Rainy Day Sisters (3 page)

Lucy

ALEX KINCAID, LUCY THOUGHT,
looked
nothing
like she'd expected him to. Forget balding or bushy eyebrows or a nasal drip. The man was amazingly and irritatingly sexy.

It seemed an entirely inappropriate word to attribute to a head teacher, of a primary school no less, but it popped into her head just the same. Dark brown hair cut very short. Navy eyes with thick lashes. And a body that even in a conservative suit looked toned and muscular and, well,
hot
.

Alex Kincaid's good looks were an unexpected perk. She could use a little distraction, not just from everything she'd left in Boston, but from this new life in Hartley-by-the-Sea she was trying hard to like. It wasn't easy. In the eighteen hours since she'd shown up at Tarn House, Juliet hadn't warmed to her in the slightest.

Lucy hadn't expected some kind of
homecoming
, of course, but she'd thought Juliet would be at least a little happy to see her. She'd assumed her sister's invitation meant that Juliet actually wanted her here. And all right, yes, perhaps she'd imagined her sister running her deep bubble baths and pampering her a bit. Was that so wrong? Her life had just been destroyed. She could do with a tiny bit of coddling, the odd glass of wine pressed into her hands, assurances that she was here to relax, to be restored.

If anything, Juliet seemed to resent her presence. After sleeping for three hours yesterday afternoon, Lucy had stumbled downstairs to find her dinner of beef stew left in the warming oven of the Aga, with a note on the table asking her to put her plate in the dishwasher when she was done. Juliet had gone to walk the dogs.

Lucy had eaten alone in the kitchen, feeling once more like a scolded child, the house quiet and creaky all around her. The wind rattled the windowpanes and sent drops of water spattering on the glass, a sound that felt unfriendly. The sun was just starting to set at eight o'clock, but Lucy could barely see its weak rays from behind the heavy gray clouds. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt quite so alone.

She'd told herself to stop being so melodramatic, and turned on a lamp by the deep window seat that overlooked the gloomy pasture. She felt a little better then, and she made sure to rinse her plate and put it in the dishwasher as Juliet had instructed.

Then she'd heard Juliet come in, her quick, purposeful step, and she'd appeared in the kitchen doorway, hands on her hips.

“Did you get enough to eat?”

“Yes, thank you—”

Juliet had nodded and turned away before Lucy could stumble through any more thank-yous. She'd turned off the lamp Lucy had just switched on and then fished a
tiny
piece of beef from the kitchen drain and pointedly deposited it in the bin. Lucy had bitten her lip to keep from apologizing.

An hour later Juliet had knocked on Lucy's bedroom door and handed her a sheet of paper, the rota she'd mentioned earlier. Lucy scanned it and saw she was down to make dinner on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and clean the upstairs bathroom once a week.

“I'll take you over to the school tomorrow morning,” she said with one of those brisk nods Lucy was starting to dislike. “Introduce you to Alex Kincaid.” She'd glanced at Lucy's purple tights, her mouth tightening. “You might want to think about what you wear. First impressions are crucial, you know.”

And she'd walked away before Lucy could say anything. “Thank you” had not come to mind.

She'd lain in bed, exhausted but unable to sleep, wondering if she'd made a huge mistake in coming here. The last thing she needed in her life was yet another sniffily disapproving person making her feel small and stupid. And yet she couldn't just take off, either. She didn't want to run away again. She wanted something to
work
.

So, yes, Alex Kincaid being good-looking was a very nice distraction. Except right now he appeared as stern and disapproving as Juliet.

“Umm . . . sorry?”

“Have you been listening to anything I've said?”

The answer to that would be no. She had been admiring the cleft in his chin, though. Very Cary Grant. “I . . .” She scrambled to think of
something
he'd said, but her mind came up empty. This was definitely not the first impression she'd wanted to make. And first impressions were so
crucial
, as Juliet had said. She had gone for her most sensible outfit too, a brown corduroy skirt and a fuzzy blue sweater and plain black tights because even though it was the last week of August, it was still freezing. She was wearing the clothes she'd brought for the beginning of winter.

