by Lily Morton
The Summer of
Us
Lily Morton
Books by Lily Morton
Beggar’s Choice Series
1. Promise Me
2. Trust Me
3. Keep Me
Other Novels
The Summer of Us
Text Copyright© Lily Morton 2016
Book cover design by Natasha Snow Designs
www.natashasnowdesigns.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
References to real people, events, organisations, establishments or locations are intended to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organisations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Please purchase only authorized editions
The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following products mentioned in this work of fiction: Vans, Converse, Jaguar, Kindle, Ralph Lauren, Wayfarer Sunglasses, Facebook, Calvin Klein, Breitling, Tag Heuer, Jo Malone, Ralph Lauren, Oliver Spencer, Quiksilver, VBN
Warning
This book contains material that is intended for a mature, adult audience. It contains graphic language, explicit sexual content and adult situations
This book is a spin-off from the Beggar’s Choice series and although it features characters from the series it can be read as a complete standalone.
However, if you are reading it as part of the series, chronologically it’s set during Bram’s book ‘Keep Me’ in the year when Bram and Alys weren’t talking.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Matt and John’s Playlist
Thanks
Contact Me
“One to treasure the rest of your days here
And give you pleasure in so many ways dear
And finally you have found something perfect
And finally you have found … yourself”
Red Hot Chili Peppers ‘Hard to Concentrate’
Prologue
Song: ‘Wouldn’t It Be Good’ by Nik Kershaw
John
I first met the members of the world famous band Beggar’s Choice when their lead singer tried to punch me in the face over a girl. The next time I met them they hired me as their lawyer while two girls fought on the floor.
I thought that was a big enough lifestyle change but little did I know that the biggest change was already happening. I just didn’t know it at the time.
I stand in the kitchen of a penthouse flat belonging to Bram O’Connell, the bass guitarist for rock band Beggar’s Choice, watching the two women roll about on the floor and feeling slightly helpless. I’m clutching a sheaf of legal papers guaranteeing the silence of one of the girls who is currently trading slaps. She’d signed them and agreed not to ever talk about her relationship with Bram before being tackled to the floor by Bram’s lodger, who had taken umbrage at her.
My eyebrows rise before I can help it. This doesn’t normally happen when I’m dealing with land and property disputes, and then I snort at the thought of Michael our senior partner’s face if it did. He might even put down his copy of The Times.
Looking up I catch the eye of Matt Dalton, Bram’s assistant. Wearing dark blue jeans and a faded denim shirt he is leaning against a kitchen cupboard, and rather than watching the floor show he is instead watching me, and the customary look of disapproval of me is once again written all over his face. I sigh because we’d got off to a terrible start last night.
I’d met him when he’d opened the door of Charlie Hudson’s house last night. The lead singer of the band had formed a completely mistaken impression that I was with a girl he was in love with and I’d gone round to try and sort the problem out. Matt had leant against the door looking at me enquiringly which was justifiable as it was one in the morning and obviously not normal visiting hours.
I remember blinking slightly at one of the best looking men that I’d ever seen, lean and tall with shaggy blonde hair, a high cheek boned face and full lips and a friendly open look on his face that had made me instantly warm to him. Unfortunately, his face had kept this friendly expression right up until I’d announced my name and then I’d had to watch his warm brown eyes ice over.
Once I was in the house the situation with Charlie had improved drastically when I’d explained that under no circumstance had I ever touched a hair on his girlfriend’s head or hair from anywhere else for that matter, although that remark had received a frown. The rest of the band had quickly warmed to me after that.
Everyone in fact apart from Matt. From that first second he’d judged me and every time that I’d opened my mouth afterwards a dark look had formed on his face, and it had pissed me off so much that I’d done my normal thing and lapsed into coldness with him, my voice sounding even more cut glass than it normally does. I don’t know why it had hit me on the raw so much because I have a knack of pissing people off at the best of times but it had flicked a nerve.
Coming back to the present I try a humorous quirk of my mouth at him hoping that I don’t look like I’m trying to be superior which has been said before, but he just shakes his head as if I’m making light of the situation and then wades in to try and stop the fight. When the girls have finally been separated I clear my throat and motion for the paperwork to be signed by the witnesses.
Job done I button up my suit jacket and shake hands with Charlie and the others and then to my surprise Matt comes up to walk me to the door. I frantically rack my brains for something to say that will make him soften towards me, and unfortunately my mouth opens independently of my brain’s orders. “Some people use pay per view for that.” I hear the words come out with an internal grimace of horror. He obviously disapproves of the fighting.
He turns his head slowly to look at me. “For what exactly?” His voice is cold and yet still my mouth babbles on.
