How To Keep A Secret: A fantastic and brilliant feel-good summer read that you won’t want to end!
“I’ve failed this place.”
“It’s a house, Nancy.”
“Not to me.” The Captain’s House was a responsibility, handed down to her by her family. It was the place where she’d grown up and the place she’d fallen in love. The house was large, but Tom had filled it with his personality and warmth. He’d cast light on dark corners and his laughter had blown away dust and cobwebs. Both their children had been born there. And it wasn’t only the house that held memories, it was the contents. Every room held pieces passed down through the family. Those pieces had meaning. Those pieces mattered. She was the custodian. A poor custodian, as it turned out.
Alice nudged her. “I’m looking forward to book group.”
Despite everything, Nancy smiled. “Why? You never read the book.”
“I know. I come for the cake and companionship. Two of the best things in life. You’re a good friend, Nancy Stewart, always have been.”
Nancy said nothing.
Alice sighed. “You were there for me when I lost my Adam and when my mama died. If I could solve this problem for you, I would and so would anyone in our little book group. Sometimes those women are so annoying I could strangle them with my bare hands, but I also know they’d drop everything to help if they knew about your troubles.”
Nancy felt a thickening in her throat. “I should get on. I have things to do. Thanks for coming round.”
“I didn’t come round. I squeezed through your fence, same way I did when I was four years old, but I’ll go if you want me to. You know where I am.”
Nancy stayed lost in thought long after Alice had squeezed her way back through the fence.
There were so many decisions to make. So many things to handle.
So many regrets.
She turned and looked back at her home.
The white clapboard house had been built in 1860 and had been in her family ever since.
She knew every shingle and every pane of glass.
This house had seen a lot, and so had she.
Her great-great-grandfather had been captain of a whaling vessel, a master mariner of vast experience who’d held ultimate command of the ship. By all accounts he’d been a difficult man. She knew there were those who thought she’d inherited that trait.
In her own way she was a captain, too, only her vessel was her family. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d driven the ship onto the rocks.
What was left? Tom was gone. Her two children no longer needed her and she’d stopped hoping that their relationship could be different. That didn’t stop her worrying about them.
She’d worried when Lauren had chosen to marry Ed and move to England instead of taking up her college place. It had seemed so out of character. But love did strange things to people. Nancy had often wondered if Lauren had been pregnant when she’d married Ed, but they seemed happy, so what did it matter?
Her younger daughter had caused her more anxiety. Jenna had bounced through life with an almost exhausting enthusiasm. Growing up, Jenna had dragged Lauren into all sorts of scrapes, but the two of them had somehow survived and Nancy suspected that was down to her eldest daughter, who had always watched over her sister.
She heard the sound of a car and then the crunch of footsteps.
With a last look at the sea, she walked back toward the house. Every step was an effort. She felt as if the house was watching her with accusing eyes. She smelled the sea, felt panic close over her head and wondered if this was how it felt to drown.
She stepped through the door and saw the place as a stranger might, battered and battle weary, revealing every scar and wound.
The rooms were crammed full of furniture, ornaments, books, old maps.
Nancy couldn’t bring herself to throw anything away.
Some of the windows were rotten, the paintwork in the entryway was chipped and there was a large empty space on the wall where she’d removed that damn seascape.
She’d told Jenna she’d taken it down so she could decorate. The truth was she loathed that painting. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say she loathed what it represented. She would have burned it if it hadn’t been for the fact it might still have a purpose.
She opened the door and looked at the man standing there. She had to tilt her head and look up because he topped six feet and dominated her doorway.
She’d first spoken to him five years before on what could, without drama or exaggeration, be described as the worst night of her life. Those years had left their mark on her. Not, it seemed, on him.
She had no idea how old he was, but she would have guessed midthirties.
His eyes were a cool blue and shadowed by secrets. His mouth, well shaped and firm, rarely curved into a smile. His jaw was dark with stubble and the sweater he wore had probably been deep blue at some point but had faded to a washed gray hue.
