Page 112 of The Island Villa

Third time lucky, Catherine thought as she watched Adeline and Cassie scroll through the photographs they’d taken since arriving. All their planned celebrations seemed to get disrupted so they’d opted for a spontaneous breakfast at her favorite taverna, but this time there was no sign of the tension that had been an unwelcome guest at their previous gatherings.

She’d chosen to wear her favorite floaty white dress, and a wide-brimmed hat that shaded her face from the sun and prevented recognition by any tourists who happened to be fans. She was happy to sign books whenever she was asked, but today wasn’t about her job. It was about her family.

Andrew was by her side, his chair pulled a little closer than usual so that occasionally she felt his leg touch hers under the table, and his arm brush against hers.

“How are you feeling?” He was attentive and loving, and she thought again how lucky she was to have been given a second chance.

Across the table, Adeline was deep in conversation with her sister and Catherine smiled, deciding this wasn’t the moment to mention that she’d seen Stefanos’s car dropping Adeline at the gates of the villa just after dawn.

Everyone was allowed secrets. And it wasn’t as if she didn’t have a few of her own.

For now, she had other things that demanded her focus.

She waited for a pause in her daughters’ conversation.

“Cassie, I owe you an apology.”

Cassie put her spoon down. “For what?”

“For telling you that you couldn’t publish your book. That was unforgivably selfish of me. Your book is special, you are a talented writer and of course you should share that talent with the world.”

“Actually I have something to say about that.” Cassie put her spoon down and sat up a little straighter. “When we got back from the hospital last night, I did some work on the manuscript. I’ve made some changes. Just small ones, but enough to make sure that no one can connect the story with you or with Corfu. It’s now set in Sicily. Oliver and I spent a week there last summer and I made loads of notes, so it was easy to make that change. And the dedication is different.”

Remembering the last dedication, Catherine felt a flicker of trepidation. “What is the dedication?”

Cassie gave a soft smile. “It says for my mother, the strongest and bravest person I know.”

Emotion lodged in her throat. “Cassie—”

“It’s true. I don’t know how you survived that. How you came out of those years still able to love and trust.”

“Well I made another mistake with Gordon Pelling, so I think maybe I’m not a good judge of character. But then I look at Andrew—” she slid her hand over his “—and know that I do occasionally get things right.”

And that was what mattered, wasn’t it? Not the route you’d taken, but where you ended up.

And she wasn’t going to punish herself any longer. She could wish for the past to be different or she could accept what had happened and move on into this next chapter and enjoy it fully, unencumbered by guilt or regret.

If she’d been writing this story, that was what her main character would have done.

She would have shown resilience.

It was time she modeled herself on one of her own heroines.

Adeline put her coffee cup down. “I don’t know how you managed to carry on writing romance. How did you keep on believing in it in those very dark years after Rob?”

It was typical of her daughter to ask such an insightful question.

“I’m a novelist. I’m writing a story. It’s fiction, it doesn’t mean that I have to share the views of my characters. Everyone’s life experience is different, and it’s no different for the people I write about.” She paused, wondering if this was a good time to tell them. “But since you asked, I will tell you honestly that I have been struggling for the past couple of years. Maybe it’s because my heart isn’t in romance. Maybe I’ve done the same thing for too long. But I have some news on that front. I’ve written something else. I sent it to Daphne a few days ago. She loves it.”

“That’s fantastic.” Cassie clapped her hands together. “But why wouldn’t she? You’ve worked with her for decades and you already know she loves your work.”

“This isn’t my usual style. Or genre. It’s a thriller. Or maybe a crime novel. I’m not sure how one would categorize it.”

“Crime?” Adeline was intrigued. “But you’ve always said you want a book to have an optimistic ending.”

“This has an optimistic ending. Unless you’re one of the victims of course, in which case not so optimistic.” In her years as a writer, she’d weathered all the highs and lows. She’d known writing could be hard, easy, exciting and frustrating, but never before had it been cathartic. Until now. It was like being back at the beginning of her career, when the excitement of creating had carried her along like the tide. When the writing itself had been enough. “Don’t feel sorry for them. Each of those men deserved what was coming to them.”

Cassie gave a curious smile. “Men?”

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