Page 39 of A Summer Scandal

‘I’ll take this out to Keris,’ he said to Cal. Violet stepped inside to let him past, eyeing the dubious contraption as he went by.

‘Not everything I make is quite so in your face,’ Cal said, as if he needed to explain himself. ‘It’s mostly mainstream stuff. You know … the things you’ve already seen.’

Vi nodded. ‘Floggers and things.’

‘Yes.’

Were floggers mainstream, now? Was it a prerequisite of bedrooms up and down the land to have a whip and a gimp-mask stashed under the bed next to your suitcases and shoes? Vi couldn’t imagine that it was. Or perhaps she was out of touch. She couldn’t even imagine Simon’s face if she’d tried to introduce any of those kinds of things into their sex life; he wasn’t at all adventurous. In fact, he wasn’t big on spontaneity at all; she’d always tried to tell herself that they were a classic case of opposites attract, but now that they were no longer together, she was more and more sure that that wasn’t a strategy that would have worked long-term.

‘Settled in?’ she said, changing the subject.

‘I love it,’ Cal said, relaxing into that smile that did odd things to her insides. ‘So much space and light.’

She nodded, because she appreciated those same things in her own workshop. The light in the birdcage really was spectacular; she could see why it might have been used as a gallery.

‘The light’s amazing, isn’t it? I can imagine painting here.’

‘You paint?’

‘Not for a long time,’ she said, wistful. ‘I used to love it though. I’m not that great at it, but it’s joyful all the same.’

‘No end to your talents,’ he said lightly.

‘Oh, there is,’ she said. ‘I’m terrible at anything maths related. Or science. Or computers.’

‘Did you see the website? Keris is nearly done now, looks pretty cool.’

Keris, thankfully, was a whizz with computers, and had taken charge of building the pier’s new website.

‘I know,’ Violet said. ‘She’s a clever one.’

‘Melvin and Linda’s furniture arrived earlier,’ Cal said. ‘I had it put just inside their room.’

Violet nodded. Chatting with Cal was more stilted since they’d kissed; she hoped it wouldn’t always feel that way. Maybe if she offered an olive branch …

‘I’m cooking later, if you’re around? Nothing fancy, just pasta …’ She stopped speaking, because his expression already told her the answer.

‘I’ve already made plans,’ he said, looking awkward. ‘Sorry. Really.’

She could feel the flush of embarrassment crawling upher neck. ‘Hey, don’t be silly,’ she said, overcompensatingwith a forced laugh. ‘I’m cooking anyway, it was just a thought.’

‘Another time?’ he said, his dark eyes asking her to say yes.

She shrugged it off. ‘For sure.’ Backing out of his room, she lifted her hand. ‘See you later them. Umm, have a fun night.’

Escaping to the relative safety of her workroom, Violet sat down at her worktable and laid her head against the wood, feeling like a fool.

In his room, Cal seriously contemplated texting Maria and rearranging for a different night. They had a very occasional, casual arrangement, she wouldn’t mind taking a rain check. He went as far as to pull his phone out of his back pocket, but then stopped himself as he clicked the screen into life. What was he thinking of? Turning away a gorgeous, funny girl who’d end up in his bed tonight for a bowl of pasta and a strained conversation with the one girl he was trying to avoid being alone with? Shoving his phone in his pocket, he started to pack his stuff away.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘We’re on the front of the local paper!’

Violet met Keris and Barty in the Lido lobby on Monday morning, after a quiet weekend of reading and mooching around the apartment. She’d read the sci-fi novel from her grandmother’s bedside table, and resisted reading more of her diary even though she was desperate to. Instead she’d emptied out the kitchen cupboards and delighted in Monica’s eclectic taste in crockery and cookware. She’d clearly not been troubled by the idea of a matching dinner service, there wasn’t even one plate or cup that matched another. It appealed to Violet’s artistic sensibilities, and to her sentimental side, too. It pleased her to imagine her grandmother hunting down the random pieces in charity shops and vintage market stalls, or perhaps picking up a cup or bowl to remind her of a holiday or special place.

She baked a cake too, another thing she used to enjoy but never seemed to find the time for recently. But leafing through Monica’s old, well-used orange cookbook, she’d found a recipe speckled with chocolate and decorated with childish blue-crayoned hearts around the page. Clearly a well-loved recipe, and once she’d baked it, Violet understood why. Who knew you could add old-fashioned milkshake powder to a sponge recipe? She’d had to dig around a couple of supermarkets to find the old-style powder still for sale, but it was worth the effort – the resulting cake was delicately pink and strawberry-sweet, topped with chocolate icing; the kind of cake a child would love. Would her mum remember it, she’d wondered, eating a huge slice for breakfast on Sunday morning.

‘We’re in the paper?’ she said, handing Barty a small Tupperware box holding a slice of cake. ‘I made a cake,’ she said. ‘Thought you might like a slice.’

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