Mango Kisses (22 page)

‘Come for breakfast?’ Tiffany didn’t reply. ‘Come on.’ Wheedling shamelessly and if only she knew, desperately. ‘Breakfast, that’s all. Finish your run and come over.’

‘I’d have to go to the motel and change first.’

‘Don’t bother.’

‘But...’

‘Tiffany, it’s five-thirty in the morning. We’ll be having breakfast at six-thirty or seven. You can change afterwards and still be back to start work at nine.’

A shadow flitted across her face and her lip trembled again but she didn’t cry. Instead she nodded briskly and said, ‘All right.’

Miles watched her bound off across the sand towards the far headland. What went on in that blonde head of hers? Unemotional, cold? No way. She was too sensitive, that was her problem and she withdrew rather than let her feelings pour out all over the place. Maybe that’s how she’d been brought up.

Fancy saying she was cold. That loudmouth Marianne. What else had she said? Women and their complexities weren’t his field of expertise, take his mother, for one.

He cut his swim shorter than usual and sat on his towel watching Tiffany run towards him. If only she were
really
running towards him, emotionally, physically, psychologically and in every other way. If only
he
was her goal in life.

But that was a stupid thought. Women these days wanted more than just a man to fulfil them and so they should. This woman had her sights set far higher than a surf shop owner in a sleepy seaside town. She was headed for the stratosphere, probably alone. At the very least she’d want another astronaut to accompany her.

Miles blinked as a shaft of golden light struck him in the eyes. Already the air temperature had risen as the sun climbed higher, burning off the mist. Another beautiful day on the way and what a fantastic start. Except that the extraordinary and magnificent woman he was falling in love with was planning to leave tomorrow, and the way she said it sounded as though that wasn’t soon enough.

Tiffany drew level with him and slowed, breathing hard. Her hair shone like gold and she was smiling now, pink cheeked and hot. He couldn’t let her go without saying something, telling her how he felt, taking the risk.

‘What’s for breakfast?’ she asked.

Christ!
He stood up and flapped sand off the towel while his brain worked overtime.

‘Coffee or tea. Toast. Eggs and bacon. Not much fruit in the house at the moment.’ None to be exact unless there was a tin of peaches in a cupboard somewhere. He prayed there were at least two eggs left. He knew he had milk, the bread wasn’t mouldy and he was positive he hadn’t eaten the last of the bacon. How old was it? Bacon kept a fair while, didn’t it?

They started walking.

‘Eggs and bacon,’ she said with a sly little grin. ‘As good as Xanthi’s?’

‘You won’t be able to judge because you didn’t eat hers,’ he retorted.

‘No, that’s right. You did,’ she said with a laugh that lightened his heart.

They reached the fence below Miles’s house. He opened the gate into his yard and ushered Tiffany through. She negotiated the steep, sandy, winding path up to the house with ease and he, following, willingly allowed the attractive sight of her trim, navy clad rear end to shove the unpleasantness from his mind.

At the level ground in front of the house where a rectangular patch of tough, springy grass masqueraded as a lawn, she paused. ‘Miles, you don’t think maybe sexual orientation had something to do with it, do you? Your mother and father?’

‘What?’ Mile stopped dead and stared at her in amazement. In his wildest imaginings that hadn’t occurred to him. He laughed but it came out more like a snort. ‘I think I would have noticed if she was a lesbian.’

‘That’s not what I meant. She’d hardly do what she did just because she was a lesbian. Maybe it was your father.’

Miles stomped up the steps to the verandah. Was she right? ‘Why would that be such a secret? Why would that make her pretend my father ran off? She was a broadminded woman.’

‘Maybe it was something else,’ Tiffany insisted. ‘Something he did or was that she wanted to protect you from.’

‘Like what?’ Miles stared at her as a very nasty suspicion began forming in his mind.

Tiffany must have read his thoughts from his expression because she went on hastily, ‘Or thought she had to protect you from. Not what you’re thinking, Miles. There was nothing in any of his papers to indicate anything weird. Like I said before she may have had very strong views that you didn’t know about. Secrets, Miles, everyone has secrets.’

‘She sure as hell had a secret,’ he said gruffly but there was vast relief beneath the surface. Tiffany was right about the evidence, or lack thereof, of a predilection for children or animals or other murky areas of his father’s life, in his belongings. There had been no photographs or videos. It would be hard to hide after death, that sort of thing, especially as he was such a recluse and a hoarder.

He leaned on the verandah railing and gazed out over the ocean. The day was underway now, the sun well and truly up and shining warm on his face.

‘Maybe he hit her,’ he said softly. ‘Maybe she was a battered wife — that would make sense.’

‘Some women are ashamed to admit it,’ agreed Tiffany. ‘And they still love their husbands.’

‘Which could be why she wrote to him about me but kept it secret.’ He frowned. ‘But surely she’d hide from him, not let him know where we were. It can’t be that.’

‘Breakfast?’ suggested Tiffany gently.

He turned his head and saw blue eyes regarding him steadily. ‘What’s your secret?’ he asked softly.

‘My secret...’ Her eyes held his for a moment then skittered away. ‘I’ll tell you this afternoon.’

‘Why not now?’ he challenged.

‘I want breakfast.’

By the stubborn look on her face he knew she wouldn’t give in. He led her around to the front door but couldn’t help probing just a little on the way.

‘What’s it about, your secret?’ he asked.

She laughed. ‘You.’

Miles walked Tiffany home to the motel after their laughter filled, leisurely breakfast on the verandah. Afterwards he went to open the shop, beating Boris by fifteen minutes. Tiffany would collect the key on her way to the house. There’d be no stupid misunderstanding this time. She said it would take about three hours, to finalise her report.

