Three Weeks Last Spring
By Victoria Howard
First Published as a Kindle e-book in 2011
© Copyright 2009 Victoria Howard
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to places, events, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
eBook cover design by Mae Phillips at:
www.Babyfreshdesigns.com
For more information about Victoria Howard’s books, please visit:
www.victoriahoward.co.uk
Dedication
For my Goddaughter Suzanne,
who for one so young,
has faced so much and always with a smile
Acknowledgements
To Daphne Rose, Lesley Dennison, and Dorothy Roughley for their encouragement, support and tolerance, in reading every page as it came off the printer. I couldn’t have done this without you, and I’m honored to call you my friends.
George Bennett, a published author in his own right, deserves my thanks for his guidance, and generosity in showing ‘the new kid on the block’ the way. Without your help, this book would never have been completed.
And finally, to Stephen, my thanks for his patience, support and belief that I really could write this novel.
Chapter One
England April 1999
Skye Dunbar stood by the window and looked out across the meadow, and waited for the transatlantic phone call to connect. It had been a miserable weekend—dull, wet and cold, cold as the heart that beat inside her breast. She glanced at her watch, and calculated the time difference between London and San Francisco.
After a few rings, a sleepy American voice answered.
"Hello?"
"Debbie? It's Skye. Did I wake you?"
"Not really, I was lying here thinking about getting up. Talk to me, you sound anxious."
Skye took a deep breath. "I’ve decided to take a month’s sabbatical. I've contacted American Airlines and have an option on a flight leaving in a week’s time. They're holding it for the next twenty-four hours."
"Why, that's great. You need to get away and you know San Francisco loves you."
"Actually, Debbie, that's why I’m calling, I'm not flying to San Francisco. I'm going to Seattle and—"
"Skye, you can't possibly want to spend a month there, not after all that happened last year."
"I can't explain why, but I need to go back." Skye twisted a strand of her hair between her fingers while she waited for Debbie's response.
"I don't understand, and if you want my advice, you’ll come here and stay with me. After all that lying bastard put you through, I’m amazed that you can even contemplate being within one thousand miles of Washington State. Please, come here and stay with me. We can visit all our old haunts—Fisherman's Wharf, Chinatown. We can go for a drink in the John Barleycorn and listen to that folk singer you liked so much. If that doesn’t appeal, then we could hire a car and drive along the coast. You haven't seen the Marin Headlands or Monterey yet. And if you wait until I get to the office on Monday I'll see if I can beg for some vacation time. Perhaps we could meet somewhere else. How about Vermont?"
"That's a lovely thought, Debbie, and I do want to see Vermont, but in the Fall. Please, save your vacation time. This is just something I have to do on my own. I can't explain why. I go to bed at night and in my dreams I see this figure on a beach. I know it's me. It sounds crazy, I know, and I really don't expect you to understand. Just give me your blessing and tell me that if I need you, you’ll be there for me, okay?"
"I guess you know what is in your heart, although I really do worry about you, Skye. You have to put what happened behind you and move on. So, tell me, just where are you going?"
"I've rented a cabin on the San Juan islands."
"You've done what? No one goes to the San Juan Islands in the middle of April. It’s too cold for one thing and Friday Harbor will be deserted. What will you do there for a whole month on your own?"
"I thought I would catch up on some reading, go walking and generally enjoy the scenery."
"Hmm, I don't know. If you ask me, the last thing you need is to be by yourself. However, now that you've made your mind up I don't suppose there's much I can say to dissuade you. But promise me, if you become too upset or lonely up there, you’ll get on the first available plane to me, here in San Francisco. Deal?"
"Deal. And, Debbie," Skye hesitated before continuing, "thanks for understanding. You’re the best friend anyone could ask for. As soon as I finalize my plans I'll let you know."
Skye replaced the receiver and turned once more to look out of the window. Was she being stupid wanting to go back to the Pacific Northwest? What would it achieve? Would it even put her mind at rest? They were questions she couldn't answer, yet in her heart she knew she was doing the right thing.
She’d met Michael while on a visit to Debbie the year before. He’d knocked her to the ground while roller skating in Golden Gate Park. He’d helped her up, and insisted on buying her a coffee. Coffee had somehow turned into lunch and before they realized it they had spent the whole afternoon together. Skye was due to fly home the following day and Michael insisted she give him her address. She had agreed, but hadn’t really expected him to keep in touch. Six weeks later, returning home after a particularly fractious day at work, she had found his letter waiting on her doormat.
That initial letter, like those that followed, had been read and re-read time and time again, the words feeling as if they were almost engraved on her heart. Finally, in January Michael had written asking her to visit.
