Page 13 of The House on Sunset Lake

He remembered that night so clearly. The sound of an urgent siren piercing the thick, swampy night air; running round the lake so fast he thought his heart would burst; then his memories dissolved into fragments of noise and images: the red light of the ambulance, the frantic, panicked conversation. Looking back, there hadn’t been many people at the scene – Marion, her parents, Jennifer, and the paramedics, – but even now, despite the eerie stillness of the house, he could feel the sense of chaos and despair that had consumed them all.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said Marion quietly. ‘How did we let it get into this state?’

Jim forced his attention back to her, welcoming the distraction from his thoughts.

‘Big properties are my stock in trade. I know how high-maintenance they can be. Unless you have the staff and finance to maintain them on a day-by-day basis, all it takes is one bird’s nest in the wrong place, or a split pipe, and it’s a downward spiral.’ He stopped in his tracks as they reached the back of the house. ‘But wow, the view, that view is still amazing.’

For all the grandeur of Casa D’Or’s architecture, the terrace had always been its show-stopper. Sweeping and elegant, it faced green lawns that ran down to a forty-acre expanse of water, known as Sunset Lake on account of the early evening light that transformed it, most days, into a pool of liquid copper.

There was a single wrought-iron café table set up under an umbrella, a jug of lemonade beading with condensation. Jim took a glass gratefully and settled into a wicker chair with a creak. Across the lake he could see the boathouse where his father used to work, the cottage where they’d all lived for two long, heady months.

‘I was sorry to hear about David.’

‘I bet you never expected that, did you?’

‘David’s passing?’

‘No, the fact that I married him.’

Jim shrugged, spread his hands in a ‘none of my business’ gesture, but he could see Marion was waiting for some sort of response.

‘I’m not surprised, no. After that summer, I can see that anyone would need . . .’

‘Comfort?’

‘I guess so.’

She nodded and looked out over the water.

‘After Sylvia died, David went to Charleston. He told us it was to be nearer to work, but we knew he didn’t want to be in the house. We were all so worried about him, especially when we didn’t see him for three months. When Christmas came around, I hated to think of him on his own, so I went to Charleston with a turkey, determined to cook for him. I only went for an hour or two. I never left.’

‘And you never came back here?’

Marion shook her head. ‘David used to say, “We’ll go back soon.” But soon never came. There were too many ghosts. Too many memories. Besides, I think we were both happy to have a fresh start.’

‘What about Jennifer?’ He was almost afraid to ask.

‘She went to New York not long after the funeral.’

‘With Connor?’

She nodded. ‘Her father had become a recluse. She was lost, bereft, and Connor was there.’

She paused and looked at him more directly.

‘So you became a hotshot.’ It was said with a note of surprise, and he didn’t blame her. He doubted that he would have been anybody’s pick for most likely to succeed. Not compared to Connor.

‘I work for Omari Hotels. I’m their global investment and

project manager.’

‘I know, I read your sales pitch.’

Jim sipped his lemonade and seized the opportunity to keep this as professional as possible.

‘My boss, Simon Desai, saw Casa D’Or and thought it would be a perfect addition to the Omari portfolio.’

Marion put down her glass, the ice cubes clinking.