Had she really expected him to show up in a suit and tie? No. He looked exactly the way she’d expected him to look. Why would he shave before knocking on her door? He wasn’t the type of man who was remotely interested in social conventions or the opinions of others. He lived life according to his own rules and that, as it turned out, was lucky for her because five years ago he’d helped her when no one else would.
She felt a pang of envy. What would her life look like now if she’d been more like him? If she’d been braver?
“Thank you for coming.”
It was ironic that he should be the one to help her out of her current situation.
She needed him, and yet at the same time she hated him for taking from her the one thing she had left in the world. And truthfully she had no idea how he would respond to what she was about to say. He was unpredictable, a man you could never be sure of.
She almost laughed aloud. Was there a man alive you could be sure of?
“Mrs. Stewart.” His voice was somewhere between the rough, sexy drawl of a whiskey drinker and the low growl of a jungle cat. It occurred to her that if that voice hadn’t been attached to a man she’d grown to trust, it might have left her feeling uneasy, as would those narrow watchful eyes.
“Thank you for coming. It was good of you.”
“I was surprised to get your call. I thought it might be a mistake.” His handshake was firm but that didn’t surprise her. It had been his physical strength, among other things, that had saved the both of them that night.
“No mistake.” The mistakes, she thought, had been made long before. “You’d better come in. There’s something I need to say to you.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Lauren
Party: a social gathering, for pleasure, often held as a celebration
LAUREN CHECKED HER list and made a final sweep of the house.
She knew the place looked good.
She’d poured her interest in interior design into her own home, and while Mack was in school she learned trade skills such as paint effects and upholstery. She filled notebooks with photographs and sketches and shopped for fabric and objects. Gradually she’d transformed their London home into an elegant space perfect for family living but also for entertaining.
Occasionally friends asked for her advice on decorating and Lauren was always happy to help. She had an eye for space and color and could see potential in the most run-down, tired property. It wasn’t luck or hard work that gave her the ability to see what others didn’t, it was an artistic talent no doubt inherited from her mother. Possibly the only trait she’d inherited from her mother.
And finally she had a qualification and could start taking on paying clients.
Her home was the best advertisement for her skills and abilities, and tonight at Ed’s party there would be people who might potentially give her business.
She’d already decided to set up her own company but had yet to decide on a name.
City Chic?
Urban Chic?
She took a final glance round the living room, satisfied that everything was exactly as it should be.
She heard the front door slam, signifying Mack’s return from school, and unconsciously braced herself.
Her daughter strolled into the room. Mack was tall and did everything in her power to disguise that fact. She was at that age where anything that drew attention was considered embarrassing and to be avoided at all costs, so she slouched to make herself appear smaller.
Lauren had green eyes, but Mack’s were blue. Her hair, even with hints of pink blending in with honey and caramel, was her best feature.
Lauren had a sudden vision of Mack lying in her crib asleep, then holding up chubby arms as an adorable toddler.
“Did you shorten your skirt?”
Noticing her mother, Mack tugged her headphones away from her ears. “What?”
“Did you shorten your skirt?” Immediately she regretted making that the first thing she said.
“No. I grew. It happens. I could stop eating, but then you’d nag me about that, too.” Mack opened the fridge and stared into it as if something in there had personally offended her. “There’s nothing in here.”
How could a fridge full of food be “nothing”?
“The caterers are setting up. There are bagels.” Lauren opened her mouth to tell her not to keep the fridge door open, and then closed it again. Did she nag? “How was your day?”
“I spent it at school. Enough said.” Mack split a bagel and toasted it.
“I had coffee with Ruth and Helen today. They mentioned an ancestry project you’re working on. Sounds interesting.”
“Interesting?” Mack spread cream cheese on the bagel. “I guess that’s one word for it.”
What had happened to her eager, enthusiastic daughter?
