A Season for Second Chances(48)

Gemma screamed and jumped out of her chair. Sally yelled “Oi!” and Annie made a loud surprised noise that was somewhere in between.

“Who the hell are you?” shouted Annie, trying her best to sound brave and threatening at the same time.

“I’ve got a gun!” Gemma screamed, forcing her hand into her cardigan pocket and pointing it at the man.

“Gemma, calm the fuck down!” said Sally. Then she turned to face the hooded man and said, with a calm that would cut through the angriest of drunks at her reception desk, “And who the fuck are you?”

The man pulled down his hood to reveal short, dark hair, graying at the temples, and a clean-shaven face with a dark shadow where tomorrow’s stubble would be.

“Never mind who I am,” he said, wiping the rain from his forehead with the back of his hand. “What the hell is this? Some kind of porn coven?”

“Are you from the council?” Annie asked, suddenly remembering the no-show from the environmental health man. “This isn’t what it looks like,” she hastened to add, waving her arm to encompass the candles and wine and the dick standing to attention on the table.

Gemma, recovered from the initial shock, squinted up at the man and then grinned. “Oh, it’s you! How are you?” She’d necked a glass of wine, and its warmth had clearly bolstered her bravery; she pointed to the dildo and said: “This is so funny! You’re not going to believe this, but this is John! Perhaps we should call him ‘little John’ to differentiate.”

At that moment Maeve came bowling through the door and knocked the tall, frowning man farther into the café.

“What’s all the bloody noise?” she shouted. “Can’t a woman do her business in peace?” In another moment, recognition lit her face and she strode over to the man and pulled him into a bear hug.

“John, my boy!” she said, clapping him on the back. “Good to see you! You’ve met the others?” she asked, nodding around the room.

“Not officially, no,” said the man through gritted teeth.

Annie imagined her stomach dropping out of the bottom of her jeans and inching away across the floor. Surely not! She thought. Surely this isn’t the first impression I give to the man who could potentially ruin my new business?

“No?” said Maeve, seemingly oblivious to the excruciating scene before them. “Right, then, introductions. John Granger, this is Annie Sharpe; she’s looking after Saltwater Nook for your aunt and doing a damned fine job of it so far too. Obviously you know Gemma already, and then there’s Sally. And together we make up the Victorian Book Club.”

“And what the hell is this to do with a Victorian book club?” asked John, pointing at the phallus table center.

“Oh, that’s just a little something for Annie,” said Maeve, without a hint of embarrassment. “Single girl and all that. Thought it might keep her out of mischief.”

Sally was managing to keep her composure—just. Gemma was snickering like a drunk schoolgirl. And Annie wanted to swallow her own head. She stood, cleared her throat, and held out her hand as though it were perfectly normal to meet one’s landlord’s nephew over a candlelit dildo.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m Annie. It’s lovely to meet you.”

John regarded her for a long moment. In this light, his eyes looked as black as the eyebrows from under which he held her with a stare that could freeze water. His long nose came to a sharp point, as did his chin. His lips were a thin disapproving line.

“I’m afraid I can’t say the same,” he replied.

“That your name is Annie?” she said, attempting to lighten the mood.

“That it’s nice to meet you,” he said without a hint of humor.

“Look, we’ve clearly got off on the wrong foot,” Annie reasoned. “I’ll admit this doesn’t give a glowing impression . . .”

“Oh, you’ve made an impression, all right,” said John.

“Why don’t you pull up a chair? We’ll pop little John back into his box, and you can join us for a glass of wine and the remainder of our book club. It’ll give you a chance to see that we’re not a bunch of drunken harlots.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Maeve.

Annie ignored her and continued. “Have you read Nicholas Nickleby?”

Gemma held her copy out for John as Sally tugged furiously at little John until he relinquished his suction on the table with a loud pop, whereupon she slipped him back into the box and pushed the box under the table.

“I want you out of this property!” said John.

“What?” Annie said. The book club blustered in indignation.

“Now wait just a moment, John,” said Maeve.

“I’m surprised at you, Maeve. I’d have expected you to show a little more respect to my aunt’s property.”

“And I’m disappointed in you!” said Maeve. “How do you think your aunt would feel if she knew you’d treated her guests with such rudeness?”

John began to splutter: “Her guests? Her guests? Her guests that have turned her home into some kind of sordid sex parlor!”

“You’re really not seeing this in context,” said Annie, trying her best at peacemaking.

“I’ve seen all I need to see,” John said coldly.