One Summer in Cornwall by Karen King (best books to read for success .TXT) 📕

her, of them kissing passionately, proving to her that whatever she had done, she had done willingly.

Well, now she’d have to man up and face him. Thank goodness she’d stayed on the mini pill after splitting up with Adam, because it helped regulate her heavy and irregular periods.

It would have been nice to actually remember the event though.

It couldn’t have been that earth shattering if she couldn’t recall a thing.

She took a huge gulp of her coffee, the bitter taste making her grimace. Well, it was no use sitting here moping, she needed to get a shower, then go and see Marcus, and find out exactly what they had done and what she had let herself in for today.

Just over an hour later, having eaten breakfast – cornflakes, as she had no bread for toast so couldn’t do some for Buddy either – showered, and pulled on some denim shorts and a vest top, she went around to see Marcus. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door. Just be casual, she told herself, tell him you can’t remember the details of the birthday party, enquire about the dress code. Don’t ask him outright what happened last night, be subtle.

She knocked and waited. And waited. Then knocked again. No one opened the door. Where was Marcus? Had he gone back to bed to sleep off his hangover? She wracked her brains trying to remember if he was at work today but doubted it. Especially after working all day yesterday. Should she phone him or send him a text? She needed to find out if she’d agreed to go to some posh event where everyone wore dinner jackets and designer dresses. Well, she’d have to be the odd one out because she didn’t possess a dress, never mind a designer one!

‘Morning. Are you looking for me?’

She turned around at the sound of Marcus’s voice. He opened the gate with his left hand, and had a carrier bag in his right hand, from which a sliced white loaf and some eggs peeked out.

‘Want some breakfast?’ he asked.

Her stomach rumbled. ‘Thanks, but I’ve had some,’ she replied, her eyes feasting on the eggs. She’d bet he had some bacon in there, too, and she would really love a bacon and egg sandwich. Her dish of cornflakes hadn’t really soaked up the wine she’d drunk.

‘What did you have, because all I could find in your cupboards was cornflakes?’ He was almost at the front door now and must have noticed the expression on her face because he added, ‘I was looking for bread to toast for Buddy. I cleaned his cage and gave him some fresh food this morning.’

‘Mali and Lou ate me out of house and home and I didn’t get round to doing a shop yesterday.’

‘Well, come in and let me do you a decent breakfast. It’s the least I can do.’ He opened the door and stepped inside, leaving it open for her to follow.

The least he could do for what? For having sex with her? For persuading her to agree to accompany him to some posh dinner party later when she was too much under the influence of alcohol to refuse? She shook her head at both these thoughts, again remembering the way his eyes had looked into hers, how their bodies had moulded perfectly together when they’d danced, the heat up her spine when he had kissed her. She would definitely have consented to whatever they had done, although, yes, the alcohol would have clouded her judgement, weakened her ability to resist the effect Marcus had on her, especially when he already had a girlfriend. The effect he was having on her now.

She stepped inside. ‘About this birthday party . . .’

‘I hope you’re not going to back out? I’ve told Lady Thomwell that I’m bringing a guest now.’

‘The thing is . . . I can’t remember anything about it and, well, I doubt if I’ve got anything suitable to wear to a posh party. I don’t wear dresses. Don’t even possess one.’

Marcus bent down and took a frying pan out of the cupboard. ‘It’s not that posh, it’s a garden party. A pair of smart trousers will do.’

The only smart trousers she had were the smart black ones she wore for work. She bit her lip.

‘No smart trousers either, eh? Well, I’m in the same boat. Estelle – that’s Lady Thomwell’s daughter – hired a dinner suit for me when she wanted me to accompany her to a do the other night. I’ve told her that I’m wearing my own clothes today, though. I’ve got a pair of cream chinos that look decent enough with a black shirt. I’m an artist, they can’t expect me to dress up like a banker.’

That must be the posh woman she’d seen him with. Was he saying it was a platonic arrangement? Yet she’d seen her leaving Marcus’s house the next morning.

‘Two rashers or three?’ he asked, pouring oil into a frying pan then cutting open the pack of bacon.

Her stomach rumbled. She couldn’t resist saying, ‘Two, please.’

He grinned. ‘Do you mind putting the kettle on and making a couple of coffees?’

‘Sure.’ She filled the kettle and switched it on. Then asked the question that had been in her mind since she’d first seen him with the older woman in the sports car. ‘Is Estelle the one you went out with the other evening? I thought you were . . . together.’

‘It was a business event. And no, we aren’t together, although she would like us to be.’ He placed the slices of bacon in the pan. ‘Lady Thomwell commissioned me to do a painting for her husband’s birthday – which is today at three by the way. The painting will be unveiled for the first time, so she invited me to be there. Estelle wants me to be there too. So, I asked if I could bring a guest.’ He looked over his shoulder at her. ‘To be honest, I