A Summer Scandal: The perfect summer read by the author of One Day in December. Kat French

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      ‘I think the walls were put in to create the shop effect,’ he said. ‘They could probably come down again if you wanted them to.’

      Vi nodded, not really taking the suggestion in beyond drily noting it as a male thought process, already assessing the place for DIY. Walking slowly, she led the way through the birdcage from empty room to empty room, saying very little and thinking a lot.

      What on earth was she going to do with it? What had her grandmother done with the place when it was hers? She needed to know more, and given the amount that Cal knew already, she was pretty sure that the older generation in Swallow Beach would be able to fill in the gaps. Barty, perhaps. Each square space had smoked interior walls for privacy but the outer wall offered a wide view out over the sea. Standing in the back corner, Violet laid her hands on the cold, dusty glass.

      ‘Don’t lean on it,’ Cal cautioned. ‘You might end up in the sea.’

      She smiled, far away. This room offered the best sea-view of all. She couldn’t see any land, just wall-to-wall water. Even the grubby windows couldn’t dampen the effect all that much; it was serene, like a cabin on a ship out in the middle of nowhere.

      ‘Want me to leave you in peace for a while?’

      Vi turned to look at Cal, and as she did, she noticed that some of the floorboards in the room had been painted, much like out on the pier. They weren’t blue though. Someone, Monica presumably, had painted them in shades of the rainbow, faded now but still easily distinguishable as red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet. More than that. She’d painted the names of the colours, the same golden swirly letters as before, illuminated by the early morning sun.

      Kneeling by them, Vi caught her breath, reading the words one by one until she reached the last. Pulling her gloves off quickly, she swept the layer of dust away with her flat hands, then stilled, staring down at the glittering letters.

       Violet.

      Her name, written there on the end of the pier by her grandmother all of those years ago.

      Hot tears bubbled up out of nowhere; it was so unexpected, and so direct a link, almost as if her gran always knew she’d one day kneel here and find it. Her logical brain understood, of course; her mum hadn’t just chosen her name at random after all. She’d always said it was a whim, but now Violet knew different. You couldn’t call a girl Orange or Green, but Violet … yes. Had her mum remembered this floor on the day she was born, maybe given her a name that made her think of Monica? Vi swallowed down a great gulp of air, sentimental to the brim.

      ‘That’s pretty special,’ Cal said, hunkering down next to her.

      ‘I can’t believe it’s here,’ she whispered, swiping her hand over her damp cheeks. ‘Sorry, stupid of me.’

      He stood, holding his hand out and heaving her up too. ‘Not stupid at all,’ he said, reaching out briefly to touch the blue tips of her hair.

      She nodded quickly, feeling out of her depth, then looked up, startled by a scrabbling noise on the glass roof overhead.

      ‘The swallows,’ Cal said, gazing up. ‘They gather on the pavilion roof.’

      Violet watched them flit around for a few silent moments, not quite trusting herself to answer, not even sure what she wanted to say.

      ‘I’m glad you’ve come to Swallow Beach,’ he said softly when she looked back at him.

      ‘You are?’

      ‘You brighten it up.’

      It was a compliment that she very much appreciated; she was accustomed to people finding her style a little too quirky, her colours a little too much.

      ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, still damp-eyed. She didn’t know Calvin Dearheart at all really, yet in that moment she felt as if he knew her pretty well. Maybe that was why she didn’t resist when he opened his arms.

      ‘Need a hug? I’m told mine are the best in the business.’

      He wasn’t kidding. His arms folded around her and held her close but not too tight, his chin resting on the top of her head. He was warmth on the cold morning, and he was reassuringly alive when she felt surrounded by echoes of the past.

      ‘I’m told I’m the best kisser in the business too, if you’re interested,’ he said, and even though she couldn’t see his face she could feel him laughing into her hair.

      ‘Don’t push your luck,’ she hiccupped, not ready to let go yet, because she’d just had the most rollercoaster twenty-four hours of her life and his arms felt like a safe place to be. And then she caught herself, because how could that be? She was practically engaged to Simon, yet here she was being held by a super-hot stranger who may or may not have just kissed her hair. She tried not to notice the fact that Cal smelt of warm leather and something almost like cinnamon spice, and of running water and of new opportunities.

      ‘I think I’ve seen enough for now,’ she said.

      ‘Home then?’

      She nodded, realising it was after nine only when she glanced at her watch. ‘Do you need to get off to work?’

      Cal kind of shrugged. ‘I’m pretty flexible.’

      Violet wanted to ask him what he did, but felt as if it might sound intrusive so held the question back for another time. Taking one last look around the pavilion, she led the way back out onto the pier and locked the doors again.

      Later that day, fortified by a warm bath and a cupboard full of groceries, Vi perched on one of the breakfast stools and tried to work out where was best to set up her sewing machine. Common sense suggested the spare bedroom, once upon a time her mother’s bedroom, as the practical answer. But that would mean moving things, emptying things, changing things, and she didn’t want to do that before Della had had a chance to come and see it as it was for herself. Even though her mum had said that she couldn’t face coming to Swallow Beach, Violet couldn’t face the thought of her mum never visiting her here. She didn’t know the full story really, but she got a strong sense from her mum of unfinished business where Swallow Beach was concerned and she hoped that, at some point over the summer, she’d soften and come.

      So, with the only spare room not an option, Vi decided to leave the machine where it was on the dining table and work from there. Her eyes moved over the space, working out where the light fell and where she could store all of her accessories and stock. A large walnut and white sideboard stretched across the back wall behind the table; she could empty that out and use it. Decision made, she jumped up and set to work.

      Two hours later, Violet sat cross-legged on the floor, damp-cheeked for the second time that day, surrounded by the trinkets and detritus of a life only half lived. Her grandparents’ wedding album, black and white, crisp vellum protecting the framed images. Monica’s fifties tea-length dress looked like something straight out of Grease, sleeveless white lace with a boat neck and layers of net underskirts over impossibly pointed kitten heels. Her dark hair had been styled into an elegant bouffant and dressed with a white band, and despite her winged black eyeliner and wide smile she looked impossibly young and naive. Hopeful, in shiny-eyed love with the tall, suited man standing proudly beside her. Was that really Grandpa Henry? He looked so carefree and youthful, it was hard to СКАЧАТЬ