Free A Bride for Christmas by Marion Lennox Page B

overseas guests drool. After the main courses the menu became even more Australian—pavlovas with strawberries and cream, lamingtons, ginger fluff sponges, chocolate éclairs, vanilla slices, lashings of home-made berry ice-cream, bowls and bowls of fresh berries…
    Guy thought of how much this would cost in New York, and then he looked at the figures Jenny had prepared and blinked—and then he thought he’d charge New York prices anyway. It would mean he could put more into Kylie’s wedding. He could employ a really excellent band…
    But this was all discussed by phone. Guy had left Sandpiper Bay to make a sweep of Sydney suppliers. The time away let him clear his head. In truth, the day he’d tried to find Anna’s property he’d become thoroughly lost. He’d got back to the salon flustered and late, and Jenny had merely raised her brows in gentle mockery and not said a word. She’d known very well what had happened, he thought, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it that she could read him.
    So he’d gone to Sydney. He wasn’t escaping, he thought. It was merely that things needed to be organised in Sydney.
    On Monday, three days before Kylie’s wedding, five days before Christmas, he returned.
    The beach was crowded—summer was at its peak and there were surfing-types everywhere.
    Bridal Fluff was closed.
    What had he expected? he asked himself. Jenny had told him things were going well. And besides, he didn’t want to see her.
    Did he?
    He let himself into Bridal Fluff. There was a typed list on the desk, of everything that had to be done for the two weddings, with a neat tick beside everything that had been done.
    She was good.
    He didn’t want to think about how good she was.
    He drove back to his guesthouse, dumped his gear and made his way disconsolately down to the lobby. He needed something to do. Anything. Even if it was just to stop him thinking about Jenny.
    Especially if it was to make him stop thinking about Jenny.
    ‘You should go to the beach,’ the guesthouse proprietor told him. ‘It’s a wonderful day for a swim.’
    ‘I need to—’ he started, and then thought, No, he didn’t need to do anything. ‘The beach looks crowded.’
    ‘That’s just the front beach,’ his host told him. ‘There’s no need to be crowded at Sandpiper Bay. All the kids go to the front beach. They say the surfing’s better there, but in truth it’s just become the place to be seen. And being so near Christmas there’ll be lots of out-of-towners coming for picnics. Family parties and such. If you want a quiet beach, I can draw you a map showing you Nautilus Cove, which has to be one of the most perfect swimming places in Australia.’
    So ten minutes later he was in the car, heading south for a swim.
    There were two cars at the side of the road when he pulled up—expensive off-roaders—and he was paranoid enough to be thankful they weren’t Jenny’s. ‘There might be a couple of locals there,’ he’d been told. ‘But they won’t mind sharing.’
    Actually, he did mind sharing, but it was a bit much to expect to have the beach to himself. And two cars hardly made a crowd.
    There were a few empty beer cans by the side of the road. That gave him pause for a moment. In this environmentally friendly shire, roadside litter was cleared almost as soon as it happened. Were the owners of the off-roaders drinking?
    No matter. He could handle himself. He just wanted a quick swim. He tossed his towel over his shoulders and strode beachwards. As he topped the sand hill, the cove stretched out before him, breathtakingly beautiful. Golden sand, gentle surf, sapphire sea. There was a group of youths at the far end of the beach—the off-roaders’ occupants? Surely not, he thought, frowning. They looked too young to be driving such expensive cars. Someone was yelling. It looked a small but intimidating group of youths. Drunken teenagers showing off to each other?
    He didn’t want trouble, and they