Turning the Tide Read Online Free Page B
Author: Christine Stovell
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Family Life
flustered by budgets, installation deadlines or anything else you can throw at him. If you want simple, beautiful and original designs in your restaurant, why don’t you let us show you what we can do?’
As the shop bell jangled for the third time, not even Phil and Kirstie looked up. Harry, who couldn’t bear to watch any longer, closed the door behind her. All right, she was prepared to admit that Matthew Corrigan could turn a few heads, and his personal magnetism was formidable, but it was too soon to panic. Once he’d looked around, would he really want to pursue a rather uncertain project in a dull seaside town?
Beneath the gold lettering that should have read Crimps but, due to ineptitude or sheer mischief on the part of the signwriter, looked unfortunately like Chimps Hair & Beauty Salon, Carmen Moult lounged in the doorway like Little Spitmarsh’s answer to Sophia Loren after she’d eaten all the pasta. A firm believer that neither hair nor breasts could ever be described as too big, she was pulling at the plunging vee of her tight top and blowing down her cleavage, trying to disperse some of the heat built up blasting perms into submission all morning. As Harry headed towards her, Carmen’s immaculately plucked and sculpted eyebrows rushed towards each other like two playful tadpoles, and her face darkened.
Harry had plenty of dark thoughts of her own without needing to know how she’d managed to incur Carmen’s disapproval. She tried a smile, the kind she used for fierce dogs, which made Carmen stamp a tiny stiletto-clad trotter and scurry inside.
‘Hey, Harry!’ she cried, reappearing and almost making Harry jump out of her skin. She pushed a piece of paper into Harry’s hand. ‘Special half-price offer next week. Make sure you come, yes?’
Fortunately a stomach-churning waft of permanent wave solution and a tremulous cry of ‘I think I’m done now, Carmen!’ from within made the other woman squawk and run back inside. It also spared Harry the necessity of telling her she’d probably prefer to eat her own foot than take up the offer. Even so, rather than risk being spotted binning the leaflet – which could result in her being forcibly dragged in for half a head of highlights and a leg wax – Harry scrunched it up and stuck it in her pocket. All right, so she didn’t actually feel the need to shout about the fact that she got George to trim her hair when it needed it; but, given that it was one of the few skills he had managed to pick up in the merchant navy, she felt marginally safer in his hands than Carmen’s.
Harry went into the baker’s and ordered a bacon roll. Wandering back to the boat yard, she was so busy tearing at it in large, fretful bites, that she didn’t see the figure waiting on the high wall of the sea defences until it was too late to take avoiding action. George she could have coped with, but being caught by Matthew Corrigan with bulging cheeks and bacon fat glistening on her chin put her at a considerable disadvantage. With her mouth crammed full, Harry was not best placed to tell Matthew what to do with the single red rose he was holding out to her; but she sincerely hoped that the message in her eyes left him in no doubt about where she thought a suitable receptacle might be. Shrugging, Matthew broke off the long stem and stuck the flower in the top pocket of his faded chambray shirt. He gave Harry a smile which she returned. Deep frozen.
‘Don’t think you can get round me the way you seem to be getting round everyone else,’ she told him hurriedly, wiping bacon roll remnants from her mouth. ‘I don’t believe in your restaurant idea, I don’t need your money and I can certainly resist your particular brand of charm.’
Matthew gave her the benefit of his dimple. ‘What kind would that be, then?’
‘The short-lived variety. The kind that lasts just long enough for you to get what you want then fades away like the morning dew. Little Spitmarsh might
As the shop bell jangled for the third time, not even Phil and Kirstie looked up. Harry, who couldn’t bear to watch any longer, closed the door behind her. All right, she was prepared to admit that Matthew Corrigan could turn a few heads, and his personal magnetism was formidable, but it was too soon to panic. Once he’d looked around, would he really want to pursue a rather uncertain project in a dull seaside town?
Beneath the gold lettering that should have read Crimps but, due to ineptitude or sheer mischief on the part of the signwriter, looked unfortunately like Chimps Hair & Beauty Salon, Carmen Moult lounged in the doorway like Little Spitmarsh’s answer to Sophia Loren after she’d eaten all the pasta. A firm believer that neither hair nor breasts could ever be described as too big, she was pulling at the plunging vee of her tight top and blowing down her cleavage, trying to disperse some of the heat built up blasting perms into submission all morning. As Harry headed towards her, Carmen’s immaculately plucked and sculpted eyebrows rushed towards each other like two playful tadpoles, and her face darkened.
Harry had plenty of dark thoughts of her own without needing to know how she’d managed to incur Carmen’s disapproval. She tried a smile, the kind she used for fierce dogs, which made Carmen stamp a tiny stiletto-clad trotter and scurry inside.
‘Hey, Harry!’ she cried, reappearing and almost making Harry jump out of her skin. She pushed a piece of paper into Harry’s hand. ‘Special half-price offer next week. Make sure you come, yes?’
Fortunately a stomach-churning waft of permanent wave solution and a tremulous cry of ‘I think I’m done now, Carmen!’ from within made the other woman squawk and run back inside. It also spared Harry the necessity of telling her she’d probably prefer to eat her own foot than take up the offer. Even so, rather than risk being spotted binning the leaflet – which could result in her being forcibly dragged in for half a head of highlights and a leg wax – Harry scrunched it up and stuck it in her pocket. All right, so she didn’t actually feel the need to shout about the fact that she got George to trim her hair when it needed it; but, given that it was one of the few skills he had managed to pick up in the merchant navy, she felt marginally safer in his hands than Carmen’s.
Harry went into the baker’s and ordered a bacon roll. Wandering back to the boat yard, she was so busy tearing at it in large, fretful bites, that she didn’t see the figure waiting on the high wall of the sea defences until it was too late to take avoiding action. George she could have coped with, but being caught by Matthew Corrigan with bulging cheeks and bacon fat glistening on her chin put her at a considerable disadvantage. With her mouth crammed full, Harry was not best placed to tell Matthew what to do with the single red rose he was holding out to her; but she sincerely hoped that the message in her eyes left him in no doubt about where she thought a suitable receptacle might be. Shrugging, Matthew broke off the long stem and stuck the flower in the top pocket of his faded chambray shirt. He gave Harry a smile which she returned. Deep frozen.
‘Don’t think you can get round me the way you seem to be getting round everyone else,’ she told him hurriedly, wiping bacon roll remnants from her mouth. ‘I don’t believe in your restaurant idea, I don’t need your money and I can certainly resist your particular brand of charm.’
Matthew gave her the benefit of his dimple. ‘What kind would that be, then?’
‘The short-lived variety. The kind that lasts just long enough for you to get what you want then fades away like the morning dew. Little Spitmarsh might