Page 67 of The Summer Swap

It was going to take a while to shift their relationship into a better place, but Cecilia was determined to try. She’d even thought about inviting her to the Cape for a few days, but in the end she hadn’t. It would trigger too many questions that Cecilia wasn’t ready to answer. And, anyway, it sounded as if Theo needed her.

Seth was watching her. “Why are you blaming yourself?”

“For the fact that Kristen and I aren’t closer? I think for a while I resented her.” Another thing she’d never said aloud before.

“For being a daddy’s girl?”

“No. For being the reason I didn’t divorce him. Believe me, I thought about it. Before the accident I was going to do it. But after the accident...” Remembering made her shudder. “It felt as if I would have been sacrificing her happiness for mine.”

“So instead you sacrificed yours for her.”

“It felt that way for a while. But in the end things settled down. I should probably be grateful to her for being the reason we stayed together. I don’t regret it. Despite everything, we had a wonderful life together.”

He was silent for a moment. “I often thought about you, and hoped you were happy.”

She felt something shift inside her.

Lately, ever since the lawyer had presented her with the letter and the key to Dune Cottage, she’d been more focused on the bad than the good but talking to Seth had made her remember the good.

She and Cameron had shared a love of art of course, but their relationship had been based on so much more than that. They saw the world in a similar way, and they understood each other. It was Cameron who had insisted they buy Lapthorne Manor rather than a more convenient home in the city, because he’d known how much she would enjoy designing the gardens. In the end it had become a joint project, with Cameron using the results of her careful planting as inspiration for some of his work. She’d written a book on garden design, illustrated with her own photographs and some of Cameron’s paintings. It was precisely because she’d loved him so much that the affair had been so devastating.

“We had many happy years. And a few unhappy ones. But isn’t that life?”

“Yes, it is. And all you can do is enjoy the good parts and survive the bad,” he said. “Why did you stop painting?”

“At first, because I was busy. Life was busy. And I discovered that I preferred to be creative in other ways. I have a beautiful garden. It brings me as much joy as anything I ever painted. I enjoy watching it change and evolve with the seasons.”

He stared out to sea. “Sonya loved your book. She copied a few ideas for our own garden, although it was nowhere near as grand of course.”

“She did?”

“Yes. And when she was sick, the garden was the place where she found joy—” his voice was rough “—so I should probably thank you for that.”

She felt a flash of sympathy, but the idea that she might have brought pleasure to someone else through her garden design pleased her. “Art doesn’t only have to be the process of splashing paint on a canvas.”

“That’s true.” He let go of her hand. “And Cameron went down the traditional route. I read the story of how his career took off—a local exhibition. He submitted one painting.”

Cecilia felt her heart beat a little faster.

“That was all that was permitted. But he was lucky. The work caught the attention of a gallery director from Boston. The rest is history.”

He gave her a long look. “Sounds almost too good to be true. The whole damned fairy tale.”

“Like many things in life there was an element of luck involved. Cameron was aware of that. He caught a break, but he was careful not to waste it. He worked it hard.”

“You mean that if he hadn’t had a painting that he could submit—”

“He wouldn’t have been considered. Exactly. He made the most of an opportunity.” She wiped her fingers on the napkin.

“Tell me more about those early paintings. How did he choose just one? When we knew each other, Cameron was all over the place. Full of doubt. He used to destroy canvases all the time. Remember the painting he threw into the ocean?”

“I remember.” She’d rescued it, but it had been too late. It wasn’t the first or last time he’d destroyed a painting he wasn’t happy with.

“But he had a painting he was happy with, ready to go. That was lucky.” Seth opened a bottle of sparkling water and poured some into a cup. “Where is that painting now?”

She took the cup from him. “I expect it was sold. I lose track. It seems so long ago now. Why did you give up painting?”

“My father had a stroke and needed help running the gallery. I stepped in to help and discovered I enjoyed it. I painted a little, but the truth is I preferred working with artists to being one myself. I don’t get anywhere near the level of excitement gazing at my own canvas that I do gazing at someone else’s.” He poured water into his own cup. “So, if your marriage settled down again, why didn’t you come back to the cottage when it was such a special place for you both?”

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