“He lived here alone after his wife died?”
“Twenty-five years. Samantha’s finished going through his London apartment but she’s still sorting through this place. She archives what she wants to save and tags the rest for the dump, sale or donation. Her father and uncle will probably sell the house rather than move in or rent it out.”
“It looks as if it needs updating but is otherwise in decent shape.”
“Yeah.” Charlotte ran her fingertips over a crystal decanter, still containing a few inches of what she guessed was one of Harry’s preferred peated single malts. “I used to love visiting when I was a kid. We never stayed long. We’d stop on the way to New Hampshire.”
“Quite a family,” Greg said. “Is Edinburgh temporary or is it home?”
“I’m on the move so much I sometimes think my suitcase is home. I love Edinburgh and my apartment there, but it’s always felt temporary.”
“Sounds like a rationalization for something.”
“It’s not.”
“Not saying what you need to say to yourself now that you can’t dive and you know your life is changing?”
“I felt that way before the accident.” She noticed a framed black-and-white photograph on the wall of Harry and Max, young, vibrant and handsome. “A different time, a different world. Max always said one day Harry would get himself killed on his adventures. He almost did, more than once.” Her throat tightened with emotion as she gazed at the long-ago photo. “Ah, Max. The Bennett family’s Eeyore. Love you, Gramps. Miss you.”
Greg eased in next to her, taking a closer look at the two men in the photo. “Harry and Max must have been quite a pair. They got along?”
“They worked well together. Harry needed Max as someone he could trust unconditionally—someone who would rein him in from time to time, firmly when necessary. Max understood limits. Financial, emotional, mental, spiritual.” She smiled, overwhelmed with sudden affection. “And he understood Harry.”
“And vice versa? Did Harry understand Max?”
“I think so. I didn’t always think so. Max kept Harry alive, solvent and happy, but Harry got Max in the game. He wasn’t just on the sidelines. He accepted Harry’s risk-taking ways could come to a bad, or at least a premature, end.”
“Were they happy when you decided to become a marine archaeologist?”
“I don’t know that Harry paid much attention. Max didn’t mind marine archaeology. He minded the diving. I can remember his shock. ‘A diver, Charlotte? You’re going to be a diver? Please tell me I didn’t hear that right.’” She laughed at the memory. Just mimicking his voice brought him close to her again. “I told him I was going to be a marine archaeologist who dives. It’s not uncommon.”
“He eventually accepted your decision?”
“I didn’t give him much choice, but yes, he did, just as he grudgingly accepted my dad’s decision to get into underwater salvage and exploration.”
“Like Harry’s son Malcolm, Samantha’s father.”
“See? You’re catching on. My father and Malcolm have always been close.” Charlotte felt a sudden wave of awkwardness. “We don’t need to waste more time discussing the charms and oddities of my family.”
“I’m intrigued by the Bennetts and your place among them,” Greg said.
“All families are interesting.”
“Yeah. Wait until you meet my uncle Johnny.”
She tilted her head back, studying him. “Do you even have an Uncle Johnny?”
He grinned. “Sure.”
“You’re not always serious, you know.”
“I can be.”
The tone of his voice alone sent ripples of awareness through her, but they had to get to the airport. They all piled in the Mercedes-Benz. Charlotte drove, navigating increased traffic and the mad route through the tunnel to Logan. She parked in the central garage and offered to stay in the car while Greg saw his kids off, but Andrew and Megan asked her to join them.
Not wanting to intrude, Charlotte glanced at Greg, but he nodded toward the terminal. “It’s okay. Let’s go.”
Andrew and Megan had no bags to check. They turned on their phones for their boarding passes and chattered with excitement about flying. They couldn’t wait to fly to Washington to see their father’s new place. “It doesn’t have to have three bedrooms,” Megan said. “We can sleep on the couch or on the floor. We don’t care. We don’t need our own rooms.”
“You could also put us up in a five-star hotel,” Andrew teased.
