Page 76 of A Summer Scandal

‘Florence and I had been told that we couldn’t conceive, and it took an inevitable toll on our marriage. Oh, it’s no excuse,’ he said, his mouth downturned, shaking his head slowly. ‘But Monica was as blinding as a ray of sunlight, always laughing, always with that flash of devil-may-care about her that drew me in. It went from friendship to so much more with a speed that scared us both.’

Vi nodded, knowing she was listening to the other side of the story she’d already read in her grandmother’s diary.

‘And then Florrie found out she was expecting, a bolt out of the blue.’ He covered his hand over his mouth, haunted by his memories. ‘I had to end it. We’d talked about the idea of confessing, leaving Swallow Beach for some place else. But how could I do that with a baby on the way?’ He stopped to gather himself together, looking at Violet with none of the usual sparkle in his blue eyes. ‘I told Monica it was over, that I had to stay here because of the baby.’

‘But …’ Vi said, and then she stopped herself. Her grandmother had obviously never told Barty about their baby. What good would it serve to add to the burden of his guilt now?

‘I never saw her again,’ Barty whispered. ‘She died three days later, and I swear to you there isn’t a single day of my life when I haven’t apologised to her for what I drove her to. I lived, and she didn’t, and all because of what we did.’

‘Barty, don’t,’ Violet said, rounding the table to put her arm around his shoulders, distressed by the fact that Barty had pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his eyes. ‘You didn’t drive her to it. It wasn’t suicide, Barty. I’ve read her diary and I’m sure of it.’

He lifted his kind blue eyes slowly.

‘Can you be certain?’

She rubbed his shaking shoulder. ‘Absolutely certain, Barty. She was upset, but she was never suicidal.’

She paused to give him time to recover himself, glad that she’d come here. He’d obviously lived with the ambiguity of Monica’s death for decades; Vi felt sure that her gran wouldn’t have wanted him to feel responsible for what happened to her.

‘I’m sorry to have brought all this back for you.’

He patted her knee as she perched on the arm of his chair. ‘It never leaves me, child. I’ve been a blessed man, Florence and I had many happy years when Alison was a child, and Keris has been a godsend since her gran died. I’ve had more than I deserved, but your grandmother will forever be my biggest regret. The last thing she said to me was to rot in hell.’

Vi rubbed his shoulder, hurting for him. Her grandmother may have been captivating and charming and the life and soul, but her diary had also revealed her devil-may-care streak too, a deep seam of selfishness that Vi had tried to ignore because she wanted to adore the woman she so resembled. And she still did, because people were flawed and complicated and made mistakes.

‘No one is without fault, Barty,’ she said softly. ‘People mess up all the time, do and say awful things, fall in love with people they shouldn’t fall in love with. My grandmother was a grown woman, she was equally responsible for what happened between you, and for the choices she made afterwards too.’

‘Don’t blame her, Violet,’ Barty said. ‘If you need to blame anyone, blame me.’

‘Did Florence ever know?’

Barty shook his head. ‘Blessedly not.’

Vi could only hope her Grandpa Henry had been granted the same mercy, but somehow she doubted it.

Violet checked the weather report when she woke up a little after five the following morning, relieved to see that the storm everyone was starting to talk about wasn’t due to blow in until the end of the weekend. The forecast for Saturday was fine and dry; maybe Beau hadn’t been kidding about putting in his order for sunshine. She was due at the pier by seven to meet the electrician who was going to rig up the fairy lights, but there was something she wanted to do first. Pulling her grandmother’s diary out, she steeled herself to read the final entry.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I don’t believe it. She’s pregnant, and suddenly I’m surplus to requirements. After all that has happened between us, she’s won anyway. I haven’t told him about our baby, I wish to God that there wasn’t one. I’ve read that gin and a hot bath can help make it go away. I’ve bought the gin even though I never touch the stuff, but I don’t know if I can bring myself to go through with it. How has it come to this? She gets to celebrate her child, and I have to wish mine dead on my birthday?

I’m going to go to the pier and drink the bottle, hopefully I’ll be able to deal with it without Henry ever needing to find out what I’ve done. It kills me to think of the anguish it would cause him.

As final entries, it made horrific reading. Violet closed the diary and placed it back in the drawer where she’d found it, closing it and lying back against her pillows. What an awful end to such a charismatic, talented woman, wonderful in so many ways despite her faults.

She was hugely relieved not to find any mention of suicidal thoughts, and given all that Vi had read and learned about her grandmother over the last few months, it made far more sense to think that she’d fallen to her death accidentally because of the amount of gin she’d consumed in a misguided attempt to lose the baby. Poor, poor Monica. What a dreadful state of affairs all round.

Getting out of bed with a heavy heart, Violet headed for the shower. It was the day of the awards ceremony, the day the pier would be lit up with fairy lights and fireworks. It was somehow fitting that it fell on the fortieth anniversary of Monica’s death. She’d more than paid her penance – Violet intended to let her gran go in the blaze of colour and glory she deserved.

‘It looks amazing,’ Keris said, standing shoulder to shoulder with Violet part way through the afternoon. True to their word, the event organisers had turned up and waved their magic wand, creating a raised stage area and podium in front of the birdcage and laying out a dozen white-clothed round tables along the pier. Crystal and silver tableware glittered in the sunshine, including tall candelabras with fresh flowers wound around their arms.

‘Like a wedding,’ Vi said.

‘There’s a business idea for you,’ Keris said.

‘Maybe,’ Vi said, although after reading her grandmother’s diary the idea of people partying on the pier filled her with fresh dread. Alcohol and the sea were a lethal combination; she’d be relieved if tonight went without incident. Was it wrong to assume that the crowd were likely to be the kind of people who liked a party because of the nature of their business? It probably was; Cal and Beau were pretty regular people. Or actually, no they weren’t. Vi had endless appreciation for Beau after watching how he’d stepped up to the mark this week and appointed himself as Lucy and Charlie’s protector, and Cal … well, he wasn’t like anyone else in the world.

Lucy walked the length of the pier, firing off shots of the pier from every angle.

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