It wasn’t often Gabe heard such ‘plain speaking’ from the people around him these days. He was used to criticism in the press and online, but Troy’s direct manner was a breath of fresh air compared to some of the sycophantic hangers-on he had to deal with in London, most of whom wanted to make money out of him. But how refreshing that directness would be when he’d been in Porthmellow for a few days, he wasn’t sure.

He paid for his ticket, stuck it on his windscreen and hurried towards the harbour for his meeting with the estate agent, but Troy’s parting words drummed on his brain.

‘You’ll doubtless be crossing paths with Samphire Lovell while you’re here. Can hardly avoid her, can you, lad? Even if you wanted to.’

He shook his head in disbelief. Troy Carman had managed to imply in one sentence, that he knew Gabe had been sweet on Sam and that he was eager to see her and dreading it too. The cheeky old sod …

Yet Gabe had to admit, the old codger was absolutely right.

Chapter Ten

@CornishMaid: Anyone know what bands are playing at the festival? @Porthmellowchick #Cornishfestival

@Metallicafan: Who cares. They’re always shit anyway. My dog sounds better. #crapmusic #metalrules

Sam was on her way home to Wavecrest Cottage en route from the village salon. After work, she’d gone to the hairdresser’s and while she was waiting to be shampooed, she’d finally given in and googled Gabe Mathias: girlfriend. She’d looked in the past, of course, but not for a few years, knowing that it wasn’t healthy or helpful.

She wasn’t sure whether she liked what she discovered or not. Gossip blogs and past news stories unearthed the fact that he’d been ‘seen with’ several women since he’d opened up his own restaurant, one of whom – a glamorous cookery writer – he’d lived with for a couple of years until last year according to Wikipedia. Sam had already known about that relationship from an old snippet on an Internet site. However, there was no one listed on his Wiki page as a spouse or partner now and the personal life section was surprisingly short. Plus, the Porthmellow gossip mill hadn’t mentioned a partner, or Troy would have said something at the meeting.

So far, no further on …

She’d closed her phone and as usual ended up rattling on about the festival with the stylist. By the time she’d remembered to say: ‘Just a trim, please,’ the floor looked like Bryony’s dog grooming parlour. After she’d left, she caught sight of the smart but scarily short bob in the window of the fudge shop, and let out a squeak of panic.