The Summer Seekers Read online

  In London it would be different. She wouldn’t have the summerhouse, or the sound of the sea, or the space and time to indulge herself. But still...

  “I’m not going to give it up.” Even the thought of going back was enough to dampen her mood, and not only because of the painting. She’d miss wearing flip-flops to the beach, eating simple food that didn’t require her to spend time in the kitchen, summer dresses and a good book. Most of all she’d miss the simplicity. She had things to think about—she knew that. Things to address. She’d been putting it off, but she was running out of time.

  She paused as she heard the sound of a car pulling up.

  Finn put his glass down, alert. “Are you expecting someone?”

  “No.” Liza stood up. “Stay there. I’ll see who it is.”

  “I can—”

  “No, it’s fine.” She put out her hand to stop him. “Better not show yourself.”

  Who could it be? If it was Angie then she was going to have some explaining to do.

  Telling herself that she had no reason to feel guilty, Liza walked through the garden to the front of the house.

  Two young women stood there.

  “We’re looking for Finn Cool.”

  Liza adopted a vacant expression. “Excuse me?”

  “Finn Cool.” One of the girls grinned. “You’re probably too old to have heard of him.”

  Cheek! “Is he famous?”

  “Seriously? He’s only, like, the best musician ever.” The girl pushed her blond hair away from her face, her armful of bangles jangling.

  “Oh. Well, I think I’d know if I was living next to a musical legend.”

  “He was spotted in a pub up the road from here a few weeks ago.”

  “Which one?”

  “The Smuggler’s Arms.”

  “He’d probably heard about their famous fish and chips. You should try it as you’re in the area. People travel a long way to eat there. And try the chocolate pudding for dessert.”

  One of the girls turned to the other. “Are you sure you got the right pub? If he lived around here, she’d know.”

  “Try farther up the coast.” Liza waved her arm vaguely. “And be careful driving up the lane. The roads are narrow.”

  “I know. We got lost twice. Thanks anyway. You should check out some of his music.”

  “I’ll do that.” It was a good job they hadn’t arrived a few hours earlier and caught her dancing around the kitchen.

  Liza waited until the sound of the car engine had faded in the distance and returned to the back of the garden.

  The table was empty and at first she thought Finn might be hiding, and then she saw the door of the summerhouse open.

  She picked up her glass of wine and walked down the garden.

  The air was thick and heavy with the heat but she could see ominous clouds gathering on the horizon. They were forecasting a storm.

  “I’m not surprised you were hiding. They were scary.” She stepped through the door of the summerhouse to find Finn studying her painting. She felt a flash of insecurity. “Is that what you have to deal with all the time?”

  He didn’t turn. “No, most of the time it’s much worse.”

  “How awful. What’s the going rate for a bodyguard?”

  “Mostly it’s a voluntary position but it does come with buckets of gratitude. Here, hold this—” He turned and handed her his glass of wine so that he had his hands free. “This is incredible.”

  “I know. I used to almost live down here when I was a child, but my mother barely uses it. I cleaned it up after I saw you that day and I’ve been using it as a studio ever since.”

  “I’m not talking about the summerhouse. I’m talking about this painting. Is this going to be mine?”

  “I wasn’t sure you were serious.”

  “Oh I’m serious. I don’t believe you’ve done all these since the weekend.” Without apology he started looking through the canvases she had stacked against the wall.

  “Some are old. I’d forgotten they were here.” And she was a little embarrassed that he was looking at them.

  “How can you forget work like this? Thanks for dealing with those women, by the way.”

  “You’re welcome. It was more excitement than I usually have in a day. Do you think I have a future in espionage?”

  “No, but I think you have a future as an artist.” Finn bent down and took a closer look at one of the canvases. “They’re stunning. You have a real gift, Liza.”

  “Thank you. That’s kind.”

  “I’m never kind. Ask anyone who knows me.” He pulled one of the larger canvases out and rested it on the table. “Will you sell me this?”

  “Instead of the other one?”

  “No. I want both.” He studied her work in progress. “This would look perfect in my hallway.”

  “It isn’t finished.”

  “Then finish it and name your price.”

  She swallowed. “Are you being polite?”

  A smile played around his mouth. “I’m neither polite, nor kind. I’m buying it because I want it, and when I want something—” He left the pause hanging there and it grew and grew, fed by the tense atmosphere.

  She wouldn’t have thought so much could be said without either of them uttering a word.

  His face hovered close to hers and she had a crazy instinct that he was about to kiss her, right here in the leafy shadows of the garden.

  She could barely focus, her mind hazy from need and wine. “I’m married.”

  “I know.” His smile widened, seductive and knowing.

  She shook her head, acknowledging the differences between them. And those differences, and the lure of the forbidden, were what made him so attractive, of course. It was hard not to feel flattered. Harder still not to be tempted. “Maybe you’re as bad as the rumors suggest.”

