The Summer Without You (50 page)

‘Which survey is this?’ Ro asked, trying to remain in the debate, painfully aware of Ted Connor’s stare sweeping over to her every few minutes. What did he
want
?

‘It’s examined the severe erosion on the Sound-side view of Montauk Harbor jetties. They say there’s evidence the area has been over-dredged by at least eighty-six thousand
cubic tons of sand.’ Florence looked back at Brook. ‘And that’s just the surplus! No wonder the area’s so vulnerable. I’m going to be calling for a review of the
dredging companies operating in the East End area at the next meeting. The ten-year permits come up for renewal in October and I think it’s the right time to really sit down and examine who
we’re giving the business to—’

Brook shook his head dismissively. ‘This is precisely the kind of time-wasting delay I’m talking about. People need action, not surveys. Winter is on its way round to us and
we’re like sitting ducks.’

Ro put her hand up, feeling like she had to request permission to speak. ‘Uh . . . so anyway, my headache.’

Florence laughed, drawn out of her debate at last. ‘Oh, Rowena. You are
too
polite, standing there listening to us old warhorses battling it out while you’re feeling so
bad.’ She gathered Ro in an embrace. ‘Let’s have breakfast and an early morning swim together soon.’

‘How are you getting home?’ Brook asked.

‘I’ll get a cab.’ She eyed the street for a lit taxi sign. Oh, what she’d do to see the Humper right now, but she knew Hump was settled in for a quiet night with Bobbi.
She was still subdued from the funeral yesterday, and only Ro’s manners had propelled her out here tonight.

‘Nonsense. Take my car. My driver can come back for me. No doubt Florence and I will still be here disagreeing violently.’ He raised his arm before Ro could protest further and a
driver stepped out of the silver Mercedes parked by the kerb.

‘Well, if you’re sure it’s not too much trouble . . .’ Ro said hesitantly.

‘Just make sure he doesn’t take the long way home. I do enough walking on the fairways without adding more miles to these poor feet of mine.’

‘Thanks. I really appreciate it.’

She kissed them both goodbye and walked quickly across the pavement, as the driver opened the door for her and she slid into the toffee-coloured leather seats and air-conditioned comfort. The
windows were black-tinted and impossible to see into.

The driver was just getting into his seat when the passenger-side door opened.

‘Oh, you did
not
just do that!’ Ro exclaimed in alarm, as Ted turned to face her, like it was the most natural thing in the world that he should be sitting there.

‘You
are
trying to escape me,’ he said.

‘N-no!’ she protested, wild thoughts running through her head.

‘So then why did you go running when you saw me coming over to talk to you?’

‘Why did you come running over when you saw me talking to your girlfriend?’ she shot back.

‘Good question . . .’ He looked quizzical. ‘And I’m not sure.’

‘Ma’am, is everything OK back there?’ It was the driver, talking to her through the intercom system. The privacy panel was shut, but she could make out his silhouette.

Ted held up his hands. ‘I’ll get out if you want me to. I just thought we could talk.’

‘About
what
?’

‘. . . The children’s photography session?’ he said.

Yeah, right. The thought had clearly only just occurred to him. ‘Now? What about Julianne?’

‘She’s haggling over Bambi. She won’t notice if I’m gone for ten minutes.’

‘Ma’am?’ It was the driver again.

‘Uh . . . God, fine. Yes. It’s fine,’ she grumbled, doing a thumbs-up sign for good measure, not sure she had pressed the correct button. ‘Sea Spray Cottage, Egypt Lane,
please.’

The car began to roll forward and she settled herself on the seat, legs away from him, while she fiddled with her seat belt.

‘It’s OK – you’re pretty protected in a car like this,’ Ted said, watching her fidget.

‘I don’t want to be an elephant.’

‘An elephant?’ he repeated.

