Page 8 of A Summer Scandal

‘Monica?’

Violet twirled around, startled by the voice behind her. She found herself looking up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, cornflower bright and wide as they stared at her face. The tall, distinguished man was probably eighty or more, and he looked nothing short of incredulous as he narrowed his gaze and peered closer, then shook his head as if to clear it.

‘Sorry. Thought you were someone else then for a mo.’

‘You called me Monica,’ Violet said. ‘Monica was my grandmother.’

Again, the stranger stared, then nodded slowly and sighed. ‘Of course she was. Blow me, if you’re not the living image of her.’

‘You knew my grandmother?’

The man laughed then, those blue eyes glittering and wishful. ‘Oh, I knew Monica,’ he said. ‘And Henry, of course. Is he still …?’

Vi shook her head and bit the inside of her lip, holding in the sharp stab of longing for her grandpa. ‘No. He died a few weeks back.’

Lowering his gaze, the man removed his fedora. ‘Sad news,mon chéri.’

A thought occurred to Violet. ‘I wonder if you could help me?’ she said, digging in her coat pocket for her phone to check the address of her grandparents’ apartment. Or her new home, as she needed to start to think of it, temporarily at least. ‘I need to find the Lido building?’

The stranger didn’t say anything for a second, then he held his hand out. ‘I’m Bartholomew Harwood,’ he said. ‘Everyone calls me Barty these days, you should too.’

Ingrained politeness had Vi reaching out to shake his hand. ‘Violet,’ she said.

‘Violet.’ He repeated her name, as if deciding whether or not he approved. ‘How perfectly glorious. Lilys are two a penny these days. Violets are rarer by far.’

Glorious and rare? Well, no one had ever said that about her before. Vi decided she rather liked Barty Harwood. He had a rakish, old-school charm and the hint of a wry smile hovering around his mouth, and going on his bright floral shirt, he didn’t seem to care much for convention. Tall and well dressed, he looked like a man who had many anecdotes and would be happy to share some of them over a few glasses of good whisky.

‘How about I show you the Lido?’ Barty said. ‘It’s not far at all.’

Violet glanced back along the seafront towards the Traveller. ‘Is it walking distance? We could go in my car.’

Barty followed her gaze. ‘As you wish,’ he said, holding his arm out to indicate she should lead the way.

‘Have you always lived in Swallow Beach?’ She made conversation as she fished her keys from her pocket as they approached her car.

Barty ran his hand appreciatively over the polished wood on the Traveller. ‘It’s admirable that you don’t feel obliged to follow the trends, Violet.’

Violet slid into the driver’s seat and reached across to open his door, aware that he’d dodged answering her question. She didn’t push it; if he’d been here long enough to know her grandparents, he’d obviously spent a large part of his life here.

He rubbed his hands together briskly as she started the engine and reversed, then nosed her way along the seafront towards the pier.

‘Which way?’

Barty inclined his head across the strip of grass that served as a central reservation, towards a building fronting the main road. Following his nod, Violet scanned the scene and found herself gazing at a tall pale-brick villa, double-fronted and far more grand and ornate than she’d anticipated. Stone steps led up to the wide, central front door, flanked on either side by graceful white pillars. Curved bay windows ran up the full height of each floor of the building, and up on the very top gutters, large, white letters proudly spelt out ‘The Lido’.

‘You weren’t kidding when you said it wasn’t far,’ she murmured, taken aback. She’d imagined that the apartment would be somewhere tucked away at the back of Swallow Beach, not in the grandest building on the seafront. How frankly fabulous.

‘Where’s best to park?’

Barty directed her down a side street. ‘There’s a car park around the back for residents.’

Residents.Was she really to be a resident in such a gorgeous place, albeit only for a summer? Following Barty’s direction, Vi turned in behind the building and found a well-cared-for, almost empty car park. Even the back of the building was lovely, a rose garden already in early bloom beside the back door.

‘Does it matter where I park?’ she asked, keen not to wind anyone up on day one by parking in their space.

Barty wrinkled his nose. ‘Most people are at work, I expect; park wherever takes your fancy. Have to fight them off with a stick in the summer, mind.’ His hand was already opening the door, and he turned away to unfold his tall frame from the low passenger seat.

Sucking down a deep breath for courage, Violet swung her door wide and followed suit.

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