The Summer Without You (53 page)

‘Of course. Anyone would. And she’s only four.’ Not to mention she’s got a glamazon like Julianne as stepmother-in-waiting to contend with, she thought to herself.

‘Would you like a drink?’

‘Actually,’ she said, standing up quickly before he could sit down. ‘I’d better start heading back to catch the ferry.’

Ted looked alarmed and checked his watch. ‘But the last one’s already gone,’ he said, frowning as the misunderstanding became clear. ‘I’m sorry, I thought you
realized we were staying for the weekend. It’s a bit too far for a day trip with young kids.’

‘Uh, no, I-I’ve never been here before, so . . .’ she said quietly, wondering what the hell to do now. An overnight stay? Was he
kidding
?

‘Oh.’ He placed the bottle and glasses on the deck between them. ‘The children are sleeping or I’d sail us all back—’

‘It’s fine. There must be a B&B or something where I can stay, though, right?’

‘Well, I imagine so, but . . .’ He put his hands in his pockets, looking at her with his usual still demeanour. ‘Listen, Ro, everything’s set up here. I assumed you were
staying, so I’ve given you the bedroom. I’m more than happy on the couch.’

‘No, definitely not. I couldn’t possibly.’

‘Honestly, I’ve slept on the couch before.’ He gave a rueful smile, but she didn’t find it charming that he should make light of the problems in his failed marriage,
especially when the effects of it had clearly been so devastating to his daughter.

‘No, I mean . . . I haven’t packed or—’ She wrapped her arms around her. It was cool in the dusk now and she wished she still had his jumper to put on, but it was packed
in the bags in the house somewhere, probably the kids’ room.

‘I’ve got a spare T-shirt and toiletries you can use.’ He took in her closed body language and evasive eye contact. ‘Listen, we’ll be back tomorrow afternoon. It
really isn’t a big deal. And we’d all like you to stay.’

She swallowed hard, looking around at the woods surrounding the cabin. She had no idea where the nearest road was – if there even was one – or where the ferry point was, much less
finding somewhere else to sleep for the night. She had to face it – she was pretty much stranded. ‘Well, thank you,’ she said reluctantly, ‘but I’ll take the
couch.’

‘No, there’s no question of it.’ His tone was firm and it felt ridiculous to argue. And without saying another word, he pulled off the jumper he was wearing and held it out to
her. ‘I don’t feel the cold either.’

She smiled, feeling embarrassed and grateful all at once. ‘Thanks . . . again.’

‘So then . . .’ He picked up the bottle and unpeeled the foil, as she pulled the jumper on. It was still warm from his heat, as fresh with his scent as though he’d bathed in it
and instinctively her eyes closed as it covered her.

He poured them each a glass. ‘For you.’

‘Thanks.’ She sat back down on the steps, resting her elbows on her knees as she curled herself into a small ball.

He joined her, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back on his elbows. They were quiet for a beat.

‘So, how did you feel today went? Professionally speaking?’

She glanced across at him. ‘Excellent,’ she said, her voice quiet. ‘I think I’ve got some really great material. Although, it would be hard to take a duff shot of either
of them. They’re such gorgeous children.’

‘Well, they’re smitten with
you
. They’ll be asking if we can file adoption papers for you all the way back to the city tomorrow.’ His tone was light, but she kept
her gaze on the trees regardless.

‘Is that where you live, then? New York?’

‘For now.’ He looked past his toes. ‘It’s not a long-term prospect, though. Manhattan’s no place to bring up kids.’

‘I don’t know. You seem to make good use of Central Park.’

He looked baffled, then remembered she had seen all their private videos and was intimately acquainted with their home life. ‘Yes. I suppose we . . . Oh God, you saw the clip with the
pug,’ he groaned.

‘Kite-gate?’ she smiled. ‘Oh yes.’

‘Not my finest hour.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. The Sand Monster was pretty special too,’ she grinned.

He took a deep gulp of his wine. ‘I’m going to drink faster if all my greatest hits are going to be dredged up tonight.’

Dredged. The word had become fixed in her mind with the first video she’d seen of the Connors – her first glimpse of Marina, so beautiful and witty and driven, the two of them on the
cusp of change, only hours away from becoming a family . . . She fell silent.

Ted was quiet too, though she sensed their not talking didn’t bother him. She sensed his eyes on her again too, and she stared determinedly at her own feet. It was all she could do.

