Tara nodded slowly. “That makes sense, I guess.”
“Listening to people is a huge part of my job,” Jules said. “I’m impartial too,” she added, knowing that this was at least her intention, “and that helps a lot. Sometimes people find it too hard to speak to those they love the most. Somebody from the church, somebody who doesn’t have the same emotional investment, can just listen. It’s the same reason why people might be able to talk to a counsellor or the Samaritans.”
The other woman exhaled. “You’re right; of course you are. That’s exactly why Dan can’t talk to me. I’ll get too upset and he’ll always be holding back. I didn’t think of that when I came up here. I just thought that…” She pulled a wry face. “Vicar, I feel really stupid now. I actually thought Danny and you might be having an affair! Isn’t that ridiculous?”
Jules smiled back but inside it felt as though somebody was wrapping barbed wire around her heart. Of course it was ridiculous. She had been ridiculous at best, unprofessional at worst, and she’d allowed herself to grow far too close to Danny. Well, that would have to stop, Jules decided sadly.
Tara didn’t stay much longer – she’d clearly felt far too awkward to come in for a cup of tea – and once she’d departed Jules abandoned her now cold mug of PG tips and headed for her church. She had a sudden longing to be somewhere quiet where she could just be still and close to God. Although she knew that He was always with her, there was a particular kind of serenity in St Wenn’s, with its cool pools of silence and rainbows of light. Tara’s visit and her revelations had been hugely unsettling; Jules needed time to come to terms with what she’d learned and to pray for answers and guidance, both for herself and for the Tremaines. With any luck Sheila Keverne wouldn’t be there. Jules was crossing everything that there would be far too much excitement and gossip going on in the village for her verger to come up to do a spot of brass cleaning today.
As always the church door was unlocked, and as Jules stepped into the nave the stillness immediately soothed her. The smells of polish and old hymn books were comforting and familiar and the atmosphere was blissfully calm, as though the centuries of prayers and deep reflection had seeped into the walls and pews. Jewelled sunshine poured through the stained-glass windows and onto the worn flagstones, revealing dust motes dancing and spinning in the light. The deep recessed windowsills were filled with the flower displays made by Alice, forming bright splashes of colour against the grey stones, which bore plaques honouring the young men of the village whose blood had soaked the faraway fields of the Somme.
Sheila wasn’t there, thank the Lord – but Jules wasn’t alone, which took her by surprise. St Wenn’s was often visited by tourists (those fit and interested enough to wander off the beaten track to find the church, anyway), but this usually happened on wet and miserable days when there wasn’t much else to do. It was unusual to find holidaymakers in here between services on sunny Sundays when there were ice creams and boat trips on offer elsewhere. Jules grabbed one of the guides to the church, a slim leaflet pointing out all the things worth looking at, but as she neared the chancel she realised that this wasn’t a holidaymaker at all: it was Ashley Carstairs.
He was sitting in the second pew from the front and his dark head was bowed as he either prayed or was lost in deep thought. There was less of a difference between these two states than people realised, Jules often thought, and as a vicar it was interesting to learn that people you seldom saw at a service often came into the church at other times. She’d seen Ashley here three times already this week. Jules was thoughtful; he looked troubled.
Hearing her footsteps, Ashley glanced up. Something flickered in his dark eyes when he caught sight of her. Annoyance? Irritation? Jules wasn’t certain but she could tell that he wasn’t pleased to lose his solitude. Instantly he rose to his feet.
“Please, don’t mind me,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m just here to pray.”
But Ashley was already sliding out of the pew. “I was on my way anyhow.”
This was blatantly untrue but Jules decided to ignore it. Just as the dog collar made some people feel reassured, she knew full well that it often had the opposite effect on others; Ashley was clearly one of these folk. Before she could think of the right words to put him at his ease, or point out that he’d left a sheaf of papers behind on the pew, he was striding up the aisle. Seconds later she heard the church door click shut behind him.