‘Can’t you give me any idea?’ he’d grumbled as they walked along the beach front with the sun warm on their backs. She shook her head.

‘I’ve already told you, you have a sizable lump of cash. I need to be quite sure before I tell you anything else.’

The black BMW was still in the parking lot at the motel.

‘Are you going to talk to Marianne before she leaves?’ he asked.

‘We said goodbye last night.’ Miles had raised his eyebrows but decided not to get involved. Secret women’s business, best left alone.

She said, ‘Thanks for breakfast.’

‘My pleasure.’ He sauntered back along the road on feet as light as Fred Astaire’s, buoyed by the memory of her smile.

Tiffany began typing up the list of assets with all the accompanying detail. It took pages and pages. Finalising everything would take months and months but she had the overview clear. Ninety minutes later, almost crossed-eye and a head swimming with numbers she needed a break. She’d brought provisions, having seen inside Miles’s fridge.

Now she took a brimming glass of orange juice to the verandah and stretched out on one of the recliners. Her head was in the shade and her body saturated by sun. Delicious. No sleep last night. Couldn’t work properly with a tired brain. Very exciting though, being able to tell someone they were a multi-millionaire. She’d nearly blurted it out several times but stopped herself, professional caution overriding personal agenda. As usual.

She sipped the juice and placed the glass on the wooden planking beside her. Miles was a multi-millionaire. How would he react? He’d be amazed, of course. But would he accept it, this sudden onslaught of wealth from a man with a mysterious past? A man he’d been trained to hate.

The sun was a cosy, warm blanket. Her eyes closed against the glare. She should have put on her dark glasses. Too much effort to get them now. She wouldn’t sit for long.
Mustn’t go to sleep, Miles wanted his report.
He was gorgeous, Miles, cooking bacon and eggs for her, fussing about...her eyelids drooped...she didn’t care what she ate, she would’ve eaten dry toast with him...such kissable lips...did he have a girlfriend? Can’t have.... if only he...

She woke with a start. Miles would be here for the report soon. Tiffany swung her legs off the recliner and a towel fell to the decking. Where had that come from? She picked it up slowly. The sun had moved right round to the side of the house, off the verandah completely.

‘The Sleeping Beauty awakes,’ said Miles’s amused voice behind her. ‘I considered giving you the kiss of awakening but figured you probably needed the sleep.’

Tiffany jumped to her feet. ‘What’s the time? Why did you let me sleep? I should be working.’

‘It’s half past two.’

‘In the afternoon?’ Her horrified voice emerged as a squeak. She looked at her watch. He was right She’d slept four hours, more. ‘How could you do that?’

‘What’s it matter? You were tired so you slept. It’s natural.’ He headed for the kitchen. ‘I’ll make a cuppa. You missed lunch. Hungry?’

‘Have you been here the whole time?’

‘No. I came home at lunchtime and covered you up with the towel so your feet didn’t get sunburned, then I went back to the shop for a while. Didn’t want to miss out on any customers.’ He grinned and turned to fill the electric jug.

Tiffany plunked herself down on a chair at the table. Her laptop sat accusingly at the other end with a pile of her notes and papers ready to be entered. How cripplingly embarrassing. After all that talk about being professional and doing her job properly, he comes home expecting her to be finished and finds her asleep.

‘You won’t say anything, will you Miles?’

‘Who to and what about?’ He took down a plate from the shelf in the kitchen. She heard rustling as he opened a paper bag. ‘You sleeping on the job?’

He walked in and put the plate in front of her. A salad roll with lettuce and bean sprouts hanging out around the edges. ‘I got this from Jim for lunch. I ate mine.’

‘Thanks.’ She stared at the roll. Sleeping on the job — she’d never in her life done anything so completely unprofessional.

Miles pulled out the chair next to her and sat down. ‘What’s the big deal? There’s no deadline, I’m not going to report you to the Accountants’ Gestapo. Eat your roll and finish afterwards, or tomorrow. I don’t care.’

‘But I do! It’s so unprofessional. It’s unforgivable. You’re a client. You deserve a proper assessment delivered on time.’

‘And I’m sure I’ll get exactly that,’ said Miles. ‘You said all along you couldn’t predict when you’d finish.’

‘But not because I went to sleep instead of working.’ Her stomach gurgled. She’d eat this then get cracking. ‘I can still finish today.’

‘Whatever. I don’t care if it’s not done till Monday.’

‘It’ll be done tonight. I want to leave tomorrow.’

‘Tiffany,’ he began, but she stopped him with a traffic-cop style palm and a fierce expression.

‘Thanks for the roll. You’d better go back to the shop.’

Miles gave up. ‘All right. I close at five. Will you still be here?’

‘Probably.’

Miles returned closer to six than five. He’d called in at the pub on the way so as not to appear to be harassing Tiffany. She was upset enough without him hovering about the house. Beer made his thoughts clearer and increased his sympathy for her. Some holiday she’d been having: work, a fight with her best friend, tension caused by his personal family problems which had nothing to do with her, lack of sleep, guilt, giving professional advice to strangers. The list went on and on.

Miles made plenty of noise opening the front door to give Tiffany warning and called, ‘I’m home’.

‘Hello,’ came from somewhere in the house. The whirr of the printer provided a background accompaniment.

‘Finished?’

Tiffany was checking the pages as they came out of the machine. She’d packed everything else away in the boxes. Her laptop sat with her handbag on the table. Neat and orderly.