CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

December, so far, had been incredibly mild, but a cold snap was coming. He could feel it in the slicing wind that raced every now and then up and down the river. Ben hunched his shoulders up to try and escape the draught snaking down the back of his neck as he steered the little dinghy through the sharp, steely waves.

Jas moved into the stern with him and he held up an arm for her to snuggle under. He smiled down at her and she buried her head further into his side. His lips were still curved when he returned his attention to the river. It didn’t matter if the weather was cold enough to freeze the Dart solid, the fact that he’d managed to create a living thing so wonderful would always melt his heart.

This was one of those perfect snapshot moments that would live in his memory forever. Everything on the river seemed to be in shades of grey and silver—the waves, the reflection of the pearly sky. And, directly in front of him on the hill, perched on the hill like a queen on her throne, was the bright white house he was heading towards. In their waterproof coats—his dark green and Jas’s vibrant purple—they were the only blobs of colour on the river spoiling the effect.

‘Do you think it’s going to snow, Dad?’

He pursed his lips, thinking. ‘I don’t know. It would be nice, though, wouldn’t it? The last time we had a white Christmas I was younger than you.’ He hugged Jas to him, then released her as they neared the jetty below Louise’s boathouse. ‘We’ll have to wait and see.’

After tying up the dinghy, he stood for a moment and stared up the hill. The house was hidden by the curve of the land and by the trees, but he knew which direction it was.

There were ugly gashes in the earth near the house which his team had created in the midst of doing the hard landscaping. It would look a mess when he approached the front lawn. But, in his experience, things often had to get a lot messier before they were transformed into something beautiful. In the spring, the digging and paving would be finished and they’d be able to plant. Come summer Whitehaven’s garden would be transformed. And, over the years, it would mature into something unique and stunning.

Unique and stunning …

How easy it was for his thoughts to turn to Louise.

Recently Jas had taken to showing him any photographs of her she found in the Sunday papers or magazines. Most of them weren’t current, as she hadn’t really been anywhere to be photographed recently.

‘Ready, Jas?’

Jas, who had been throwing stones into the water, nodded and ran off up the hill. Ben tucked his hands into his pockets and strolled after her. As he walked, the image from the article in one of the Sunday magazines filled his head. Tobias Thornton had given an extensive interview about his new life with a blonde actress whose name Ben was struggling to remember. Of course, there had been photos of Louise and Toby in their glory days.

He punched his hands deeper into his pockets. What did it mean if he admitted to himself that the photos had made him feel sick? He couldn’t figure out why; they were fairly innocuous shots of the then Mr and Mrs Thornton on the red carpet somewhere. The body language had been convincing—he’d had an arm around her waist and she’d hooked a hand around his neck. They’d been smiling.

Ben kicked a stone on the path and watched it hit a tree trunk then roll down the hill out of sight. And then he thought about her eyes. There had been a deadness there, just a hint. Most people, if they’d noticed it at all, would have just assumed it was because it had been the five-hundredth photo they’d posed for that evening. Not him.

That same soul-deep weariness had been in her eyes the day he’d first met her, and no one had been watching her then. He had a good mind to track her ex down and give him a piece of his mind for putting it there.

Ben stopped in his tracks. What he really wanted to do was teach Tobias Thornton a lesson. When had he suddenly got so primitive? He never wanted to hit people. It just wasn’t him. Not even Megan’s new man.

Probably because he kind of felt sorry for the guy …

Slowly, he started walking again, then picked up speed because he realised he couldn’t see Jas any more. He called out, and a few moments later saw a flash of purple in between the trees up ahead.

His heart rate doubled. Would she be up there on the lawn, strolling as Jack played? Or would she be waiting from him in the kitchen, the kettle blowing steam? He could easily have sent a guy to care for the carnivorous plants in the greenhouses, but he’d kept on coming on Sundays anyway, hoping she wouldn’t ask why.

Sunday was now officially his favourite day of the week. And he had a feeling that Louise knew the plants were just an excuse. Each week they spent more and more of his visit talking, walking round the grounds. He’d never drunk so much tea in his life. But if those giant mugs kept him leaning against the rustic kitchen counters while she hummed and pottered round the kitchen, stopping every now and then to smile at him, how could he complain?

