The Summer Seekers

by Sarah Morgan

  “More likely to lick you to death or slide into you. They hate these tiles.” He snapped his fingers and the dogs skidded to a halt, tongues lolling as they looked at him stupidly. “Sit.”

  They sat, one with more reluctance than the others.

  Liza looked at the rows of sharp teeth. “I’m starting to understand why you don’t need bodyguards.”

  “These boys are a deterrent, that’s for sure.” He crouched down and made a fuss of the dogs and she did the same, although a little more cautiously.

  One of them rolled over, exposing his tummy, and she rubbed it gently. “They’re gorgeous. What are they called? Not that I’m going to be able to tell them apart.”

  “One, Two and Three. Seemed a simple way of naming them at the time. Don’t be fooled by the size of them. They’re terrified of Popeye.” He rose to his feet and so did she.

  “We’re all a little terrified of Popeye. He’s the most judgmental cat I’ve ever met. And very emotionally distant.” Like her mother. “And talking of meeting, how did you get to know my mother?”

  “Long story. We need food for that.” He washed his hands, then opened the bag she’d handed him and explored the contents. “I haven’t had a lemon meringue pie since I was a kid. I’ll cut us both a slice and we can take it onto the terrace.”

  “I made it for you.”

  “I believe in indulgence at all times, but even I can’t eat an entire pie myself.”

  “You’re on your own here? I assumed you’d have lots of staff.”

  “I’m the only permanent resident, although I am subject to a regular invasion from London. My long-suffering housekeeper occasionally visits and rescues me from the depths of my own mess. Her husband does the gardens and the pool. They live in the cottage five-minutes walk from here. They’re around, but not around if that makes sense. They treat me like a son, which is lucky for me.” He cut large slices. “This looks incredible.” His accent was somewhere between an American drawl and a soft Irish lilt. She decided she could listen to him talk all day.

  “The eggs are organic. They’re from the Anderson farm.” Why on earth had she told him that? He probably couldn’t be less interested.

  “I never eat eggs from anywhere else.” The laughter in his eyes made her flustered.

  “You’re teasing me.”

  “I’m not. My freezer is also full of their organic, grass-fed beef. I virtually subsidize that place, but still he takes pleasure in driving his tractor at a snail’s pace and making me late for everything. He’s determined to slow the pace of my life from turbo to tractor. He has the biggest scowl in the West Country.”

  She’d expected Finn Cool to be aloof, and to try and get rid of her as quickly as possible. She hadn’t expected him to be warm and approachable. She’d smiled more since she’d walked into his house than she had in the past week. Month?

  His phone rang but he ignored it. “Drink?”

  “Oh—it’s far too early for me but thank you.”

  “I was thinking tea or coffee.” He pulled two mugs from a cupboard. “Despite the scurrilous rumors you might hear in the village, I do try and spend at least part of the day sober.”

  “I didn’t mean—” She backed away, embarrassed again. “I need to leave. This is too awkward.”

  “You don’t need to leave. You need to relax. Come into the garden. It’s impossible to frown while listening to the sounds of the ocean and indulging in lemon meringue pie. Cappuccino? My machine makes the best cup you’ll ever drink.”

  She accepted his offer and a few minutes later was sitting on a large terrace with the sun on her face and the sea breeze gently lifting the edges of her hair. Below them was the swimming pool, and beyond that the sea.

  Palm trees shaded one side of the terrace and the dogs sped off across the lawn, rolling over each other as they played.

  “It always amazes me that palm trees grow here in Cornwall. My mother has the same in the corner of her garden.”

  “I know. She’s given me a lot of advice on this garden. Even a few cuttings.”

  Her mother had given cuttings to a rock star.

  It felt unreal. She, Liza Lewis, was sitting in what was probably the most expensive house in the west of England, with Finn Cool.

  The twins would have been impressed. Except they wouldn’t have taken the time to ask her what she was doing.

  It felt good to have this tiny slice of herself that no one else knew about.

  “This place is incredible. Has my mother ever been here?”

  “Many times.” He sliced off a piece of lemon meringue.

  “I had no idea. And what I don’t understand,” Liza said, “is why she’d make such a point of insisting I come down here to keep an eye on the cat, when she knew you were keeping an eye on the cat. Why didn’t she tell me?”

  “That, I can’t answer.” He devoured the lemon meringue pie as if he hadn’t seen food for a month. “Could she have had another reason for wanting you to be here?” Dark glasses made it impossible to see his expression, but she had a feeling he was watching her closely.

  She thought about the tense few nights her mother had spent with them before she’d driven her to the airport. She tried to remember exactly when her mother had asked her to keep an eye on the cat.

  It had been at the last minute, after a conversation about how Liza put everyone else first.

  Could her mother have been intervening? No, she wouldn’t do that.

  Would she?

  The idea settled in her mind. “It’s possible that she wanted to encourage me to take a break. And if she’d told me you were keeping an eye on Popeye, I wouldn’t have come. Popeye was the excuse. I haven’t told her I’m here yet. I need to call her.”