“I see,” Alex said, the two words bitten out. Lucy supposed she should have expected this kind of attitude from Mr. Kincaid; from the moment she'd met him out in the school yard, he'd seemed hassled and impatient, one sweeping glance taking her in and seeming to dismiss her all at once. He'd turned away to unlock the front door of the school, and then ushered her into the tiny front office with its sliding glass window and enormous photocopying machine. Lucy had breathed in the scent of chalk and new paint and, underneath, the tang of old PE clothes and sweaty boy. That smell had catapulted her back to elementary school, and that had not been a happy time. Junior high had been worse.

Maybe working in a school hadn't been such a great idea.

“I was asking, Miss Bagshaw,” Alex elaborated now in the overemphasizing way used by people who clearly thought you were stupid, “if you had any administrative experience.”

She'd already told him she hadn't during her phone interview. “No, I'm afraid not.”

“Any experience answering telephones?”

Besides her own? “No.”

He pressed his lips together, eyes narrowing. He still looked attractive, but it had become much less of a distraction. She was now depressingly aware of how little Alex Kincaid clearly thought of her. “I can make a mean cup of coffee,” she offered, and he actually scowled.

“Let me explain your responsibilities,” Alex said, his voice turning even in the way of someone who was only just holding on to his temper. “You'll answer any telephone calls, in addition to dealing with any visitors. Maggie Bains, who covered reception in the summer term, will guide you through it for a few days. You'll also do some work for me, as you'll be the closest thing I have to a personal assistant.”

“That's no problem at all,” she told him brightly. The truth was, she had no idea what a personal assistant actually did. File? Type? She was a
great
barista. But Alex Kincaid hadn't seemed too impressed by that information.

“I'm glad to hear it,” Alex answered tightly. He stared at her for a moment, and Lucy held on to the alert, friendly expression she'd been trying to maintain with effort. Then he sighed and glanced at his watch. “Look, I've got a million things to do before school starts, and Maggie can show you around on the first day. Would that be all right?”

“Totally fine.” She took a deep breath and stood up, unfortunately at the same time as Alex, making them nearly bump noses in the tiny office. Lucy took a step and felt the photocopier jab into her back. She suppressed a wince. So did Alex.

Resolutely she stuck her hand out. “Thank you for taking me on, Mr. Kincaid. I really appreciate the opportunity.” There. That sounded professional, didn't it?

With seeming reluctance Alex took her hand and gave it a shake. “You're welcome,” he said grudgingly.

Two minutes later Lucy was back outside in the little school yard, a chilly wind buffeting her. A steep lane ran down to the high street, and above the slate roofs she could see the rolling pasture and the determined twinkle of the sea. The rain had eased off this morning, although the relentless rattling of wind through the trees had kept her up half the night. Now the sky was a pale gray-blue, as if it couldn't make up its mind whether to revert back to rain. The sun wasn't exactly shining, but at least it wasn't a downpour.

Digging her hands into the pockets of her coat, Lucy headed down the lane and back to Tarn House.

The house was full of noise and commotion as she let herself in, squeezing past the three enormous backpacks that crowded the little entry hall. She made her way back to the kitchen, where three young men, of a size to match their luggage, were standing around the kitchen table, chatting in loud Australian accents while Juliet poured tea from a big blue pot.

Her sister looked almost . . . animated. She was smiling, at least, which made Lucy realize Juliet had not actually smiled once since she'd arrived.

And the smile disappeared completely when she caught sight of Lucy.

“You're back,” she said, and Lucy just kept herself from inanely agreeing. “So, how did you get on?”

“Fine, I think.” Actually, she didn't think she'd gotten on fine at all. Alex Kincaid seemed to take her on sufferance, just as Juliet did. But she wasn't about to say that, especially not with these three linebackers eyeing her with such blatant curiosity.

“Well, it's not rocket science, is it?” Juliet said as she put the teapot back on the Aga. “Answering phones.”

Lucy tried to figure out if that comment had been as snippy and sarcastic as it had felt. She caught the gaze of one of the Australians, who winked at her. “No,” she agreed as she backed out of the room. “It's not rocket science.”

She went upstairs to her bedroom, the Australians' raucous laughter ringing in her ears. Quietly she shut the door and leaned against it, wanting to duck the tidal wave of homesickness she felt crashing over her and knowing she couldn't.

She thought about calling Chloe, who was practical and matter-of-fact but in a kindly, cheerful way. Unfortunately it was only seven in the morning in Boston, and Lucy didn't think her best friend would appreciate being woken up at that hour just so Lucy could moan. She couldn't even send her an e-mail, because she hadn't worked up the courage to ask Juliet for the Wi-Fi password.