“Two girls writhing around on the floor. It’s the stuff that dreams are made of. Even better if their clothes had dropped off and they’d been oiled up.” Oh my God I want to punch myself in the fucking throat to stop talking. I sound like a total public school douchebag.
“I wouldn’t know,” he says stiffly. “I’m gay. I don’t watch your weird straight boy porn.”
I open my mouth to apologise and to tell him that I don’t even watch porn. I don’t have bloody time for it to start with. However, I run out of time to halt this disastrous impression that he has of me, as he opens the door for me and gestures me through like I’m a fucking door to door salesman.
My next words come out clipped and cool. “Well I’m sure that I’ll see you around.”
“Hope not,” he says just as coldly and shuts the door in my face.
Chapter 1
Song: ‘Supreme’ by Robbie Williams
Five Months Later
John
I lean back in my seat dimly aware of the jaw dropping view of London’s skyline from my office window but focused more on the husky voice of Beggar’s Choice lead singer Charlie Hudson.
“So let me get this straight you’ve bought sight unseen a villa in
the hills above Cannes which you’ve now found to be a crumbling wreck that requires an extensive building overhaul before it’s even remotely liveable?” I say slowly.
There’s a small pause and then he laughs. “Well when you put it like that it does sound a bit fucking stupid, but mate the view is to die for.”
“Yes, but the lack of windows does tend to detract from that.”
He psaws. “That’s just details John. Nothing that a little money thrown at it won’t hurt.”
“A little? This is the South of France that we’re talking about. Enjoy being a multimillionaire while you can Charlie because when this is finished you won’t be.”
“Blah blah blah you’re such a fucking pessimist John.”
“That’s what you pay me for Charlie, and why am I only hearing about this now? As your lawyer these tiny frivolous details about buying houses tend to be quite interesting to me.”
“I paid cash mate. Mabe and I had a weekend there and came across it. My wife took one look at it and fell in love with it instantly so I tracked down the old man that owns it. He inherited it from an aunt and never lived in it so it’s been empty for years. I offered him money and after a bit of haggling he took the offer and he’s bought himself a modern house in the city instead.”
“How much haggling?”
“Well I had to promise him our first born, but you know I think Mabe will be fine with that when she sees the view.”
“You’re so funny. What did she say when you unveiled your grand gesture?”
There’s a pause. “Well she doesn’t exactly know yet.”
“Why?”
“Well I want it to be a surprise. You know the South of France was where she first told me that she was in love with me, and it might be silly and sentimental but I want to produce it on our anniversary as her present. Obviously it would be better if her first anniversary present wasn’t a crumbling wreck.”
“First anniversary present is traditionally paper isn’t it? That could be your divorce papers if you leave her in the dark on things. You know how she is about grand gestures and keeping secrets.”
“Sometimes I hate that you know us so well.”
I smile because I do know them well. In fact I count them amongst my closest friends, not that there’s too many of them. I’m too private and contained a person to embrace vast groups of friends. However, the members of the band are definitely in there. “I do know you well which is why I’m wondering why you’re ringing me with this fait accompli.”
“Ooh fancy words. Bet you’re wearing a three piece suit while you speak.”
I smirk. “No only a studded thong. You’ve interrupted me in my lunch hour.”
I hear the sound of fake gagging and laugh out loud before glancing round self-consciously to check that no one heard me. I don’t know why I do this when I have a private office, but old habits die hard. “Spit it out Charlie because this call is costing you £300 an hour.”
“You’ve got me on a meter?” he says in an indignant voice which is spoilt by the thread of laughter running through it. “Okay the thing is I may own the villa fair and square but there’s going to be a lot of paperwork and building regs if I’m going to get the work done and I’m sort of on a time limit.”
“What time limit?”
“Three months.”
I sit bolt upright. “Three months! Didn’t you mention some slightly long winded projects like a new roof?”
“Yep and I don’t have anyone to ask advice from.”
“I’m not licensed to practice law in France.”
“I know. I’ve got a French lawyer for that. Bill our manager got hold of him for me, but you speak fluent French don’t you?”
“I do,” I say suspiciously.
“Thought so. The point is I’m not going to be there and I may be a debonair multimillionaire and a devastatingly handsome man, but I’m also not a twat and no one is going to swindle me.”
“Charlie you’re not asking me to oversee building work are you?” I ask disbelievingly, but he laughs.
“Fuck no. I can’t picture you doing that. I’ve got someone else in mind for that. What I need to know is whether you’re still taking that sabbatical to write your book and prepare for your visiting lectures?”
“I am. I just never realised that underneath that ditsy exterior you actually listen to the words that I say.”
