Nick opened his mouth, probably to say that a toast like this deserved something stronger, but he caught Jake’s eye and shut up hastily.
“Great idea,” Symon, always the peacemaker, agreed. “I’ll have a quick cup before I go back to the restaurant.”
Mo had been so upset that she’d almost forgotten about Ashley Carstairs and the envelope. While Alice made a fresh pot of tea, Issie bickered with Nick and Summer returned to Jake, who held her close and as though he’d never let her go again, Mo tugged the crumpled paper out of her back pocket. What it could possibly be she had absolutely no idea. Knowing Ashley, it was probably a fuel bill for running his boat all the way to the Shindeeps and back. She wouldn’t put anything past him.
Mo pulled up a chair next to Summer and, as Eddie flung the door back on its hinges and invited any villagers who just happened to be passing by to join them, she tore the envelope open. Inside was a letter from a solicitor.
It must be a threat of legal action. The absolute bastard, Mo thought furiously. That would teach her not to ever trust him again. He’d probably only kissed her as a twisted way to lull her into a false sense of security.
She scanned the words, mentally preparing herself for a call to the family’s own lawyer and hearing the bang of the final nails being hammered into the coffin of the stables, when through the legalese Mo began to make sense of what she was actually reading. With a strange rushing of blood to her brain and the room starting to spin, Mo finally understood exactly what it was that she was looking at, although quite why Ashley had done this was beyond her. There was no rational explanation.
The letter stated that Fernside now belonged to Mo.
Before he’d left, Ashley Carstairs had given her the woods.
Chapter 35
Summer watched as Nick and Symon lugged the last of her boxes up the path to Seaspray. The Tremaine boys and her brothers had been climbing up and down from the car for the best part of the day and now, just as the sun had decided to slide down the rooftops and the seagulls were starting to doze, they were almost finished. Whoever knew that she’d had so much stuff stored in the London house? She hoped that it was all going to fit into Seaspray.
She could still hardly believe that this was happening, that she really was moving in with Jake. Every now and again she had to give herself a sly pinch just to make sure that she wasn’t dreaming. Catching sight of Jake – her beautiful, golden, glorious Jake – as he shouldered the final trunk as easily as though it was made of cardboard, Summer had to pinch herself yet again. Sometimes her life seemed too good to be true.
“Ouch!”
Yes, she was definitely awake! Impossible as it seemed, this really was her life. She was indeed the luckiest girl on the planet.
Since that terrifying day in the cottage when she’d feared for her survival at Justin’s hands, Summer’s life had changed in just about every way. Of course there had been the inevitable media circus as well as statements to make to the police. Nevertheless, her medical records, the bruises from his last assault and Morgan’s photographs were evidence enough that she, and not Justin, had been telling the truth. Summer had decided to press charges. She anticipated that there would be more bumpy times ahead, but with Jake beside her she knew that there wasn’t anything she couldn’t do. She wasn’t a victim. She was a strong woman – and with Jake’s love she was even stronger now than she could have ever imagined.
Predictably, the press had gone crazy and ridiculous money had been offered for her side of the story, but Summer hadn’t been tempted in the slightest. From this moment on she was determined that no area of her life would ever be up for sale again.
Packing up the house in Kensington had taken only a few weeks, and today everyone had made time to come and help her move in to Seaspray. Her parents were thrilled to have her back in the village and all the Tremaines (apart from Zak, who was recording somewhere for the record-label boss he’d met at the ball) had downed tools to help. Mo was in the bedroom unpacking the boxes and trunks and, if Summer knew her best friend, was still trying to figure out why on earth Ashley Carstairs had made the woods over to her. Summer had her own theories on that one but thought it best to leave it to Mo to figure things out for herself. Besides, there was something about Ashley that made Summer hesitate. He was keeping secrets, of this she was certain.
