‘You can use real people.’
‘You mean like The Real World?’
‘Maybe,’ he smiled. ‘Film your friends this summer. Connor and everyone he doesn’t approve of. You could call it Yuppies and Bums. And when you go and collect your Oscar, I can say I knew you back when and then bribe you into letting me do the soundtrack for your next movie.’
‘You’ll be Jim Johnson, rock star, by then.’
‘With a bit of luck.’
‘You’ll have to write me a song.’
‘If you play your cards right.’ He grinned and gave her a look that made her shiver, a look that told her it was time to go home.
As they turned around, away from the railings, an old couple walked past them hand in hand. The woman, with her silver hair and big glasses, smiled at her, a conspiratorial and wistful look that made Jennifer feel guilty and uncomfortable. For even though they were by a cemetery, she could see the romance in this situation and wondered how it had happened. After all, it was just a few hours earlier that she had quite disliked Jim Johnson. Enough to reject Connor’s idea of setting him up with Jeanne, although now that she had discovered he was funny and sharp and interesting, she still wasn’t sure that she wanted to fix him up with Jeanne or any of her friends.
‘We should go back,’ she said, and he nodded in agreement.
They made small talk on the way home, and when he stopped the truck outside Casa D’Or, there was an awkward moment when they sat there in silence.
‘You’ve convinced me of Savannah’s charms,’ he said, defusing the tension. ‘We should do it again. Maybe see that Tom Hanks movie you were talking about.’
She wasn’t sure if she was excited or disappointed as he got out of the driver’s seat and came round to open the door for her.
She reminded herself it was perfectly natural, desirable even, to have friends of the opposite sex, especially ones who were visitors in your hometown, ones you wanted to make feel welcome. And yet she felt gloriously rebellious and shamefully traitorous as she turned around, gave him her most encouraging smile, and said, ‘Yes, that would be nice.’
Chapter Ten
The marina at the Isle of Hope was one of Jennifer’s favourite places in the world. Just a short bicycle ride away from her house, it was not huge, with just a handful of boats moored along the slips, but the people were friendly, the sunsets were glorious and the access to the rivers, tidal creeks and coastline was good. Her own twenty-two-foot cruiser, Sparkling Tinkerbell, her father’s nickname for her as a child, had been moored there ever since he had given it to her for her eighteenth birthday. It was small enough to keep by the creek at Casa D’Or, but she liked to berth at the marina, where there was a friendly community of sailing enthusiasts who had been teaching her how to tie knots and improve her seamanship since she was small.
Back when she was growing up, she used to come here with her father. As an only child whose school was several miles away and who had few local friends, she regarded David Wyatt as a great pal as well as a parent. His increasing workload meant he didn’t come down as much any more, but Jennifer still used it as a place to escape and forget her worries. She liked nothing better than taking Sparkling Tinkerbell out along the intercoastal waterway, with an ice bucket full of soda, snaking along the rivers and estuaries of the Georgian coast, north to Hilton Head or even as far as Jekyll Island, listening to the sound of the water and the squawking of the pelicans and egrets that circled overhead.
Today she had taken the boat down the Back River. There was much romance and adventure attached to this part of the world, which was one of the reasons why Jennifer loved it so much. It was said that the Spanish had come here looking for gold and instead had found a string of islands so beautiful they had called them the Golden Isles. Back River was also known as Moon River, after the song from her favourite movie, Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Local legend had it that the song’s lyricist, Johnny Mercer, had lived on its banks and it had inspired him. Today she had let the boat just drift with its open sails, her tape recorder blasting out the song. Once or twice, an image of Jim Johnson strumming away on his guitar had popped into her mind, but she had successfully stamped it out and instead concentrated not on the romance of the song but on the sense of adventure contained within the lyrics: two drifters, off to see the world.
She thought about sailing to Casa D’Or but decided against it. Docking back at the marina, she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. It was a hot day; she could feel sweat dripping down her temple and her stash of soda had been depleted. She squinted in the bright light, and when her vision refocused, she could see Connor standing on the pontoon, one hand thrust in the pocket of his chinos, the other shielding his face from the bright early-afternoon sun.
Her heart sank and she knew it wasn’t the disappointment of being back on dry land. They hadn’t spoken since the night before, when she had walked out of Jeanne’s party, and she knew it was not the sort of behaviour he would take well.
‘Hi,’ she said, tying up the boat and not looking at him.
‘Here, let me help,’ he said, which surprised her.
He took her hand as she stepped off the boat. They stood there for a moment, not speaking.
‘I’m sorry about last night,’ she said eventually. She didn’t particularly want to apologise, but it seemed the natural thing to do.
‘I’m sorry too,’ he said, trying to catch her gaze.
‘You’re sorry?’ She smiled slowly, aware that she was teasing him.
‘I was rude about your friends. I shouldn’t have been. And I know you don’t like Randy. We didn’t have to go to his drinks, but you should have told me you were leaving. I was worried about you running off like that.’
She looked at him, expecting his voice to have a hectoring note of disapproval, but instead she heard genuine concern.
‘I’m going to have to call you my runaway girl,’ he added, teasing her.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, feeling everything soften.
‘Looking for you.’