“Do you need help? You know our ancestors on my side of the family were whaling captains? Martha’s Vineyard played an important role in the whaling industry. Nantucket mostly provided the ships, but the Vineyard provided the captains and crews and other support.” Seeing that Mack was barely engaged in the conversation, Lauren stopped. She knew she was trying too hard. Maybe she should make it more personal. “Edgartown, where Grams lives, was one of the most important ports on the coast. The Captain’s House was built in the nineteenth century. Your grandparents spent a lot of time restoring it—” She broke off, aware that she’d lost her audience. She might as well have been having a conversation with the freezer.
Mack carried on eating, unresponsive.
Lauren slid onto the stool next to her. “Did something happen today?”
“No.”
Lauren felt a rush of frustration, and mingled in with the stress of it was sadness because she remembered days when Mack would come running in from school, all smiles, desperate to share something that had happened during the day. Look, Mommy, look at this.
Those days had gone.
“Mrs. Hallam called yesterday.”
“Yeah? I bet the conversation was thrilling.” Mack was careless, but Lauren saw her daughter’s cheeks flush.
“She’s concerned about you. About your grades. She wants us to set up a meeting.”
“Grades. That’s what this is about?”
“This?”
“When you hijack me in the kitchen, I know there’s something. I don’t know why you don’t come right out with it.” Mack put the knife down on the counter, smearing grease.
Lauren sat on her hands to stop herself from snatching the knife up and wiping up the mess. “I didn’t ‘hijack’ you. I want you to know you can talk to me, that’s all.”
“No, what you want is for me to talk to you whether I want to or not about a topic of your choice. Not the same thing.”
Parenting a teenager was like navigating a treacherous swamp. You took a step and hoped you’d plant your foot on solid ground, but it was equally likely you might find yourself sucked under.
“I’m worried about you, Mack. Not speaking up in class? You talk more than anyone I know. And you’re smart, and yet your grades are dropping.”
“I’m bored, okay? I’m sick of English. And history. What use are those? Why doesn’t my school teach computer coding or something interesting and useful that might actually lead to a job?”
Lauren kept calm. “Maybe we can find you a weekend class on computing if that’s what you’d like. But school is important, too. And studying. Our choices have consequences.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Mack gave her a hard look. “They do.”
Something about the way her daughter was staring at her didn’t feel right.
“Mack—”
Mack slid off the stool and slung her schoolbag over her shoulder. “Are we done here? Because I have a ton of homework.”
“We’ll talk about this another time.”
“Great. Something to look forward to.”
Lauren thought, I don’t have the patience for this. “Guests are arriving at eight. Dad will be home around seven, so I thought we could have a private celebration before the party.”
“I have to study. And we both know he won’t be home by seven. He never is.”
“He’s not going to work late on the day of his party.” She said it with more conviction than she felt and Mack shrugged.
“Whatever.” She sauntered off with an indifference and nonchalance that Lauren could never have managed to achieve at any age, certainly not sixteen.
One teenage girl. How hard could it be to handle one teenage girl?
Lauren went upstairs to change and put on her makeup and tried not to think about the time Mack would have sat in the middle of the bed, watching her mother with hungry, admiring eyes.
It seemed that idolizing your mother had an expiration date.
Before leaving the bedroom she checked her reflection in the full-length mirror.
The dress was new and flattered her slender frame. She was the same size she’d been at twenty. Four times a week without fail she went running. She also did yoga and Pilates and was careful what she ate.
It was important to always have a plan and stick to it. She wished Mack could see that.
She tried to ignore the voice in her head that reminded her what she’d been like at sixteen.
She needed to focus on the party.
Of course the one thing you did need at a party to celebrate a fortieth birthday was the person whose birthday it was, and by seven thirty there was still no sign of Edward.
“Told you.” Mack wandered past wearing a pair of skinny jeans that clung and a pair of heavy boots that Ed said made her look like a construction worker.
Don’t say a word, Lauren. Not a word.
