That Summer: A Novel

by Lauren Willig

  At ten on a Saturday morning? Hadn’t the woman heard of the phone? “That’s very sweet of you,” Julia said cautiously. “You really shouldn’t have.”

  “Oh, family,” said Natalie airily, peering past Julia into the butler’s pantry and the reaches beyond.

  A nasty suspicion arose in Julia’s uncaffeinated mind. Surely not even Natalie would be stalkerish enough to have followed Nick’s car … and sat around all night waiting to see if he came out?

  No. It was absurd. And Natalie was far too freshly showered for an all-night surveillance.

  “Are you looking for something?” Julia asked. She devoutly hoped that Nick stayed safely snuggled up in bed.

  Not that she had anything to hide; it would just be … awkward.

  Natalie’s eyes snapped back to Julia. Leaning forward, she said, “Have you found anything interesting?”

  Aside from learning that Nick preferred to sleep in boxers …

  “More of the same,” Julia said neutrally. “Lots of old magazines and moth-eaten clothes. You know.”

  Natalie propped a hip against the kitchen table. “I felt dreadful we weren’t able to stay longer last Saturday. Leaving you with all—”

  She broke off as another tread was heard in the hall and a male voice carried down the hallway.

  “Julia? I hope you don’t mind, I used your shampoo.”

  Nick appeared in the doorway, looking like an advertisement for illicit one-night stands. Last night’s shirt clung damply to his chest and his hair showed the signs of recent and vigorous toweling.

  At the sight of Natalie he came to an abrupt halt. A brief oh, shit expression crossed his face before he got his features back under control. “Natalie. Hi.”

  “Nicholas?” Natalie looked as though someone had just kicked her in the gut. Her face a picture of suspicion and distress, her eyes slid to Julia.

  All Julia could think was that they looked like the illustration from a nineteenth-century morality tale, titled “Caught in the Act” or something equally unsubtle. She had clearly been reading too many antiquated magazines.

  “Nick was helping me clear out the attic,” Julia said quickly. “Being the expert and all.”

  “The attic,” Natalie repeated flatly.

  Put like that, it did sound like a rather lame excuse.

  “There’s a ton of junk up there,” Julia babbled. “Cubic meters of junk.”

  She wasn’t sure why in the hell she felt so guilty, but she did. Maybe it had something to do with the way Natalie was looking at her, as though she’d just stolen all of her stickers and kicked her puppy for good measure.

  “Much as I would like to stay,” Nick said smoothly. “I’m afraid I have to take my leave.”

  Way to throw her under the bus. “Let me guess,” said Julia, folding her arms across her chest. “You have a lunch.”

  Nick’s expression remained entirely bland. “How did you guess? Natalie.” He nodded politely to his best friend’s sister. “Tell Andrew I’ll ring him later. I owe him a round of squash.”

  Julia politely refrained from telling Nick what he could do with his squash racket. Or begging him to take her with him.

  Natalie nodded mutely, too stricken to speak.

  As if matters weren’t bad enough, Nick leaned over and brushed a kiss against Julia’s cheek. “Thanks for everything,” he said in a way that couldn’t help but invite speculation. Julia narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ll be hearing from me.”

  “Don’t strain yourself,” said Julia politely, and saw Nick’s lips twitch in amusement.

  Somehow, she got the impression that Natalie wasn’t quite so amused by that little performance. The phrase “human shield” came to mind. And she was obviously it.

  “I’ll see you out.” Julia took Nick by the arm and propelled him through the door to the butler’s pantry and the corridor beyond. Over her shoulder, to Natalie, she added, “Please help yourself to coffee. There’s milk in the fridge.”

  She didn’t wait to see if Natalie took her up on it. She just hoped the other woman didn’t poison the coffee while she was out. Not that she could entirely blame Natalie. It would be devastating to walk in and find the object of your adoration making himself cozily at home in the house of another woman, especially a woman who had been on the scene for all of two minutes.

  If Nick wanted to send a message to Natalie, this was a pretty low way to do it.

  Julia opened her mouth to express that opinion but instead found herself asking darkly, “Do you really have a lunch?”

