Page 23 of The Summer Swap

Then she tiptoed down the narrow flight of stairs that spiraled up to the loft, and paused on the landing area that was open to the living room below. She flattened herself against the wall, terrified that one of them might pick that exact moment to glance up. It was just a few steps to the comparative safety of the bedroom, but Lily found she couldn’t move. From here she could see down into the living room and her heart raced as she saw a figure move into view. The figure grabbed one of the sketches hanging on the wall, stared at it for a moment and then made an anguished sound and smashed it on the floor.

Lily jumped, identifying the source of the breaking glass. Not a window, but the paintings. And not a group of masked men, but one person. A woman. She yanked another painting from the wall and sent it the way of the others. Lily watched open-mouthed. Part of her wanted to stop the woman because this place was her responsibility and she was going to have to clear up the mess in the morning.

She was going to have to explain to the company (and to the owners, whoever they were) that she must have forgotten to set the alarm. Would that invalidate the insurance? If she was right and the paintings the woman was smashing were valuable, then she was in even bigger trouble than she’d thought.

As far as she could tell, nothing else had been damaged so far. Why would someone want to break in just to smash up paintings? Why not steal them? None of it made sense. And then the woman turned slightly, and Lily slapped her hand over her mouth to stop her gasp from escaping because she recognized her.

It was Cecilia Lapthorne.

She’d met her once, when she’d visited the Lapthorne Estate with Hannah, and there was no mistaking her slight build and short, carefully styled silvery-white hair.

She watched as Cecilia reached up to remove the final painting from the wall. The one Lily had been admiring for months. She had to stop herself from crying out. No. Not that one. Lily felt an almost visceral attachment to the work. And if she was right and it was a genuine Cameron Lapthorne, why would Cecilia be smashing it?

But she didn’t smash this one. Instead, she left it where it was and sank down onto the sofa. And then she started to cry. There was something about those heartrending sobs that tore at Lily. And now she faced a dilemma.

The urge to go to her and offer comfort was strong, but then she’d have to confess that she’d been staying here. She’d be arrested. And, anyway, Cecilia thought she was alone. The tearing sobs were raw and real, and Lily sensed that she’d only given in to this unrestrained display of emotion because she believed that there were no witnesses. Cameron Lapthorne had died a year ago. Cecilia and Cameron had been together for fifty years. Cecilia had lost Cameron.

Cecilia’s heart was broken.

Lily knew she needed to get out of the cottage, and not only because she needed to save her own skin. She was trespassing, not just on Cecilia’s property (if this was indeed Cecilia’s property), but on Cecilia’s emotions. She was witnessing something that wasn’t supposed to be witnessed.

She needed to give Cecilia privacy, even though part of her was reluctant to leave someone who was in so much distress. But would revealing herself help? It wasn’t as if Cecilia knew her. Her presence would bring awkwardness, not comfort.

Forcing herself to move, she took those few final steps to the second bedroom. Moving stealthily, she opened the door that led to the small balcony and dropped her shoes and her backpack onto the sand below. They landed with a quiet thud, which Cecilia was unlikely to hear above the sound of her own sobbing. Pushing the balcony door closed behind her, Lily eased herself over the wooden railing and let herself drop onto the sand dune below. It was farther than she’d estimated, and she caught her breath as she landed, but the sand was soft and she scrambled to her feet with no apparent injury. Grabbing her backpack and her shoes, she sprinted away from the cottage.

Using the torch on her phone, she’d managed to put two sand dunes between her and the cottage when she remembered her bike.

She stopped and glanced over her shoulder. If she went back for it now, she risked being caught. Better to go in the morning and pretend she’d just arrived to check on the place. That was her job after all. And judging from the scene she’d witnessed, she had a significant amount of cleaning ahead of her.

But that wasn’t her real problem. Her real problem was that she’d lost her home and her sanctuary. No more nights gazing at the ocean and the stars.

She’d never find accommodation this far into the season, at least nothing that fell inside her budget.

She closed her eyes, feeling defeat close over her.

She was going to have to call her parents and ask for help.

6

Kristen

“Me time? Who decides to disappear and have ‘me time’ in the middle of her own party?” Stupefied, Kristen read the note for the twentieth time and then dropped it back onto the bed where her mother had left it. Her head throbbed and her feet hurt.

Her plans for the evening were in shreds.

All she wanted right now was for Jeff to sweep her away to a little bistro near the coast, where they’d share a seafood platter and talk long into the night. He’d listen to her in that way only he listened, with his gaze fixed on her face so that he could focus on every word. She would spill out her feelings and he would catch them (unlike Theo, who usually let them fall on the floor where he trod on them on his way to the hospital) and she would feel warm, and heard, and understood and best of all no longer lonely.

But that wasn’t possible. Jeff had left several hours earlier, and Kristen knew she was supposed to be grateful for that because she didn’t need more complication, but she didn’t feel grateful. She felt resentful and feeling resentful made her feel guilty because she knew she shouldn’t be thinking about herself at a time like this.

After she’d intercepted him in the rose garden and told him what had happened, Jeff had behaved impeccably. He’d played the role of “guest” perfectly. Instead of being Jeff her almost lover, he’d turned back into Jeff the art editor, only a softer version of his usually acerbic self. He’d studied the paintings on display, asked intelligent questions (she’d always found a sharp mind more of an erotic draw than broad shoulders) and mingled with colleagues. Jeff had even laughed and chatted with Theo. At some point as the evening progressed Jeff had left without a word. Kristen didn’t know what that meant, and she didn’t have time to think about it now.

As dinner with Jeff wasn’t an option, all she wanted to do was go to bed and close her eyes and pretend her life wasn’t falling apart, but she didn’t have that luxury because she had to support Theo, who was an emotional wreck, and figure out what was happening with her mother. First the party, and now this.

“Where has she gone? And why?”

Winston looked exhausted. He’d played his part talking to journalists and guests and he looked as if he’d be happy not to have another conversation for at least a fortnight. “There are no clues in the note?”

Did he really think she’d be wondering where their mother had gone if there were clues in the note? Kristen hid her irritation, because she knew she was only irritated because she was worried, and snapping at Winston wasn’t going to help that.

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