Page 34 of The Summer Swap

“No. I left the cottage.”

“How? I would have noticed if you’d used the front door.”

“I jumped from the balcony of the second bedroom onto the dunes.”

Cecilia winced. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“No. It wasn’t that far, and the landing was soft.”

“You didn’t think to just call out and let me know you were there?”

“No. You thought you were alone. I was intruding on a moment that was obviously personal.” Lily felt her cheeks warm. “Everyone has the right to privacy if that’s what they need.”

Cecilia’s gaze didn’t waver. “And is that why you’ve been staying here alone? Because you wanted privacy? Some people would find this place too isolated.”

“The position is part of the reason I love it,” Lily said. “Being here has helped me and I’ll always be grateful for that. But obviously I’ll leave right away, and I won’t bother you again. It’s good to see someone using it after so long. Are you sure you’ll be okay? You’re not going to—”

“Cut my wrists or smash more paintings?” Cecilia shook her head. “There is only one painting left anyway.”

Lily transferred her gaze from Cecilia to the painting that still hung on the wall. Why hadn’t Cecilia smashed that one? She was relieved that she hadn’t.

That painting had kept her company on so many nights. She wished now that she’d taken a photograph of it so that she could look at it sometimes.

“I love that painting.”

“The Girl on the Shore?”

“Is that what it’s called? Makes sense. I can’t imagine how it must feel to paint something like that.” Or to own a painting like that. “Of all of them, this is the one I would have kept.”

Cecilia stared at the painting. “Really?”

“Yes. I have been looking at it for months, trying to figure out what it is about it that draws me in. I want to know what that woman is thinking. What she’s doing. What happened just before she walked to the water’s edge. It’s wonderful. Special. I thought I knew almost all his paintings of the Cape, but I’ve never seen this one before. Was it one of his earlier ones?” She saw Cecilia transform from warm to wary.

She gave Lily a long look. “You’re an art lover?”

“Yes. And I love Cameron Lapthorne’s work. I’m surprised this painting isn’t in a gallery somewhere, surrounded by alarms and security guards.”

“Are you an artist yourself?”

“Oh—no.” Lily was embarrassed. “I paint a lot—all the time in fact—but I wouldn’t call myself an artist. I’ve never sold anything, unless you count a couple of sketches of seabirds that a tourist offered me money for. My first ever sale. It paid for a couple of ice creams.”

“If you produce art then you’re an artist,” Cecilia said. “Calling yourself that isn’t dependent on the value that someone else places on your work. Did you study art at college?”

“No. Biological sciences. I went to medical school, but I dropped out.” She waited for the inevitable judgments, but Cecilia simply nodded.

“Because you really wanted to be an artist, not a doctor.” She made it sound as if that was a perfectly natural discovery and Lily felt a rush of warmth and connection. Cecilia was the first person she’d ever told who hadn’t thought she was making a bad decision.

“Yes, but being an artist isn’t exactly a stable career path. So I’m here while I figure things out.” Whenever she talked about wanting to be an artist she felt like a fake, but that was nothing new. She’d felt like an imposter for most of her life. “I wonder when this was painted?”

And, more importantly, she wanted to know why Cecilia had spared that one. Maybe it was simply too large to lift it from the wall.

Cecilia was silent for a long moment.

“It was painted fifty years ago.”

“Really? Well, I’m glad you didn’t smash that one, Mrs. Lapthorne.”

Cecilia’s expression changed. “You know who I am.”

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