  “I intend to eat lunch, if that’s what you mean.” Nick dodged the question.

  “Coward,” said Julia.

  “The better part of valor,” said Nick smoothly as they came to a stop before the front door. The weather seemed to be making up for the previous few days of rain. Sun shone through the fanlight, dappling the old wooden floor with cheerful flecks of gold.

  “Wasn’t that meant to be discretion?” said Julia pointedly.

  “You can’t deny that there’s a certain amount of overlap between the two,” Nick said wryly. Before Julia could come up with a suitably snarky comment, he added more seriously, “I will be in touch.”

  “I appreciate your help,” she said formally, and then, just to be safe, “With the paintings.”

  Nick paused with one hand on the door, looking down at her. Through the open door came the smell of sun-warmed greenery and the sound of birdsong. “That painting of your mother’s…” he said diffidently. “I know it’s none of my business, but if you wanted to have it framed, I’d be glad to help. I do know a few people in that line of work.”

  “Thanks.” Julia looked up at him, surprised and touched at the thoughtfulness of the gesture. “I’m not sure what I want to do about it yet … but thanks.”

  Nick touched a finger to her cheek.

  “I’ll ring you,” he said, and slipped away down the front walk. The sunlight made the droplets of water in his hair sparkle like stars.

  That had been really sweet of him. Thoughtful. Kind.

  Of course, Julia reminded herself, as she closed the door behind him, this was the same man who had left her with an enraged cousin in the kitchen, so maybe she’d better postpone that petition for canonization.

  But all the same …

  She nearly caught her finger in the door when Natalie said sharply from behind her, “You just couldn’t keep your hands off him, could you?”

  NINETEEN

  Herne Hill, 2009

  Julia turned, slowly, repressing the urge to snap back, Who asked you?

  Natalie stood in the doorway, her bag clamped under her arm. Julia didn’t like to think how much of the conversation with Nick she might have heard. Not that the reference to her mother’s painting would mean anything to Natalie, but it felt like an intrusion all the same.

  “You’ve gotten hold of the wrong end of the stick,” Julia said shortly. “If there were even a stick to get hold of, which there isn’t.”

  Natalie ignored Julia’s protests. She radiated wounded dignity. “I should never have brought him here. I suppose this is what happens when you try to be nice.”

  No, this was what happened when you repeatedly barged into someone else’s house uninvited.

  It was all particularly ironic considering that Julia was fairly sure that Natalie had originally invited Nick over not out of any altruistic impulse but in the hopes of impressing him with the grandeur of ye olde family homestead. Not exactly her most cunning plan.

  All the same, Julia couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. That sort of crush could be so painful. And who hadn’t resorted to a few foolish stratagems in the pursuit of love—or something like it.

  Although, as Nick had intimated last night, Julia wondered if this was less love and more a desperate attempt to feed Cousin Caroline’s social delusions. If anything, that made her feel even worse for Natalie. Julia knew what it was to be the speed bump in the path of a parent’s ambitio
ns.

  “Look,” said Julia, extending the metaphorical olive branch, “why don’t you come back to the kitchen. We can have a cup of coffee and sort this out.”

  “No. Thank you,” said Natalie in a brittle voice. “I don’t need you to rub my face in it. First you take the house, and now you take Nicholas.”

  “I believe he prefers to be called Nick,” said Julia inconsequentially. Was that what this was really about? The house? “As for the house…”

  “It’s not fair,” said Natalie tightly. Her fingers plucked at the brass ornaments on her bag. “You weren’t the one who had to come visit ghastly Aunt Regina once a week. You didn’t have to sit here and listen to her absurd opinions and pretend to find her horrid stories amusing.”

  “No,” said Julia slowly, “I didn’t.” Quietly, she added, “I would have liked to have had the opportunity.”

  She was beginning to think that she had missed out on a great deal by not knowing Aunt Regina.

  “It’s just like Aunt Regina.” Natalie was too lost in her own grievances to pay any attention to Julia. “All those hints about the family treasure—keeping us coming back week after week—when all that time she intended to leave it all to you!”