  Her mother had noticed that something was wrong. She’d cared enough to try and help, even if her methods were a little clumsy.

  She was surprised by how good it felt.

  A bird skimmed the swimming pool and fluttered away again. Bees hummed in the bushes and a bright blue butterfly fluttered around the terracotta pots that surrounded the terrace.

  She felt the sun burning her face and felt more peaceful and relaxed than she had in a long time.

  Finn scraped the last of the crumbs from his plate. “You need an excuse to take a break?”

  “I’m not good at it.” She picked up her fork and took a small mouthful of her own pie, savoring the sharp, lemony flavor.

  “What is it you do? No, wait—” he lifted a finger “—let me guess. You’re in charge of a major corporation and without you to keep it afloat thousands of people would lose their jobs.”

  This time he was definitely teasing her.

  “I’m an art teacher.”

  He pushed his plate away. “I’m surprised. You have a corporate look about you. I see you working in a glass skyscraper in the city, not a studio. I wouldn’t have guessed artist in a million years.”

  “I’m not really an artist. Not anymore.” Laying claim to that title would have made her feel like a fraud. “I haven’t painted anything in a long time. I teach others to paint.” She taught them about space and form, about tone and texture, about color.

  “But presumably there was a time when you painted yourself?”

  “Yes. I loved it.”

  “Then why don’t you consider yourself to be an artist?”

  Liza considered. “An artist is someone who creates art, and I’m not doing that.”

  “Why not?”

  The question created a layer of intimacy that was at odds with their brief and casual acquaintance.

  “It was squeezed out by other things. And you’ll probably say that we can always make time for something we want to do, but—”

  “No, I understand. Creativity requires space and time, and those two things are in short supply in the world
we live in. Your brain is crushed under the weight of mundane demands.” He steered a wasp away from the table. “Being overwhelmed can zap every last drop of creativity from your cells.”

  How could this man who didn’t know her, understand so perfectly? “You sound as if you know.”

  “Why do you think I’m living here? Although I also have the advantage of being intrinsically selfish, which helps.” He gave a half smile and stood up. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

  She followed him across the terrace, down steps to the tranquil pool area and then across the lawns to the sea. A small sandy path led steeply down to the small beach protected on both sides by cliffs. Here the Atlantic Ocean crashed onto the shore, surging forward and then retreating. The rhythm was mesmerizing, the wildness a contrast to the sheltered stretch of beach on the estuary near Oakwood Cottage with its sun-drenched sand dunes.

  “I didn’t even know this existed.”

  “It was the reason I bought the house.” He headed down the path and she followed.

  Halfway down they passed a life preserver, secured to a post.

  He gestured to it. “In case someone goes for a midnight dip during one of the many wild, drunken parties I’m rumored to throw between these walls.”

  She trod carefully, trying not to slip. “I’ve seen the way you drive your car, so at least some of the rumors are true.”

  He flashed her a grin. “Cars are my vice.”

  “The roads around here are frustratingly twisty and narrow for a fast car.”

  “The problem isn’t the roads. It’s the other drivers.”

  The dogs bounded past her and would have knocked her off balance if he hadn’t shot out a hand to steady her.

  “Sorry. They have no concept of civilized behavior. They forget we don’t all balance on four legs.” He kept hold of her hand as they headed down the path and she was conscious of his fingers, wrapped tightly around hers. She felt as if she should tug her hand away, but left it there until they reached the bottom of the path.

  Liza slid off her shoes and felt instant relief as her bare feet touched the soft sand. The beach was secluded and private. It was like stepping into another world.

  “Do people ever climb over the cliffs?”

  “No. Too steep. They try coming across the fields but fortunately the farmer keeps his bull two fields across in that direction—” he waved an arm “—so that’s a kind of built-in security. They can come by road, but I have Kathleen to protect me from that.”

  Liza closed her eyes briefly and breathed in salt air and sunshine. Her usual daily view was buildings and streets choked with traffic and people. Her soundtrack was engines, car horns, airplanes overhead. Now there was nothing but sea, sky and seabirds.

  She opened her eyes. “How does my mother protect you?”

  “She has numerous interesting strategies. She misdirects people. Sends them across country, or to the next village. Occasionally she pretends to be deaf and lets them shout louder and louder until they give up.” He took off his glasses. His hair was tangled and tousled from the breeze, his eyes were bright with laughter. “She’s never told you?”

  “Would it damage your ego to tell you that she barely mentions you?”

  His smile deepened. “It would confirm my suspicion that she’s probably the best neighbor on the planet.”

  Liza rolled up the bottom of her trousers. The pale skin around her feet and ankles was evidence that she hadn’t stayed still long enough for her skin to see the sun. She needed to do something about that, and she definitely needed to do something about her wardrobe which was entirely unsuited to relaxation or beach life.

  “How often do you see her?”

  “Most weeks when I’m here.” He stooped to pick up a shell. “We drink coffee in her garden, or she comes up here to swim in the pool and we have a glass of something cold afterward.”

  “Every week?” Liza couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “She swims in your pool?”