She curled up on the bed, tucking her knees to her chest as she gazed out at the fragile blue sky, which was threatening to be overwhelmed once more by dark gray clouds.

She could explore Hartley-by-the Sea, but at the moment the dark sky and the narrow high street didn't beckon to her with their dubious charms. She'd rather stay curled up on her bed and feel miserable. Sort of.

The Australians thundered up the stairs, and then it seemed as if the whole house rattled as they dumped their heavy backpacks in various rooms before heading downstairs again and then out the door with a loud slam.

The ensuing silence felt like the calm after a storm, interrupted by a light tapping on Lucy's door.

“Yes—”

Juliet poked her head around the door, her gaze taking in the pajamas Lucy had left on the floor and yesterday's clothes kicked in the corner. The contents of her toiletry bag were strewn over the top of the dresser, and she'd dumped all her American change and a crumpled pack of gum in the antique washbasin. Predictably, Juliet's mouth tightened at the sight of all this mess and then her gaze snapped to Lucy.

“I'm going to take the dogs for a walk to the beach. Fancy coming?”

Lucy swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded. “Sure,” she said, and hopped off the bed.

Juliet

JULIET ALWAYS FELT A
bit flat without guests in the house. She liked guests like the Australian boys: boisterous, cheerful, needing her to bustle around them. The retired couples who came on walking holidays were soothing in their own way, and certainly slotted into the order of things with calm neatness, but they didn't need her the way these lads did, frying them a half dozen eggs each for breakfast and letting them wash out their dirty kit in the kitchen sink.

Now she stood in the doorway of Lucy's room and watched while she grabbed her sweater and reached for an elastic for her hair amidst the detritus strewn across the dresser. How had Lucy managed to make such a mess in less than twenty-four hours? And why did her sister's mess irritate her when she knew she would put up with the Australian boys' muddy boots and dirty socks?

Well, the Australians were leaving tomorrow. Lucy wasn't.

“I'll get the dogs' leads,” Juliet said, and turned away.

Back downstairs she jammed on her hiking boots and reached for her waterproof jacket before looping the dogs' leads around their sleek heads. They always knew when she was taking them out, from the moment she even seemed to think about it. Now they pranced around her with nervous excitement, butting her thigh with their noses.

She heard Lucy coming down the stairs; she'd changed into jeans, but she was wearing those ridiculous ballet flats and her jacket was actually velveteen.

“It's going to rain,” Juliet told her. “Don't you have proper gear?”

Lucy glanced at her jacket. “Umm . . . I have a winter parka, but it's kind of heavy, considering it's supposed to be summer.”

“You'll need a proper waterproof here unless you want to catch pneumonia.” Juliet reached for one of the spare waterproofs she kept for guests and tossed it to Lucy. “Here. You can use that until you can get something suitable. Those flats will be soaked in seconds. The beach is tidal, you know. The sand is always wet.” Belatedly Juliet realized how stern she sounded.

“Sorry,” Lucy said. Her sister looked like a kicked puppy. She'd looked the same when she'd made that comment in the kitchen about answering phones not being rocket science. And maybe it had sounded a little mean, but honestly. How hard a job could it be?

“You can borrow a pair of boots too,” she said gruffly, leaning down to lace up her hiking boots. “There's probably a pair your size in the hall.”

A few minutes later they were heading down the high street, bundled up in coats and boots, their heads lowered against the chill wind.

“I can't believe it's August,” Lucy said as she dug her hands into the pockets of her coat. “
August.
It's ninety degrees Fahrenheit in Boston.”

“Sounds awful,” Juliet answered shortly, and patted her thigh. “Milly. Molly. Heel.”

“I suppose it was pretty muggy,” Lucy allowed. “But it's bloody freezing here. It can't be above fifty degrees.”

“I don't know Fahrenheit,” Juliet answered, “but it's not that cold. You just have to dress appropriately.”

She sneaked a glance at Lucy and saw she was doing the kicked-puppy thing again. Her shoulders were hunched against the wind, her head lowered, her eyes streaming. But then Juliet's eyes were also streaming; they were walking straight into the wind.