  Julia opened her mouth to say she’d never wanted it when the real meaning of her cousin’s words belatedly struck her. “Treasure? You think there’s some sort of treasure?”

  Natalie, already in the house when she got here; Natalie, so eager to help; Natalie, rattling the wonky latch on the kitchen door.

  Julia looked at Natalie with the dawning of understanding. “You didn’t come here to see me this morning, did you? You were hoping I wouldn’t be home.”

  Natalie’s mouth closed like a steel trap.

  It didn’t matter; Julia had her answer. Disgust churned through her. She felt as though she had just stepped in something slimy and unpleasant. All of those overtures of friendship, all of that I just wanted to see how you were getting on, all of the tender solicitude for the long-lost cousin, all in the pursuit of some hypothetical treasure.

  Julia wrapped her arms tightly across her chest. “Just what is it you think you’re going to find?”

  Natalie looked mutinous. “I don’t know,” she said finally. Her fashion model face was sulky. “It was just like Aunt Regina. She never said anything definite, just dropped hints about there being more to the family than we knew and treasures beyond imagining.”

  “That’s crazy,” said Julia flatly.

  Natalie flared to life. “It’s not crazy. There was real money in the family once, you know. There might be gold, jewels—” She broke off abruptly, her lips clamping shut.

  So that was what it was. Julia didn’t know whether to laugh or swear. “And you were just planning to walk off with it, whatever it was?” she said. “There’s a word for that. It’s called stealing.”

  “It’s not stealing when it ought to have been mine in the first place,” Natalie burst out. “Mummy says—”

  “Mummy had better find herself a good lawyer, if that’s her attitude,” said Julia sharply.

  For a moment, they remained locked in silent combat, staring each other down. Julia’s hands were in fists at her waist, Natalie’s knotted in a death grip on the strap of her bag. So Natalie thought she could just barge in and rob her American cousin blind? She’d been in finance for nine years now; she was hardly such a pushover as that. If Natalie and Caroline wanted a fight, they’d have a fight on their hands.

  So much for Cousin Caroline’s tender reminiscences of Julia’s mother and Natalie’s airy chatter about family loyalties. Julia felt a taste like acid at the back of her throat. It wasn’t as though she were under any illusions about tender family sentiments; they’d all gone a quarter century without so much as a Christmas card.

  At least, that was what she had told herself. But, on some level, she had thought—she had hoped …

  “Two things,” said Julia. Her voice sounded rusty and too loud in the strained silence of the hall. Julia cleared her throat. “One, I’m pretty sure there isn’t any treasure. Not the kind you’re thinking about. Did it ever occur to you that Aunt Regina might have been speaking metaphorically?”

  One of Natalie’s shoulders twitched slightly. Okay, clearly that theory was a no-go.

  Julia went on. “Two. If you’d come to me like a human being—” Her voice cracked, embarrassing her. She didn’t want to show any weakness, not now, not in front of Natalie. Julia took a deep breath. “If you’d come to me and just told me about all this, don’t you think I would have shared?”

  The thought had obviously never occurred to Natalie. It might almost have been worth it to see the emotions play out across her face, surprise, confusion, and then, belatedly, panicked comprehension. Her mouth opened, then closed again; panic was replaced by speculation. Julia could see her weighing her options, preparing her pitch.

  Whatever it was, Julia didn’t want to hear it.

  “Of course,” said Julia, “it’s probably better this way, isn’t it? At least, now I know what I’m dealing with.” Deliberately, cruelly, she added, “I’ll let you know if I find any diamond tiaras. I’m sure Nick will be more than happy to help me appraise them.”

  That was too much for Natalie. “Why do you think Nicholas has been so keen?” she asked shrilly. “Did you think it was out of the kindness of his heart?” She gave a nasty, brittle little laugh. “You can’t have thought it was anything to do with you.”

  Her contemptuous gaze took in Julia’s faded flip-flops, her unwashed hair. Natalie had to be at least six inches taller; the way she was looking at Julia, it felt more like a foot.