She ought to know. She’d kept enough of her own over the years…
Summer raised her face to catch the late rays of the sinking sun. Her bruises had long since faded and her skin was turning the colour of honey, the bridge of her nose scattered with a cinnamon dusting of freckles. Her hair was starting to curl over her ears, growing out a little now, and the dark glasses and baseball cap were things of the past. Her arrival in Polwenna Bay had been a short-lived wonder and the locals’ excitement at having a celebrity living in their midst was soon eclipsed by other news – not least that Morwenna Tremaine had mysteriously acquired the woods, and that the new vicar was losing weight faster than a reality-TV star with a fitness DVD deal. People here weren’t impressed by fame, although they were impressed that the sale of Summer’s London home would go a long way towards sorting her family out with a new trawler. There would be some serious ground rules this time though, Summer thought. And if Nick Tremaine thought that he was going to be the skipper, then he was in for a huge shock. Summer already had plans for who could fill that role.
She gazed at the sky. It was a perfect blue, the kind of July blue that she associated with childhood. It made her think back to summer holidays where the weather had always been good and the days had been spent on the beach eating curling ham sandwiches and drinking lemonade. In the distance, the sea was that stunning oily-petrol blue unique to days without so much as a breath of wind. The tide was way out now, the sand a golden horseshoe that grew dark at the edges where the water lapped it and the waves sighed and hissed. These were the sights and smells of home, and Summer couldn’t put into words just how happy she was to be back. It seemed that nowadays she always woke up with a smile on her face and fell asleep exactly the same way.
Happiness was wonderful. Being with Jake was wonderful. Life was wonderful, and Summer smiled to herself as she turned back to the terrace to help Jake with the last cases. Once those had been carried into the house, everything she owned would be here in Polwenna Bay for good. Her new life with Jake was ready to start.
“What are you smiling about?” grumbled Nick, staggering past with two suitcases.
“Being back here,” Summer said simply.
Nick grimaced. “You’re mad. You escaped the place – and once I do that, I swear to God I’m never coming back.”
“Ignore him,” said Jake, joining them and wiping his brow. “Wow. That was a steep climb up. Spending all that time in London has made me soft.”
“Hardly,” said Summer. She looked into his beautiful blue eyes, the same colour as the perfect sky above, and marvelled again at the love she saw there. It was exactly the same love that she’d seen all those years ago when they’d snatched stolen kisses in the coves and made love in the long grass that fringed the cliff tops. She’d been foolish enough to put fame and fortune above that love once, but Summer knew that she’d never make the same mistake again. This time she had a fortune that couldn’t be valued in money.
Jake grinned wickedly. “Maybe soft is the wrong word?”
Nick pulled a face. “You two are gross. Worse than teenagers. I’m leaving you before I hurl.”
Once they were alone, Jake abandoned the case and pulled Summer into his arms. His lips brushed the tender spot at the base of her neck and she shivered while butterflies fluttered in her stomach. The nights, filled with his touch, his lips, his strong body against hers, had seemed to pass in a billow of the drifting muslin curtains; there was never time to get enough of him, and somehow she felt certain that there never would be. They had so much time to catch up on that neither Jake nor Summer ever wanted to be far apart again.
&nb
sp; Lord, maybe Nick had a point? She felt just like a teenager. At last she was acknowledging her teenaged self, who’d known beyond all doubt exactly how love should feel.
Together they stood without speaking and yet closer than words, watching the seascape below, a silken sheet of blue that stretched to the horizon and beyond. Jake rested his chin on her head and Summer could feel the steady beating of his heart against her back. His arms wrapped around her and held her against him.
Summer felt herself melting like ice cream in the sunshine. The fears of the last few years, the sadness of losing her unborn children, the ugly truths that would soon surface in one of the UK’s highest-profile celebrity court cases; all these things were easier to bear now that Jake was there too. Together they were a team. Together they could do anything.