  “Maybe I am.” His gaze lowered to her mouth and the heat in his eyes almost singed her skin. “How about you, Liza?”

  How about her?

  She’d always thought she was the type of woman who would never look at another man, but she was looking at Finn.

  She was being pulled by an invisible thread to the edge of a cliff, and there would be no recovering from the fall.

  His mouth was dangerously close to hers. “Think about it.”

  She swayed, disorientated. “You mean about selling the paintings?”

  “That too.” He stroked a finger lazily over her cheek. “Thank you for a great evening. Come over to my place tomorrow.”

  Come over to his place? For dinner? For sex?

  “What exactly are you offering?”

  “That’s up to you.” He was so close that a fraction of movement on her part would have meant they were kissing.

  “Finn—”

  “Come at 7:00. That way we’ll have time for a swim before.”

  Before what?

  She opened her mouth to ask, but he was already strolling up the path away from her.

  She stood, torn between calling him back and letting him go.

  What was she doing?

  Of course she couldn’t go to his place tomorrow. She wasn’t naive. It was obvious that he wasn’t inviting her to sample his cooking.

  He hadn’t even touched her, but she felt as if he had. She rubbed her palms up her arms. Her skin felt warm, her whole body engulfed in a delicious melty feeling.

  Shaking her head, she closed the door of the summerhouse and walked on unsteady legs back to the house, but Finn had gone.

  She felt different, and it wasn’t the dress or the heels. It was the way Finn had looked at her. He’d made her feel attractive. Aware of herself as a woman.

  But she wasn’t going to go tomorrow.

  Or was she? She was going to be opening Ruth’s
letters with her mother tomorrow afternoon. It could be upsetting. An evening with Finn would give her something to look forward to.

  The doorbell rang and her pulse rate doubled.

  Finn.

  He’d changed his mind about waiting until tomorrow.

  Smoothing her hair, she took a deep breath and walked to the door, feeling tall and elegant in her new heels.

  She tugged open the door, a smile on her face, and almost fell over.

  Sean stood there, hair ruffled, unshaven, eyes tired. In his hand was the article from the magazine, crumpled and torn in places. Eight signs that your marriage might be in trouble.

  “Hi, Liza.”

  19

  LIZA

  Liza slept badly, which tended to happen when your husband arrived unannounced and you were all dressed up and contemplating sex with another man.

  She would not have slept with Finn, or so she told herself as she lay staring at the ceiling, thinking about Sean who she’d sent to the bedroom across the corridor.

  It was the first time in their long marriage that they’d been in the same house and slept apart. She’d used the excuse that he must be tired after the journey and in need of a good sleep, but really it was because she wasn’t sure there was room in the bed for the two of them and her guilt. She needed to think everything through and she wouldn’t be able to do that with Sean lying next to her.

  Why should she feel guilty? She hadn’t done anything. Thinking about something didn’t count, did it? Or maybe it did.

  She’d felt like the one in the right, but now she felt like the one in the wrong which was what happened when you put off doing something that needed to be done.

  She should have spoken to Sean right away, the moment those first doubts had crept into her head. Like spotting a weed in the garden, she should have said, Look at that! Let’s pull it up right now in case it spreads, but she hadn’t, and she’d let it spread until there were so many weeds she could barely see him through the tangled mess.

  She saw now that she was as responsible for their problems as he was, because she hadn’t said anything. She’d expected him to know, as if he should have been able to read her mind after so many years. As if he had magical powers.

  But life wasn’t magical, it was messy and real and never more real than when Sean turned up at the door, frantic because he’d found the article and didn’t want their marriage to be in trouble. She didn’t want it to be in trouble either, but her response to that had been to dig her head into the sand and then run away and press Pause on her life, whereas he’d immediately sped to her side.

  She’d always thought she was nothing like her mother, but now she realized that wasn’t true. Being honest about emotions was easy when those emotions were positive and clear, but not so easy when there were difficult conversations to be had.

  She’d lain awake for most of the night, her head full of Finn, that almost kiss, Sean, their wedding, their hopes, the girls, real life. It had all churned around like an ugly soup until she felt nauseated.

  She was grateful when light slowly seeped into the room because the darkness seemed to make her thoughts dark too.

  At five, she gave up and headed downstairs.

  The weather had broken in the night, and a dramatic storm had turned to heavy rain. It had pounded the roof and the windows and bounced off the garden, leaving plants drooping and cowed under the sheer force of it. The weather reflected the change in her situation. Her days of solitary summer sunshine were behind her.

  She walked into the kitchen and found Sean already seated at the kitchen table. One look at his face told her that he hadn’t slept either.

  Their exchange the night before had been awkward to say the least. She’d broken into a sweat when she’d opened the door and found him there, not because of the heat although that had been overpowering, but at the thought of what would have happened had he arrived half an hour earlier. He would have found her laughing and flirting with Finn in the summerhouse.

