Page 9 of The House on Sunset Lake

‘Perhaps because “very nice” isn’t what I’m looking for in a woman.’

Elizabeth sipped her wine and looked at him disapprovingly over the rim of her glass.

‘What?’ asked Jim, feeling uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

‘You’re not still clinging to that girl, are you?’

‘What girl?’ said Jim innocently, although he knew exactly what she was talking about.

‘Jim, you have the world’s worst case of rose-tinted spectacles.’

‘Don’t try and tell me what I felt,’ he said, feeling defensive.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. ‘You met a girl. It didn’t work out. Simple as that. Plus you were kids, another lifetime ago almost.’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘That you’ve spent the last twenty years measuring every other woman against her.’

Jim shook his head angrily, about to spit out a reply, but Elizabeth reached over and touched his cheek with the back of her hand. It was such an uncharacteristically tender gesture, it stopped Jim in his tracks.

‘Oh darling,’ she said. ‘I just don’t want you to let some idealised vision of something that never really was cloud any chance of happiness you might have here in the real world.’

‘I’m not.’ He looked over at her, then down at the wine bottle. ‘Actually, I’ve been asked to go back to Casa D’Or.’

That was the real reason he hadn’t slept the night before. He’d tossed and turned in his bed, his thoughts consumed by the house, by the memories. By her.

‘Back? Whatever for?’

‘Simon Desai wants to acquire a historical Southern property. I told him about the house and he wants me to buy it. Blank cheque.’

Elizabeth raised her glass to her lips. ‘Well, it could be for sale.’

‘Really?’

‘You heard David Wyatt died recently?’

‘I didn’t know,’ he said with surprise.

Of course there was no reason he should have heard. Wyatt was a wealthy man, celebrated in his own circles, but he wasn’t famous, or of any particular note beyond the society pages of north Georgia. Besides, Jim had been working so hard on Munroe, the bomb could have dropped and he wouldn’t have noticed.

‘I can’t imagine anyone in that family will want to hold on to it,’ added Elizabeth, picking up a cashew. ‘Not after everything that happened there.’

Jim could feel his heart beating harder.

‘Who do you think the house went to?’

Elizabeth gave a disinterested shrug. ‘The wife?’

There was a moment’s silence.

‘You do know that Jennifer is married.’

Jennifer. He hadn’t heard anyone – least of all his mother – say her name out loud since that far-off summer. He was amazed how unsettled it made him feel, even now.

He knew, of course. Every few months he would do a Google search on Jennifer Wyatt-Gilbert, usually calling up a picture of her at some benefit dinner or society party. So he knew she had married Connor Gilbert, her childhood sweetheart, and that they lived in New York. It no longer bothered him – well, not as much, anyway. Anyone could see Jennifer was leading the life she was destined to lead, and that was one without him in it.

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I know.’