A seagull wheeled in the sky above them, calling over and over again with the same harsh cries that, no matter where she had heard them, had always sent Summer’s soul racing back to Polwenna Bay. How many times had her heart constricted with that sound as jigsaw memories of Jake and Mo and Cornwall had tumbled through her memory? Hearing those calls now though, Summer felt only happiness. With Jake’s arms around her and the next chapter ready to be written, Summer knew that she was staying here forever. She was in love with Jake and she always had been. They were entwined in each other’s history and hearts, always and forever.
Runaway Summer was finally home.
THE END
Epilogue
Ashley Carstairs checked his watch for the umpteenth time and watched the nurse with the long sexy legs sashay past the door of his private room and back around the ward for what had to be at least the fifth circuit. Was she doing this for his benefit? he wondered. She certainly seemed to clatter the trolley into his door exceedingly often and, unless this was just typical woman-driver behaviour, he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that she was trying to get his attention.
It was odd being back here again. He’d hoped that his last visit had been the final one but no, it seemed that his body was determined to have the last say. How many times had he lain in bed at night, terrified that this was going to happen again? He’d wake up with a pounding head and the sheets rank with sweat, his hand fumbling for the lamp so that the pitch-blackness where the nightmares bred was quickly obliterated by soothing light. There he would lie, staring up at the ceiling and counting down from one hundred, trying to calm himself while his heart hammered against his ribcage. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t, but he was always rendered weak with relief that it had just been a dream and that his old enemy, small and creeping and deadly, hadn’t managed to catch him unawares this time.
Today, Ashley had a gut feeling that he wasn’t going to be so fortunate. He’d managed to dodge this opponent not once but twice. To hold out for another victory was probably pushing his luck. Besides, he’d read all the literature and spent hours of what life he did have left browsing web pages and terrifying scientific journals in order to know exactly what he was up against. In business it was always prudent to know your enemy; Ashley didn’t see why his health should be treated any differently. Face it, he often said to himself wryly, your health is the biggest asset you have. Without it what’s the point of the properties, the fast cars and the expensive toys?
Headaches. Insomnia. Feeling breathless and dizzy. Inability to concentrate. Out of character behaviour. Ashley could tick off his symptoms one by one, although for a while he’d convinced himself that Morwenna Tremaine was the cause. Waking up in a sweat after a particularly erotic dream about Mo wasn’t anything to be concerned about and all the other symptoms on the list could be put down to the frustration she caused him. The rows over the woods and his development project, her cutting comments, the way she refused to be impressed by anything he said or did. God, she drove him mad! He was used to women dropping at his well-shod feet and practically causing a gale with their fluttering eyelashes when he tossed a little attention their way, so Ashley was perplexed to find that Mo actually seemed scornful of all the usual things that women liked. She’d laughed at his car (“phallic symbol”, was what she’d called it), rolled her eyes at his boat (“Do you really need that to catch one little fish?”) and even stood him up for dinner.
It didn’t make sense. Women usually loved him – but not Morwenna Tremaine, it seemed. What on earth was her problem?
The nurse came by again with the drugs trolley. This time Ashley knew it wasn’t his imagination; she really did slow down when she passed, and he was sure that the poppers on the top of her uniform really ought to have been done up. Not that he was complaining about seeing the creamy swell of her breasts. Lying in a hospital bed with nothing more to do than stress about his results wasn’t much fun and any distraction was welcome. If she came past again he’d ask her to examine him properly, Ashley decided. After all, he was paying a fortune to go private and speed things up. The least he deserved was a very thorough bed bath.
The nurse was tall and slim, with dark hair slicked back in a sexy bob. She’d look a bit like a boy from behind, Ashley thought distractedly, which really wasn’t his thing. Jutting bones and sharp angles might look good on the catwalk but he’d dated enough models to know that these attributes didn’t translate so well in the real world. Besides, Ashley liked his women curvy. He loved full breasts and soft thighs and long curly red hair…
Damn it. Morwenna was still right there in his head and, no matter what he did, Ashley couldn’t get her out. She was spiky and rude and bloody-minded – but with her amazing blue eyes, the irises circled with a deeper almost navy blue, her determined heart-shaped face framed with tumbling auburn ringlets, and her small, sexy body that always teasingly threatened to fall out of her clothes, Mo was also one of the sexiest women he’d ever seen.