  She’d ushered Sean inside, appalled that he was clutching that stupid article. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might find it.

  “Are you on your own? Where are the girls?”

  “They’re at home. I thought this was something we needed to talk about without an audience.” He’d eyed her dress and the stack of plates she hadn’t yet loaded into the dishwasher. “You had company?”

  “I had a friend over.” She’d said no more than that but she’d turned scarlet and knew he’d noticed. Funny how when she wanted him to notice things he didn’t, and when she’d rather he missed things he didn’t. “That article isn’t—”

  “Isn’t what, Liza?”

  “It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “If it doesn’t mean anything, why was it in your bag? When you said you were coming to Oakwood I thought you were going to feed the cat. I hadn’t realized you were leaving me. It would have been helpful to know.”

  She was consumed by panic. This wasn’t what she wanted, and now the situation felt out of control.

  “I didn’t leave you! Not in that sense. I needed space, Sean, that’s all. I needed to think.”

  She’d envisioned herself having time to plan what she was going to say, so that her words were thought out and meaningful. And now she felt trapped and defensive. Also tired, and that wasn’t good.

  “If you’d needed to think about our marriage, don’t you think I should have been involved? Even an accused person should have a trial.”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything, Sean.”

  He’d picked up the remains of the bottle of wine. “Mind if I finish this?”

  “Go ahead.” She fetched him a glass and he poured the last of the wine.

  He’d always been steady. It had been one of the things that had first attracted her to him, and that had never changed. He’d been steady when the twins had been born prematurely, and steady when her dad had died. At that moment he hadn’t seemed steady at all.

  “All the way here I was planning this great speech, but now I’m here and I can’t think of a single damn thing to say.” He looked at her and his eyes were tired. “It’s never been more important to say the right thing, after so many wrong things. I was so busy living life I never paused to examine how I was living it.”

  She understood that, because in her own way she’d been doing the same. “You look exhausted.”

  “It’s been a long week and the traffic was bad.” He drained his glass. “Friday night.”

  “Yes.” Friday night. And she’d been having dinner with Finn. And she knew that this wasn’t the time to talk about everything. She needed to think, and he needed to rest.

  “It’s late, and you’ve had a long drive. Why don’t you go to bed while I clear up here, and we can talk properly tomorrow.”

  “Seriously? This is possibly the most important conversation of our marriage, and you want to delay it?”

  “I want to delay it simply because it is quite possibly the most important conversation of our marriage. Probably not one to have when we’re tired and stressed.”

  “You don’t look tired or stressed. You look energized.” His gaze traveled from the skinny straps of her red dress to the heels of her shoes. “You look—incredible. Different.”

  “I treated myself to a new dress.”

  “It’s not the dress. You look different.”

  It was probably guilt. She felt as if it had been painted onto her skin. Not that she’d done anything to be guilty about. Unless thoughts counted. Did they? “I’ve had a week in the sun relaxing. And I forgot to use sunscreen, so my nose is peeling.”

  He’d almost smiled. “I imagined you clearing your mother’s house and doing endless jobs. How have you spent your time?”

  “I saw Angie. I spent time on the beach. I swam every day. I painted.” And flirted
.

  “You painted? Good. You don’t do enough of that, and I’m guessing I’m partly to blame.”

  She shook her head. “I should have made the time.”

  “How? There are so many demands on you it’s a wonder you have time to brush your teeth.” He sighed and ran his hand over the back of his neck. “It’s humid and close.”

  “We’re going to have a storm.” In more ways than one.

  She fought the urge to have the conversation now and get it over with. She needed time to think about what she wanted to say. She didn’t want to have it while wearing a sexy red dress she’d worn to cook dinner for another man. Even though technically she’d done nothing, it felt wrong.

  “Go to bed, Sean.”

  In the end he’d agreed and had taken his hastily packed bag to the bedroom they used when they stayed while she’d slept in the room she’d been using all week, surrounded by memories of her childhood.

  And now they were facing each other across the kitchen table while rain dripped onto the patio outside.

  “You’re awake early.” Sean poured her a mug of coffee and handed it to her. “Did you sleep at all?”

  “Not much. You?”

  “No. Why did you choose to sleep in your old room?”

  “I don’t know.” She took a sip of coffee. Her eyes felt gritty. “I was tired when I arrived and picked that room. I think I needed a complete change.”

  “From me?”

  “No.” She put her mug down. The article lay on the table between them, along with so many things that needed to be said. “I didn’t plan any of this, Sean. So many things happened that last day, and in the months leading up to it. Something inside me snapped. I felt overwhelmed all the time. And isolated, as if all I was to my family was a fixer—someone to bring them things they’d forgotten, book tables they couldn’t be bothered to book, or cook meals so that they didn’t have to. I’d ceased to be a person. And that was my fault, because I allowed it to happen and I didn’t say anything.” And it was a relief to finally say it. A relief to have it out there in the open.