“So how long have you been living here?” Lucy asked.

Juliet narrowed her eyes against the onslaught of the wind. No matter what she'd said to Lucy, it really was freezing out, even for Cumbria. “Ten years.”

“What made you choose this place? I would have expected you to live in London or something, doing something important. Stockbroker or solicitor or something.”

Juliet let out a bark of a laugh at that. “Solicitor? I didn't even finish university.”

“Didn't you?” Lucy's gaze widened and Juliet gritted her teeth. She didn't know what annoyed her more: that she'd told Lucy or that Lucy hadn't known. “Why not?”

“I dropped out. Wasn't for me.” Juliet dug her hands into her pockets and started to walk faster. “I did a catering course instead.”

“I never knew that,” Lucy said, and Juliet shrugged.

“Why would you? We haven't exactly kept in touch.”

“I know, but . . .” Lucy trailed off and Juliet didn't fill the silence. What was there, really, to say? Their mother and Lucy had chosen to make their lives in Boston, separate from Juliet. They'd been perfectly happy in their little bubble of fame and fortune, a far cry from the council flat Juliet had grown up in, when Fiona had been struggling through night classes and jobs working in pubs. Lucy had no idea of what life had been like before Fiona Bagshaw had become
the
Fiona Bagshaw.

“So a catering course,” Lucy said after a moment. “Have you always worked in the hospitality industry?”

“I got a job at a big hotel in Manchester right after graduation. I worked there for a few years.” Until her life had fallen apart, though not in the spectacular way Lucy's had; more of a desperate, quiet crumbling.

“So how did you end up in Hartley-by-the-Sea?”

Juliet dug her hands deeper into the pockets of her waterproof. “I was on a walking holiday up here and I stopped and decided to stay for good.”

“Really? You just . . . stayed?”

Juliet shot her a narrow look. “Why all the questions now, Lucy?”

“Because I'm living with you, and I realize I don't even know you, not really. We're sisters—”

“Half sisters.” It popped out before Juliet could keep herself from it, and Lucy blinked, clearly stung.

“Half sisters,” she agreed, “but we're the only siblings we've got—”

“True enough, I suppose.”

Lucy continued stiltedly. “I don't think I've thanked you properly for putting me up. Inviting me here, I mean. I really do appreciate it. I had nowhere to go—”

“You could have stayed in Boston.”

Lucy shook her head. “No. I'd rather have gone anywhere than stay there.”

Juliet raised her eyebrows. “Even a poky village with the worst weather in all of England? Although to be fair, it
has
been a miserable August. It's not normally quite this cold.”

Lucy raised her eyebrows right back at her. “And you told me it wasn't that bad.”

“Well.” Juliet could feel a sudden smile tugging at her mouth, surprising her. Were they actually joking with each other?

“It's beautiful here,” Lucy said, and fluttered her fingers. It took Juliet a second to realize she was trying to touch her hand. “
Look
at that,” she exclaimed, and flung the other hand out to encompass the view.

They'd turned off the high street at the train station, and had been walking along a lane aptly named Beach Road, with sheep pastures on either side, the steep, gray-green fells cutting a jagged line out of the horizon. As they rounded a gentle hill, they could see the sea in the distance, glittering under a sun that had emerged from dark storm clouds, offering that syrupy golden light particular to England, even though most of the sky was still a deep, dank gray.

The wind blew their hair into tangles around their faces and tears still streamed from their eyes, but in that moment, facing the stark beauty of sea and sky, Juliet felt her spirits lift.

Lucy must have felt it too, for she grabbed Juliet's hand and squeezed. Juliet went rigid in shock, but Lucy was clearly oblivious. “It really is beautiful,” she exclaimed. She turned to Juliet, her smile ridiculously radiant. “I can see why you stayed.”

Juliet pulled her hand away from Lucy's and called the dogs forward. “Let's go. Milly looks like she needs a poo.”

They let the dogs run about on the beach for a good half hour, racing along the water's edge, wet sand spraying up behind their long, elegant legs.

“So where did the Australians go off to?” Lucy asked as they stood huddled by the concrete promenade that ran along the beach, all the way to the flimsy-looking bungalow with a sign in peeling black paint that was Hartley-by-the-Sea's beach café.

“The pub,” Juliet answered. “They'll stagger back when Rob throws them out tonight and then conquer Scafell Pike tomorrow.”

