The Summer Without You

by Karen Swan

  But someone was trying to stop her, someone Florence thought was hiding behind a paper trail. It didn’t seem to occur to her that there was one person who was linked to everything that had happened so far, who seemed far too good to be true. But he had a face and he had a name, and Florence wasn’t the only one who knew it.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ‘Do you think I should say anything? To the police, I mean?’ Ro asked, shadowing Melodie round the studio as she lit the oil burners.

  Melodie looked back at Ro, who was wringing her still-pink hands. ‘It’s a tough call, Ro. I mean, do you really think this guy would be capable of something like that? You’re talking attempted murder. That’s as serious as it gets. He didn’t look like a murderer to me.’

  ‘No? What does a murderer look like?’

  Melodie smiled, amused. ‘Touché.’

  ‘Oh God.’ Ro grimaced, as though she was actually in pain. ‘I know it sounds so ridiculous when I say it out loud. Most of the time he’s tender and caring and really funny—’ She clocked Melodie’s arched eyebrow. ‘I’m referring to his behaviour on the home videos!’

  ‘Oh.’ Melodie continued round to the next window. ‘Well, for what it’s worth, he didn’t strike me as the aggressive type, that day he turned up here. You were the one I heard shouting, not him.’

  ‘Yes, but you see, you wouldn’t say that if you’d seen him on the beach on my first day. He was livid, properly out-of-control furious then. When I think of him like that, I think maybe he could be capable of violence. And no matter what I may think about him, when you get down to the nuts and bolts of who, what and where, he is always there, always involved, right at the heart of it.’ She thought about Florence’s condition when she’d visited her in ICU in the hospital – discoloured, fried, shrivelled. If someone was responsible for it, they had to be held to account. ‘I mean, that’s just too much of a coincidence, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose it is a little weird. But still . . . attempted murder?’ Melodie shook her head, leading them both back to the mats. ‘All I can say is that if you’re going to go to the police with your suspicions, you need to be certain. If he gets wind of what you’re accusing him of, you could find yourself on the wrong side of a slander case. You have to be absolutely sure before you go down that path.’

  Moments from the home films flashed through Ro’s mind: Ted sleeping beside Ella after reading her bedtime story, the look on his face (visible only from the reflection in the mirror) as he’d shown Marina into the white roses-bedecked dining room at their apartment the night of their seventh wedding anniversary, the attempt he’d made at being ‘artistic’ filming Marina and Ella’s shadows in profile on the ground as they walked through Central Park – Marina’s pregnant silhouette caught by the wind, Ella’s arm upstretched, their hands clasped . . .

  She sat down in a cross-legged pose and sighed heavily, confused and anxious. She just couldn’t get a handle on him. What she saw in the videos – a devoted husband and father – wasn’t what she saw in real life: single man with a trophy girlfriend and a dangerous temper.

  ‘I just don’t know what to do,’ Ro moaned, holding her feet together and jigging her thighs up and down, more in agitation than relaxation.

  ‘Then I’d suggest you hold fire. Keep a close eye on him by all means, but you’ve got to remember there are plenty of other people who have a grudge against Florence . . . Namaste,’ Melodie smiled, nodding to some regulars who were padding barefoot through the door now.

  ‘What? Like who? Why?’ Ro whispered.

  Melodie looked surprised by Ro’s question. ‘Well, I don’t think I’m revealing any secrets in saying that Florence has made many enemies over the years. She heads up the Town Board; she’s sat on numerous citizens’ committees . . . She’s directly helped to shape and enforce a lot of our local laws, and many people resent her for it.’

  ‘Such as?’ Ro pressed, wanting names, identities, flesh-and-blood people that could be held to account.

  Melodie shrugged. ‘Such as . . .’ She thought for a second. ‘Well, Brook said there was a heated argument at the Zoning Appeals Board just the other week. A couple over in Gardiner’s Bay applied to build a bulkhead to protect their property – as I understand it, they actually have water on the land now, but their plans were rejected because town policy is strategic retreat. So their home will effectively be washed away in the next northeaster.’

  ‘That’s dreadful.’

