The Pleasures of Summer

by Evie Hunter

  Malcolm grabbed the man by the collar and pulled him in front of him, using him as a shield.

  Fuck. He couldn’t get a clean shot at the target. This was going to get dirty. More screams. The kitchen doors opened and closed again.

  Malcolm raised his arm and pointed the gun at the upturned table where Summer and her father were crouched. It wouldn’t be enough to protect them.

  With every nerve end screaming, Flynn threw himself in front of the table. This was going to hurt.

  Two gunshots sounded in quick succession. Malcolm fell to the floor, dragging his hostage with him.

  Flynn was aware of a blinding pain. One that was horribly familiar. For a single moment he was back in Afghanistan, the night sky above his head and the tang of blood heady in his nostrils.

  Then Summer was there, her face pale and shocked, and Andy and Jamie were pulling her away. His vision blurred and faded. Cold sweat bathed him as pain radiated from his battered leg and he had to clench his teeth not to roar from the blinding pain. The last thing he remembered was someone shouting about an ambulance.

  When he opened his eyes again it was dim. A siren wailed overhead. He couldn’t move his arms or legs and it took him a moment to realize that he was immobilized on a stretcher in the back of a speeding ambulance.

  ‘You’re awake,’ the paramedic stated the obvious. ‘You’ve certainly made a right mess of that knee.’

  Fuck. The nurse in Germany had warned him. He could still hear the words coming from that prim, disapproving mouth of hers. If you don’t rest, you could lose the use of your knee.

  Fuck fuck fuck. He had really done it this time.

  ‘We’re almost there. Are you in much pain?’ the paramedic asked.

  ‘No.’ Flynn shook his head. The pain in his leg was nothing compared to the raging ache inside him. How could he marry Summer if he was crippled? What sort of a husband would he be to a woman like her if he couldn’t walk?

  It was bad enough that she was filthy rich and he was only a soldier, but how could he support her if he was pensioned off? He was thirty-five not sixty-five. He wouldn’t be able to keep up with her physically. He would be Summer O’Sullivan’s crippled husband. Dependant on her financially and otherwise. Almost as bad as Bayliss.

  No, he would be worse than Bayliss.

  Cold realization started in Flynn’s gut and spread upwards until it engulfed his chest and strangled his heart. He couldn’t do that to her. Not to his Summer. He couldn’t marry her now and he didn’t know how he was going to tell her.

  The ambulance slowed and stopped and the doors opened. A second paramedic climbed in and they transferred him onto a gurney. Rows of ceiling lights flashed overhead as they hurried down the corridor and through doors marked ‘X-ray’.

  Niall’s anxious face hovered over him. ‘Don’t worry. They’ve called in the best surgeon. You’ll be –’

  ‘Give me a phone.’

  ‘Sir, you can’t use a phone in here,’ the paramedic said.

  ‘Then get me outside, but give me a fucking phone.’ He couldn’t wait until after the surgery. If Summer found out that he was badly hurt, she would be here ASAP and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want her staying with him out of pity. He wouldn’t take that chance.

  ‘Niall man, I have to talk to her.’ Flynn hated the edge of pleading in his voice but already the pain was threatening to overwhelm him. He had to do it now.

  Niall clapped him on the shoulder and, ignoring the protesting nurse, pushed the gurney outside and handed him a phone. ‘You have five minutes.’

  The phone rang again and Summer checked the display before answering. ‘Flynn? Oh, thank god. I’ve been so anxious. They wouldn’t let me go in the ambulance.’

  ‘Better off there,’ his voice slurred.

  ‘But I want to –’ How could she leave him alone in a hospital when he had just saved her life? Her father hadn’t stopped praising him, saying that he was the bravest man alive.

  ‘No. Summer, you have to listen to me.’ Each word was distinct, as if Flynn was forcing them out. ‘You have to realize …’

  She waited. Something was very wrong here. A chill washed down her back.

  ‘Summer. I will always care for you. I want to be your friend, but …’

  Her friend? Flynn wanted to be her friend?

  He continued. ‘But we can’t get married. I’m not like Adam Bayliss. I’m not willing to live off your money.’

