No matter what she thought, Gabe was going to be part of the festival and she’d inevitably have to have some contact with him, even if Chloe did most of the liaising. How would she react when she saw him again? She’d thought she’d put him to the back of her mind but that was while he was hundreds of miles away. How would he have changed in eleven years? She knew he was knockout gorgeous from his TV shows, and his dry sense of humour and easy air of self-confidence came over well on screen, but was it only a persona? It was one thing watching him through the safety of a screen. How the hell would she handle seeing him in the flesh?

Chapter Six

@Porthmellowchick: Wow. Gabe Mathias is heading the #summerfestival. Can’t wait. @cornishmaid

@pastyman: LOL. he is a Grade A Tosser. #summerfestival #snitch

‘Mizzle’s coming in.’ Troy brushed water from his cap as he walked into the Fisherman’s Institute for the committee meeting. Sam had rarely seen him out in public without it. It was a classic fisherman’s cap with a soft top and a peak, and must once been black but was now faded by the sun and creased by saltwater. Beneath it, she knew Troy still had a decent growth of hair, having glimpsed it when he’d removed the cap briefly to attend the funeral of a local sailor.

‘It is,’ said Sam, laying out her notebook and tablet on the table in the upstairs meeting room. ‘How’s Evie?’

‘All right enough. Knee’s playing her up. Always does when mizzle comes in.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Sam liked Evie a lot. In fact, everyone liked Evie and Troy was devoted to her, but over the past few years, painful osteoarthritis had reduced Evie’s mobility massively. She was waiting for a knee op in the hope that would help.

‘She doesn’t complain, my Evie. Is there a brew on?’ Troy asked hopefully.

‘Not yet. I’ve only just got here myself.’

Troy grunted. ‘I’ll put one on. If you want a job doing, you know what they say.’

‘I do,’ Sam said, smiling to herself. Troy rarely required an answer to his questions. Irascible and grumpy, with a very dodgy sense of humour, he drove a few people up the wall. He also knew every inch of the town and everyone in it. Small and lithe, he still worked part-time for the harbour commission even though he was now eighty. His official title was ‘Festival Facilitator’, which really meant ‘Fixer’. Troy liaised with the harbour commission and numerous other local issues and people, who could otherwise have been very tricky to deal with.