Skye quickly pushed the thought of him out of her mind. She had so much to accomplish in the coming days that daydreaming wasn't a luxury she could afford. Her flight confirmed, and the cabin booked, she needed to concentrate on clearing her diary. Then all she had to do was pack a suitcase and get on that plane.
The following week passed in a blur. She arrived at the office early and brought all her files up to date for John, her business partner, to take over in her absence.
They’d met at university shortly after Skye's mother's death, and been good friends ever since. John had been a Graduate Teaching Assistant when Skye had started her degree course. At thirty-nine, he was five years Skye's senior. Six feet tall, and of muscular build, with brown eyes and unruly curly hair, he had a smile that could melt the iciest of hearts.
When Skye graduated, she and John set up business together. Years of long hours and neglected vacations had finally begun to pay off and their services were in demand by major corporations all over the world. But despite the success they experienced, their relationship never passed beyond friendship.
None of Skye’s closest friends knew what she did for a living, apart from the fact that she was a high-level executive, and whatever it was, she didn’t like to talk about it. In another few months, she and John would be making a presentation to Government officials in the hope of securing an exclusive contract—top secret, and most the most demanding of their respective careers.
The day before Skye was due to leave she scheduled a meeting with him.
"Skye, what are you going to do with an entire month's leave? You'll be bored by the end of the second week, and you know how busy things can get here. There is still a lot of testing to do."
"I realize that, but you said you could handle it. The code is complete, so you really don't need me."
"This has to do with what happened between you and that navy guy last year, hasn't it? I wish you'd tell me what brought you scuttling back two weeks earlier than p
lanned. I told you not to trust a guy in uniform and in particular a sailor, but you didn’t listen. What you need is a real man, not one of these military types who still play with the action man they got as a child."
"And just who did you have in mind—yourself?"
John ignored her comment. "You've been like a scared rabbit ever since you returned. You never go out; you're slowly becoming a recluse. You spend every waking hour here at the office. Just what did the bastard do to you?"
"I don't wish to discuss my love life, or lack of one with you. And what if I do spend all my time here? At least the work gets done and we are ahead of schedule on one or two projects."
"Look, love, I know something happened and whatever it was, it must have been something major to have affected you this way. But you have to pick up your social life. You can't continue to bury yourself in your work or it will make you ill. You'll meet someone else and I promise you if he really loves you he won't hurt you. Besides if you’re frightened of being left on the shelf you could always marry me."
"I appreciate your concern, John. But, you and I both know that while our business relationship works, a more personal one wouldn't. You're not the type to settle down, so just leave it there before one of us says something we'll regret. Now about the Jones account—"
"Before we get back to business hear me out. Professionally you're one of the most logical people I know. You've an eidetic memory and know instinctively when a project is about to go pear-shaped. You're a shrewd and ruthless businesswoman when necessary. You've even got a temper to go with the color of your hair, but then nobody's perfect. But having said all that, you're just a big softie at heart." John reached across the table and gave Skye’s hand a reassuring squeeze.
"What I can't understand is why you couldn't see that guy was trouble." Skye’s expression told him he’d over-stepped the mark. "If you must go on this idiotic trip, will you at least let me take you to the airport on Sunday?"
Skye smiled. Only her voice betrayed mild annoyance. "Thank you for that character analysis. Remind me to return the favor one day. I am quite capable of organizing a taxi. But if you feel you must, then I'll accept your offer. Check-in is at noon."
"In that case, I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty."
Sunday dawned warm and sunny, and although early April the daffodils were already in bloom. As she showered and dressed, Skye couldn't help wondering if this was the new beginning she was seeking or whether she was just being plain stupid.
A short time later, she heard John's BMW pull into the drive. She took one last look around the house, picked up her suitcase and opened the door.
"Ready, Sweet Pea?" John asked. "Have you got your tickets, passport and packed everything you need?"
"I think so." Skye snatched her purse off the hall table.
"It’s not too late to change your mind you know. Even Debbie thinks you're slightly crazy for wanting to do this," John said, making one last attempt at getting her to stay.
Skye stopped in her tracks. "You've been talking to Debbie, behind my back?"
"Actually she called me. Now, don't be annoyed with her, she's just concerned about you. Besides, Seattle wasn't exactly the happiest of places for you, now was it?"
"I wish you two would accept that this is something I need to do, instead of hounding me to change my mind. I don't want to argue with you. I have to go through with this. I don't expect you or Debbie to understand. You're both good friends and I know you have my interest at heart, but please allow me to do this and don't tell me I told you so, if I come home in tears."