  ‘Yes and no. They knew town policy when they bought the property a few years ago. Apparently, there’s another abandoned house, on stilts, actually ten feet out from the shore now, so none of this can be a surprise to them.’

  ‘But what would that have to do with Florence?’

  ‘Because she chaired the LWRP that brought in strategic retreat and now she’s the head honcho on the Town Board, enforcing her own recommendations in the report. She’s the town figurehead; it’s her name on the rejection documents. To a lot of people, she’s public enemy number one.’

  ‘Making her an easy target,’ Ro murmured, remembering how she and Florence had been examining the Legacy poster – her latest campaign initiative – when the first attack had happened. Ro fell silent. It seemed hard to reconcile this impression of a divisive public figure with her passionate, articulate friend who applied herself selflessly to her town and family. ‘And does everyone know all this about her?’

  ‘Well, it’s not a secret, although I suppose I’m privy to more than most because of Brook being on the Coastal Erosion Committee in Montauk. He’s always butting heads with her over something. He loses a lot of sleep thanks to her.’

  There was a bitter edge to her words and Ro remembered the fractious note in Melodie’s voice the night of the dinner party when Florence’s name had come up.

  ‘Look, I know she’s your friend and . . .’ Melodie reached for the right words. ‘Just because she and Brook don’t see eye to eye, it doesn’t mean I don’t see the goodwill behind her intentions. But she’s a seasoned politician, Ro. She knows how to win votes and influence people.’

  Ro frowned. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying that you shouldn’t rush to get too close to her, that’s all. Things may not be what they appear with her. Florence’s track record has been . . . erratic lately. She’s never far from a scandal, it seems.’

  ‘So you’re saying you think what happened to her is her fault? That she somehow asked for all this?’ The anger made Ro’s voice quiver and Melodie shrank back a little, her eyes flitting to the other class members stretching on their mats or meditating.

  ‘No. I . . . I’m obviously not explaining myself very well. I just mean you’re in a vulnerable place right now, Ro. You’re trying to set down roots and find your way. I can see how Florence could be an attractive . . . mother figure to you, perhaps. It’s understandable. But she’s not a dear, sweet thing, and you’d be foolish to place all your trust in her without knowing her better.’

  Ro and Melodie exchanged loaded looks. This was their first disagreement and Ro felt distinctly patronized.

  A man in 1970s green running shorts that curved up to his hip bones and were going to be alarming during the child pose sat down on the mat next to her.

  Melodie quickly changed the subject as the last stragglers padded into the room and mats were unfurled around them.

  ‘Is Bobbi going to come to any more classes?’ Melodie asked, new levity in her voice as she pressed each ear towards her neck in a stretch. ‘She’s very limber.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Ro muttered. ‘She just had some time to kill before an important meeting.’ Ro knew she sounded truculent, but she couldn’t help it. How had they moved from debating whether to report Ted Connor to the police to a character assassination on Florence?

  ‘I hope it went well?’

  ‘Yeah, she got the commission.’

  ‘And the guy?’

  Ro met her eyes in surprise.

 
Melodie smiled, trying to tease her out of her sulk. ‘What? I overheard you both talking. You weren’t very quiet.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry.’

  ‘On the contrary, tell me more.’ Melodie pinned her with beseeching eyes, trying to make up.

  She shrugged, a little less moody. ‘I really don’t know much. I haven’t met him yet – she’s been very cagey about him. All I know so far is that he’s older and drives a Porsche.’

  ‘Sounds perfect,’ Melodie quipped light-heartedly.

  Ro budged. ‘That’s what I said – although he’s a bit pigeon-toed apparently. But Bobbi’s prepared to forgive him that because he’s also a non-exec. Her first.’

  Melodie frowned and Ro rolled her eyes. ‘I know – her ambition is boundless, but it’s impossible to hate her for it. She’s actually very sweet when you get to know her, a pussycat really,’ Ro protested, before mumbling, ‘just with very sharp claws.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Melodie nodded, but her eagerness to bond had slipped a little now, and Ro knew she profoundly disapproved. As if her opinion of Bobbi hadn’t been low enough after sitting through an evening of watching her flirting with her husband . . .