“Right,” Greg said with a strained smile. “I’ll keep you posted.”
“It’ll all work out,” Megan said.
He hugged her. “Yeah, it will. I’m glad we’ll be seeing more of each other.”
“Us, too, Dad,” Andrew said.
Megan hugged her father fiercely, then stood back, sniffling as she smiled through her tears at Charlotte. “Thanks for sharing Red Clover Inn with us. Good luck with your diving.”
Andrew nodded. “Yeah. I hope everything works out for you.”
Charlotte thanked them and assured them she had loads of options. It was true, even if it didn’t feel that way.
Andrew started to shake his father’s hand, but they hugged, too. Charlotte hung back while the three walked to the security line. She realized she was old enough to have a teenager herself. In her early twenties, she’d been caught up with her studies and with diving and salvage projects with her father and Malcolm and Francesca. She’d assumed she and Tommy would eventually have children. It had been a vague hope, a dream, maybe, nothing concrete. Tommy wasn’t a planner by nature and she’d been focused on their wedding, assuming everything would fall into place after that.
She gave herself a mental shake. Why was she thinking about Tommy Ferguson?
Once his kids were through the TSA checkpoint, Greg rejoined her. “We’re on our own again.”
He was subdued as they returned to the parking garage. Charlotte paused as they came to the Mercedes-Benz. “You can drive if you’d like,” she said.
“Sure thing.”
She tossed him the keys. “It’s one awesome car to drive, I have to say.”
He slid behind the wheel, and she settled into the front seat, belting herself in, happy to have him drive through the tunnel and west to Knights Bridge. “Thanks for being a good sport and driving us out here and showing us Harry’s house,” Greg said, starting the car. “He was quite the character. Andrew and Megan had a good time.”
“They’re great kids.”
“You don’t live in fear of teenagers.” He glanced at her, his turquoise eyes impossible to read. “You don’t live in fear of anything, do you?”
“I might not show my fears and I try not to let them dictate what I do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have them.” She left it at that. “Does it scare you having Andrew and Megan fly on their own, given your work, what you know?”
“They have to live their lives.”
“You don’t let your work make you paranoid.”
He grinned. “I didn’t say that.”
“Sometimes bad things happen,” Charlotte said. “We all know it’s true, but we don’t like to think the really bad things are going to happen to us. Maybe we can’t think that way. We’d never get out of bed if we thought that way.”
“You had a tough accident.” Greg slowed as they approached the tunnel entrance. “You were deep underwater, in a shipwreck, with a panicked amateur diver. That had to be unnerving.”
“I got through it.”
He glanced at her. “You don’t need to minimize what happened. If you get medical clearance, would you want to dive again?”
“Yes. You’ve been shot. That had to have an effect on you.”
“Not just the injury itself but how i
t happened.” He started through the tunnel. “That was one rough day. I don’t pretend it wasn’t.”
“I’m glad you survived,” Charlotte said quietly.
“Yeah, me, too.” But his attempt at a light tone didn’t take. “It took some time to pick up the pieces of my life and figure out what was next. I could have left the job. I could have tried once more with Laura. Turned out I wasn’t done with the job but Laura and I were done. Getting shot didn’t finish us off. We were done before then.”
“Did things become clear for you right away or over time?”
“Took a while.”
“Was it easy?”
“No. Damn. I had to sit in cat hair in my brother’s apartment while I figured out my life.”
“Now you’ve been promoted and you’re moving to Washington.”
“It could have been worse, I guess.”
She laughed. “You make light as a coping mechanism, don’t you?”
“The promotion’s good. If I’d been kicked to the curb, I’d really be making light.” Once out of the tunnel, he glanced over at her. “Straight back to the inn?”
Charlotte nodded, leaning back in her seat. “Our books and hammock await.”
* * *
When they arrived at Red Clover Inn, Charlotte was stunned to discover Tommy Ferguson sitting in a wicker chair on the front porch. She tried to hide her shock as he rose as she approached the steps and absorbed the reality of seeing him in Knights Bridge—in New England.