Jules sighed then slipped into his vacated pew to scoop up the papers. She’d take them back to the rectory for safekeeping and maybe drop them up to Mariners later. The walk would do her good.
The papers looked important. Legal documents? Jules couldn’t help but glance down at them out of curiosity and was surprised to discover that she was holding a letter from a solicitor, along with the historical deeds to Fernside. This was the piece of land that PAG had been fighting Ashley over, wasn’t it? The remainder of the ancient woodlands that linked Mariners with the lane out of the village, and which kept Ashley’s property inaccessible by road. The last time Jules had attended a PAG meeting (generally she tried to avoid them, as things tended to become very heated) there had been great agitation because apparently Ashley had purchased the woods. Morwenna had been all for a Swampy-style protest with villagers chained to trees and all but singing we shall not be moved while the diggers and bulldozers crept nearer.
Jules frowned. She was totally confused. None of the upset of that meeting made any sense at all now. According to the solicitor’s letter she was holding in her hands, Ashley Carstairs didn’t own the woods at all.
Morwenna Tremaine did.
Chapter 33
Summer let herself into the holiday cottage, closing the door behind her with a soft click. The cottage was open, which surprised her. She guessed she’d left in such a tearing hurry to get to the harbour that she must have forgotten to lock up. She leaned against the back of the door and closed her eyes, savouring the peace and quiet of just being alone in her own space, even if it was borrowed. Being at Seaspray had been wonderful; Jake and later on Alice had been so kind, but after resting for several hours she really felt the need just to be alone. Jake hadn’t wanted her to go but Summer had insisted, and in the end he’d reluctantly walked with her to the bottom of the garden.
“I’ll come and find you later,” he’d said, pressing a kiss onto the top of her head. “No protests, Sums. It’s not up for discussion. I want to check that you’re all right. I’ll send Morgan down in a bit to see if you need anything, and then you really need to get some more rest. It’s been quite a day.”
He wasn’t wrong there, Summer now thought wearily. Her body ached, her head throbbed and she felt as though she could sleep for about a month. It seemed a lifetime ago that she’d heard the dreadful news about her brothers. Her hand rested for a moment on her stomach and her eyes stung with tears. She blinked them away and bit down on her lip until she could taste the metallic taint of blood. Slowly, piece by minute piece, her control returned. There would be plenty of time to grieve later.
It hadn’t even been a day since she’d left this house to wander down to see her parents at Cobble Cottage, but she felt years older. The house too felt different. Its energy had shifted so that, rather than being the quiet haven she’d been enjoying, it made her feel oddly on edge, as though she was being watched from the shadowy corners or spied on from the dark stairwell.
Hormones, she told herself. That was what this was. Her body was in shock, her emotions were reeling and she was all over the place. The cottage was the same as it had always been. This was just her imagination playing tricks on her; the goosebumps dusting her skin and the acceleration of her heart rate were all caused by the trauma she’d been through, nothing more.
If she could fall asleep right now and not wake up for several years, Summer didn’t think she would mind too much. Coffee: that was what she needed. A strong cup of coffee that would jolt her senses awake and hopefully driv
e away this creeping sense of unease.
Grinding her knuckles into her eyes until she saw stars, Summer went to fill the kettle and fetch a mug. It was as she was stretching to pick one from the highest shelf, balancing on her tiptoes to reach it with her fingertips, that she heard a tread on the stair.
The mug flew from the shelf and shattered with a sickening crash. Shards of china peppered the floor – but Summer barely had a moment to register this, because an arm had snaked around her waist, pulling her backwards with such force that she lost her footing.
“Having fun without me, Summer?”
It was Justin.
“Nothing to say?” he hissed, yanking her backwards so roughly that she stumbled and would have fallen were it not for his vice-like grip. “That’s unusual. Or have you been saving all your conversation for your lover up at the big house?” His breath was hot on her neck and, catching the taint of whisky on it, Summer’s insides turned watery with terror. Justin angry because he thought she’d been cheating was one thing. Justin angry and drunk was another entirely.