‘So do you have to stay in New York for your job?’ she mumbled, aware of how pedestrian her conversation seemed. Her social skills weren’t as polished as his – or
Julianne’s, or Erin’s, or Marina’s no doubt.

‘Not necessarily. I’m a finance director at an investment bank. I guess I could work anywhere – Zurich, Paris, Singapore, London.’

‘Oh.’

They lapsed into another small silence that felt big, and Ro felt her heart begin to hammer from the strain of trying to hit an easy note. There was no one to defer to, no one who could
interrupt, no Hump or Florence or Melodie for her to hide behind like a little girl behind her mother’s skirts. There wasn’t even a soundtrack of traffic or surf to sink back into, only
the resounding silence that pulsed around them like a heat haze, pointing out that they were here and they were alone.

She exhaled nervously, biting her lip as she peered through the trees.

‘You know, it’s strange to think you probably know so much about us – me . . . and yet I know practically nothing about you. It hardly seems fair.’

‘It is a bit weird, I guess. But I’ve had clients say that to me before,’ she said quickly, hoping he’d pick up on her reinforcement of their professional status and take
the point. ‘So you’re not alone.’

‘Oh no, I am.’

She glanced at him quizzically.

He recrossed his ankles, angling his body very slightly towards her. ‘For example, I bet none of your other clients has asked you who Matt is.’

The mention of Matt’s name had the same effect on her as Julianne’s earlier – shocking, like a slap – and she recoiled. ‘Matt?’

‘You were calling for him the day you were attacked.’ Images from that afternoon – how he’d picked her up from the floor, stroked her hand as she drifted to sleep –
flashed through her mind like memory cards.

He waited a moment, before laughing shortly. ‘You’re determined not to tell me, aren’t you?’

She didn’t reply. She couldn’t. She didn’t think this conversation – or where it might be heading – was funny.

‘You just won’t let me know what I’m up against.’ His voice was quiet, but he could have hollered, such was the fright he gave her.

‘Matt’s my boyfriend,’ she said quickly, knowing that would close the conversation down.

His eyes covered her face, though she wouldn’t look at him. She just wouldn’t. ‘Is it serious?’ he asked.

‘Exceptionally.’ She nodded earnestly, making him laugh. And her too.
Exceptionally?

‘Oh. Well . . .’ His eyes stayed on her. ‘So then I guess that answers my other question about you and Hump. Whenever I see you together, you’re always laughing and . . .
well, he seems to take every opportunity he can to touch you.’

Jealous? He was jealous of Hump? Her heart accelerated at the realization. She looked away, her fingers playing with the stem of the glass. She couldn’t stay here. ‘He’s my
friend. Nothing more.’

She took a deep glug of wine. Maybe she could swim back. It would certainly be safer.

They fell quiet again.

‘What about you and Julianne?’ she blurted out, as surprised as he was by her question. ‘Is that serious?’

‘Exceptionally not.’

She smiled, taking the tease on the chin, using it to hide the relief that his words unlocked. ‘Oh.’

Silence.

‘So when you say “exceptionally serious”, you mean . . .’

‘Imminently engaged. Next month, in fact.’

‘Oh. That serious.’ He nodded, looking away finally.

More silence.

Awkward.

He shifted position suddenly. ‘So then . . . where the hell is he? Why is he never around?’ He sounded exasperated, his light tone of moments earlier gone now.

‘He’s travelling for six months in Asia. Back in September. That’s when I return home.’

‘To the UK.’

‘Right.’

Another minute passed, both of them locked in their thoughts, the late summer breeze rippling over them in the dying day.

‘So you’re in a serious relationship, about to get engaged and leaving for home in a few weeks,’ he murmured, his eyes on the pale stretch of water that could be glimpsed
through the trees. ‘I think I preferred it when I knew nothing about you.’

He was aiming for levity, but the subtext – that he cared about her, that he wanted her . . . She put her glass down on the deck. They couldn’t keep the conversation neutral after
this. It was beginning to come out; he was making them acknowledge what couldn’t be – and shouldn’t ever be – recognized. One of them had to do the decent thing and go,
while they still could.

‘Look, I think I’ll head off to bed. I’m really tired.’

He sat up. ‘But what about dinner? Aren’t you hungry?’

‘No, I think sleep’s what my body’s calling for right now.’ Lie. Lie. Lie. It was not calling for that.

