Chapter Forty-Eight
William stood by the sink, a sudden wave of nervous anticipation hitting his ribs. He looked at Lydia, who was hovering near the table as if unsure whether to sit or flee.
“Shall we take our tea into the garden?” he asked, lifting the two mugs.
She followed him out onto the small stone patio, where the late afternoon sun lay soft and golden across the grass. They sat side by side on the bench, the sea breeze carrying the faint scent of thyme from the kitchen borders.
At first, William kept the conversation ordinary, speaking about the church service and the start of the summer holidays.
But as the shadows lengthened across the lawn, the careful boundaries they had both been maintaining for weeks seemed to evaporate.
Lydia spoke about her childhood in her dad’s vicarage, her eyes bright with a sharp, intelligent wit that made him laugh—properly laugh—for the first time in months.
William watched her as she spoke, the sunlight catching the dark curls of her hair.
The heavy, protective walls he had built around his grief felt porous now, the long, freezing winter of his life melting away into the afternoon air.
He found himself telling her about his old station, his childhood dreams, and the way the sea air up here felt like a physical weight lifting off his chest.
The hours dissolved. It felt like minutes, but by the time the sound of excited shouting carried back up Sandy Lane, the sun was already dipping toward the western cliffs.
The children tumbled through the garden gate, sandy, breathless and content. Ethan and Simon followed, with Sam and Jean close behind. Ethan’s gaze went immediately to the two empty mugs on the bench, and he gave William a small, satisfied nod.
William stood up, brushing a hand through his hair to steady his racing thoughts. Lydia rose too, her cheeks flushed a beautiful pink in the twilight.
“I enjoyed this afternoon,” William said.
Lydia met his gaze. “So did I.”
William watched her follow the path towards The Gables. The truth that had been gathering quietly for weeks was suddenly impossible to avoid.
He liked Lydia—not simply because the children loved her or because she made the house feel lighter, but because she was Lydia.
The crunch of tyres on the gravel next door interrupted the thought. Richard’s saloon turned into the drive of The Gables. The Vances were back from Lindisfarne.
? ? ?
A few minutes later, the garden gate clicked open. Richard and Sally crossed the lawn towards Cliffside House, their clothes slightly rumpled after the drive back from the island.
“Good evening, William,” Sally said, smoothing the front of her jacket.
“Evening, Sally. Evening, Richard,” William replied, his voice settling into the polite, immovable tone he used to keep the peace. “I’m glad the weather held for you.”
Richard stepped into the kitchen light, his arms folding across his chest as his sharp eyes scanned the room.
Ollie and Jake were sitting on the rug playing with a wooden tractor, while Mia and Sophie were clearing the last of their drawing books from the sideboard.
Ethan was leaning against the counter, quietly checking his phone.
Sally’s mouth tightened into a thin, pale line as she looked at the younger boys. “Should these two not be winding down for bed, William? It’s past eight. Holiday or no holiday, routine is critical for children their age.”
Before William could answer, she moved toward the table, her gaze drilling into his face. “Did the children manage their lunch properly while we were away? Did you do the roast chicken?”
“We had the chicken, and we had a very pleasant afternoon,” William said, his voice low and steady as he picked up his mug.
Sally’s sharp gaze didn’t waver. “And was that woman—was Lydia—here while we were in Lindisfarne?”
“Yes, Lydia joined us for lunch,” William said. “The children invited her, and I was very glad she came.”
Sally’s mouth tightened, but William held her gaze.
For once, he felt no need to soften the truth for her.