Lighthouse Bay (27 page)

She owns a property. And they need one.

Libby must have sensed she was being watched. She looked around and tried a smile that didn’t quite make it to her eyes. Juliet sat. They were silent a moment while the fridge hummed, the dishwasher swished, the clock ticked. Juliet knew that if she spoke first, it would be ugly, so she held her tongue.

“I think it would be a good idea if we took my name off the paperwork for the business,” Libby said, surprising Juliet.

“Why?”

“Because you assumed I’d want to take my half and I don’t. I don’t want to take anything from you.” Libby swallowed hard.

Juliet’s skin prickled lightly with suspicion. Was she being softened up for some fresh horror? Libby had said she wanted no money for her half of the business; had she changed her mind? She had no job, so perhaps she needed the money quickly. “I see.”

“So, can we do that soon? I want that out of the way. Otherwise
I don’t think we have a hope of rebuilding this . . .” She indicated the space between them with a loose wrist.

“And will you want payment?”

Libby shook her head. “No, no payment. I can see with my own eyes that this isn’t the business Dad left behind. I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of your investment of time and energy. Juliet, I want you to feel you can trust me,” she said softly.

Juliet smiled, and the bitterness made it a hard smile. “Trust you?”

“I came to reassure you. Look, Tristan is off the Lighthouse Bay project now. I’m seeing him entirely independently of all that.”

“But you know who he is, right? He’s the man who’s been fighting for years to bring something unwanted into this town. For
years
.” Juliet kept her voice steady. “Libby, he’s the enemy.”

“He’s not. He’s just a man. He’s very nice.”

Juliet’s brows twitched with irritation. “It’s none of my business who you see or where you go. You don’t need my permission to do anything.”

“I don’t want things to be so tense between us. I want us to get along. To be family. That’s why I came back.”

Juliet struggled with her words, then finally said, “For twenty years, Libby, you haven’t been family. Family are there. Family phone or e-mail. They send letters, not just random Christmas cards. Family share the ups and downs. They don’t turn up unannounced and blithely say that the years of struggle against a big greedy business that wants to take everything from local traders
don’t count
!” Juliet balled her hands into fists and cursed herself for displaying her anger so openly. Deep breaths, now. In . . . out . . .

Libby sat silently, her big eyes blinking back at Juliet slowly. “You can’t forgive me, can you?”

“For Tristan Catherwood?”

“For anything.” Libby’s eyes darted away. “God, there’s so much to forgive. Maybe I can’t forgive me either. You must think I’ve ruined your whole life.”

Juliet opened her mouth to deny it, but the truth was that sometimes she had thought it. She truly had. But then she thought deeper about Libby’s comment and grew irritated. “My life isn’t a ruin,” she said hotly. “My life is fine. I’ve been happy. Right up until you showed up.”

“Would you like me to leave again?”

Yes.
Yes.
“That’s your decision.”

“I’m trying to . . . Is there any point? Can we fix things? Or will you always hate me?”

“Hate you?” Did she hate her sister?

Libby must have grown tired of being apologetic. She scraped her chair back. “Look, let’s just get that paperwork out of the way soon. If you want to talk to me, you know where I am. I’ll sign anything, whatever you need.”

Juliet watched her go, heart thudding. Was she allowing anger to cloud her judgment? Perhaps Libby really did want to hand over her claim on the business; perhaps her date with Tristan Catherwood really was innocent. But Libby was a stranger to her, and before she’d become a stranger she had been an enemy. Juliet simply wasn’t ready to trust her.

A
t nine on Wednesday night, as Juliet was finishing up sorting invoices and thinking about a pot of tea, the after-hours doorbell rang. Ordinarily, she would just assume it was a guest who had forgotten their key, but it was a rare night when all her rooms were empty.

Curious, she left her apartment and walked down to open the
after-hours gate. Standing on the other side, a yellow streetlight reflecting on his face, was a tall man with long hair.

“Hi, Juliet,” he said.

Juliet frowned, puzzled. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Ah. Libby didn’t tell you I was coming.”

“Libby?” What was her sister up to now? Suspicion hardened in her veins.

