like they’d melted on the spot. I’d relaxed a great deal since I arrived, but I should feel more excited. What was wrong with me?

“So, you’re an actor,” I said, and then, before introducing Midsomer Murders into the equation, I became aware of two people standing on the other side of our table.

“Hello, Marnie, fancy meeting you here.”

I looked up and saw the reason for the sudden silence: Paul Felix and Stephanie, clutching drinks and looking awkward. My stomach dive-bombed to my canvas shoes. “Ah,” I said. “Hello.”

“Are you friends of Marnie’s?” Tim sprang to my rescue. “Sit down, please.”

“Thanks.” Paul slid onto the seat opposite me, leaving Stephanie to face Tim. She did this with a scowl in my direction and then turned a full-beam smile on my date.

“Tim, this is Paul and Stephanie,” I said as the whole room looked on and listened. “They own the café across the road.”

“It’s Steph.” The waitress rolled her eyes. “Only my nan calls me Stephanie.”

I knew what I’d like to call her right then. She seemed transfixed by Tim, gazing with open admiration while Paul looked over his shoulder and muttered:

“We came in for a quiet drink – didn’t realise we’d be the floor show.”

“You’ve taken the heat off us,” Tim said.

“The novelty will wear off,” I said. “Give it a few weeks, and they’ll be gossiping about someone else.” I glanced around, held eye contact for longer than necessary with anyone looking our way, and people shifted their gaze. The murmur of conversation resumed and grew louder.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

I tried not to look at Paul, afraid I’d ogle him the way Steph was mentally undressing Tim, but the chef was hard to avoid, especially as the alternative was staring at one of the locals who’d bad-mouthed me shortly before. I buried my face in my glass, drank cola and looked at the carpet instead, new since my last visit to Dexter Bay’s top – and only - hotspot.

Then I let my gaze wander around the bar, taking in the optics, the wood panelling, the prints of old Dexter Bay – they had definitely been there when I was a teenager – and, slowly and surely, I felt more of the old Marnie emerge and take hold. My stomach stopped doing a Mexican wave, and I sat up straight. Then I looked at Paul and said, “The whole village knows my husband ran off with a younger woman.”

Steph turned to me, and her jaw dropped.

“I never told a soul,” Paul said quickly, face stricken.

Steph looked at him. “You knew this? Who told you?”

“Oh, I let it slip in public,” I said. “Your friend Mark Cooper was there, and my next-door neigh –”

“He’s not my friend. Why’d you say that?” Steph shifted in her seat and turned away from Paul.

“Just an expression,” I said. “I thought you called the reporter when I choked on the goat’s cheese.”

Tim spluttered into his drink. “You did what?”

Now it was Paul’s turn to hide behind his pint glass while I gave Tim a rundown of my first visit to Sea Brew. “We’re on the front page of the Clarion.”

“You saved Marnie’s life.” Tim reached across the table and shook Paul’s hand. “Thank you.”

I gazed at Tim, momentarily speechless. Paul looked like he wanted to crawl beneath the table, and Steph didn’t know who to stare at next.

“Where did you live before you moved here?” Tim asked Paul, and then they began discussing the trials of London living; the expense, endless queues, long tube journeys. Tim described his father’s shop and the change of pace from the capital. “You must feel the difference living here.”

“Oh, yeah.” Paul nodded. “But it was time to go. I wouldn’t move back; I don’t miss anything about London.”

Steph stared into the middle distance while Tim, oblivious to any atmosphere, began chatting about the area and places he’d eaten locally, and he would have to come and try out Paul’s cooking. “What d’you say, Marnie?”

“Huh?” I came out of a stupor where I wondered what I had said or done to give Tim the impression that he could speak for me – not to mention referring to me as his ‘girlfriend’.

“Are you always in a daze?” Tim laughed.

“Us creative types usually are,” Paul told Tim, then glanced at me, a sympathetic look on his face and a glimmer of something else I couldn’t read. I flashed him a grateful smile and finished my drink.

“Same again?” I stood and looked around the table.

“Something non-alcoholic, please,” Tim said. “I’m driving back to Lufton.” I saw Paul’s expression change again, and I could have sworn it held relief.

“Nothing for us,” Steph said. “We should be leaving.”

“Give me a chance to finish this.” Paul waved his half-full glass and focussed on Tim again. “You said you worked in a shop – is that what you do for a living?”

I made my way to the bar without any comments from Windy Miller or offers of sympathy from my neighbours, ordered a non-alcoholic beer and a glass of red wine, and returned to the table.

“I knew I’d seen you before.” Steph was back to gazing at Tim. “My nan loves Midsomer Murders.”

“I’ve had walk-on parts in Eastenders and Dr Who. Third monster from the left, blink-and-you’d-miss-it.” Tim shrugged.

I thought he was doing ‘modest but quietly proud’.

I gave him his beer, reassured him there was no booze in it and sat down beside him. I took a long drink of wine. “And there’s the advert,” I said. “You look like you adore that pressure washer.”

“You’ve seen that? God.” Tim laughed. “I nearly lost control of that thing and sprayed the crew. Still, it pays the bills.”

“What are you in next, Tim?” Steph asked, toying with a strand of hair.

“Well, I’m up for a part in a film. The lead, actually. But I don’t want to jinx it, so let’s leave it.”