At that moment the trees parted and he saw her. It felt as if every molecule of blood had drained from his body. She was chasing both Jack and Jasmine, who were running round in circles, and when she saw him, she stopped, brushed the hair from her face and waved.

Normally, he didn’t have any problem speaking his mind. He was never rude or insensitive, but he just called things as he saw them. So why, when all he could think about was asking her out to dinner, or seeing if they could spend some time alone—just the two of them—did the syllables never leave his lips?

He was now within shouting distance. Hands that had been cold and stiff were now clammy in his pockets and he took them out and did a half-wave with one hand. Louise smiled and his insides jumped up and down for joy. The warm laughter in her eyes erased any form of sensible greeting.

Just admit it, Ben. You’ve got it bad.

He was here.

She waved, just to seem friendly. And, of course, if she didn’t smile too it would look funny, so she did. Only she didn’t seem to be able to control how wide, how sparkling it was.

He took long strides across the lawn, minding the gouges of red earth at the edges. Something to do with re-establishing the rose garden, she’d been told. The details were a little fuzzy at present. He gave a little wave, but his face remained serious.

She didn’t care. She liked it when he looked serious. His jaw would tense sometimes when he was in this kind of mood and his eyes became dark. She allowed herself a little sigh before he got close enough to see the exaggerated rise and fall of her chest.

She was playing with fire, she knew. But there was nothing wrong with fire if you kept your distance, let it warm you but not scorch you. And that was what she intended to do. To keep her distance from Ben Oliver—romantically, at least. But it had been so long since she’d felt this alive.

What was the harm in a little crush? To feel her blood pumping and all those endorphins speeding round her system. It was good for her. And no harm ever came from a little bit of daydreaming.

Laura had done it. It had kept her sane to think of Dominic when everything else had seemed grey and lonely. She gave silent thanks to the woman who had stopped her going mad fighting with herself. This way, she could indulge her crush but she’d be safe.

Daydreaming was all it would ever be. It was all she’d allow herself.

It would have to be enough, because she’d felt this way before—worse even—and it hadn’t ended well. She’d fallen so totally in love that she’d lost herself completely, had allowed herself to become completely overshadowed. It would happen again if she let it. When she fell, she fell hard, completely.

She took a sideways look at Ben as he joined her and they silently started walking towards the kitchen. Jas and Jack had already disappeared inside and were probably trying to work out how they could raid the biscuit barrel without being rumbled.

He was walking with his head bowed, looking at the ground in front of his feet, but he must have sensed her looking at him, because he mirrored her and the smallest of smiles crossed his lips. Without warning, another sigh snuck up and overtook her.

Ben Oliver was all the good things she’d once believed a man could be: strong and kind, thoughtful and funny—although sometimes without meaning to be, but that just made it all the more charming. Honest. That was a big tick on the list, honesty.

He was all wrong for her, of course.

Or, maybe, more to the point, she was all wrong for him. She could picture a new wife for Ben quite clearly in her mind: someone who was capable and strong. A woman who had a quiet confidence, a gentle heart. And when evening came, and it was time to turn out the light, he would reach across and stoke her face with the palm of his hand, look deep into her eyes …

Tiny pinpricks behind her eyes took her by surprise and she was glad they’d reached the back door and she could busy herself removing her coat and hat and putting the kettle on before she had to face him again.

He hadn’t said it out loud, but she knew he would do anything to keep his and Jas’s life on an even keel. And so it should be. It was just such a pity that the only thing she could bring him were the ups and downs of a roller coaster life—a life that was way out of control and she was powerless to stop. She didn’t wish it on herself, so how could she wish it on him when he’d worked so hard to build a solid foundation for himself and his daughter?

Louise watched Ben as he sat down with the kids at the kitchen table and refereed as they argued about who had had the most cookies. Another sigh. And this one hurt right down to her toes. If only this could be real …

No. Dreaming was fine, but wishing was dangerous.

She shook herself and made the tea. There was no point wishing for things that couldn’t be, but something about Ben made her feel like a proper person again. So she was going to hang on to that feeling as long as she could and use this crush, this infatuation—whatever it was—to help her heal.