‘Really?’ He sounded disappointed, but she kept her eyes well away from his, as usual. ‘OK, well, let me show you to your room.’

‘It’s fine, really. You stay here and enjoy the sunset. I’m sure I’ll find it. How hard can it be, right?’ she joked, looking at the tiny cabin.

‘Still, I’ll turn the lights on for you. They’re oil-fired, so there’s a knack to them.’

Dammit. He curled up his long legs and stood up beside her. For just a moment she felt his nearness, the hairs on her arms standing on end as though trying to reach out to him, but she kept on
staring into the bottom of her wine glass until he moved away.

They wandered inside, Ted opening the door onto a small room, maybe only twice the size of the box room, with a double bed in the middle dressed with old lace sheets and painted wooden pegs for
hanging up clothes all the way round the walls.

‘It’s so lovely,’ she said quietly, sure she could hear the sound of her own heart pounding and trying to stand as far away from him as she could in the small room.

He walked round to light the wall lamps, and as he came back towards her, she could have sworn the walls were moving inwards, making the small space smaller, pushing them together . . .

And then she remembered something suddenly – the perfect diversion! ‘I’ve got something for you,’ she said, rifling in her camera bag, almost weeping with relief that she
had pulled all those crazy hours working over the past week.

‘It’s your film,’ she said, handing over a DVD, scrawled with ‘CONNORS’ in black marker pen. ‘I finished editing it this week. I thought maybe you’d
like to look it over sometime and just check it’s what you were after before . . . well, before I get the shoot printed up. Because then we’re pretty much done, so . . .’

‘Oh.’ He took it from her, almost warily, swallowing as he held it in his hands. ‘I’ll get you something to wear,’ he murmured finally, the atmosphere between them
different now, as she’d predicted it would be after bringing Marina into the room with them.

‘Thanks.’ She waited. There was just ‘goodnight’ to get through and she’d be home and dry. She took the camera off her neck and kneaded her muscles, which were
tired from supporting its weight all day long. She put it on the bedside cabinet, then for good measure decided it would be safer in the drawer – a habit from childhood ever since she’d
once knocked her water glass in her sleep and ruined the Kodak she’d bought with her pocket money. She slid open the drawer.

A small oval-framed photograph – sepia-tinted – was lying in there. It was of a young woman and, judging by the clothes she was wearing, had been taken at least forty years ago. The
paper had begun to crack with age, but even with the slight overexposure, Ro knew instantly who it was.

‘Here you are,’ Ted said, coming back in with a folded T-shirt and a still-boxed toothbrush. ‘I always keep a spare in the bag in case the—’

‘This is Florence,’ Ro said, cutting him off and holding up the photograph.

Ted stepped forward and looked at it. ‘Yes.’

‘Why . . . ?’ Ro’s eyes scanned the room, but it gave away nothing. ‘Is this
Florence’s
house?’

Ted nodded. ‘Yes. Why? What’s wrong?’

‘What’s wrong? What’s wrong?’ she demanded. ‘Why are we here?’

‘Why wouldn’t we be? She said we could use it.’

‘Oh, I bet she did!’ Ro crossed her arms across her chest. She remembered his confidence earlier:
It’s been promised to us.

Ted looked at her, seemingly confused, and for the first time in the course of the day, she felt the distance between them grow, not contract.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, she doesn’t refuse anything you suggest, does she? You’ve got her twisted round your little finger. Is this all part of the plan? You want to get your hands on this as
well as Grey Mists?’

‘Ro!’ Ted said firmly. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘I’m talking about
you
trying to swindle Florence out of her estate,’ she said, the words bursting out of her with a force that came from transposing one high emotion
into another. She watched the new expression bloom in his eyes and felt the distance between them grow further still. ‘I know all about it. I figured it out – you, always there at just
the right moment to “help out”, play the good Samaritan in her times of distress.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking a—’

‘No? Was it just supposed to be coincidence that you happened to be at the Golden Pear seconds after the attack, or that you just happened to be at the house when she turned on the
shower?’ she asked, her voice dripping with a sarcasm that took no account of the horror on his face. ‘And then you use the threat of something happening to her grandchildren to finally
force her to sell? What kind of person does that? Who draws children into something like that? You’re a father! Where’s your sense of decency? Of compassion? Does money really matter
that much to you?’