How To Keep A Secret: A fantastic and brilliant feel-good summer read that you won’t want to end!. Sarah MorganЧитать онлайн книгу.
the fact it might still have a purpose.
She opened the door and looked at the man standing there. She had to tilt her head and look up because he topped six feet and dominated her doorway.
She’d first spoken to him five years before on what could, without drama or exaggeration, be described as the worst night of her life. Those years had left their mark on her. Not, it seemed, on him.
She had no idea how old he was, but she would have guessed midthirties.
His eyes were a cool blue and shadowed by secrets. His mouth, well shaped and firm, rarely curved into a smile. His jaw was dark with stubble and the sweater he wore had probably been deep blue at some point but had faded to a washed gray hue.
Had she really expected him to show up in a suit and tie? No. He looked exactly the way she’d expected him to look. Why would he shave before knocking on her door? He wasn’t the type of man who was remotely interested in social conventions or the opinions of others. He lived life according to his own rules and that, as it turned out, was lucky for her because five years ago he’d helped her when no one else would.
She felt a pang of envy. What would her life look like now if she’d been more like him? If she’d been braver?
“Thank you for coming.”
It was ironic that he should be the one to help her out of her current situation.
She needed him, and yet at the same time she hated him for taking from her the one thing she had left in the world. And truthfully she had no idea how he would respond to what she was about to say. He was unpredictable, a man you could never be sure of.
She almost laughed aloud. Was there a man alive you could be sure of?
“Mrs. Stewart.” His voice was somewhere between the rough, sexy drawl of a whiskey drinker and the low growl of a jungle cat. It occurred to her that if that voice hadn’t been attached to a man she’d grown to trust, it might have left her feeling uneasy, as would those narrow watchful eyes.
“Thank you for coming. It was good of you.”
“I was surprised to get your call. I thought it might be a mistake.” His handshake was firm but that didn’t surprise her. It had been his physical strength, among other things, that had saved the both of them that night.
“No mistake.” The mistakes, she thought, had been made long before. “You’d better come in. There’s something I need to say to you.”
Lauren
Party: a social gathering, for pleasure, often held as a celebration
LAUREN CHECKED HER list and made a final sweep of the house.
She knew the place looked good.
She’d poured her interest in interior design into her own home, and while Mack was in school she learned trade skills such as paint effects and upholstery. She filled notebooks with photographs and sketches and shopped for fabric and objects. Gradually she’d transformed their London home into an elegant space perfect for family living but also for entertaining.
Occasionally friends asked for her advice on decorating and Lauren was always happy to help. She had an eye for space and color and could see potential in the most run-down, tired property. It wasn’t luck or hard work that gave her the ability to see what others didn’t, it was an artistic talent no doubt inherited from her mother. Possibly the only trait she’d inherited from her mother.
And finally she had a qualification and could start taking on paying clients.
Her home was the best advertisement for her skills and abilities, and tonight at Ed’s party there would be people who might potentially give her business.
She’d already decided to set up her own company but had yet to decide on a name.
City Chic?
Urban Chic?
She took a final glance round the living room, satisfied that everything was exactly as it should be.
She heard the front door slam, signifying Mack’s return from school, and unconsciously braced herself.
Her daughter strolled into the room. Mack was tall and did everything in her power to disguise that fact. She was at that age where anything that drew attention was considered embarrassing and to be avoided at all costs, so she slouched to make herself appear smaller.
Lauren had green eyes, but Mack’s were blue. Her hair, even with hints of pink blending in with honey and caramel, was her best feature.
Lauren had a sudden vision of Mack lying in her crib asleep, then holding up chubby arms as an adorable toddler.
“Did you shorten your skirt?”
Noticing her mother, Mack tugged her headphones away from her ears. “What?”
“Did you shorten your skirt?” Immediately she regretted making that the first thing she said.
“No. I grew. It happens. I could stop eating, but then you’d nag me about that, too.” Mack opened the fridge and stared into it as if something in there had personally offended her. “There’s nothing in here.”
How could a fridge full of food be “nothing”?
“The caterers are setting up. There are bagels.” Lauren opened her mouth to tell her not to keep the fridge door open, and then closed it again. Did she nag? “How was your day?”
“I spent it at school. Enough said.” Mack split a bagel and toasted it.
“I had coffee with Ruth and Helen today. They mentioned an ancestry project you’re working on. Sounds interesting.”
“Interesting?” Mack spread cream cheese on the bagel. “I guess that’s one word for it.”
What had happened to her eager, enthusiastic daughter?
“Do you need help? You know our ancestors on my side of the family were whaling captains? Martha’s Vineyard played an important role in the whaling industry. Nantucket mostly provided the ships, but the Vineyard provided the captains and crews and other support.” Seeing that Mack was barely engaged in the conversation, Lauren stopped. She knew she was trying too hard. Maybe she should make it more personal. “Edgartown, where Grams lives, was one of the most important ports on the coast. The Captain’s House was built in the nineteenth century. Your grandparents spent a lot of time restoring it—” She broke off, aware that she’d lost her audience. She might as well have been having a conversation with the freezer.
Mack carried on eating, unresponsive.
Lauren slid onto the stool next to her. “Did something happen today?”
“No.”
Lauren felt a rush of frustration, and mingled in with the stress of it was sadness because she remembered days when Mack would come running in from school, all smiles, desperate to share something that had happened during the day. Look, Mommy, look at this.
Those days had gone.
“Mrs. Hallam called yesterday.”
“Yeah? I bet the conversation was thrilling.” Mack was careless, but Lauren saw her daughter’s cheeks flush.
“She’s concerned about you. About your grades. She wants us to set up a meeting.”
“Grades. That’s what this is about?”
“This?”
“When you hijack me in the kitchen, I know there’s something. I don’t know why you don’t come right out with it.” Mack put the knife down on the counter, smearing grease.
Lauren sat on her hands to