  “She used to swim twice a day in the sea, but after she had that dizzy spell I persuaded her that the pool was safer.”

  Dizzy spell?

  If she asked him for details he’d think she was a terrible daughter. And there was no point in asking herself why her mother hadn’t mentioned it. She would have been afraid Liza would have lectured her on safety. And no doubt she would have done exactly that.

  Maybe she was a terrible daughter. She’d been trying to help and protect, but in doing so had cut herself off from a large part of her mother’s life. Her constant urging to stay safe didn’t have any impact on her mother, who always did exactly as she pleased. All it did was encourage her to keep things from Liza, to avoid any fuss. But it seemed she didn’t keep things from Finn.

  “She took your advice and stopped swimming in the sea?”

  “Not at first, but I told her that if her body were to wash up on the shore one evening she might ruin one of my beach parties. She laughed and agreed to use the pool instead.” He glanced at her. “Glenys, my housekeeper, is always around when she uses the pool so she’s safe enough.”

  Liza tried to think of a time she and her mother had shared a conversation that made them both laugh.

  “You’re fond of her.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have parents or grandparents alive. I guess I see Kathleen as someone older and wiser.”

  “Really?” That wasn’t how she saw her mother at all. “I tend to think of her as reckless. She gives me constant anxiety attacks.”

  “I guess it’s different when it’s your mother.” He walked to the water. “Has she always been the way she is?”

  “Stubborn?”

  “I was going to say adventurous. Bold.”

  “I suppose so, yes.”

  “Must have made for an interesting childhood.”

  It had made for a lonely childhood. But that wasn’t something she intended to discuss with Finn Cool.

  “I always got good grades in geography. I’m the person you want on your team in a pub quiz.”

  “I watched a few of her old shows on the internet. Incredible. She had such presence.”

  She hadn’t watched The Summer Seekers since she was a child. They reminded her of absences. “She has them all on DVD.”

  “You’re kidding.” The breeze had blown strands of hair across his face. “But they would have been shot on 16mm film, surely?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is that they gave them to her on DVD as a gift on her sixtieth birthday.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite a gift. On the other hand she was something of a legend. I bet they all adored her. She must have been fun to work with. Are those DVDs in the house?”

  Was he expecting her to invite him over? And how would she feel watching them? She’d always felt mildly resentful of The Summer Seekers. As a child she’d felt it was competition for her mother’s time and affection. “I don’t know where she keeps them, but I can ask.”

  “You should keep them under lock and key. They’re probably collector’s items.” He turned to look at the sea, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “She knows how to live life. And she never conforms to society’s expectations. She was presenting long after other people would have been pushed aside, presumably because she was irreplaceable at the time. And look at her now—most people would expect her to be living in some sort of residential accommodation, and she’s traveling across America.” His shoulders shook with silent laughter. “She’s amazing. She knows how to hunt down every last delicious crumb of happiness and devour it. Most people tread those crumbs into the carpet. You must be pleased that she’s still so active and engaged in life.”

  She felt guilty that she’d ever considered trying to persuade her mother to move out of the house. “Her lifestyle causes me anxiety.” And she’d been thinking about herself, not
Kathleen. In her own way she’d been as selfish as the twins.

  “She’s lucky to have a caring daughter like you.”

  Was she? She had a feeling Kathleen would have chosen an adventure-seeking, globe-trotting daughter.

  There had been a reason she hadn’t wanted Liza to drive her on her special trip.

  She changed the subject. “Martha sent me a photo of her sipping cocktails on a roof terrace in Chicago.” She showed him the photo on her phone and he took it from her, shaded the screen with his hand.

  “Brilliant. Are there more?”

  She leaned across and swiped. “Martha took a photograph of the car.”

  His smile widened. “Well, dammit—she went ahead and rented the Ford Mustang.”

  “You knew she was planning to rent a sports car?”

  “She asked me about cars. Wanted to know what I’d rent if I was doing that trip. Easy enough to answer, because I’ve done that trip—in that car.” He handed the phone back to her. “She’ll have the best time. So who is Martha?”

  “Martha is a stranger who she hired without even checking references. Typical of my mother.” But in fact Martha had proved to be thoughtful. She was sending photos every day, along with amusing updates and videos. It seemed her mother had chosen her companion well. “You seem to know a lot about her trip.”

  He hesitated. “She didn’t talk to you about the planning?”

  “No. I kept waiting for her to ask for help because she hates the internet, but she never did.” She paused. “What are you not telling me?”

  “She’s discreet. I feel I should be too.” He rubbed his hand over his jaw. “My team helped her with the arrangements. As you say, she’s not that comfortable with the internet.”

  “You booked it? Why didn’t she ask me? I would have done it.”

  “I offered. I would have been offended if she’d refused.”

  “I suppose that explains why she stayed in the Presidential Suite in Chicago.”

  “They gave her that? I hoped they would, but it always depends who else is staying of course.”

  “It was thoughtful of you.” She tried not to be hurt that her mother hadn’t turned to her for help. “I misjudged you. I thought you were a complete rogue.”