John put his arms round her diminutive frame and gave her a hug. "I just don't want to see you hurt again, that's all."
"I know. But if you don't put that suitcase in the car, I’ll miss my flight."
They hardly spoke during the journey to the airport, John sensing that Skye needed to be alone with her thoughts. He repeatedly glanced across at the figure beside him. She seemed so small, so vulnerable and yet beneath that very feminine exterior he knew there was a strength and stamina that defied her appearance. Still, she had taken such an emotional beating over the last year that he couldn't help wanting to protect her from more hurt.
Forty minutes later he drove into the car park in front of Terminal four at Heathrow Airport. John collected Skye's luggage from the boot. He walked round to the passenger side of the car and opened the door.
They walked into the terminal where Skye completed the check-in formalities for her flight. John accompanied her as far as Passport Control. He took her into his arms, gave her a hug, and kissed the top of her head.
"Have a good journey, Sweet Pea. Get some rest and lay that ghost. Then come back and be prepared to do some work," he grinned.
Skye wiped away a stray tear at his use of her nickname, and tried hard to smile. "I'll do my best." Without a backward glance, she showed her passport to the official and walked through to departures.
She found a seat close to the gate, and took out her book. But she couldn't concentrate on the words and gave up reading, amusing herself by watching people in the terminal, wondering where they were all going to and the reasons for their journey.
Time passed quickly, and soon her flight was called. She took her seat in business class, and settled down for the long journey, fervently hoping that the seat beside her would remain unoccupied. The last thing she wanted was to spend twelve hours next to someone who wished to talk all the way to Seattle. Luckily, her wish was granted, for within fifteen minutes of boarding, the flight attendant closed the door and the aircraft pushed back from the ramp. As the plane taxied towards the runway, Skye suffered one last moment of self-doubt, but she knew it was too late to turn back. Seconds later, she felt the increased tempo of the Boeing 747's engines as it thundered down the runway. After what seemed like an eternity the huge plane lifted gracefully into the air.
Skye read a little and slept as the plane sped across the Atlantic. She was startled awake when the landing gear hit the ground. She shook her head to regain her focus, and looked out of the window. The terminal buildings looked as grey and uninspiring as they had a year ago.
Having completed the Immigration formalities, the delay at Customs was only mildly annoying. The usual questions and then ‘have a nice day.’ She made her way to the rental car desk and collected the keys to the car she had organized. Within minutes, she was manoeuvering the vehicle out of the parking lot and down the ramp on to Interstate 5.
She didn’t have far to travel to her hotel and soon found herself being shown to a room on the third floor. Among its facilities, the hotel boasted a large swimming pool, an atrium garden filled with wildly colored tropical plants, and an excellent restaurant.
After breakfast, Skye consulted her road map, tracing her route north. The hotel receptionist told her that it would take roughly two hours, depending on traffic, to drive the seventy or so miles to Anacortes.
As she had time to spare, she decided to do a little sight-seeing. She found a place to park close to the ferry terminal on Alaskan Way. Many of the shops were empty, and Skye found she could browse at will. She climbed the Harbor steps, and stopped to admire the fountain, before continuing her walk along First Avenue to Pike Place Market.
She wasn’t due to check into the hotel in Anacortes until early evening, so strolled as far as the Westlake Centre and then caught the monorail to the Space Needle. For once the weather was kind to her, unlike her previous visit, when the sky had clouded over. Today there was hardly a cloud visible, although it was a little on the cool side.
The panoramas from the observation deck were stunning—well worth the white-knuckle ride in the express elevator. Far below she could see a State ferry leaving for one of the islands in Puget Sound. A few small sailing boats where out on Elliot Bay, taking advantage of the fine weather. Skye leaned against the safety rail and looked out across the bay, and remembered the postcard she had received from Michael.
Skye glanced at her wa
tch and was amazed to see that she had been standing daydreaming about what might have been for nearly an hour. Annoyed for having allowed Michael into her thoughts yet again, she rode the elevator down to ground level. She quickened her pace as she walked down Broad Street and on to Alaskan Way, past the Aquarium and Omnidome until she reached Ivar’s restaurant. There she found a table overlooking the bay, and ordered a bowl of clam chowder and a pot of coffee.
After her meal she returned to the car and drove out of the city on Interstate 5, towards Anacortes. According to her guidebook, the bustling port of Anacortes was founded in 1877. Shipyards, seafood processing facilities, and tourism all contributed to the local economy. Spectacular panoramas, combined with exclusive real estate, yacht charters and marina facilities brought residents and visitors alike to the area. Judging by the number of expensive cars in the town, Skye had no doubt the book was correct.
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