Page 10 of The Summer Swap

If she hadn’t been on the beach that day of her twenty-second birthday, and if she hadn’t happened to turn and smile at the deliciously handsome young man sprawled on the sand with a sketchbook in his hand, she might be in a very different place right now. She would have led a different life. A life where she had played the lead part, and not the supporting role. If Seth hadn’t just broken up with her...

Seth.

She hadn’t thought about him in years, and then a month after Cameron’s funeral the card had arrived.

She’d thought about him then, and she thought about him now and wondered about his life. Had he made good choices? Did he have regrets?

Cecilia felt suddenly tired, weighed down by past decisions. It was impossible not to look back and think, What if?

And yet part of her felt sympathy for the woman she’d been. That woman on the beach with the sun on her face and the wind in her hair hadn’t intentionally stepped into the life she’d ended up living. It had happened by accident, step by step, moment by moment, one choice followed by another choice, and surely it wasn’t a crime to have trusted fully and loved deeply? Even though many years had passed she could still remember the intensity of her feelings and the heady excitement of those early days.

“I know you’re sad,” Kristen said. “And I know it’s hard. I’m sure you’re lonely—” She paused, as if her mind was on something else. “Life is no fairy tale, is it?”

Cecilia looked closely at her daughter. Was she talking about Cecilia’s life or her own?

Was something wrong with Kristen? Had something happened with Theo?

She opened her mouth to ask, but then closed it again. Even if she asked, Kristen was unlikely to tell her the truth. They never talked about things like that.

And they weren’t going to do so now because the door opened, interrupting their conversation.

Winston stood there. He was four years younger than his sister and bore a strong resemblance to Cameron at the same age. A little on the stocky side, but handsome enough to compensate for any deficiencies in height. He’d arrived alone because his wife, Nina, had sprained her ankle playing tennis and was lying on the sofa with her leg buried in ice packs.

“Is there a problem? The guests are arriving, Kris, and I have no idea who anyone is. I’m worried I’ll ignore someone important. Why aren’t you downstairs?”

Kristen swung round. “Mom doesn’t want to speak at the party. I’m handling it.”

She was something to be handled. A problem, like not enough glasses or a catering issue.

As always, Winston was quick to side with his sister. “Kristen has worked hard, Mom.”

Cecilia roused herself. Enough. She stood up. “I can hardly dress with you two standing in my bedroom. I need privacy.”

They glanced at each other, not sure if they’d won the battle.

Cecilia wanted badly to be rid of them both. She glanced out of the window at the chairs that were currently being carefully set in rows. Presumably that was where Kristen had planned for her to address the guests.

Thank goodness Kristen had agreed to deliver the speech herself because Cecilia would have choked on the paragraph of sickly prose. It painted a fairy tale, not reality. Did people think Cameron had made it big by himself? Did they really think he would have become as famous as he had if she hadn’t been there?

They had no idea of the part she’d played.

But Cameron had known.

“I came to tell you that a couple of journalists have arrived,” Winston said. “One of them is asking questions about a painting called The Girl on the Shore. I asked Rita and she has no record of such a painting.”

“That’s strange, because someone else asked me about that painting recently. I checked with Rita, too. She worked for Dad for forty years. If she can’t remember it, then I doubt it exists.” Kristen tapped her fingers against her jaw as she trawled through her memory. “Maybe it was one of his early works. Dad frequently destroyed paintings that didn’t come up to his standard. All part of his creative temperament. Mom? Do you remember it?”

The Girl on the Shore.

Cecilia felt suddenly dizzy. Her chest felt tight, and now she wasn’t faking it.

It had all started with that painting. Everything could be traced back to that work. It had changed their lives in ways neither of them could have imagined.

Cameron had been unknown then. Just another struggling artist living a pared down, self-indulgent existence where the only focus was art. Eight of them had crammed into a small, clapboard cottage tucked in the dunes of the Outer Cape, close to the seashore. They’d cared more about the light and the landscape than sleep and food. Rest was something they did to pass the time until they could paint again.

For a moment Cecilia was back there with the sun on her face and the wind blowing her hair and Cameron smiling at her in the way only he could smile.

“Mom?” Kristen’s voice cut through her thoughts. “The Girl on the Shore?”

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