Sea Glass Summer

by Dorothy Cannell

  ‘I most certainly hope so.’ He smiled at Oliver, whose eyes brimmed with tears; Sarah felt a catch in her throat which wasn’t about to go away. ‘We’ve already agreed in one of our companionable male moments that we need each other and that we need you too.’ There was no mistaking the intent in his voice or the look he gave her. A knock-out blow to an already battered imagination. She was both heady with joy and blissfully peaceful. She returned his gaze with the same evident honesty.

  ‘I need both of you. You’re my two top guys.’ More wasn’t required but she wanted to hear herself say it loud – removing the final barrier to her willingness to trust since the night at the restaurant when Harris had told her about Lisa. That could have happened to someone else. She was now worlds away from her life with him. That had already been clear to her when it crossed her mind the other day that she wasn’t the least curious why he hadn’t phoned back after not getting to the question he’d wanted to ask. ‘I love you both too, more than can be put in words.’

  The light in Evan’s eyes, that had already been there, increased to a flame. She was fully aware of the effort it took for him to respond lightly. ‘Well, that’s a relief. I knew where Oliver stood with you, but I wasn’t so sure about me. I’m the one who spills things and drops crumbs.’

  Oliver wasn’t fooled. ‘You two!’ He leaned back and raised his eyes to the ceiling. His smile could have reached it. ‘It’s not like I didn’t know this was coming. I bet if I weren’t here you’d fall into each other’s arms,’ his face suddenly sobered, ‘wouldn’t you?’

  ‘No we wouldn’t,’ said Sarah firmly. ‘I need a list of his other failings first. Untidy is OK, but a tendency to rob banks wouldn’t be.’

  ‘Nitpicky.’ Evan shook his head. ‘I only do it when I’m bored. What I’d like to know, my young friend, is what books you’ve been reading besides Oliver Twist? Dickens was a romantic but I don’t remember any of his love duos falling into each other’s arms. I may be wrong, but certainly not Agnes in David Copperfield. There was a woman fully occupied – “ever looking upwards.”’ It was the right approach. It didn’t increase his embarrassment; he visibly shed the last thread.

  ‘She sounds a dull bulb,’ mused Sarah.

  ‘Tedious,’ agreed Evan. ‘Otherwise the book’s a great read. But let’s not allow you-know-who to wiggle out of my question. You’ve been at the Harlequins, haven’t you? Who’s your source, pal? It wouldn’t have been at your grandpa’s.’

  ‘Wow! You’re amazing!’

  ‘Not so much. I saw one sticking out the pocket of your backpack.’

  ‘Cheat!’ accused Sarah. ‘Even Jumbo looks shocked.’

  Unabashed, Oliver laughed. ‘You know I finished the ones of yours. We talked about that and how great I thought they were . . .’

  ‘Wiggling!’

  ‘They were Miss Emily’s. I found boxes of them in the attic. Mrs Poll told me she had them sent every month. And they aren’t all Harlequins. There are other sorts, but similar. Mrs Poll said she was addicted.’

  ‘Drunk on love! That’s a line that crops up.’

  ‘Mrs Poll said they were only the modest ones, so there was no harm in giving me them.’ He straightened his back and stuck out his chin in mischievous defiance. ‘You don’t have to talk like you’re all that and a bag of chips, like Twyla would say, just because you don’t read them.’

  ‘He obviously does, or has,’ said Sarah.

  Oliver rewarded her with a grin. ‘Well, I’m not afraid to say the ones I’ve read so far have been pretty good. I pick out the suspense ones, so I can’t say about the others. The one I brought with me is about this dazzlingly beautiful bank teller with eyes the color of emeralds who’s afraid she’s falling for the man she suspects recently robbed it.’

  ‘Very funny! Back to my foibles, are we?’

  ‘Seriously!’

  ‘And I’ll bet with those eyes,’ Evan looked deep into Sarah’s, ‘she turns out to be the sort to kiss on the first heist.’ The attention of both was wrenched free by Oliver’s next words.

  ‘I found a letter to Miss Emily from her lawyer tucked inside one of the books.’ He quoted as accurately as he could what had been written. ‘I think the two brothers mentioned may have been my Dad and Gerard. Is an estate plan the same as a will?’