“Rob?”

“Rob Telford. He's the landlord of the Hangman's Noose.”

“Nice name.”

“It adds character.”

Lucy gave a small smile, and Juliet gave one back. So apparently she and her sister could chat like normal people, for a few minutes at least.

“So, are all your guests like these Australians?”

“They're almost all walkers or hikers. I get the odd guest who's here for something else, visiting relatives or doing research for a dissertation on Wordsworth or Beatrix Potter. But we're a bit far off the beaten track for that sort of thing, so walking it is.”

“I saw a sign for Wordsworth's house, I think, on the road here.”

Juliet nodded. “Up in Cockermouth. And Hill Top, Beatrix Potter's house, is in Ambleside. There's not much going out this way, though, besides walking.”

“But that's enough to keep you in business, I suppose.”

“I manage.” Juliet nodded towards the café. “It's not much, but they serve coffee and tea and some toasted sandwiches. You fancy it?”

Lucy beamed at her, making Juliet feel guilty again. She should be kinder to Lucy; it was just that she wasn't always sure
how
. Or if she really wanted to. “Sounds great,” Lucy said, and Juliet called for the dogs, who came loping to her, butting their narrow heads against her leg.

“Get off, you're soaking,” she exclaimed, but she stroked them all the same before looping their leads around their necks and heading for the promenade that led to the café.

Juliet could tell Lucy was a bit nonplussed by the shabby, muggy warmth of the café, the windows that overlooked the frothing sea fogged up. The small room was scattered with tables with peeling tops and rickety chairs, and only a handful of patrons. It wasn't some upscale Boston bistro, that was for certain.

Mary, the café's owner and a buxom woman with flyaway white hair and a booming laugh, handed them a grease-splattered laminated menu upon their arrival; Juliet had tied the dogs up outside.

“What can I do you, Juliet?”

“A cup of coffee and a toasted ham and cheese, please, Mary.” She glanced at Lucy. “What would you like?”

“I'll have the same.”

Mary rang up their orders on a till and Juliet took out a ten-pound note while Lucy fumbled with her pockets. “My treat,” she said shortly, and Lucy stammered her thanks, which Juliet ignored. “How's the heart, Mary?” she asked, and the older woman made a wry face.

“Still ticking, more or less.”

“Hopefully more.” Mary gave her the change, which she tipped into the plastic box for the Royal National Lifeboat Institute. “Mary had a heart attack last winter,” she told Lucy as they walked to a table by the window. The sun had retreated again and rain spattered the glass.

“Is she okay?” Lucy asked, turning around to gaze at Mary before Juliet tapped her on the shoulder.

“She's not going to fall down dead, so you can stop rubbernecking,” she said, meaning it as a joke, but it didn't come out like one. She clearly had trouble with delivery.

“Do you know everyone in the village?”

“No.” She didn't actually know that many people, considering she'd been here ten years. She certainly didn't know many people
well
.

“So, how unusual is this for August, really?” Lucy asked. Juliet had seen that the thermometer outside the café had registered eleven degrees Celsius. “Tell me the truth.”

Juliet shrugged. “Not that unusual, I suppose, but we keep hoping for better.” Mary came over with the coffees and after thanking her, Juliet stirred hers slowly, her gaze on the gray clouds, a wisp of blue just barely visible underneath. The definition of hope. “When the weather's good here, it's really, really good.”

“And when it's bad, it's horrid?” Lucy finished with a smile, and Juliet let out a sudden, rusty laugh that seemed to take them both by surprise.

“‘There was a little girl, who had a little curl,'” she quoted. “Yes, like that.” Then, impulsively, she added, “The day I arrived here, I came from Whitehaven on the Coast-to-Coast walk and the sun was just setting over the sea. It was amazing, really. It had been the most wonderful day, pure blue skies and bright sunshine the whole time. And warm, even though it was September. I stood on the top of the head by the beach right there”—she nodded towards the window—“and watched the sun turn the water to gold and I felt as if—well, as if I didn't need to go anywhere else. Finally.”

Lucy was looking almost weepy, and Juliet felt a flush rise on her face. She didn't normally sound so bloody sentimental. She didn't think she'd told anyone that story before, or even articulated it to herself. And yet somehow the words had spilled out to Lucy of all people.