  How could Flynn think about money at a time like this? He had saved her life. He had said yes. He had told her that he loved her. Surely he hadn’t changed his mind? ‘I know you’re not like Adam. I love you, Flynn. Why are you talking like this? It’s only money.’

  ‘To you, maybe.’

  ‘Are you worrying about my father? He’ll insist on a pre-nup, of course, but that’s almost standard these days when one person –’

  ‘Is richer than the other,’ he finished. ‘Can’t you see? Marriage would ruin what we have together. And that’s not the only thing.’

  Flynn’s voice faltered and that gave her a small glimmer of hope. ‘Can’t we just talk about it? We needn’t have Westminster Cathedral if you don’t want to. We can –’

  ‘You’re not listening to me. Believe me when I say that I have thought about this. I’ve thought of nothing else.’

  She heard him draw a breath and then there was silence before he added, ‘I don’t want to be Mr Summer O’Sullivan.’

  One month later

  Her body remembered before her brain, her stomach clenching as the first wave of pain hit her. Flynn was gone. She lay in the tangled sheets, wishing that she had something to throw at the bird who was chirping on her window ledge.

  ‘I don’t want to be Mr Summer O’Sullivan.’ His parting words were her first thought each morning and the last thing she remembered before she went to sleep. If she could sleep. Flynn had left the hospital by helicopter following surgery and despite putting pressure on Niall, she couldn’t find out where he had gone. He had just disappeared.

  She wandered to the bathroom to survey the latest damage. Her eyelids were purple from crying. Par for the course. Summer returned to the bedroom to dress.

  The new butler – Andrew from Perth – was probably waiting for her to come down for breakfast. He was under orders to report to her father what she ate. Some days she barely managed coffee and could swallow nothing solid. She glanced at her phone, squinting at the display through tired eyes. Lots of emails, some text messages from the girls wishing her well and hoping that she would fly to Australia for their weddings.

  Someone from the publicity department at her dad’s office had forwarded a request for an in-depth interview about her and Flynn. ‘Keep that up and you’re definitely getting fired,’ she told the phone.

  Flynn. Even reading his name hurt. How could he have done this to her? It wasn’t her fault that she was rich. But to break up with her because of it was more than she could bear. She had tried to forget him. Over the past month she had bought an entire new wardrobe and partied until she dropped each night, but nothing took the edge off the pain.

  There was a tap on the bedroom door and Andrew entered. ‘I apologize for disturbing you but your father sent this by courier from his office. He said that you may want to see it.’

  He approached her with the same trepidation as a tourist who had fallen into the lion enclosure during feeding time at the zoo. ‘It seems to have been mixed up with your father’s business papers by the previous incumbent.’

  By incumbent, she presumed he meant Malcolm. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I believe it’s a wedding invitation. From Scotland, ma’am.’

  ‘Scotland?’ She snatched it from his hand and tore the cream parchment envelope open.

  Mr David Mackenzie and Ms Lorna Bell cordially invite you to celebrate with them on the occasion of their wedding at Canongate Kirk on July 31st 2013 at 3.30 p.m. and afterwards at The Witchery, Royal Mile, Edinburgh. RSVP.<
br />
  There was something familiar about the date. ‘What day is it?’

  ‘It’s Friday, ma’am.’

  ‘No, not day, date. What date is it?’

  ‘The thirty first of July, Ma’am.

  ‘Holy shit.’ Summer leapt off the bed.

  ‘Time?’

  ‘Twelve forty-five.’

  ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

  ‘Will that be all, ma’am?’

  Summer stopped halfway across the room. A flight on one of her dad’s aircraft wouldn’t get her there on time. ‘Tell Dad I need a helicopter on the front lawn in one hour. I’m going to Edinburgh.’

  After a quick shower, she riffled through her wardrobe and emptied some of her recent purchases onto the bed. She needed something that would wow Flynn. Something that would make his mouth water and the blood rush to his cock when he saw her. She selected a dramatic red shift dress. Well, she wouldn’t want to clash with the bride and Flynn would be able to spot her from a mile away. Teamed with a killer bag and a pair of fuck-me heels, she prepared for Operation Flynn. She would have to wear sunglasses to hide her eyes, but hopefully the swelling would have gone down before she saw him.