“Fuck off,” he says peaceably. “What I’m getting round to asking is whether you’re still planning to decamp to your place in France?”
I have a villa in the hills above Cannes which is actually where Charlie and his wife Mabe first got together. I’d loaned it to her and my best friend Viv, who’s a paralegal in the law firm at which I’m a partner and also Mabe’s best friend.
“I am. I leave next week and I’m staying there through the summer and then I’m back home in time for the lectures in October at University College in London.”
“Would you be okay to be on the end of the phone if there are any problems or documents that need a second look at?”
“Of course I will Charlie. I’ll help in any way I can, you know that.”
“Thanks mate. I knew that you’d help.”
“Who have you got to oversee the building work? I might know someone if you’re interested. The bloke that did mine was very good.”
“No need mate. I’m going to ask Matt to go over. I’d trust him with my life.”
I’m startled. “I’m surprised Bram’s parting with him without a fight. What will he do without his assistant?”
There’s a long pause before Charlie speaks and when he does there’s an undercurrent of laughter in his voice. “I’m not sure anyone tells Matt what to do John, especially Bram. You’ll find that out.”
My eyes narrow in confusion and I’m about to ask what he means but then another thought occurs to me. “Where are you putting Matt up? It’s busy at this time of the year.”
“I’m not sure yet. I’ll sort something out.”
My mouth opens and to my utter astonishment I hear myself say, “Don’t worry about it, he can stay with me if he wants to.”
There’s a pause. “Are you sure John?”
No, I’m not. This is utterly unlike me. I like my peace and privacy, and I adore my house in France because it’s my home and my sanctuary, and I don’t let others into my space easily. However, my mouth opens independently again. “It’s not a problem. The villa’s big so I’ll hardly know that he’s there, and at least he can find me easily if he’s got any queries.”
After wrapping up the conversation and giving him permission to tell Matt I hang up and swivel my leather chair to look out over the city, but my attention is elsewhere and my mind instantly conjures up the events of the last few months.
After that inauspicious first meeting with the band I’d thought that I’d only see them again for legal matters, but instead it had led to a surprising raft of friendships with the men who proved to be friendly, sociable, funny and loyal. I’d therefore come into contact a lot with Matt because he’s one of Bram’s best friends and has known the group since they were kids, and so is firmly in their inner sanctum.
However, while the other men had warmed up to me he hadn’t, and he’d remained distant and wary of me. Watching him with the other men I’d quickly realised that this wasn’t normal for him. He’s funny, laid back and extremely sociable with a warm manner that people love, but with me he’d maintained a wary distance.
The knowledge had been surprisingly sharp to me. I’m not an easy man and there are plenty of people who don’t like me, but it had stung slightly that this man who liked everyone, didn’t like me. I therefore can’t believe that I just invited him to stay with me for the summer.
My thoughts are interrupted by the buzz of my intercom and my secretary Carol’s voice. “Mr Harrington your wife is here.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to remind her that she’s my ex-wife but I hold my fire as bitterness won’t
get me anywhere apart from embarrassment in front of my secretary. I depress the button. “Show her in Carol.”
There’s a soft knock on the door and the middle aged figure of my secretary pops her head round the door, her mouth twisted into a slight moue of displease. She hates Bella and always has. I smirk at her as I stand up buttoning the jacket of my three piece, navy pinstriped suit, before moving forward to greet the figure of the woman who I swore to love and honour four years ago before she shafted me.
She wafts into the room on a wave of expensive perfume. Her hair is perfectly coiled on the back of her neck and she looks cool and beautiful in a lemon coloured sheath dress which highlights the length of her legs and the fullness of her breasts. “Bella,” I say coolly, sliding my hand around her waist and pressing my lips to her cheek. She’s cold to the touch. Sometimes towards the end of our marriage I’d found myself wondering whether there was any part of her that was warm or if she was ice all the way through.
I dismiss that traitorous thought and motion her to the seating area positioned in a corner of the room looking out over the city. “Sit down Bella and tell me what’s brought you here.”
She looks at me coyly. “Do I need an excuse? I never needed one before.”
“Of course not,” I say urbanely, resisting the urge to say that had probably been before she served me with divorce papers.
I settle down on the chair opposite her looking at her blankly until she squirms. Interesting.
“I saw your mother yesterday,” she says hastily.
“Oh yes?”
“Yes she was at a lady’s luncheon that I attended. She asked me to say hello to you.”
I stare at her wondering whether she thinks that this is normal behaviour. A mother passing on a ‘hello’ message to a son that she hasn’t seen in months through his ex-wife who she sees most weeks. I look at Bella. Of course she doesn’t think it’s odd. She and my mother are cut from the same cloth.