Before she could say anything, Greg touched her elbow. “I’ll go inside,” he said quietly, passing her on the steps. He gave Tommy a curt nod and went in through the front door.
Charlotte continued up the stairs to the porch.
“You’re looking good, Charlotte,” Tommy said, still on his feet. “A few days in this little town are having a positive effect.”
“It’s a lot of fun.”
“Helps to have a good-looking Diplomatic Security Service agent as a roommate.”
She ignored his comment. “What are you doing here?”
“I stopped to see you. I got into Boston last night. I’m on my way to Connecticut to meet up with some divers there to talk about having them join me in Florida. Did a slight detour through Knights Bridge. It’s not too far out of the way.” He flicked a bit of plant debris off the porch rail. “I wanted to tell you at Sam’s wedding, but I didn’t. I’m getting married in September. It’s one reason I took this job in Florida.”
Married. Charlotte took a moment to absorb the news. “Congratulations, Tommy. I’m happy for you.”
“She’s a freelance magazine writer. You don’t know her. We met while I was on a dive in Florida in February. She was on vacation. She’s not into diving. It’s good to have separate interests.” He cleared his throat, a rare hint of awkwardness in his expression. “You and I would never have worked forever. You saw that before I did. This works. I guess I wanted to tell you myself, before you heard it.”
“My best to you both, Tommy.”
“Right. Maybe one day you’ll find happiness, Charlotte. I should get rolling. See you around.”
“Yeah, sure, Tommy.”
She watched him head down the steps and out to the street, where he’d parked his rental car. She’d noticed it when she and Greg had arrived back from Boston, but she hadn’t considered it might be Tommy, popping in on his way to Connecticut to tell her he was getting married.
She went inside, noticing her legs were wobbly. It wasn’t Tommy, his marriage. It was his need to tell her—the satisfaction he got from rubbing her nose in his happiness.
Damn but she was well rid of him.
Greg was reading his book in the front room. “It’s too late for the hammock. Too many mosquitoes, and it’ll be dark soon.” He nodded toward the front door. “Tommy could have sent you an email about his upcoming nuptials.”
“You eavesdropped?”
“More like I overheard. I dropped out of the conversation and fetched my book once he said he was getting married. Tell you what—your fairy godmother was looking out for you the day you jilted that guy.” He rolled to his feet. “Come on. I found a bottle of a good-looking Irish whiskey tucked in a cupboard. We can toast bullets dodged in our lives.”
Nineteen
Vic Scarlatti stopped at the inn just as Greg opened the dusty bottle of Irish whiskey he’d found in the dining room sideboard. He had no idea how long the whiskey had been there but it seemed fine to him. He splashed some in the two glasses he’d pulled off another shelf. Charlotte had gone into the kitchen to put together hors d’oeuvres, or something that could pass as hors d’oeuvres.
“Did you knock?” Greg asked Vic, handing him one of the glasses.
“Rang the doorbell.”
“It doesn’t work.”
He shrugged, all innocence. “I know. I thought I heard you holler to come in. Door was open.”
No one had hollered, which, of course, Vic knew. Greg grabbed a third glass and splashed whiskey into it. “Welcome.”
“I’m on my way to the diner for dinner. Thought I’d stop in. Good timing since you were pouring whiskey.” Vic sniffed the contents of his glass. “It’s drinkable?”
“We’ll find out. You first.”
Vic held up his glass to Greg. “Bottoms up.”
Greg waited, watching the retired ambassador take a good swig of the whiskey.
“Whoa.” Vic puckered, licked his lips. “That’ll grow hair on your chest.”
Greg raised his glass. “Cheers.”
The whiskey, indeed, was potent, even by Greg’s low standards, but also appreciated after seeing his kids off, driving Harry Bennett’s Mercedes-Benz with Charlotte next to him and discovering her ex-fiancé on the porch. She’d handled Tommy well and hadn’t tried to score points on him. Greg had no doubts she meant it when she said she was past Tommy Ferguson and their wedding-that-wasn’t. That didn’t mean she was comfortable with thinking about his wedding-yet-to-be.