“Dad probably got caught up at the office.” But as soon as Mack vanished into the den to watch a movie, Lauren pulled out her phone and sent Ed a quick text.
Are you on your way?
The doorbell rang and she felt a rush of relief. Maybe he’d forgotten his key.
But no, it was the string quartet arriving early.
She let them in, showed them where to set up and walked back to the kitchen, where the caterers seemed to have everything under control.
The champagne was chilling. The glasses were ready. The canapés were in the oven. Everything was perfect.
The door sounded again and this time when Lauren opened it she saw her mother-in-law standing there.
Maybe not completely perfect.
If there was one accessory she would never choose to have at a party, it was her mother-in-law, but how could she not invite her to her only son’s fortieth birthday party?
“Gwen! Wonderful to see you.” Lauren always overdid the greeting to compensate for her true feelings. On one occasion she’d leaned forward to kiss Gwen, but the other woman had turned her head sharply and Lauren had ended up pecking her on the neck like a drunken chicken.
Still, Gwen loved her son and that was a quality Lauren could respect.
Gwen was clutching a parcel. “Where’s my precious boy?”
He’s forty, Lauren thought. Not a boy.
“He’s on his way home.”
Gwen handed over her coat. “He’s still at work? On his birthday?”
Her tone stung like a jellyfish and Lauren felt her face burn.
Gwen seemed to hold Lauren personally responsible for the fact her son worked long hours. Not that she expressed her disapproval directly, but the pursed lips, sighs and eye rolls conveyed her message with perfect clarity.
Ed was fond of saying that his mother spoke fluent body language.
Privately Lauren had often wondered whether she would have married Ed had she met Gwen first.
“Come and talk to Mack, I know she’ll be thrilled to see you. She’s in the TV room.” Lauren took the stairs down to the TV room and Gwen followed.
“She’s watching American TV?” She said it in the same tone she might have said taking drugs and having sex?
Why couldn’t she find a single nice thing to say?
Nice dress, Lauren.
House is looking beautiful.
Did you arrange all this yourself?
My son is so lucky to be married to you.
“I don’t know what she’s watching.”
“She could be watching porn. I read that all teenagers watch porn.”
“She’s not watching porn, Gwen.” Ed, if you’re not home in the next five minutes, I’m going to kill you.
Mack appeared in the doorway. “Mom, that American porn film you suggested I watch is—” She broke off and gave a dazzling smile. “Hi, Nana, didn’t see you there.”
Gwen swayed and clutched at the wall to steady herself.
Lauren had an inconvenient urge to laugh. There had been a time when she definitely would have laughed, but she’d worked hard to suppress that side of herself. Unfortunately it seemed determined to make a reappearance.
She didn’t dare catch Mack’s eye, although since Gwen already thought she was the world’s worst parent, she probably couldn’t sink any lower in the approval ratings.
“Mack, can you come upstairs and help greet people?”
The way Mack sighed you would have thought Lauren had asked her to donate a kidney.
“Can’t you and Dad do it?”
“Dad isn’t home yet.” How could he be late tonight of all nights? As she kept listening for the sound of his key in the door, her irritation became tinged with anxiety. It wasn’t like him to be late when there was a reason to be home, and it wasn’t like him not to answer his phone, but so far he hadn’t responded to a single one of her texts. Maybe his battery had died. “I’d appreciate help.”
“Sure. That would be awesome, Mom.”
Lauren winced. Gwen hated mom, and her daughter knew it.
There was a gleam in Mack’s eyes and for a moment it felt like old times when they’d shared a joke.
And then the doorbell rang, announcing the first of their guests, and the moment was gone. Lauren opened the door to their neighbors who were armed with bottles of champagne and balloons with the number forty emblazoned in swirling writing.
The rest of the guests arrived in a steady stream. The string quartet fought valiantly to be heard above the sound of laughter and conversation. Champagne flutes clinked together and sparkled under the lights. The house hummed with celebration. Only one thing was missing.