  She would make Flynn see that she had changed. Hell, she would give up being an heiress and go live in the croft with him if he wanted her to. All she wanted was him. Nothing else mattered.

  Despite the swift flight to the helipad at the Prestonfield Hotel, she knew that she would miss the arrival of the bride. But when her car arrived at the Canongate, the wedding party were still waiting outside and Lorna’s limousine was pulling away. Something was definitely wrong.

  ‘Summer.’ An anxious David waved to her. ‘Is he with you? Is Flynn here?’

  ‘No, I …’ Her heart dropped. Flynn was the best man. Surely he wouldn’t let his only brother down? ‘I haven’t seen him since the night … I have no idea where he is.’

  Morag arrived, resplendent in lavender. ‘I’m sorry David, but the minister says that he can’t wait. He has another wedding booked for half past four.’

  ‘Damn. I can’t believe Flynn has just vanished like this.’ David turned away, shaking his head, and she was left alone with Morag, who pulled her phone from her neat handbag and rang the chauffeur. ‘You can bring her back now. We’ll have to start without him.’

  The rest of the ceremony went without a hitch and behind dark glasses, Summer brazened out the pointed stares. Her foolish dreams of being reunited with Flynn had turned to dust before the wedding was over. It wasn’t hard to imagine what they were saying about her. The arrival of the infamous Summer O’Sullivan at an intimate Scottish wedding had almost upstaged the bride. She guessed that the invitation hadn’t come from Lorna. David must have insisted on it.

  After the photographs had been taken, she followed the wedding party up the Royal Mile and into the dim interior of the Witchery. She had never eaten there, but knew of its reputation for sumptuous gothic interiors and fabulous food. It would have been the perfect place for a bout of glorious make-up sex with Flynn. In her fantasies, they would have stayed in one of the suites for a week and not gotten out of bed the whole time. Now she felt foolish and uncomfortable.

  Lorna sent her a few dagger glances during the drinks reception. Apart from Morag, the only ones who spoke to her were two pimply youths with questionable taste in neckties and no tolerance for alcohol.

  At last they were shown to their tables. She guessed there had been a last-minute re-shuffle of the place settings when Flynn failed to arrive. She shared a table with a few of David’s bachelor friends and an elderly uncle from the Orkneys who was deaf as a post. Judging by the amount of time he spent staring at her cleavage, there was nothing wrong with his eyesight.

  ‘So you’re Flynn’s wee girl?’ his voice could be heard on the other side of the room and she saw Lorna’s head shoot up.

  ‘Not exactly,’ Summer murmured as she took a mouthful of her starter.

  ‘Have ye plans for a wedding yourselves?’

  Summer caught a sympathetic smile from a middle-aged woman at the next table. She had been hoping to have a quick dinner and return to London. Now, she was proving to be the evening’s entertainment. She gave her interrogator a polite smile. ‘Not at the moment. No.’

  The grey-haired man sitting on his other side tried to distract him. She overheard the words ‘broken up’ and cringed. He turned to Summer again. ‘That’s a shame. Still, I suppose he must have had his reasons.’

  And now my evening is complete. There was no way in hell that she was going to sit there and be pitied by Flynn’s relatives. ‘Actually, we broke up because I’m moving to South America.’

  Her statement provoked more attention from the top table and she pressed on. ‘I just came to say goodbye to Morag and David. I’m leaving for Argentina at the end of the month.’

  Summer left quietly as soon as dinner was over. At reception, she scribbled a quick note on the front of an envelope addressed to David containing a voucher for two tickets to a destination of their choice, courtesy of O’Sullivan Airlines.

  38

  The following morning, the London house seemed bleaker than before. Yesterday she had a tiny sliver of hope that she would see Flynn again. Today was the first day of the rest of her life, and what an aimless, stupid life it was turning out to be.