‘Yes. In a car accident, if you’re not wearing a seat belt, the forward momentum of impact makes the person in the rear seat hit the seat of the person in front with the same weight
as an elephant. It’s one of the commonest causes of death in traffic accidents.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ Ted grinned. ‘Although I guess the driver’s safe today at least. There’s a wall between you and him.’ Ro arched an eyebrow and he
quickly turned and grabbed his seat belt. ‘Principle, though, I agree,’ he murmured, buckling up.

They sat in silence for a minute, Ted intermittently looking across as Ro clasped her hands between her knees, trying not to jiggle.

‘So . . . you wanted to talk about shooting the kids,’ she said finally.

‘
What?
’

Ro laughed hard at his mistake. Too hard. Either her nerves were getting the better of her or the wine
had
gone to her head after all. ‘I don’t mean with bullets, you numpty.
Shooting film. The photography session.’

‘Did you just call me a “numpty”?’

‘That’s right,’ she replied, trying to stop an unstoppable smile. Definitely the wine.

‘That some British word for a jerk?’

‘Something like that.’ She recovered herself, clearing her throat. ‘Sorry.’

‘No,’ he murmured, looking out of the window. ‘I rather liked it.’

She caught his profile as though she was seeing it through the lens – the straight sweep of his nose, the deep swoop of his lashes, the soft curl of his hair that needed a cut soon . .
.

‘So . . . the children.’ He looked over at her, but she found it almost impossible to hold his gaze. She couldn’t lie like he could; she couldn’t hide behind a smile. She
couldn’t pretend he was just a client when all the time she was trying to work out his hold over Florence, his motivation. He hid behind his manners all the while the facts stacked up against
him in hers and Florence’s recent misadventures. But which was right: fact or instinct? Which man was he: the man on the films or the man on the beach? How could he be both? She felt she
couldn’t trust her own judgement anymore. Everything was blurred, confused. ‘I thought we could do it on Shelter Island.’

‘Shelter Island?’ She’d heard of it . . .

‘It’s just off Sag Harbor. Not far as the crow flies, but we have to sail over. Obviously – being an island.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve got a place we can use.
It’s pretty. There’s woods, beaches . . .’

‘OK,’ she nodded. ‘That sounds good.’

The car rolled to a gentle halt and she realized they were back at the house already. It was only a few blocks, after all. ‘Oh. This is me.’

‘I’ll walk you to the door,’ Ted said, quickly climbing out of the car before she could protest.

‘Thanks,’ she said reluctantly, as he opened the car door for her. They walked up the short path over the green, then through the gate and onto the porch steps. ‘Um, so when
were you thinking for that? How’s Finn’s hair?’

‘Behaving itself finally.’ He stared down at her, his gaze so steady, so unflinching, so undrunk. ‘I don’t suppose you can do next weekend?’

‘I can’t think of a reason why not.’ She couldn’t think of much, actually. The wine really had hit her.

‘We’ll come pick you up at ten o’clock Saturday?’

She nodded. ‘OK.’

‘Great.’ And without warning, he leaned down and kissed her once on each cheek, his lips soft against her skin, his hands on her arms, their eyes locked in a momentary pause before
he straightened up. ‘Saturday, then.’

Ro watched him go, utterly unable not to, so completely paralyzed it was like her feet had taken root. She watched him get back into the car and the car pull away again. She couldn’t see
if he was looking back at her looking at him through the tinted windows. She carried on looking for at least a minute after the car had gone, trying to regulate her breathing, temper her erratic
pulse, recover from the shock of his touch. It had been nothing, just a social kiss – no different to the ones she had so unthinkingly just given Brook and Florence.

No different. It was the wine, making everything feel . . . different.

Slowly, she turned – and stopped again. Hump was standing behind the screen door, frozen mid-step with a plate of pizza in his hand, watching her.

‘What?’

‘Still frightened of him, are you?’ he asked, as he turned and continued into the kitchen.

No, not frightened, she thought, as she put one trembling hand to her cheek. It felt singed by his touch. Terrified was more like it.