And, one day, when she was good as new, she wouldn’t need to dream about him any more. Then she’d let the fantasies go and watch them swirl up into the air and blow away like the autumn leaves.

Louise looked round the boathouse. It was finally finished. The wooden floor was painted, the walls smooth and even in the off-white colour she’d chosen, and now the day bed had arrived and two armchairs faced the fireplace. The desk still sat in its corner near the window, and she’d also added a bookcase on the wall opposite and a small sideboard which housed a camping stove and tea and coffee-making supplies.

And she’d done it all herself. From choosing the soft furnishings to painting to walls and varnishing the floor. Okay, she’d had help getting the furniture down here, but she wasn’t superwoman.

In the grand scheme of things, it was a tiny triumph. It shouldn’t have made her feel so good, but it did. Maybe because for the first time in a really long time she’d done something for herself. Not because anyone else wanted her to. Not because anyone else needed her to. But for her. To make herself happy. It was quite a giddy feeling.

As a reward, she unlocked the desk drawer and pulled Laura’s diary out. It had sat unread in there for quite a few weeks. She hadn’t quite been able to bear finding out how Laura’s story ended for a while. At the moment, they were two lonely women battling against the world. If Laura found her happy ever after, Louise would have been all on her own again.

But now she thought she was ready to take a peek.

She hugged it to her chest and took it over to the day bed, piled high with cushions so it could be used as a sofa, and sank back into them.

New Year’s Eve, 1953

I can hardly believe the blissful state in which I began this new year—with Dominic’s lips on mine. I feel that everything has turned around, that finally I can shake this sense of heaviness that has plagued me since last summer …

Slow down, Laura. Start at the beginning. You’ll want to remember this later, because this was the moment when everything changed.

Sam Harman, director of A Summer Affair, invited me to one of his legendary parties at the Ritz. Alex was travelling again—off to Greece to do some deal—and I thought ‘why not?’. I had nothing else to do.

I didn’t expect to see Dominic there, so that wasn’t why I went. After the last party, I knew I couldn’t bear seeing him and Jean there together, so I checked—very subtly—with Sam. He told me that Jean had written to tell him they’d been invited by the Duke of Argyll to stay in his castle for Hogmanay. I thought it would be safe.

I was doing such a good job of pretending to be the sparkling film star—circulating the party with a champagne glass, laughing at people’s jokes, flirting with the young men—and then it felt as if I’d run into an invisible glass wall.

There standing on the other side of the room, stealing all my breath and commanding my gaze, was Dominic. He looked more handsome, more wonderful, than I’d ever seen him. I hadn’t realised how much I’d been yearning for him until that moment. I’d thought I was doing better. But don’t they say that the starving man loses all sense of hunger eventually? And then I saw Dominic and my appetite for him was back, twice as powerful, twice as desperate. It was all I could do not to run across the room and fling my arms around his neck.

The only thing that stopped me was that I could see matching famine in his eyes too. If we’d touched, right there, right then, no one would ever have been able to pull us apart, and this party of Sam’s would have become legendary, not for the bucket loads of champagne or famous performers, but for the scandal he and I would have created in the centre of the dance floor. I wouldn’t have stopped, not until I’d had everything I’d ever dreamed about having from him and more.

That’s shocking, isn’t it? To know that a well brought up girl like me could think such wicked things. I surprised myself.

It was agony, continuing to mingle with the other guests, when every molecule in my body was focused on him. I knew who he talked to, how many drinks he had. I was the compass needle and Dominic was my North. So I knew when he stopped keeping away and started to make his way, group by group, person by person, towards me, and—God help me—I didn’t move. I waited for him.

But I’ve spent every moment of my life since last summer waiting for Dominic. How could I do otherwise?

He held out his arms as he reached me and I walked into them, placing one hand on his shoulder, one hand in his. The dancing had begun maybe an hour before, and this was one way we could be seen together and not start tongues wagging. Even so, even with only my palm and fingers touching his, I felt I could melt into a puddle at his feet.

‘I didn’t think you’d come,’ I said. Very sophisticated, wasn’t I?

Dominic shrugged. ‘Sam invited me and my other plans fell through.’