  The unopened designer shopping bags that littered the bedroom floor mocked her. The last month had proven that she couldn’t be Summer O’Sullivan any longer. That airhead heiress had been lost somewhere in the Highlands and she wouldn’t be returning. Flynn had seen to that. How could one man have changed her life so much and then just walk away? She couldn’t spend the rest of her days wishing for something that she couldn’t have. Maybe South America wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  Her father greeted her news with the same enthusiasm he had for the announcement of fog at Heathrow airport on a Friday evening. ‘South America! Are you out of your feckin mind?’

  Summer laughed when she saw the expression on his face. ‘No, Daddy. I think it’s the first time I’ve been sane in years.’

  ‘Sane, me arse. Stop mooning over that Grant chap and get on with your life. You didn’t see me moping about the place after your mother died.’

  She couldn’t listen to his lecture again. How he had thrown himself into his work a week after the funeral and never stopped since. ‘Well, maybe you should have. If you had taken time to grieve for Mum you wouldn’t have been such a miserable git for the past fifteen years.’

  A wash of scarlet rose from his neck and covered his cheeks. ‘Don’t you speak to me like that about your mother.’

  That was the problem. They never spoke about her mother, or about the years that Summer had cried herself to sleep at one school after another while she missed both of them. Her dad thought that money could cure everything. But it had caused a rift with Flynn and nothing could ease the pain of that.

  For the first time in her life, Summer wished that she was ordinary. ‘I will speak about her. Why did we leave everything behind when we moved here? We don’t have a single thing from the old house. Why don’t we have photographs of her?’

  She gestured to the gilded portraits that had come with the mansion. ‘Do you know who any of these people are? Name one of them.’

  The dark flush had now reached the tips of her father’s ears. ‘You ungrateful little bitch. I work a seventy-hour week to give you this. Who do you think pays for the cars and the credit cards and all the other stuff you spend your life buying?’

  Tears prickled behind Summer’s eyelids, but she wouldn’t cry in front of him. Her father hated tears. ‘I don’t want stuff. I need something else. I’m leaving, Dad and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.’

  ‘If you step outside that door, I’ll cut you off without a penny. How long do you think you can arse around Brazil without your credit cards and your five-star hotels?’

  He gave her the look he used when he was at a board meet
ing and was determined to get his own way. If she worked for him, she would have been quaking in her Jimmy Choos by now, but she wasn’t going to back down.

  ‘It’s Argentina, Dad, and this time I’m leaving the credit cards at home.’

  Summer stepped away from the check-in desk and put her passport and boarding card into her small rucksack. She had two hours to kill before departure. Time enough for coffee and some last-minute phone calls. The envelope containing her precious letter from Los Medicos Voladores peeked up at her.

  She wasn’t useless after all. Some places in the world still jumped at the chance of a volunteer worker with language skills and aircraft logistics experience. The money in her savings account would be enough to rent a place to live until she had wages coming in.

  In the duty-free shop, she picked up a bottle of Baileys. Maybe some day when the memories of their time together at the croft didn’t hurt so much, she would crack it open, play her favourite Melody Gardot songs and remember Flynn without wanting to cry.

  ‘I wouldn’t recommend drinking that alone.’

  Flynn’s voice. She was going crazy. Summer blinked and turned in the direction of the sound. He was taller than she remembered, or maybe it was because she was wearing flat pumps instead of her usual heels. The top buttons of his shirt were undone and she caught a glimpse of tanned flesh. Flynn had been travelling again, on some secret mission he would never speak about.

  Summer clutched the bottle, wondering if she should replace it on the shelf or put it in her basket. It wasn’t his business what she drank. If she put it back she would look as if she cared what he thought. She put the bottle in her basket and added a bar of chocolate for good measure before she managed a half smile. ‘You look good.’

  His eyes roamed her face. She was aware that all the sleepless nights of the past seven weeks showed. ‘It’s more than I can say for you. What have you been doing to yourself?’

  Missing you, more than you can imagine. That would be too humiliating to admit. He had walked out on her; she didn’t owe him a thing. She shrugged, trying to play it cool. ‘Nothing special.’