  ‘Similar, but wrapped up in more details,’ said Evan. To Sarah’s surprise he dropped the subject. ‘Let’s get back to your Mrs Poll. Had she kept it a secret from your aunt and uncle that there was a spare key to the cellar door?’

  Oliver nodded. ‘But I don’t want you to think she’s sneaky. There’s a good reason. Her father is Willie Watkins. He’s now Grandpa’s roommate at Pleasant Meadows. He’s there because his mind’s damaged from being a drunk. Last January he got into that cellar and holed up there for a while.’

  ‘Nellie Armitage mentioned that,’ said Sarah.

  ‘And the thing is, when Mrs Poll found the key in an old teapot in one of the display cabinets years ago, she took it home with her in case she ever came round to find the front door locked and was afraid Miss Emily had been taken ill or had even died and she’d have to get in through the cellar. It opens the outside cellar door and the one at the top of the cellar stairs. The only time the old lady walked anywhere beyond the living room and bathroom, she’d had polio you know, was to unlock and remove the bolt from that door on Mrs Poll’s days. Now here’s the reason she didn’t spill the beans to Gerard and Elizabeth . . . she was sure they’d hint like mad that she’d given it to Willie to get him off her hands. And she didn’t. She said she’d never had to get in that way and on thinking about it realized it may have been left unlocked forever – to save Miss Emily having to let the boiler people and such into the cellar without giving them the key from the hook in the kitchen.’

  ‘Got you.’ Evan leaned back in his chair.

  ‘But if Gerard and Elizabeth thought they had a hold on Mrs Poll, she knew they’d try to weasel her to working for them for even less money, and she wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction, although she’d pull something out of her sleeve if they tried. She laughed when she said that, and she’d only gone back to work at the house so she could size up the situation. And I didn’t have to worry she’d abandon ship.’

  ‘Cheers, for Mrs Poll.’ Evan raised his coffee cup. ‘I think you should make contact, Sarah, and find out if she thinks Mr and Mrs Cully have the capacity, mental or high tech, to rig up ghost scenes. Who knows, she may have tripped over a stray wire, noticed edgily twitching little green lights, or spotted a suspicious gadget.’

  ‘I’ll be on it. Promise.’ She looked at the microwave clock. Noon on the nose. ‘Sorry to break things up, but I think we have to get patient Jumbo out on his walk, before thinking about lunch.’

  Oliver started guiltily up from his chair. ‘We’ve been neglecting him terribly, haven’t we?’ He hurried over to where Jumbo was still lying angled toward the French window and laid his face to the brindled fur. ‘We love you, dude, you have to be the very best dog in the world.’

  Sarah had returned the fruit bowl to the refrigerator and was covering the remaining cinnamon rolls with plastic wrap while Evan cleared the rest of the table. ‘I always thought I wanted a small dog but he’s convinced me it has to be a bull mastiff. Gwen is going to check with Jumbo’s breeder and see if there are any puppies available to choose.’

  ‘Can I please, please go with you to choose one?’

  ‘We’ll insist on that, won’t we, Evan?’

  ‘I’d toast to that if I hadn’t put my coffee mug in the sink.’

  ‘And how about letting him pick the name? You can select the food and drink bowls.’

  ‘Thanks a bunch! I see how I rate and it’ll be all downhill from here on.’

  ‘Oh, no! Don’t tell me you have tantrums in addition to robbing banks!’

  Oliver, who’d been standing still with delight, threw his arms around each of them in turn. ‘This is one of the v
ery best days of my entire life.’ He unhooked Jumbo’s leash and put it on the table. ‘Sorry, but I have to go upstairs to the bathroom. Coming, Jumbo?’

  ‘There’s the one in the hall,’ Sarah reminded him.’

  ‘We know that!’ He raised his sandy eyebrows and spread his hands, palms upward. ‘We’re just trying to give you time to kiss and stuff,’ they heard him say to Jumbo as they went up the stairs. ‘Don’t feel too bad, I’ve neglected Dusk too. I think she’ll like having a puppy, don’t you, now you’ve taught her to behave around dogs.’

