Page 50 of The Island Villa

Their relationship, now fragile and newly brittle, had started to crack.

On the surface, it was her success that had broken her, but deep down she knew it wasn’t that simple. She’d broken them. By not listening to Andrew properly. By not spending more time hearing what he was saying. By not thinking about what he needed. For jumping to conclusions.

She wished she’d told him that it wasn’t his financial support that had made the biggest difference to her (although she didn’t underestimate that), but his belief in her. She should have made it clear that it was him she needed, not his money. From her point of view, the fact that she no longer needed his money was a good thing, and she didn’t see it that way.

Would she have had an affair had things been going well in their marriage? Definitely not. But she’d been lonely and struggling and missing Andrew when she’d met the charming and charismatic Robert Dunn. He’d arrived in her life at her weakest, most vulnerable moment. He’d given her exactly what she needed, and in doing so had delivered the fatal blow to her marriage.

With a shiver, Catherine stood up. How long had she been sitting on the lounger? Her skin was chilled, and she hadn’t even noticed. She rubbed her hands over her flesh. She’d lost track of time.

She didn’t want to think about Rob right now.

She couldn’t.

Her priority was her girls.

How was she going to handle this?

The girls couldn’t comprehend how two people who had chosen to live their lives apart, could suddenly want to be together again. They didn’t understand that life wasn’t static. That people weren’t static. That they were formed and changed by their experiences, and she and Andrew had been changed by theirs. Maybe if they’d been better at communicating, maybe if her success hadn’t come as hard and fast as it had, maybe if she hadn’t needed her career to soothe her deep-seated insecurities—

Maybe, maybe, maybe...

Andrew, who had been a casualty of staffing cuts at the bank, had finally used that as an excuse to walk away from a career he hated. Instead of spending long days in a glass-fronted office doing a job that gave him no satisfaction, he’d done what he always wanted to do. He’d taken the severance package they’d paid him and rented a studio. He spent his days painting. Finally, he’d found his own passion instead of working to support hers.

They’d stayed in touch over the years, at first because of Adeline and later because they chose to.

When their relationship had blossomed again, no one had been more surprised than Catherine. It had happened gradually. Their occasional lunch dates had become more frequent. Conversation that had barely skimmed the surface of their lives had plunged deeper. Lunch had blended into dinner until they were spending more and more time together. Casual had become intimate. They talked, really talked, in a way they never had when they were together the first time. And then she’d spent that wonderful week at his home in Cape Cod. And that had been it. They’d been together since. She hadn’t thought she was capable of trusting again after everything that had happened. It had turned out that with the right man, she could. And Andrew was the right man.

What she needed to explain to the girls was that this wasn’t a resurrection of an old relationship, but the beginning of a new one. She was different. Andrew was different. Their relationship was different. As a couple, this time around they were better.

Tired and stressed, she walked to the edge of the terrace. She could see the lights illuminating the path to the guest cottage. The cottage itself was in darkness. Were the girls in there? Had Adeline apologized or had they gone to bed, each nursing their wounds separately? Andrew had insisted that they give the girls space, so that’s what they’d done but that didn’t mean Catherine was comfortable with it.

She should have anticipated that rekindling her relationship with Andrew would trigger all manner of awkward questions.

She wished now that she’d told Cassie about Andrew in advance. But maybe that wouldn’t have helped. And what would she have said?

“Catherine?”

She turned, guilty, as she heard Maria’s voice.

“Sorry, Maria. Did I wake you?”

Maria had stayed the night in the house, which she sometimes did when she was cooking and the guest cottage was occupied.

“I wasn’t asleep. I guessed you wouldn’t be either.” Maria put an arm round her and Catherine turned and leaned her head against her shoulder, breathing in the scent of lemon soap and comfort.

She felt a rush of love and gratitude. Maria was the best friend she’d ever had.

“I’m sorry—” Her voice cracked. “Your beautiful meal. All that work.”

“The meal will keep. It’s you I’m worried about. Tonight was difficult.”

“Yes.” She’d never lied to Maria and she wasn’t going to start now.

Maria knew everything. All of it, even the dark parts that Catherine had hidden from everyone else. She’d been with Catherine through thick and thin, through three husbands, through death and divorce. She’d seen her at her worst and her best. Lived through the highs and the lows and through it all she’d been rock-solid. Even on that awful night, she’d been rock-solid. A lighthouse in a storm.

We never talk about this again, Catherine. Never. Not to anyone. It’s our secret.

And so it had remained. Their secret. And they never had talked about it. Not once.

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