“Ooh, are you going to an audition?” Steph’s eyes were huge. Tim may have been managing ‘modest but quietly proud’, but she was full-on ‘impressed and amazed’ with a touch of ‘star-struck’ thrown in for good measure. Paul and I exchanged glances that suggested we felt the same. I tried not to smile, and he drained the rest of his beer.

“So…I suppose we need to get going,” he said. “Early start tomorrow, and all that.”

“Oh, there's no need to rush, is there?” Steph rose to her feet. “I’ll get us another. Tim, d’you want anything?”

“No, thanks.” Tim held his glass to his chest. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t ask me if I wanted another drink. Instead, she pushed her way through the crowds of drinkers to the bar, leaving Tim, Paul and me sitting in awkward silence – well, Paul and I felt uncomfortable; Tim sipped beer and looked around the room. Finally, Paul smiled at me and said, “Elvis not with you tonight?”

“No, thank God, could you imagine?” Tim grinned at us both, missing the mutinous expression I could feel crossing my face. “I mean, he’s mad as a brush, isn’t he, Marnie? Think of the damage he could do in here.”

“He’s a brilliant dog,” I said. “And great company.” As opposed to the hunky insensitive git I was sitting beside.

“Oh, of course, dogs can be good when you haven’t got anyone.” Tim nodded and drank more beer. “After Mum died, Dad got a Shih-Tzu.”

Paul looked away. I bit my lip and clenched my fists to stop myself from making the two-fingers/raspberry gesture to Tim right then. If he answered for me once more, he’d be wearing that poncey, alcohol-free, overpriced urine sample he was drinking and pretending to enjoy.

“Here you go, babe.” Steph returned with another beer for Paul and something unnaturally coloured in a cocktail glass, the rim encrusted with pink and white sugar.

Tim gestured to her drink. “What’s that, then?”

“Sex On The Beach.” Steph looked directly into Tim’s eyes and took a sip, holding eye contact as she did so.

“Are you auditioning for a film?” I asked her.

“Eh?” She dragged her gaze from Tim to frown at me. “What?”

“Debbie Does Dexter Bay. You’d be a shoo-in for the lead.”

Paul’s laugh exploded like a firecracker from a milk bottle. I snorted and bit my lip again, and Tim spluttered into his glass and dissolved into giggles. Only Steph remained blank and uncomprehending, looking around us all, frown deepening.

“What? What’s she saying?”

“Who’s ‘she’, the cat’s mother?” I snapped. “I have a name, or did you forget it already? You damn well haven’t forgotten Tim’s, have you?”

“Whoa, whoa, ladies.” Tim placed his hand over mine on the table. “We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

I snatched my hand away, drank the rest of my wine in one fell swoop, and stood. “I need to go check on Elvis. It’s the first time I’ve left him on his own, and he’ll be lonely.”

“He’s probably lying on the settee drinking beer and watching Casualty,” Tim said. “I’ve been in that, too, by the way. Burns victim, bandaged head to foot, only my left eye visible. I did some serious acting with that eye.”

“Good night.” I moved away, and Tim sprang to his feet. I held up my hand. “No, you stay and enjoy the…stay, please.”

“Nonsense.” Tim grabbed his jacket and threw a complicit look to Paul, “Honestly, she knows I wouldn’t let her leave alone.”

“Who’s ‘she’?” I heard Paul ask before I speeded up and hit the foyer. Tim caught up with me on the pavement.

“Marnie, hey, what’s wrong?”

“What’s…? Where do I start?”

“Was I an idiot? Talked too much? What did I do?”

“You answered for me, and you assumed a lot of stuff. I just lost a controlling, patronising pain in the backside, and I don’t want to be lumbered with another one.”

I stormed off towards Mrs Darrow’s house, and Tim kept pace with me. He was silent and then said, “Controlling, patronising pain in the backside. Maybe I should add that to the business card. Along with…insensitive pillock? Self-obsessed moron? Anything else you can think of?”

“When Paul and that cow of a girlfriend appeared, you turned into the chat show host from hell. Maybe that’s an exaggeration, but you took over and spoke for me.” I stopped at Mr Simpkins’ gate and turned to face Tim. “You thanked Paul for saving my life.”

“Should I have punched his lights out instead?”

“It’s not your place to thank him or anyone else on my behalf. We only just met. Jesus. You called me your girlfriend.”

“Is that bad?”

My voice rose. “I’m not your bloody girlfriend. We only just met. What part of that don’t you understand?”

“I see your evening’s going well, then.” A man who could have been Reginald Simpkins’ long-lost twin stood in my neighbour’s garden. “I came out to admire Reg’s pansies and find you with some hippie who’s screeching and swearing all over the street.” He shook his head. “Your mother would have something to say about that.”

“She’s dead,” I said to Tim’s dad. “Ask the Shih-Tzu for a comment.” Then I stomped to my cottage and charged up the path to the front door.

I was fumbling at the lock when Tim appeared at my shoulder. “Let me help you.” He reached for the keys, I fumbled and dropped them on the porch floor, and he picked them up.

“God, you don’t give up, do you?” Tim stood very close. I met his gaze and held it, anger conflicting with another feeling I couldn’t pin down. He really did look like Paul Newman. Why would someone that handsome be interested in me? Uncertainty swamped me as I stood in front of this good-looking man who gazed at me as though I was the only woman alive – and I had no idea how to react.

Then Tim’s eyes travelled down to my mouth; he bent his head and moved closer. My stomach fluttered. His lips brushed mine, and a frantic yelping sounded behind the door.