  Sarah didn’t fall into Evan’s arms. He held them out and she walked into them on solid ground, but then it did shift beneath her. Their kiss was unlike any she had experienced before, desire and love so entwined that they were one and the same. The only thing imperfect was that they both felt compelled to end it too soon. She stood, still encircled by his arms, her head against his shoulder. A tremulous laugh escaped her.

  ‘What do you think Oliver meant by “and stuff?”’

  ‘Not what I obviously have in mind. In the kind of romance novels he’s been reading – possibly from twenty years ago – the tortured hero always has himself masterfully under control. Presumably when he says “he must be off to his study” he’s really heading fast for an ice-cold shower.’

  ‘Does the heroine get to be tortured too?’

  ‘Never! Unseemly. She drifts around chapter after chapter, unaware of her True Feeling, telling herself she detests Him, while vaguely hearing violins playing.’

  ‘Then I’m a very unseemly woman.’

  ‘The trouble is,’ he kissed her hair, ‘having thrown such flights of fancy into the mix, you may think I’m quoting when I say: Oh, God! I love you, Sarah. And that I’ve never felt this way about anyone else. But it’s the plain and simple truth.’

  ‘I know because it’s the same for me.’ She pressed her hand against his cheek. ‘And we do have to continue being outwardly seemingly, don’t we?’

  ‘It’s called observing the proprieties, and yes, we must while Oliver is with us. We could tell ourselves he wouldn’t know if we slept together tonight and I left before he’s up, but he might. Though that’s not the primary issue. It would be deceptive and we can’t ever be that way with him.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘The only way I see to end the torture is for us to get married right away. Some proposal! But will you, Sarah?’ His voice was for the first time uncertain. ‘Or say you’ll at least think about it?’

  ‘I don’t need to. It’s the perfect proposal. And the answer, of course, is “yes.”’ She took a step back to look into his eyes. ‘I wish it could be this afternoon.’

  He drew her back and kissed her again. ‘I fell in love with you when we met. And if that’s equally like a romance novel, it’s because most clichés are around because they are truths that have been sanded and buffed over time to say it like it is.’

  ‘It was the same for me; only – like the heroines we’ve been talking about – I tried to pretend it was just an attraction. Partly because it seemed too perfect, but mainly because,’ she again stepped back to meet his eyes, ‘I may not be able to give you a child and I know that was a factor in ending your marriage. Harris and I tried for several years and I couldn’t get pregnant. The only thing we didn’t get to was in vitro, because by then he’d gone off the idea. He’d never been prepared to consider adoption.’

  He reached for her. ‘I’m open to either, if that’s what you’d want. But we already have a child, whether or not it ever becomes possible to have him with us permanently. We mustn’t raise our hopes too high in that direction, but I’ve sufficient faith in the existence of Nat Cully, or Oliver’s projection of him, to have a feeling that it’s all going to work out. What we have to do, darling, in addition to you talking to his Mrs Polly – or Poll as he calls her – is maneuver a meeting with his aunt and uncle.’

  ‘I’ve phoned to invite them to come with him any time they like. But they haven’t taken up the offer, or suggested my going there. Evan,’ she lowered her voice to an urgent whisper, ‘we haven’t talked about that letter Oliver found in the paperback. It has me wondering. People who make estate plans want every “I” dotted and “T” crossed so nothing goes wrong. And yet it seems Max Cully who, Oliver has told me, corresponded with Emily, ended up getting cut out of her estate. It doesn’t add up, especially when it sounds as though she wanted to favor him. But come to think of it I’m only going on what Nellie told me.’

  Evan kissed her again. ‘We’ll talk more about this later.’

  ‘Ready?’ Oliver called down from the stairs. ‘Missing us yet?’

  They got in a lengthy walk before returning Jumbo to Gwen, saying they wouldn’t come in as they needed to get back to lunch, and they had already decided against going to a restaurant. Eating ‘at home’ was much preferred, especially when Sarah had said she had crab cakes in the refrigerator, which Evan and Oliver both liked, along with a green salad. Though both could wait till later, even tomorrow. Gwen, understanding as always, didn’t press them to linger, but did ask them if they’d like to come back for dinner around six. Jumbo, still at her side, woofed encouragement. This invitation was appreciatively accepted, and they started back down Ridge Farm Rise on their return to Bramble Cottage. There was no sidewalk, so they were able to walk abreast with Oliver in the middle. They discussed whether or not to cook frozen French fries to go with the crab cakes, and had all voted in favor of both, when Oliver said there was something he hadn’t mentioned about Nat Cully.