  ‘Hey, it’s really not her fault. She’s never been in love. Until that happens, she chooses her boyfriends according to spec.’

  Melodie had to grin. ‘Ro, you are loyal to a fault. You see the best in everyone, even when they don’t deserve it. She’s lucky to have you as a friend.’ Melodie stretched her legs in front of her. ‘We all are.’

  She winked at Ro – peace seemingly restored – and a small, flattered smile sat on Ro’s lips like a kiss as Melodie began leading the class in the warm-up incantations. Ro chanted in unison, determined to relax and find a little peace. This was her safe place, a refuge from the pressures pushing in on her in the outside world. But when she closed her eyes, it wasn’t Matt she found drifting through her subconscious.

  Ro trailed in Bobbi’s wake, racks of clothes fluttering like flowers in the wind as her hand trailed over them, her keen eye trained for the print, colour, fabric or shape that would transform her from ‘date’ to ‘hot date’.

  Ro didn’t touch anything. Ironically, in spite of the fact that she was working almost round the clock and nearly at the point of having to turn work away, she was still broke after her splurge in New York. Obviously, with Florence in such a weakened state, the last thing she was going to do was hand in her invoice for the Legacy job, and she had had to wait till the newlyweds had returned from honeymoon only two weeks ago before she could even present them with their images for the first edit, much less a bill. She had a small payment due imminently for the surprise fortieth shoot, but that was it so far. The Connor job was huge, of course, and dominating her working days, but she was still only a third of the way through it, having completed the film run-throughs and annotations, and was now editing and splicing them. Next up were the photobooks, which would involve going through all their stills (she dreaded to think how many tens of thousands there might be), and then finally, she had to set up the shoot of the children – once Finn’s hair was suitably photogenic. She wouldn’t see any money before September, at the earliest. If, indeed, she ever would. Her suspicions about Ted’s actions around Florence persisted, no matter how she tried to arrange the facts – there was just too much coincidence involved – and she found it almost perverse to be editing a film that showed him as the perfect family man. Irony in motion.

  Something waggled in front of her line of vision, drawing her out of her head. Bobbi was holding up a dress for her opinion – black, skater-style, sort of knitted, with little peekaboo holes in rows along the bust, waist, hips and down the skirt.

  Ro frowned.

  ‘It’s lined, you prude!’ Bobbi chuckled, showing her the inside of the dress.

  ‘Oh. Well, in that case, be my guest.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to try anything on?’ Bobbi asked, as she marched towards the dressing room.

  Ro absently picked up the price tag of a folded T-shirt: $330! ‘Nope. Don’t have that kind of money. Don’t have that kind of life.’ She wandered over to where Bobbi was changing, sat down on a leather chair and waited.

  ‘So, is this for anywhere in particular?’

  Silence emanated from behind the curtain.

  ‘Bobbi?’

  Bobbi poked her head through, her hands clutching the fabric below her chin. ‘It’s for Kevin.’

  ‘Kevin?’ A name! She had a name – and it wasn’t Brook’s! She tried not to appear elated. ‘He’s the older man, is he?’

  ‘Uh-huh. But don’t tell a soul.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Ro agreed solemnly. ‘So then, the pitch at dinner went . . . well?’

  ‘It did go . . . well.’ Bobbi grinned, winking and disappearing into the changing room again.

  ‘I thought you seemed perky!’ Ro was quiet for a moment, slightly depressed that even Bobbi – who by her own confession was concentrating on her ‘conversion’ to partner – was getting some action while her enforced chastity soldiered on. ‘And nobody at work suspects anything?’

  ‘Why should they? We know how to be professional about it. Kevin doesn’t want it getting out any more than I do.’

  ‘Right.’ Ro hoped that wasn’t code for ‘married with kids’. She inspected her fingernails. Grubby, broken, unmanicured. Over two months in the Hamptons and what had she learned? ‘So are we going to get to meet him? Are you going to bring him to the house for Hump and me to inspect?’

  ‘What are you, my parents?’ she laughed. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me! He’d run a mile if he met you guys.’