“He’s not my lover,” she choked, but it was hard to speak when his other arm was pressing against her windpipe. It was hard to breathe, even.
“Liar!” Justin spat. Although she couldn’t see his face Summer knew exactly how it would look. His lips would be drawn back from his teeth in a snarl and his eyes would be blank with rage, all signs of the handsome Dr Jekyll who graced magazine covers and ads for trainers totally eradicated by this violent and jealous Mr Hyde. “I’ve been told exactly what you’ve been up to. You’ve made a fool out of me, you bitch, and nobody does that. Nobody!”
He was dragging her across the kitchen now and towards the stairs. Every jolt of his arm left Summer gasping for air. If he carried on like this he would choke her. How on earth had he got into the cottage? How did he know which one she was in? How had he managed to make his way through the village without being recognised?
These questions raced through her mind but there was no point trying to search for answers. Justin had found her. That was the only fact she needed to worry about.
In the past Summer had been rendered limp with terror when Justin was in this frame of mind, but today she was filled with fury rather than with fear. Maybe it was because she felt that she had nothing left to lose, or maybe it was because she’d finally had enough of being bullied. Who the hell was Justin Anderson to treat her this way? She’d spent most of her adult life on the run from the guilt that had shadowed her for so long and believing that Jake hadn’t loved her enough. Today had turned all of that upside down.
She wasn’t the same person who had fled from their London house. Justin Anderson wasn’t going to push her around anymore.
Summer ducked her head to avoid his hand clamping over her mouth.
“How the hell did you get in?”
Justin laughed. “The key was under the potted bay tree where your friend told me I’d find it. Shit security you country bumpkins have. It wasn’t hard, Summer.”
Who was the friend? Summer’s brain was tying itself into knots as she tried to figure this out. Ella? It had to be.
“Don’t I even get a hello?” he continued. His voice was deceptively friendly, at odds with the strength of his grip. “I’ve driven all this way for you, Summer. You could at least look pleased to see me.”
Summer had been with Justin for long enough to know his moods. This one was particularly dangerous, a faux bonhomie that could flip at any time into white-hot rage. Usually she went rag-doll limp and did as little as possible to aggravate him. Sometimes it worked but mostly it didn’t. Hitting the kitchen island had been one such example. He’d be waiting for her to do exactly that now.
Well he’d been lucky before. This time Summer had nothing to lose.
“I’m not pleased to see you,” she told him, as best she could once his arm was away from her windpipe. “I don’t love you and I don’t want to be with you. It’s over.”
The back of Justin’s hand cracked against the side of Summer’s head with such force that fireworks blazed in front of her eyes.
“You don’t get to decide that,” he snarled. “We’re Justin and Summer, you stupid bitch. We’re a product worth millions. The next Posh and Becks. You don’t get to choose to walk away from that. You don’t get to choose.”
But this was where he was wrong. Things had changed since she’d arrived at Polwenna Bay; they’d changed in ways that Justin couldn’t possibly contemplate. She was no longer the same person who’d walked away from him.
“You need me,” he was saying. “You need the money. How else will you bail your pathetic family out every time? How will they ever afford another boat now unless you cough up? I made you and I can ruin you too.”
It was all rubbish of course. Justin hadn’t made her: Summer had enjoyed success long before she’d met him, but he’d been telling her this for so long now that she’d started to believe it. His constant put-downs and reminders that she was just clinging to the coat-tails of his fame and talent had been mental water torture – a steady drip, drip, drip of negativity into her subconscious. Eventually she’d bought into it. Not now though. Being away from him and back in the place where she’d once belonged and been so happy – and spending time with a man who respected and supported her – had thrown Justin’s lies into sharp relief.
“And when I speak to the papers I can ruin you too!” she gasped.
Justin laughed. “As if they’ll believe you – a slut who’s cheated on a national hero. A man in remission from cancer, too. Your word’s worth nothing compared to mine. You’re just some cheap lads’-mag tart. You’ll never work again by the time I’ve finished.”