  ‘Go ahead,’ encouraged Evan, ‘it was the sort of conversation, with so much talk going back and forth, that some things are bound to get left out.’

  ‘That just how it was,’ agreed Sarah.

  ‘This could make you think he wasn’t real. Remember me telling you he said that bedroom used to be his? Well, if it seems more likely it was one of his brother’s that would make it look like the whole thing was in my mind.’

  ‘Why do you think it may have been either of theirs?’ Evan kept up his easy stride.

  ‘Because folded at the back of that copy of Oliver Twist were several sketches of ships – frigates, sloops and schooners, that sort of thing – or would they be called boats . . . I’m not really up on that sort of things. It’s Brian who is. But it was the brothers, not Nat, who were the artists. They’re the ones who did the scrimshaws that are in the historical museum. Brian and I saw them when we went to look for pictures of Nat. They were super great. I don’t know how anyone could keep their hand that steady.’

  ‘He could have put the drawings in that book because he liked having them with him, because he was proud of their talents,’ suggested Sarah.

  Evan agreed.

  ‘That’s what I thought at first. Until the morning after his second visit. The one when he told me he’d known I was going to meet you both and everything was going to work out. It was that same evening, you see. You’d given me those two business cards and I’d put them on top of the dresser before getting into bed. But when I got up the next day I put one in my shorts’ pocket and remembered what you’d said about putting the other away for safe keeping. I decided to put it in the third drawer down as that was the only one that I could tuck the card under and be sure of not having to search around for it. But I couldn’t get it open. It was stuck. As the top two were so stuffed with stuff something had to be wedged at the back. I got out the first and I’d been right. The problem was pairs of socks. I turned it over to shake everything onto the bed. And on the back of the drawer were more of those great drawings. It was the same with the next drawer – and all the way down.’

  ‘Evidence, inconclusive,’ said Evan as they crossed into Wild Rose Way. ‘If two brothers were accomplished artists, why not the third? He became a doctor, not a whaler as they did. All we can tell from that is they were led, out of necessity or desire, to lives on the open seas, which enabled them to fulfil their outstanding gifts. If he was equally passi
onate about not boarding a vessel, he may have entered medicine because that’s where his heart really was, or as a second choice. From your description of their father, I can’t see him agreeing cheerfully to let any of his sons sit at home crayoning.’

  ‘Right!’

  ‘If,’ Sarah was opening the front door, ‘he did have an artistic bent and kept it up as a hobby as an adult he might have left something signed around the place that could be compared by an expert, along with what you already have, with his brothers’ works. But, as Miss Emily discarded photos because looking at them made her feel lonely, other mementoes may have gone the way of bonfire.’

  That Oliver felt much better was obvious in his question upon their entering the foyer. ‘Did they have crayons in those days? I have the folded up drawings in my backpack. Want to look at them after lunch?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Evan. ‘This minute, but better to wait so we’ve time to linger over them without interruption from pangs of hunger.’

  ‘I suppose,’ she tilted her head to kiss him, ‘that’s a hint I should get busy.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ Oliver blew out a breath of relief, ‘that you’ve stopped thinking you have to wait for me to disappear to do that.’

  ‘Then just to make you happy.’ Evan pulled her close for an encore.

  ‘Definite progress.’ Oliver shifted breakfast dishes from the sink to the dishwasher. ‘It’s more than fine with me if you lie on the sofa and lay your head on his lap this afternoon while we’re finishing Oliver Twist.’

  ‘What a sport! No wonder we can’t get enough of you.’ Sarah un-entwined her hands from around Evan’s neck and turned on the oven for the French fries and crab cakes. ‘Who wants to toss the salad?’ She got out the French vinaigrette dressing she’d made up the previous evening. ‘And who wants to lay the table? There’s lemonade and iced tea to drink. Or milk if you’d rather, Oliver. There’s wine, Evan – red out and white in the refrigerator. If you’d like a glass I’ll join you.’ They agreed on the Chablis.