My heart stuttered. Jean. I’d forgotten all about Jean. Was she here too? I’d been so consumed by seeing Dominic again, I hadn’t even remembered she existed! He must have read my mind—or my panicked expression—because he told me they’d cancelled their trip because Jean had been feeling under the weather. They’d been staying with her mother over Christmas, so they’d just stopped there instead of going home. She’d insisted he get out and enjoy himself instead of being cooped up with such a bore, he said.

‘I hope it’s nothing serious,’ I said. Being polite, but not being honest … as much as it pains me to admit it.

He shook his head. ‘She’s just been very tired recently. And she thinks the rich Christmas food disagrees with her. Her mother does tend to go a bit overboard.’

I nodded. I really didn’t have anything else to say. I didn’t want to talk about Jean. I didn’t even want to remind myself she was real. I wanted this night to be our little bubble of time—mine and Dominic’s—and I resented her for nudging her way in, even in conversation.

So we didn’t talk. Just moved. Looked. Breathed each other in.

But it couldn’t last. We had to break apart, talk to other people, dance with other people, otherwise it would have looked bad. However, every now and then we found our way back to each other, stole another few moments, another few touches.

When midnight came close, I realised I couldn’t see Dominic anywhere. I wasn’t foolish enough to think I could kiss him, but I wanted to be able to see him, share at least that with him. I turned round and round, scanning the room, started walking this way and that as Big Ben’s musical peals boomed from a wireless somewhere, but he’d gone. It was so unfair.

The chimes started and I just froze to the spot, tears welling in my eyes.

That’s when a warm hand touched my arm. I knew before I turned that it was him. Maybe it was his smell, or the unique feel of his skin on mine. Maybe it’s just because something inside of me recognises him.

I turned and pressed my face against his cheek, hardly daring to move my arms so I could hold him. All around us the party was heaving. No one was paying any attention to us. For a few snatched seconds we could be ourselves.

And then everyone was cheering and shouting and clinking glasses. Dominic just leaned in and pressed his lips softly to mine. Just for a second. A peck that could have been as innocent as it looked.

‘I need to go,’ he whispered.

I placed a hand on his chest, searched his face as one tear escaped and dripped down my face. ‘I can’t say goodbye again,’ I sobbed, and I bunched his lapel in my fist.

Slowly, he stroked my fingers until they unclenched and flattened. He waited until I looked at him, until I focused on him properly. ‘Neither can I,’ he said. And my world flipped upside down. ‘Have lunch with me next week. I have to come into town to see my agent.’

I nodded, barely able to breathe, let alone speak. Inside, I felt feverish and shaky. I knew what this meant. That lunch may well not just be lunch. I also knew it was wrong, but I just didn’t care any more.

Who says love is pure and lovely and wonderful? Not me. It has turned me into something I despise—a grasping, weak, greedy creature, who is willing to selfishly take what she wants and everyone else be damned. Yes, even him. I try to care that this might end his marriage, spoil his perfect family, but I can’t.

Louise closed the diary, her eyes wide.

This was not easy to read. She felt slightly nauseous. Was this how Toby had felt about Miranda? Had he thought so little of Louise, been so consumed by his need to have the other woman that he’d turned into something awful and greedy?

She looked at the closed leather book on her lap. She’d wanted Laura to find happiness, she had, but did it have to come at such high a price? While the portrait Laura painted of Dominic’s wife wasn’t very flattering, Louise knew all about skewed perceptions. Half the people she’d ever met, and thousands more who’d never had the pleasure, thought she was a miserable old cow. If Jean’s husband was obviously in love with someone else, why wouldn’t she have been sour and whiny?

But Louise had to admire Laura’s guts. She drank life in, lived every emotion to the full. Whereas what did she do? She hid away in her big house, scared of meeting anyone new, lavishing her attention on soft furnishings and floor plans. At least Laura had lived.

She placed a palm on the diary, as if by doing so she could absorb some of Laura’s boldness and courage. In comparison, she seemed pathetic. Laura dreamed of her man, but she was about to make those dreams come true. All Louise did—all she was prepared to contemplate—was the first part of the equation.

She replaced the diary back in its drawer, turning the key and then pocketing it. She wasn’t ready to read more yet. Not while she was only ready to wish instead of do.