her heart, ‘but it probably won’t do you any good.’
Hearing the catch in his voice as he left made her stronger once more, particularly when she could see tears in his eyes. It meant she was able to resist the heart-melting hug he gave her as he left. She’d cried a river over him, time for him to cry one over her.
Tatiana had spent so long in thrall to Bron it was quite satisfying to discover that while she could manage perfectly well without him (she ignored the painful little twist of her heart that still persisted whenever she thought of him), Bron was finding it difficult to do without her. Well, he’d have to manage, wouldn’t he? Her contract on
Sail for the Sun
was only three months, to be extended if her character proved popular. When she came back, Bron might be suitably sorry.
Then
she could think perhaps about having him back.
The beeping of a horn outside signalled the arrival of her taxi, while the beep from the answerphone told her that Bron had left his latest message. Well, he could wait. She’d wasted enough time on Bron. Time to seize her future. Time for Tatiana Okeby to have her day in the sun. Taking one last look at the small flat where she and Bron had shared so many happy times (she felt that familiar twist again, and reminded herself they’d had their fair share of bitter times too), she picked up her suitcase, strode through the door, and locked it for the last time. She was on her way. The future was bright and shining and golden.
As she got into the taxi and sped off, the phone in her flat rang again.
‘Tati – I know you’re there. Pick up, please. I’ve got some great news.
Illusions
is going to be on TV. And we can have equal shares this time. I promise. Tati? Are you there? Tati?’
Chapter Four
The pub was heaving, when they got to it. It was a lovely whitewashed old building with a thatched roof, wisteria growing up the sides, and hanging baskets tumbling down with bright red geraniums, blue and purple lobelia and yellow petunias. There was a pretty beer garden overlooking the harbour, and Diana was hugely relieved when the boys elbowed their way to the bar, and Josie suggested going outside. They managed to squeeze into a wobbly wooden table in the farthest corner of the beer garden, by a low granite wall, with a great view of the harbour. The sea was a turquoise green, and the sun was bright and warm. There was the constant humming of sails as the summer breeze danced its way through the myriad of boats bobbing in the harbour. On any other day it would have been perfect. But Ant’s presence had unsettled Diana more than she would have liked to admit. Dammit. How bloody typical of her pathetic little life, that Harry’s best mate should turn out to be Tony. The only man she’d ever let close enough to break her heart …
Christmas 2005 had found a twenty-two-year-old Diana working a season in the Alps as a chalet girl. She’d loved it. She was out of England, and therefore away from the ever-present sense of her father’s disappointment that she hadn’t made more of herself, and her mother’s rueful comments about ‘If only I’d had the opportunities you’ve had’; Diana’s decision to not go to uni and saddle herself with a load of debt having gone down badly with her parents.
But she was good at what she did. She enjoyed the challenge of organising skiing parties, plus she loved the outdoor life, and the partying hard aspect of the job. Life was for living, and the young Diana had wanted to seize it with both hands. She was earning good money, and unlike her peers, independent of her parents. She couldn’t see what their problem was.
She’d been having a ball, and then Anthony sodding Lambert had walked into her life and ruined it all. He’d knocked her sideways from the minute they met. For a while there, she – cynical, hard-bitten Di, who was never going to let a man near enough to break her heart – had even considered he might be the one
Hearing the catch in his voice as he left made her stronger once more, particularly when she could see tears in his eyes. It meant she was able to resist the heart-melting hug he gave her as he left. She’d cried a river over him, time for him to cry one over her.
Tatiana had spent so long in thrall to Bron it was quite satisfying to discover that while she could manage perfectly well without him (she ignored the painful little twist of her heart that still persisted whenever she thought of him), Bron was finding it difficult to do without her. Well, he’d have to manage, wouldn’t he? Her contract on
Sail for the Sun
was only three months, to be extended if her character proved popular. When she came back, Bron might be suitably sorry.
Then
she could think perhaps about having him back.
The beeping of a horn outside signalled the arrival of her taxi, while the beep from the answerphone told her that Bron had left his latest message. Well, he could wait. She’d wasted enough time on Bron. Time to seize her future. Time for Tatiana Okeby to have her day in the sun. Taking one last look at the small flat where she and Bron had shared so many happy times (she felt that familiar twist again, and reminded herself they’d had their fair share of bitter times too), she picked up her suitcase, strode through the door, and locked it for the last time. She was on her way. The future was bright and shining and golden.
As she got into the taxi and sped off, the phone in her flat rang again.
‘Tati – I know you’re there. Pick up, please. I’ve got some great news.
Illusions
is going to be on TV. And we can have equal shares this time. I promise. Tati? Are you there? Tati?’
Chapter Four
The pub was heaving, when they got to it. It was a lovely whitewashed old building with a thatched roof, wisteria growing up the sides, and hanging baskets tumbling down with bright red geraniums, blue and purple lobelia and yellow petunias. There was a pretty beer garden overlooking the harbour, and Diana was hugely relieved when the boys elbowed their way to the bar, and Josie suggested going outside. They managed to squeeze into a wobbly wooden table in the farthest corner of the beer garden, by a low granite wall, with a great view of the harbour. The sea was a turquoise green, and the sun was bright and warm. There was the constant humming of sails as the summer breeze danced its way through the myriad of boats bobbing in the harbour. On any other day it would have been perfect. But Ant’s presence had unsettled Diana more than she would have liked to admit. Dammit. How bloody typical of her pathetic little life, that Harry’s best mate should turn out to be Tony. The only man she’d ever let close enough to break her heart …
Christmas 2005 had found a twenty-two-year-old Diana working a season in the Alps as a chalet girl. She’d loved it. She was out of England, and therefore away from the ever-present sense of her father’s disappointment that she hadn’t made more of herself, and her mother’s rueful comments about ‘If only I’d had the opportunities you’ve had’; Diana’s decision to not go to uni and saddle herself with a load of debt having gone down badly with her parents.
But she was good at what she did. She enjoyed the challenge of organising skiing parties, plus she loved the outdoor life, and the partying hard aspect of the job. Life was for living, and the young Diana had wanted to seize it with both hands. She was earning good money, and unlike her peers, independent of her parents. She couldn’t see what their problem was.
She’d been having a ball, and then Anthony sodding Lambert had walked into her life and ruined it all. He’d knocked her sideways from the minute they met. For a while there, she – cynical, hard-bitten Di, who was never going to let a man near enough to break her heart – had even considered he might be the one
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