‘Don’t be silly,’ said Adam. ‘We’ve only just got here.’
‘I feel sick.’
‘Summer, stop being dramatic.’
Shaking her head, she pushed her chair back with a screech, ran to the toilets and threw up violently.
59
Early September was Erin’s favourite time in Port Merryn. Although it was still warm and sunny, the tourists had begun to clear so the streets and harbour had reclaimed their still charm. Knowing her Audi wouldn’t fit through the tiny village streets, she parked it at the top of town and walked down the winding lanes, taking it all in. Seagulls squawked, the air smelt clean and salty and there was space to breathe. Only a year ago it had been this very quietness that had driven Erin hal
f mad, but now it was a welcome relief to stroll in the sun and relax. Things had been getting a little too stressful in London in recent weeks, and the fresh air seemed to unjumble all the knotted thoughts in her head. She’d greeted the news of Adam’s engagement with mixed emotions. She tried to tell herself that, if he was genuinely happy with Karin, then she was happy for him, but the little stab of disappointment she’d felt when Adam had told her still refused to go away. She was also saddened at the deterioration of her relationship with Chris. After their argument at Cliveden, the only contact she had had with him had been a few awkward hellos in the corridor of Peony House. The last two times she had seen him with a pretty redhead, but he hadn’t even bothered to introduce Erin to her, which had irritated Erin inordinately.
She shook her head, trying to forget about London, and walked down the steep cobbled path into the village. She had to admit she felt a little nervous being home and she couldn’t quite place why. After all, this was Jilly’s seventieth birthday – that was supposed to be great fun, wasn’t it? Everyone was coming, Jilly had assured her over the telephone: friends from the village; even Erin’s only other living relatives – her aunt Louisa, who now lived in Australia, was making the trip over specially.
Erin realized that a lot of her uneasiness was down to guilt. She wished she had thought of throwing her grandmother a party herself, but she had been so busy with Adam’s summer schedule and now the wedding plans. It was no excuse, of course, and she was determined to make it up to her. She had gone to Gray’s Antique Market and bought her a beautiful gold brooch encrusted with topaz and pearls. It had cost her a week’s salary, but she hoped her grandmother would love it as much as she did.
The back door of the house was open, so the background noise of the party, Sinatra and the low hum of happy conversation was pierced by the loud caw of seagulls.
Erin stood in the doorway and looked on at the scene: Jilly surrounded by a throng of well-wishers, a large glass of red wine in one hand and a plump iced cupcake in another. She had dressed up in a red and cream floral dress, open-toed sandals over tan tights, her grey hair fastened on top of her head with a big tortoiseshell clip.
It was good to see her grandmother so happy. To think Erin had nearly not moved to London because she thought that Jilly couldn’t cope without her. Well, she was glad to be proved wrong. The other thing that Erin noticed was that the house seemed tidier. No piles of glossy magazines on the kitchen table, no trainers strewn across the floor, no laptop on her desk. No sign of her having lived here at all, thought Erin, feeling a little cross.
‘It’s Erin,’ shouted Jilly in a merry voice over the music and hubbub.
A dozen smiling faces turned to look at her. She could see Janet with her swollen pregnant belly, Eric MacIntosh, the landlord from the local pub; almost every one of the party guests knew her and shared a history, in some cases a whole life. She felt welcome. She felt at home. She took a sip of white wine from her glass and helped herself to a sausage roll, grinning. She’d been so used to being served Krug and exotic canapés at parties, something as plain as a sausage roll was a treat.
‘What are you doing hiding all the way back here?’ said a strange voice. Erin turned to see her aunt Louisa, her arms open wide. ‘I’m the one who doesn’t know anyone,’ said Louisa after giving her a squeeze. ‘Come and mingle with me.’
Erin smiled warmly. Louisa was a dead-ringer for Jilly, only about twenty-five years younger. It had been three years since her last visit from Perth and she had aged a little. Her strawberry-blonde hair had streaks of grey at the temples, and her skin was more lined and bronzed from the West Australian sun where she had lived for the last twenty years. But Erin noticed that their eyes were the same: deep green and framed with long lashes. The same eyes that Erin had looked into as a child; her mother’s eyes. She looked at her aunt and wondered if this is how her mother would look if she was still alive.
‘So, what have you been doing?’ asked Louisa, looping her arm through Erin’s. ‘It’s been ages, tell me everything.’
‘Just taking some time out,’ smiled Erin. ‘I drove up this morning so I’m pretty knackered. Still, I didn’t have as far to come as you, did I?’ Louisa laughed and grabbed a bottle of Chianti from the dining-room table.
‘I suppose. The jet lag hasn’t hit me yet, so expect to see me in a pile on the floor a little later.’
She grabbed Erin’s glass and filled it to the brim. ‘Speaking of motoring down from London, Jilly tells me you have a fancy new car and some high-flying job. I want to hear all about it.’
Erin felt a little embarrassed thinking of her blue Audi. She had also been careful to tone down her appearance today. Gone were her standard office attire of Jimmy Choo heels and the Gucci suits; instead she wore a pair of jeans, a pretty pale blue Gap top and some gold ballet flats. The last thing she wanted was for people to think she had ‘gone all London’.
‘It’s really nothing fancy,’ shrugged Erin, ‘I’m only a personal assistant. It pays quite well but I have to work every hour God sends.’
‘“Only a personal assistant”?’ mimicked Louisa. ‘Only to some billionaire. Apparently you’ve been swanning off around the world in private jets and helicopters.’
Erin laughed at the suggestion. ‘It’s not as glamorous as you may think. I’m the one cleaning up the champagne bottles at the end of those jet-set parties, not enjoying myself.’
‘So, what happened to your book?’ asked Louisa, remembering the pages of chatty letters she used to get from her niece talking of her dream to write the great British novel.
Erin shrugged uncomfortably and tried not to meet her aunt’s gaze. ‘I have an agent,’ she replied, trying to sound breezy.
‘That’s brilliant. So you must have written something?’
‘Well … I did,’ said Erin slowly. ‘But I’ve had to start again. I’m much more excited about what I’ve written this time.’
At least that much was true. After Cliveden, Erin had begun work on her novella on a fictitious London beau monde, exactly as Chris had suggested. She wasn’t sure if she was writing out of enthusiasm for her subject matter, or to show Chris that she didn’t need his help but, whatever the reason, she had managed to craft over 15,000 words in three weeks – and it was pretty good, she thought. All she needed was to polish it a little and she felt ready to give it to Ed Davies.
Her aunt smiled. ‘Well I shall be the first one in the queue to buy a copy. But, in the meantime, I think it’s time we found the birthday girl and have a family toast.’