Vic glanced around the old-fashioned dining room. “I’ve owned a house in Knights Bridge for twenty years and never realized this place was here.”
“Now you’re a townie,” Greg said.
“I’ll never be that, but it’s home nonetheless.”
Charlotte came in from the kitchen with a small tray of cut-up vegetables, cheese and crackers. She greeted Vic with a big smile that seemed genuine to Greg. “As you can see, we’re making ourselves at home here,” she said. “In another life, I could be an innkeeper. I can see its attraction for Samantha.”
“She’ll have fun renovating the place,” Vic said. “It’s what the Sloans do.”
They moved their mini party into the library. Over whiskey and hors d’oeuvres, the discussion turned to the future. Vic, ever the charming, interested diplomat, drew Charlotte out about her plans. “How long have you lived in Edinburgh?” he asked her.
“Three years.”
“Beautiful city. I haven’t been in far too long. When do you return?”
“I’m booked on a flight next week. You must visit again. Call me when you do.”
Vic glanced at Greg, as if to check if he, too, had heard the sudden hollow note in her voice. He had, but he said nothing. Charlotte and Vic talked about the irresistibility of the Royal Botanic Garden, some old castle that loomed over the city and distilleries they’d toured. Scotland had never been on Greg’s itinerary but he didn’t feel like the odd man out. He enjoyed listening to their conversation, seeing some warmth return to Charlotte’s cheeks. She’d made a face on her first try of the Irish whiskey but hadn’t choked. She still held the glass in her hand and took the occasional microsip.
“I’m heading to Washington soon to get my grandfather’s house ready to put on the market,” she said. �
��I’ve been renting it out since his death. It’s time.”
Vic reached for a few veggie sticks. “Fate threw you and Greg together, huh?”
She buried her face in her glass. “Not quite,” she said, her voice barely audible.
“Ah. Got it.”
Greg made no comment but he had a feeling Vic did get it.
Charlotte set her drink on a side table. “I don’t have to be back in Edinburgh on a specific day. I’m not on vacation. Technically I’m on a leave of absence from my job. I have time. You might say I’m figuring out my options for the future. I need to take into account the medical advice on my return to diving.”
“Which is?” Vic asked.
“That I shouldn’t.”
Vic settled back in his chair, throwing one leg over the other, a deliberate move, Greg suspected, to appear casual and interested without ratcheting up Charlotte’s evident discomfort. “I see. How’s your head?”
“I didn’t hit my head.”
“I don’t mean physical injuries. These major life changes can mess with our heads—how we think about ourselves, our families, our future. We’re on this one path with this one destination in mind, and then the universe decides to kick us into a ditch. Or worse.”
“That’s how Vic viewed retiring to Knights Bridge,” Greg said drily.
Vic grunted. “Seems trivial now, doesn’t it? It didn’t feel that way at the time. I was consumed. Figuratively speaking, I was dangling off a cliff by my fingernails. I felt used up and useless. I finally realized the problem was in here.” He tapped his temple with one finger. “In my head. Retiring with no plan is different from getting shot or nearly dying in a diving accident. I do understand that.”
“You did almost freeze to death in the snow,” Greg said.
“That was my own doing.”
“So it was.”
Vic sighed, smiling at Charlotte. “These DS agents are merciless.”
She laughed, clearly enjoying his company and his frank, self-deprecating humor.
Greg finished his whiskey. He liked Charlotte’s laugh. Their kiss and now this talk of the future was launching him out of his complacent focus on the present. Their interlude in Knights Bridge would be coming to an end—sooner rather than later. They’d both be off again, she to Edinburgh once she took care of her business with her grandfather’s house, he to his new job at the DSS Command Center. Once he got sucked into his work again, would he even think about these days in Knights Bridge with pretty Charlotte Bennett?
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