Summer at Coastguard Cottages: a feel-good holiday read. Jennifer Bohnet
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raised his eyebrows. ‘Sounds serious.’
Carrie nodded. ‘It is, but everyone tells me it’s good serious. Personally, I’m not convinced yet,’ she said. ‘I’ve never mentioned this to you before, but Mum and Dad adopted me when I was just days old. And I love them both to bits,’ she added fiercely. ‘They’re my parents.’
Max carefully dunked a biscuit in his coffee and ate it, his eyes never leaving her face.
‘Now, my hitherto unknown biological father has died, leaving, for some unfathomable reason, his entire estate to me,’ Carrie said. ‘And I so wish he hadn’t.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s going to change everything. Even if I give it away, set up a charitable trust or something, I’m for ever going to be wondering why a man I never met, and haven’t given a thought to in twenty-eight years, would leave me a fortune. Why didn’t he just leave everything to the local cats and dogs home?’ Carrie sighed. ‘Anyway, the main reason I wanted to talk to you is I’m going to need some time off.’
‘How long?’
‘Can I possibly extend my annual leave from three weeks to six? Starting at the end of this week? I’m happy to pay for a locum so you won’t be left in the lurch, but I really do need the time to sort things out and try to put things into perspective.’
Max waved his hand. ‘Don’t worry about the locum. But are six weeks going to be long enough?’
‘God, I certainly hope so,’ Carrie said. ‘I’m going to Bristol at the weekend again to check out the flat there I’ve inherited and try to decide what to do with it. And then at some stage I’ve got to get down to Devon to look at the property there.’
Max finished his coffee and put the cup down. ‘I’ll organise a locum tomorrow to start asap for an indefinite period so you can take your time and decide what’s best for you.’
‘Thanks, Max. And don’t worry, I’ll definitely be back at work on the 1st September.’
‘There’s just one thing – Dominic. What does he say about all this?’
‘Nothing,’ Carrie said. ‘But that’s because I haven’t seen him to tell him yet. He’s still in France. And it’s not the sort of thing one drops into a telephone conversation, is it? Oh, by the way, I’ve just been left a fortune by an unknown relative.’
Not that there had been a telephone conversation for the last fortnight. She’d had to make do with a couple of text messages while Dom was away with his children – and his soon to be ex-wife.
A couple of days later Carrie drove her parents to Bristol, where she treated them to lunch before they all made their way to inspect the flat Robert Trumble had left her.
The one-bedroom flat turned out to be on the second floor of a converted Georgian house in one of the roads off Park Street, a short walk from the university. High ceilings and large windows in the sitting room and bedroom gave the place a light and airy feel. Although the flat itself was sparsely furnished, both the kitchen and small bathroom boasted modern appliances.
One long wall of the sitting room was lined with empty bookshelves. A small desk and chair was in front of the window. A coffee table stood on a rug in front of an ancient leather chesterfield settee.
‘It’s a nice flat,’ Elizabeth said. ‘But so impersonal.’
Carrie shrugged. ‘Ari, the lawyer, said the few personal things here have been boxed up and sent down to Devon. His real home. Apparently he only really used this flat when he was up here lecturing.’ She wandered over to the bookcase and ran a finger along a dusty shelf. ‘I forgot to ask what he lectured in.’ She turned to look at her parents. ‘There are so many questions I keep forgetting to ask.’
‘Have you read the letter he left you yet?’ Elizabeth asked quietly. ‘You might find a few answers in there.’
Carrie shook her head. ‘No, not yet. I thought perhaps I’d read it here, today, in his home, where maybe he wrote it, but this place doesn’t feel like it has any connection with him. Maybe I’ll wait until I get to his house in Devon.’
‘Are you going to sell the flat – or keep it?’ Malcolm asked. ‘Being in this area must make it worth a fair bit.’
‘I can’t decide, to be honest,’ Carrie said. ‘I’m not going to want to live here so it would make sense to sell, but maybe I should keep it as an investment. Rent it out. Ari says there’s a huge demand for decent accommodation from the university staff as well as students, of course.’
‘Not a bad idea,’ Malcolm said. ‘You never know what the future might bring.’
‘Oh, Dad,’ Carrie laughed, shaking her head at him. ‘Right now all this is so unexpected – and unwanted, to be honest – that I don’t even want to think about what further surprises the future might hold.’
‘Property is a good safeguard against nasty surprises,’ Malcolm answered, as pragmatic as ever.
*
Time dragged for Karen the afternoon Derek was bringing Wills down. The house was looking good, all five bedrooms were summer ready for guests, and today the fridge was full to bursting point with all Wills’ favourite foods. There was nothing left for her to organise.
She debated joining Hazel and Simon down by the pool for an hour but decided against it. Silly, she knew, but she didn’t want Wills to have to come looking for her – she wanted to be at the house waiting for him. In the end she did some gardening before settling down with her book on the swinging seat under the shade of the ancient oak tree.
But thoughts of Derek kept popping into her subconscious, spoiling her enjoyment of the book. In the end she laid it aside and simply sat gazing out to sea, wondering where the last twenty-five years of her life had gone. Derek had never wanted her to work and she’d happily thrown herself into being a stay-at-home mum, involved one hundred per cent in the children’s lives. Playgroup supervisor, chairperson of the PTA, summer fête organiser, book club organiser, the list went on and on until it dwindled into taxi driver as Francesca and Wills’ social lives took over.
For years she’d been so busy organising everyone, she’d barely noticed her own life disappearing as she grew older. Now, though, with just her and Derek living at home, her life had basically been reduced to working three mornings a week at a local charity shop, and time hung heavily on her hands. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, she decided, settle for that as her future. There had to be more to life for the next, what, thirty years?
Derek had been distant and snappy with her for years now, criticising everything she did when he was home, but travelling more and more on business. He’d become more of a bully too. Not that he hit her or anything. It was what they called in the old days ‘mental cruelty’. She wondered what they called it now. She wondered, too, where the man she’d declared herself to be in love with all those years ago, despite her parents’ unease, had gone.
They rarely did anything together now. The days of theatre visits, meals out, sitting enjoying the same TV programme in the evening had all stopped. They hadn’t held a dinner party for important clients for weeks – in fact, the last one had been before Christmas, Karen realised. Instead, Derek seemed to be going out of his way not to spend any time with her these days. And the long silences when he was around were infuriating to say the least.
Could things be difficult at work? Derek had never been one to discuss business with her apart from the occasional ‘Have you seen what so and so is up to? Bloody fool’. So he was unlikely to respond to her asking, even if she plucked up the courage to ask. As for voicing the niggling thought gaining ground in the forefront of her mind, she didn’t have any real proof to accuse him.
Sitting there in the garden of The Captain’s House, her thoughts tossing around in her mind like a tsunami, she realised she didn’t really like Derek, let alone love him, any more. Deciding to