  Julia tucked her hands underneath her elbows, trying not to feel small and plain. Hadn’t she faced down Masters of the Universe twice her size? But that had been different. That hadn’t been personal.

  “I think it’s time for you to go now,” Julia said coolly. “Don’t you?”

  “Ask Nicholas,” said Natalie. There were bright spots of color on her cheeks, showing unevenly beneath the expertly applied layers of foundation. “Ask Nicholas why he’s been so keen to help. Don’t you think he knows about the treasure, too? He’s just found a better way of getting at it.”

  Her words made Julia feel dirty. Dirty, and more than a little bit uneasy.

  It made her feel disgustingly naïve that she’d been so taken in, that she’d believed Natalie’s overtures of friendship, that she’d felt guilty about not liking her, guilty because she was family and somehow that meant Julia was supposed to like her. So much for that.

  “As you’ve noted before, this is my house. And this is the door.” Julia’s hand slipped slightly on the knob, but she managed to get it open with a minimum of fuss. She felt cold straight through, the space beneath her arms clammy with sweat. “If I see you here again without an invitation, I’ll call the police on you.”

  Shoving her bag up under her arm, Natalie stalked through the door. “Mummy always said your side of the family was vulgar and crass.”

  Julia was left speechless by her gall. Natalie was the one contemplating a bit of light larceny, but her side was vulgar and crass?

  “I’m sure when you burgle, you only do it genteelly,” Julia said politely.

  She started to close the door, but Natalie paused on the top step, her voice like cut glass. Her shadow cast a dark pall over the sunny walk. “Enjoy your time with Nicholas—and don’t come crying to me when you find out the truth about him.”

  “I wouldn’t judge everyone by your own standards,” Julia said grimly.

  Swiping her long hair out of the way, Natalie smiled at her over her shoulder, a three-cornered cat’s smile. “If you think you know him so well, ask him why he had to leave the City. Go on. Do.”

  Julia resisted the urge to slam the door behind her. But only just.

  She hated the idea of lending credence to anything Natalie said. The woman was the lowest of the low, a self-confessed would-be thief, entirely selfi
sh and self-serving. But, despite herself, she found herself wending her way back to the kitchen and her laptop. The pot of coffee was, to her surprise, still warm. Had it only been a few minutes? It felt like far longer.

  Sitting herself down at the kitchen table, she flipped open her laptop and pulled up Google.

  In the search bar, she typed: “Nicholas Dorrington.”

  London, 1849

  “It couldn’t possibly be he,” said Gavin, but Imogen could feel his arm tighten around her waist all the same. “Not here.”

  “It was Arthur,” Imogen repeated.

  He wasn’t there now, but he had been; she was sure of it. She slipped out of Gavin’s grasp. For all she knew, Arthur might be behind one of those heavily draped windows even now. Watching them.

  “But— What would he be doing in a place such as this?” Gavin’s expression was a study in skepticism. He looked across the street, at the closed door, at the place where Arthur had stood, and shook his head. “It was just a man, in a muffler, that was all. It might have been any man of a similar size.”

  Not any man. A wave of vertigo seized Imogen, as though she were standing on the very verge of a precipice, staring down into the abyss, at the waves and the rocks below. That had been Arthur’s coat, his hat, his muffler. Akin to a thousand others, it was true, but not the way he moved, the way he walked, the way he turned his head. After a decade of marriage, she didn’t need to see his face or hear his voice to identify his tread.

  “He must have followed us here,” she said, wrapping her hands together, trying not to let Gavin see how they were shaking. She felt shaky, so very shaky, and ill. “He must have found us and followed.”

  “Nonsense,” said Gavin briskly. “There’s no reason to suppose— Imogen?”

  His words receded. She could barely hear him over the ringing in her ears. Her head swam and her vision blurred. She doubled over, just in time to spew the contents of her stomach into the gutter. She was only vaguely aware of Gavin holding her by the shoulders, keeping her steady. Her stomach heaved and heaved again. All she could think of was the revolution in her body, every sense subsumed in the desperate struggle to rid her stomach of everything inside it.