The man smiled. “I’m so sorry. She said she’d call you and tell you I was going to drop by.” He stretched out his hand. “Damien Allbright.”

At the mention of his name, the feeling of familiarity solidified. Damien. She had babysat him as a boy. Only he wasn’t a boy anymore. He was a man, dense with muscle, with a shadowy beard across his jaw and warm, firm hands around hers.

“Oh, my. You grew up,” she said, then realized she sounded like an idiot and withdrew her hand. “What’s this got to do with Libby?”

“I ran into her up at the lighthouse and . . . Can I come in? I know it’s out of nowhere, but it’s all a bit complicated to explain out here on the street.”

“Of course. Where are my manners? Follow me up. I was just about to make tea.”

He sat on her couch, his long legs taking up a lot of room in her small apartment. She brought tea and scones and he fell on them hungrily as he and Juliet chatted around easy topics including the weather and the tourists.

“Those scones were amazing. No wonder your business is booming.”

“It’s not really booming.”

“Libby said it was.”

“She did?” Would that prickle of irritation at the mention of her sister’s name
ever
go away?

“Yes. She fed me the other night. I’m . . . ah . . . in a difficult situation at the moment. I’m squatting at the lighthouse.” He couldn’t meet her eyes. “Sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing to me?”

“Because your opinion always meant something to me.” He smiled. “Twenty years later, it’s a hard feeling to shake.”

For some reason, this confession made her smile. “So, why are you here?”

“I’m a carpenter. You need a new kitchen. There are problems with my bank accounts, my documents . . . It’s really complicated. So Libby thought you might be interested in a deal. I can take cash or in-kind.”

At all of this, Juliet bristled. The nerve of Libby, assuming she could make such an offer to Damien. But then she softened. She had four empty rooms and winter was coming. And it was true that she had put up with the old kitchen cabinets for decades.

She must have been silent a long time, because Damien said, “No pressure. Even if I could come and do some measurements for you, make some suggestions and draw up some plans. Knock a few things out . . .” He trailed off, and a silence grew. Juliet knew she should answer. It was all so confusing. Did she really want to refit the kitchen now, when all of this business with Libby was going on? Or had she already put it off too long, afraid that she couldn’t afford it, always counting every cent in fear of a hostile future?

And then there was Damien. Yes, she could still remember his pirate-ship pajamas and his love of
The Very Clever Engine
, so the shock of his masculinity—
admit it: his very attractive masculinity
—had made her awkward, unsure. Did she really want him
around, in her kitchen, when she was sweaty and stressed and wearing a food-spattered apron?

But this was not a handsome stranger. It was Damien Allbright, a person she had known in a happier past. All of a sudden, she wanted to cling to that idea: somebody who knew her and liked her before the bad stuff happened. “Sure,” she said at last. “Why don’t you do that?” Then, doubt kicked in, so she added, “Why don’t we say you can stay here for a week at the B&B for free, if you give me a week’s worth of preparatory services. In-kind. Then after that, we’ll see.”

He smiled broadly, but Juliet could see a kind of desperate relief in his eyes and she wondered what had happened to put him in this situation. She sensed, though, that it was too early to ask. Instead, she said, “If you’ve finished your tea, I can take you down to your room now.”

He leaped to his feet to help her clear the plates and teapot away. “Did Libby tell you about our lighthouse mystery?” he asked.

Juliet smiled evenly over the top of her discomfort. “No. We haven’t actually talked much.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Really? But you’ve been apart a long time.”

“Yes, that’s true.” She kept her head down as she slotted the plates in the dishwasher. “Come on, I’ll give you the side room. You’d have to sit right at the window to see the sea, but you’ll be able to hear it while you go to sleep. I always think that’s the best thing in the world.”

She grabbed the key out of her desk drawer and led him out of her flat and down the hallway to Room 2. She showed him which key was which, where the security light was, and let him into the room. He flicked on the light. Room 2 was the smallest but it was the first she’d redecorated, so she had a soft spot for it.
Pale blues and sand colors. He collapsed on the bed on his back, spreading out his arms and legs.

“Ah,” he said, “a real bed. I’m going to sleep well tonight.”

