CHAPTER FOURTEEN

After she’d put Jack to bed that night, Louise couldn’t sleep. Didn’t even want to try. It must have been the fresh air or something.

She found herself flopped on the big velvet-covered sofa in the drawing room, the remote control in her hand, flicking through endless cable stations searching for something to watch. A fire glowed in the hearth and the lights were low. The rich, deep colours and luxurious textures of the fabrics in here truly had made a large, draughty room incredibly cosy.

After ten minutes she let the remote drop on the sofa and gave up. Then she remembered that she’d sneaked Laura’s diary up from the boathouse yesterday and it was still in her bag. Although she’d already read a couple of entries this morning, and she was trying to ration herself so she could mull it all over, getting to know Laura through it slowly, surely a few more pages wouldn’t hurt?

Laura was so brave where she was so cowardly. She leapt in and gave her heart freely and completely. Comparing herself to Laura, Louise realised she’d locked her heart away—which was good, because that meant it was safe—but she also knew it was the cowardly thing to do.

She fetched the soft leather notebook from her bag, snuggled back down on the sofa and began to read. The next entry was some months after the one made on the night of the party …

2nd December, 1952

Even after all these months I miss him so much it hurts. I scan the papers every morning just to see if there’s a mention of his name. It’s the one weakness I allow myself now that I’m trying to patch things up with Alex.

I’ve taken a break from filming. The doctor thinks the rest will help me fall pregnant.

‘No stress, Mrs Wallis,’ he says. He’s the only person I know who uses my married name. Everyone else just sees me as Laura Hastings. Apart from Dominic—who sees me as just Laura. And she’s a very different creature from her movie star namesake. Very different indeed.

I thought it would get better, the ache inside, but if anything it’s got worse. I didn’t count on the way it would gnaw away at me, or the guilt that would magnify it.

I know nothing happened between us, not really. I’d have had to kiss Dominic anyway—it was my job. Alex knows that and he doesn’t care. But I do feel horribly guilty. For loving a man who is not my husband. Especially as I now realise I never loved Alex properly, not the way I do Dominic. I mistook flattery, affirmation, a sense of security, for love. I needed Alex. To give me things I should have found inside myself.

I hope he’s happy with me. He seems to be. Because now I realise I could have short-changed him badly by agreeing to be his wife. I should have waited. And maybe, if I had, fate would have found a way to give me Dominic.

Louise stopped reading and wiped a tear from her eye. She’d never thought about it before, but that was exactly the same reason she’d married Toby. Not for who he was, but for all the things he could bring her. That was selfish, wasn’t it? She’d never loved him the way Laura loved Dominic, not even right at the start. She’d been too worried about not being good enough for him, of letting him down. Which made her seem humble, self-effacing, but those things had just been a smokescreen for being self-absorbed. It had all been about her.

She gently closed the diary. No more tonight. It was too sad. And it was stirring up things she didn’t want to think about. Things that made her start to wonder if her divorce was a black and white matter, that maybe she’d contributed to the downhill spiral of her marriage …

Perhaps she’d watch a DVD instead. She got up and walked over to the pile of cases near the television. Under one of Jack’s kids’ films, she found one that arrived in the post a couple of weeks ago that she’d forgotten about. A film that had been an impulse buy while she’d been browsing for books on Whitehaven and Georgian architecture.

A Summer Affair.

Feeling almost guilty, she slid it into the DVD player and returned to the sofa and zipped past the trailers to where the film started. Laura had been so beautiful when she’d been younger. Her ice-blonde hair, pale skin and blue eyes looked fabulous in gaudy nineteen-fifties Technicolor ®.

The on-screen chemistry between Laura and Dominic was sizzling hot. She’d always thought that, but now she knew the story behind the story, every touch, every kiss had a bittersweet quality to it. She sighed and settled down to watch, a chenille cushion hugged to her chest.

There was a scene halfway through the film, just after lovers had started to act on their feelings for each other that had been filmed on the balcony of the boathouse. A picnic was set out on a little table with a red and white checked cloth. The sun was shining, and shy, heated glances were flying between hero and heroine.

Louise sighed. That was what love should be like, she mused as she covered her mouth with a hand to stifle a yawn—overly bright and colourful, the sun always shining. The zing of electricity in the air. And the way he looked at her—as if he could see right through her and into her soul. As if he wanted to drown in her. That was what love should be like.

But it hadn’t worked for Laura, and it wouldn’t work for Louise.

What a pity love was only like that in corny old movies, she thought, as the Richard pulled Charity into the shadowy interior of the boathouse and wrapped her in his arms.

Louise’s eyes were closed. A gentle summer breeze warmed her skin and she could hear the waves half-heartedly lapping against the jetty below the balcony. She let out a long, therapeutic sigh, stretched her legs and opened her eyelids.

The sky was the colour of cornflowers and the sun a glaring dot of white gold high above.

‘Perfect timing.’ The male voice was warm and lazy, and accompanied by the dull pop of a cork exiting a wine bottle. ‘I thought you were going to sleep all afternoon.’

She shook her head and stood up. The chequered red and white cloth on the small table fluttered, lifted by the warm air curling in and out of the boathouse balcony. Self-consciously, she reached for the wine glass he offered her and dipped her head to hide behind the curtain of her hair.

‘Don’t do that. Not with me.’

She froze, anticipation and vulnerability sending both hot and cold bolts through her simultaneously. He stepped forward and brushed the hair away from her face. His thumb was warm and slightly rough on the skin of her cheek. The tips of his fingers threaded through her hair until he held her head in his hand. She couldn’t help leaning into it, letting him support her.

Slowly, he tipped her head until she was looking him in the eyes.

‘You don’t have to hide from me.’

Oh, she would have given anything to believe that was true. Tears sprung to her eyes and clung to her lashes. Even in the bright sunshine, she could see his pupils growing, become darker and darker. But it wasn’t just desire she could see there. Deep in the blackness were the answers to all the questions she’d ever wanted to ask.

Yes, the eyes said. Yes, you are good enough. Yes, you deserve to be loved like this.

One tear escaped, pulled by gravity, and raced away down her cheek. She couldn’t move, not even to swipe it away. It carried on running as he continued to stare at her, his expression full of texture and depth, until it trailed down her neck.

A question flickered across her face—she felt it as surely as the salty river air.

Do you?

He didn’t move a muscle, except to stroke the skin of her temple with the edge of his thumb. The eyes held the answer once again. Yes.

Something inside her, something that had been clenched tight and hard for years, unfurled. And Ben Oliver stepped back into the cool darkness of the boathouse, pulling her with him and repeated his answer over and over again with his lips on hers.

Louise woke up with a gasp, her eyes wide. The fire was little more than burnished embers and the film had ended. A blank blue screen bathed the room in an eerie light.

She pressed a hand to her pounding chest. Just a dream. It had only been a dream. Calm down, you daft woman. Is this how pathetic you’ve become? A man shows you just a little bit of concern and neighbourly decency and your subconscious decides he’s the love of your life? Just how starved of affection have you been?

Well, her subconscious could just think again. Starving or not, this was one meal she was going to refuse. All her brain had done was jumble up the events and people of her day with the events and characters of the late-night film. A simple crossing of wires, that was all. In the morning, when she was coherent again, she’d make sure everything was rerouted back the right way.

She straightened the stiff arm she’d been lying on and was rewarded with a click. Serves you right for falling asleep in front of the telly, she told herself. Although love should be like falling in love in a cheesy old movie, it wasn’t. And it never would be. The sooner the logical side of her brain caught up with that fact, the better.