Ed.
By nine o’clock irritation had given way to anxiety.
She’d left eight messages on Ed’s phone, each one more desperate. Their conversation of that morning kept going round in her head.
She’s not the problem.
Did the “problem” have something to do with the reason he was late?
An image inserted itself into her head. Ed, with his pants down, pumping into an unknown girl on his desk. Why did she have to think of that now? She pressed her fingers to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut to block it out.
She was wondering about the etiquette of cutting a birthday cake when the birthday boy wasn’t present, when the doorbell rang again.
All the guests had arrived, so it had to be Ed.
Weak with relief, she tugged open the door and saw two police officers standing there.
Now what?
There had been a spate of car vandalism in the street, and the Wright family, who lived four doors down, had been burgled the summer before, but generally this was a quiet, safe area of London loved by residents and tourists alike. She’d certainly never had anyone in uniform standing on her doorstep. “Mrs. Hudson?”
“Yes.” Lauren smiled her best hostess smile. “How can I help?”
The younger of the two officers looked sick, as if he was suddenly wishing he’d picked any job except this one, and she knew then that this wasn’t about a neighborhood crime.
Her legs turned to liquid. “What has happened?”
The older policewoman took charge, her eyes kind. “Do you have somewhere quiet we can talk?”
Quiet? Lauren gave a hysterical laugh. “I have thirty guests in the house, all celebrating my husband’s birthday, so no, not really. I’m waiting for him to come home.”
One look at their faces told her everything she needed to know.
Ed wouldn’t be coming home tonight, or any other night. He wasn’t going to eat his cake, nor toast his birthday with champagne.
Ed wasn’t late.
He was gone.
CHAPTER SIX
Jenna
Envy: the desire to have for oneself something possessed by another.
ON HER QUEST to make a romantic dinner, Jenna stopped at the store on her way home and bought food. While she was there, she paused by the magazines and glanced at the covers.
“How to Get a Bikini Body.”
“Beat Those Cravings.”
Judging from the covers, she wasn’t the only one with a problem.
She glanced over her shoulder to check no one was looking and dropped two magazines into her basket.
“Jenna? Jenna! I thought it was you.”
Jenna turned the magazines over. “Hi, Sylvia.”
She’d been at school with Sylvia, but their lives had diverged. Jenna had gone off to college and Sylvia had stayed on island and proceeded to pop out children as if she was on a personal mission to increase the number of year-rounders. Personally Jenna was relieved when the summer people left. The roads were clearer, the beaches were empty and you didn’t have to stand in line for ages at the bakery.
She put field greens, tomatoes and bell peppers into her basket. “How are the children?” Why had she asked that question? The Dentons had six kids. She could potentially be here for hours.
She only half listened as Sylvia talked about the stress of ferrying the children to and from piano lessons, swimming lessons, art class and football.
I’d like that type of stress, Jenna thought.
Sylvia was still talking. “And poor Kaley was in hospital with her asthma again. Your mom was so kind. Visited every day. She’s great with the kids. And she loves babies. Isn’t it about time you and Greg started a family?” The way Sylvia said it suggested that producing babies was something Jenna might have forgotten to do in the day-to-day pressure of living their lives.
Jenna fingered an overripe tomato, wondering whether the pleasure of pulping it against Sylvia’s perfect white shirt would outweigh the inevitable fallout.
Probably not.
She dropped the tomato into her basket and made a vague comment about being busy.
“I must get home.” She grabbed a bottle of wine. She probably shouldn’t be drinking, but she wasn’t pregnant, so why not? Greg wanted her to relax, didn’t he? She’d rather drink wine than go to yoga, and after her earlier encounter with her mother she needed it.
“My Alice loves those stories you read to them, Adventures with My Sister. Could you tell me the author? Is it a series? I’m going to buy those books for her birthday. Her favorite is the story about them freeing the lobsters.”