  ‘Hey!’ Ro protested, just as the curtain whisked back and Bobbi stepped out like a Lipizzaner – all high steps and dainty ankles. ‘Oh wow!’ Ro laughed, her hands flying to her mouth in amazement. ‘That looks incredible on you.’

  ‘You like?’ Bobbi asked, turning to admire her reflection in the mirror behind her.

  ‘Like? I love! You’ve got to get it. Got to!’

  Bobbi pouted thoughtfully, jamming her hands onto her tiny waist. ‘It’s kind of expensive.’

  ‘Whatever it is, it’s worth it. Get it,’ Ro said, waving her hands dismissively.

  Bobbi hitched up an eyebrow. ‘Like eighteen hundred dollars expensive.’

  ‘Shut the front door!’ Ro burst out, using Hump’s favourite phrase, something that had started to become a habit of late. Wasn’t that the same as a wedding dress?

  Bobbi preened, swishing the skirts left to right, showing off her tight thighs, her arms lean and sculpted. She looked stunning, but then, with her figure, she’d look knockout in an $18 dress too.

  ‘Yeah. He’s worth it,’ she decided, nodding her head firmly and sashaying back into the changing room.

  ‘Blimey. You must really like him.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘I mean, really, really, really like him.’

  ‘I told you he’s a non-exec, right?’

  ‘Bobbi!’

  Bobbi’s head stuck through the curtain again. ‘What? Listen, don’t get all preachy on me, Miss Childhood Sweetheart. No guy gets to pull a number on me. My terms. Sentiment gets you nowhere. Jack shit.’

  Ro shook her head, wondering how it was they managed to share a conversation, much less a house.

  They walked up to the till together, Bobbi holding out the dress like it was an offering to the gods. Ro tried to read the label, but couldn’t pronounce it.

  ‘How d’you even say that?’ she asked.

  ‘Azz-ed-ine A-lai-a.’

  But Ro still couldn’t get it. ‘I’ll stick to Gap. It’s more A-B-C.’

  ‘Anything so long as you’re not in Matt’s clothes.’ Bobbi rolled her eyes. ‘You have no idea how much it stressed me out looking at you swaddled and swamped in your boyfriend’s stuff. It was like some sad, desperate, “abandoned ex” look. I mean, I say that with love, right? You know, you look pretty hot now. You got a tan, dropped some weight—’

/>   ‘Cut out the animals nesting in my hair.’

  Bobbi chuckled, then winced as she handed over her credit card. ‘Oh Jeez, I must be mad – it’ll be noodles for me for the next month.’

  ‘Like you said, he’s worth it. But I’ve got to meet him. You’re spending nearly two grand on looking nice for him! I mean, come on!’

  ‘OK, maybe. But just you. Hump’ll go into his thumb-wrestling, shoulder-bumping, surf-dude mode and Kevin’s not like that. He’s fifty-one, for Chrissakes. He wears cufflinks!’

  ‘Enough said. It can be our secret.’

  ‘Well, it’s only fair we have one. I reckon Hump’s keeping one from us,’ Bobbi said confidingly, taking her receipt and the tissue-wrapped dress.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Ro frowned as they sauntered out of the boutique together, back into the sunshine. They stopped on the pavement, their mission accomplished and wondering where to go next.

  ‘Coffee at Colette’s?’ Bobbi asked rhetorically, looping her arm through Ro’s and leading her towards the turquoise-umbrella-ed cafe on the opposite side of the road. ‘Because I was in the kitchen when he came in this morning and I asked him where he’d been.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He said he’d been kayaking.’

  ‘Well, yeah, I go with him sometimes. He goes most days.’

  ‘Maybe he used to.’

  Ro turned to look at Bobbi, who was wearing a mysterious smile on her face. ‘What are you getting at? Just spit it out.’

  ‘I saw his kayak propped against the shed in the backyard, where he always keeps it.’

  ‘So?’ Ro cried, laughing at Bobbi’s long-winded tease.

  ‘So, I saw it when I filled the kettle when I first came down – at least forty minutes before he came in.’ She looked across at Ro meaningfully. ‘He was out, but he wasn’t kayaking. I think he’s got himself a girlfriend and he doesn’t want us to know.’