Page 71 of A Summer Scandal

‘He lives on the ground floor of the Lido, he has done for decades.’

‘What did you say his name was again?’

‘Barty. Barty Harwood.’

The creases lifted from Della’s brow. ‘Harwood? You must mean Tolly, surely?’

Vi shook her head. ‘Nope, I’m pretty sure Barty’s surname is Harwood.’

Della smiled, remembering back. ‘No, I mean Tolly is his first name, Tolly Harwood. Or that’s what my mother always called him, I’m sure of it.’

‘Tolly?’ Vi put her head on one side, puzzled. ‘His full name is Bartholomew, so maybe?’

Della got up from the table and pulled down an old box of photos from on top of the kitchen dresser.

‘I’ve started to sort through things since you’ve been gone. No sense in ignoring it all any longer,’ she said, sitting back down and leafing through the pictures and old birthday and Christmas cards with sure fingers. ‘I’m sure I’ve seen it in here somewhere … Ah, here you go.’

She pulled out a yellowed, flimsy newspaper cutting and smoothed it out carefully on the table between them.

‘This must be from the mid-seventies at a guess,’ she said. ‘There’s the pier of course,’ she outlined it with her finger, ‘and your grandmother there by the wall, and see the man standing beside her? That’s Tolly.’

Vi didn’t need to study the photograph; it was the exact same image the local newspaper had pulled from the archives back in Swallow Beach just a few weeks ago. The exact same photograph Barty had studied and categorically denied any knowledge of who the man in the photograph was.

Barty Harwood.

Tolly Harwood, to Monica.

Or more simply, just T.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Oh God.She needed to go back. Barty was T; she knew it now without a shadow of a doubt. How had she missed it when it had been staring her in the face all along? Because he’d hidden it, of course. He’d been deliberately vague, deflecting her questions. She’d allowed herself to think of it as old-fashioned chivalry towards his friends, but the truth was far more basic than that. He’d lied to her repeatedly, and it cut Violet deeply. She needed to talk to him, be the brave woman he’d said she was and ask him for the truth.

But there was something she needed to do first. Climbing from her car, she walked through the park gates to the bench she’d arranged to meet Simon on and sat down. She was early, deliberately so to give herself time to gather her thoughts. It was early on Saturday morning, grey and cool despite the fact that it was the height of summer. She watched as a father shepherded his two tiny children, pushing them on the swings, lifting them onto the slide. It was all very normal, and yet Violet found it quite emotional, remembering when her own parents had brought her here for the exact same simple pleasures, Grandpa Henry too.

‘Violet.’

Simon appeared beside her, dear and familiar, and she stood up and smiled, awkward.

‘You came back,’ he said.

She sat back down and watched as he laid down his waterproof jacket then sat beside her, prepared for all eventualities as always.

‘Just for a day or so,’ she said. ‘I’m going back again after this.’

His face fell. ‘I thought we could have dinner tonight. I’ve booked a table at the Taj Star.’

Violet sighed. ‘I can’t have dinner with you, Simon.’

‘But I’ve asked them for that special table in the window,’ he said. She could see the look in his eyes sliding from hope to disheartenment and she hated herself afresh.

‘I’m sorry Simon,’ she said, reaching down into her handbag on the floor. She’d thrown her bags back into the Traveller that morning ready to make tracks – she’d loosely planned to stay with her parents for the weekend, but she was itching to get back to Swallow Beach to see Barty after her mum’s revelation. ‘I didn’t want to lead you on, or give you the impression that I’d be coming back to marry you.’

She was fairly clear in her mind that she hadn’t done that, that he’d railroaded her into accepting the situation. Even still, he looked hangdog as she placed the ring box in his hand.

‘You’re a lovely man, Simon, and you’ll make someone a brilliant husband. She’ll be a lucky lady, but I’m afraid it can never be me.’

He bunched his mouth up, horribly close to crying. ‘But I don’t want anyone else.’

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