Page 45 of The House on Sunset Lake

‘Connor is a good boy. He’s smart a

nd generous and he’s prepared to wait for you to decide what you want to do. You do love him?’ she asked, meeting her daughter’s gaze, challenging her to defy her.

Jennifer didn’t feel as if she knew anything any more and just nodded. It seemed to placate her mother.

‘You know each other inside and out and you can have a good life with him,’ she continued. ‘Jim Johnson is handsome, exciting, I will admit that. But who is he other than some boy from England who’s going to break your heart once he goes back to London? He’s not your future. I spoke to his parents and he’s still planning on going around Europe in the fall. Did you imagine he was going to stay here in Savannah with you?’

Jennifer didn’t have any reply for her mother. She was too overwhelmed even to speak.

‘Am I not right?’ urged Sylvia.

And as her memories of Jim Johnson outside the house faded from her consciousness, and her mother gripped her hand with an emotion that could only be described as love, Jennifer found herself agreeing with her.

Chapter Thirteen

2015

Jim looked at his watch, then across at the door, wondering how long it was polite to wait before he could just get up and go.

A blind date. What had he been thinking of? So he wasn’t up there with Jack Nicholson in the little-black-book stakes, but he was a popular guy by anyone’s measure. The pretty maître d’ had definitely seated him at one of the better tables in the restaurant, and kept looking and smiling more than had probably been advised in the customer service handbook. No, Jim didn’t need setting up, he reminded himself. Besides which, he was off women. Melissa had transitioned through the silent treatment phase, and had contacted him twice in the past week to tell him that not only was he an arsehole, he still had her The Good Wife box set at his flat and please could he FedEx it back as a matter of urgency. In addition, as the new de facto head of the Omari group in the US, he had a whole new inbox of headaches to deal with: planning and zoning issues; VIP customers at their Santa Barbara resort; even a personnel issue when a sous chef had disappeared with a juicing machine.

He watched the people on the sidewalk opposite, a crowd of suits and high-end dresses, presumably heading to a gallery opening. The bar he’d chosen was right across from the Chelsea market, in the heart of arty Manhattan. Twenty years ago, this area would have been no-go, home to junkies and working girls, the gutters overflowing. Now it abounded with galleries and artfully distressed bars just like this one.

‘Another?’

He looked up, momentarily thrown. The maître d’ smiled, nodding at the glass in front of him.

‘Another beer?’

‘Sure. No, actually I’d better . . . Maybe later.’

‘No probs,’ she said with a coquettish smile. ‘I can wait.’

I can’t, he thought, glancing at his watch and realising that if he slipped out of here now, he might be able to squeeze in a run and still be back in time for Homeland.

He was just about to summon the bill when an attractive redhead came in from the cold. She loosened the scarf around her neck and looked around, meeting his gaze. Since his entanglement with Jennifer all those years ago, he had come to realise that his new type was not quite so obviously beautiful women, his reasoning being that they were less likely to leave him, but there was no denying that Sarah Huxley was an absolute knockout.

He put his wallet back in his pocket and looked at her hopefully.

‘Jim?’ she asked with a broad red-lipped smile.

He nodded gratefully. ‘How did you guess?’

‘Google takes out the guesswork. I’m Sarah, by the way,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Sorry I’m late. Bloody subway’s useless. What are we drinking?’

Jim laughed, holding up his beer bottle. ‘Well I’ve just had—’

‘Great, two more of those,’ she said to the maître d’, dumping her bag on the floor.

‘I suppose this is better than Tinder,’ she grinned, slipping her brown coat off to reveal a cherry-coloured dress.

‘I’ve not joined the digital dating age.’

‘Get with the programme, Grandad.’

He was touchy these days about age jibes, but Sarah said it with such a sense of fun, he didn’t take offence.

‘So how long have you been in New York?’