Out of the corner of her eye Summer saw the coffee container still on the counter. It was a heavy and very large glass jar which Patsy, being a staunch tea drinker, had donated to her niece. If she could somehow reach it, Summer thought, then she’d stand a chance of surprising him. All she had to do was get close enough to grab it. If there was ever a time when she needed to call upon her acting skills, however rusty, it was now.
“Baby, you’re hurting me,” she said softly. “You don’t need to hold me so tightly. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re coming back with me.” His grip tightened and Summer cried out as Justin tugged her back towards the stairs. “You can get up there and pack your damn case, and show me some appreciation while you’re at it.”
No! Not that again. Anything but that! Her heart drumming as he yanked her towards the staircase, Summer forced herself to stop struggling and become soft and pliant in his arms. Nothing turned Justin on more than a struggle, she knew that much, and the more she protested the more he’d enjoy it.
Summer wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
“OK, baby. Maybe you’re right; it is time I came home.” She took a deep breath and tried to sound as though she was agreeing with a well-meaning suggestion, rather than fighting a man who was half drunk and who loved force. “I’ll come upstairs and pack my bags. Just let me go first, hey?”
Justin’s fingers loosened their grip a little, just enough for Summer to stamp on his foot, twist and try bolting for the door. His howl of pain was followed by a short tussle as he grabbed her hair and snatched her head back so hard that she heard her neck click. The agony almost made her vomit.
“You bitch!”
The smack of his hand against her face made Summer’s vision fade and the force sent her stumbling forwards. She slammed into a cupboard gasping as her hip collided with the corner, and then Justin was behind her and tugging her jeans down.
“Stand still,” Justin rasped. Summer heard the zip of his flies as he pushed against her, and panic clawed her chest. This was not going to happen again. It wasn’t!
Stars were still twinkling before Summer’s eyes and she was struggling to breathe, but as Justin was occupied with freeing one hand she saw the moment and somehow managed to stretch forward and grab the coffee j
ar. Twisting around desperately, she brought it down onto his head with all her might.
Justin didn’t even cry out but dropped like a stone to the floor, where he lay crumpled at her feet. Summer stood over him, jar in hand and panting as though she’d just had a workout. She was profoundly shocked at what had almost taken place – but not nearly as shocked as Justin, who gazed up at her blearily, blood trickling from his head and onto the flagstones. His eyes didn’t seem to be able to focus at all; he just blinked while his mouth opened and shut like something from her brothers’ trawl.
Oh my God, thought Summer, stunned. She’d done it. She’d really done it: stood up to Justin and defended herself.
There was no way she was ever going to let him hurt her again.
It was at this point that the cottage door flew open and Jake hurtled in, fists held as though ready for a fight. When he saw Summer standing over Justin, he pulled her straight into his arms and held her tightly against his chest.
“Sweetheart, are you all right? Had he hurt you?” Jake tilted up her head and gazed down at her. His blue eyes were bright with anger. “If he’s dared to lay a finger on you then I swear to God I’ll kill him. Your face is bleeding. Christ, I’m going kill him.”
Summer knew that although Justin was an athlete, Jake, with his body hard and muscular from the hours of physical work in the boatyard and being out on the water, was more than a match for him. She could feel the fury pulsing through him and she knew that he meant every word. It both thrilled her and made her feel so safe to know that Jake was ready to fly to her defence. Still, she was pleased that he didn’t need to. Summer had seen enough aggression for one day.
She reached up and placed her finger on his lips.
“I don’t think you need to. He’s not going to do anything to me now,” Summer said. “I must have hit him really hard.”
They both looked down at Justin, whose eyes seemed to be looking in different directions. Summer could practically see the birds tweeting above his head. Then, tenderly, Jake uncurled her fingers from the jar and placed it onto the counter.
[Polwenna Bay 01.0] Runaway Summer Page 38