He had to have her. If he didn’t get her out of his system he’d go mad. From the way she’d kissed him at the masked ball, Ashley knew that she wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her; she was just too proud to admit it. Just the recollection of how she’d felt in his arms, her gorgeous body pressed against him and her curvaceous backside cupped in his hands, was enough to make him grow hard.
Ashley brightened. This was a good sign, surely? He couldn’t be too sick if that part of him was still functioning. Maybe the whole health scare was just the product of his overactive imagination, and when the doctors finally got around to seeing him Ashley would be packed off with nothing more than a patronising lecture about continuing to monitor his health and eating tinned tomatoes.
He’d also have transferred ownership of those bloody woods to Mo (and be getting his shoes muddy reaching his house every day) for absolutely nothing…
“I must be going soft, “Ashley muttered to himself. “That land’s worth a bloody fortune to me, but all she’ll do is hug the trees and sing to the birds.”
Ashley didn’t have much time for eco-warriors; in his opinion they just held up his inevitable developments and cost him far too much money. Mo, though, was different. He could see how much Fernside meant to her and, in spite of himself, on the last few occasions when he’d walked through the woods to fetch his car, Ashley had even found himself looking at it all through her eyes. The trees were ancient, their gnarled and knotted limbs furred with moss and intertwined like the aged hands of a long-married couple, and in the springtime the blues and yellows of the harebells and primroses had been just as striking as the bright hues of the Klimt in his office. He’d even found himself thinking that perhaps Mo and her crackpot cronies had a point after all. The woods certainly teemed with life, and to turn them into a road did seem somewhat philistine.
When the knife-sharp headaches had returned, the first thing Ashley had done was atavistic but he hadn’t been able to help himself: he had headed straight for the church. There he’d pleaded with God, making bargain after bargain, or rather trying to; that chubby vicar had an extremely annoying habit of continually interrupting him. On his last but one visit to St Wenn’s it
had seemed to Ashley that he’d had a zap of divine inspiration. Maybe if he left the woods alone then he in turn would be left in peace? The more he’d pondered this thought the more solid it had become in his mind, until he’d actually instructed his attorneys to make the woods over to Mo.
Was it superstitious? Yes.
Did he give a toss about that if it worked? No.
Would it make Mo happy? Yes.
God. He hadn’t even slept with the girl – or had a civil conversation with her, come to that – and yet he cared about whether or not she was happy? Ashley was alarmed. He didn’t need the results of the scan or the biopsy to know that if this was the case he really must be sick.
Squeak. Squeak. Here came the sexy nurse again with her trolley. He’d distract himself for a bit, Ashley thought. It was the least he deserved.
He rolled onto his side, hoping to beckon at her through the door of his private room, but as he turned the sudden pain in his head was so sharp that his vision turned black and Ashley had to grip the side of the bed hard to focus his mind and stop himself from falling out.
Jesus Christ. Did it all really have to hurt that much? What the hell was he paying for? Surely if you went private it was supposed to negate the discomfort as well as the waiting lists? Then Ashley recalled that he’d turned down the earlier offer of pain relief, having considered himself too manly to need it. Never again. Next time he’d have all the drugs they suggested.
Not that there was going to be a next time…
He panted and gasped. Slowly his vision cleared, but unfortunately the nurse, her breasts and her long, stockinged legs were gone. Instead, the grim forms of his consultant and the registrar had taken her place.
It was not a swap for the better. The serious set of his consultant’s mouth and the nervous way the registrar was clicking his pen filled Ashley with icy dread. He wished that he were anywhere but here.
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