“Breakfast is between seven and nine,” she said, not really able to look at him lying on the bed. “Just order it with Melody. You’re welcome to take it back to your room. I’ll be too busy to talk about the kitchen until the afternoon, so perhaps if you come down around four?”

“Sure.” He propped himself up on his side. “Hey, thanks so much, Juliet. I can’t . . . I can’t tell you what this means to me.”

Her pulse flickered. She was looking forward to talking to him tomorrow afternoon more than she should. She nodded and withdrew, closing the door behind her. So what if he was attractive and kind and a bit mysterious? He was a decade younger than she was and he wouldn’t be interested. She was a fool to get herself all worked up. A deep breath, and she headed back down the hallway to her flat.

T
uesday—dive day—dawned with perfect weather. All through Monday, Libby had secretly hoped for the kind of bad weather that would mean she could call the dive off. She didn’t want to go. She felt discouraged, frightened, preoccupied. She felt like anything but a woman who dives shipwrecks. She wished for somebody to talk to: somebody who really understood her and her situation. But who was there? Her relationship with Mark had been necessarily isolating. She’d had work colleagues for movie nights and picnics but nobody really close, because right at the heart of her life was a secret affair.

Nonetheless, it was Tuesday. It was dive day. She would go because if Mark were alive he would never have stopped teasing her if she chickened out.

Libby pulled a light summer dress over her bathing suit and got in her car for the drive up to Winterbourne Beach. She noticed her hands shook on the steering wheel as she backed out into the street. Her stomach twinged. She tried to cheer herself with the idea that she’d see the actual ship she’d been sketching and painting these last few weeks. Yes, it would be in pieces on the ocean floor, but she imagined it would feel like touching history. Mark’s history.

Graeme had told her to meet him down at the boat ramp, and he was waiting when she arrived, squinting in the bright sunshine. She handed over the boat plans she had borrowed, and he took them with a wink.

“Did you get what you needed out of them?”

“I did, thanks,” she replied. Then she remembered Matthew Seaward’s journal. “Graeme, to your knowledge, were there any women on board the
Aurora
when she sank?”

“Whiteaway’s wife. Margaret.”

“No others?”

“A ship like that wasn’t a place for a woman,” he said. “Ah here, this is my son, Alan.” They were joined by a slight man in his twenties with coarse ginger hair that stood up at wild angles. “He’s going to be your dive buddy seeing as how you’ve never dived before. He’s really experienced and he’ll keep an eye on you.”

Libby’s stomach flipped. “So, it’s okay to go down there without any training?”

He wouldn’t quite meet her eye, which should have made her turn and run. “Yeah. It’s only a little dive. Training is costly and it takes a lot of time. We’ll have you in and out with the minimum fuss.”

Libby regarded Alan, who had turned away and was in deep, hushed conversation with his father, and her panic grew. He looked like thin comfort. She wanted a big man with her, somebody with courage and strength and honor. She wanted Mark. She never seemed to stop wanting Mark.

Another couple pulled up in a black BMW, and then when everybody was on board, Graeme started the motor and they moved out into the bay.

The sun was bright but gentle, the water deep blue-green beneath them. Libby sat on the starboard side of the boat, watching
its wake over the low railing. The couple were obviously experienced divers, talking to Alan in confident voices. Graeme stood in his half-cabin, steering the boat out towards the reef. After a ten-minute journey, he cut the motor and they slowly came to a dipping-and-bobbing rest.

Graeme came out with a wetsuit and fins, and Libby changed quickly. Then he spoke to her rapid-fire while harnessing her into a vest that he called a “BCD,” air tanks with tubes leading everywhere, a belt and a diving mask that pinched the skin around her cheeks. She listened carefully as he explained how everything worked, as the other couple splashed into the water, leaving her behind. Her brain whirled frantically. It wasn’t simple. Not at all. And she was going to have all that water on top of her. This wasn’t like swimming laps at the health club, it wasn’t even like taking an afternoon paddle in the ocean. She would be a long way under.

“Look, love, nothing’s too complicated. Breathe through here, and if that doesn’t work breathe through there. Alan’s going to be beside you the whole time.”