Summer House by Marcia Willett Read Free Book Online

love with him. Or so it had seemed. He’d been naïve, of course; too young at twenty-two or -three to know much about love. It wasn’t too long before he’d realized that Sara’s affectionate behaviour in public was rather different from the sharp, critical way she behaved when they were alone. He’d remarked on it once and she’d slapped him down very firmly. By then they were married and he’d begun to understand that he was a one-way ticket out of a dull lonely life with an elderly, detached father and a tiresome small sister.
    Poor old love, he thought now. Poor old Sara.
    She’d divorced him for a wealthy stockbroker who’d cheated on her with a string of mistresses and finally left her with a tiny house in Sussex, a reasonably comfortable divorce settlement and a great deal of humiliation to live down amongst their friends. Poor Sara. She’d approached him, then; tried to sweet-talk him back to her.
    Milo shook his head: nothing doing. By then he’d fallen in love with Venetia and she with him. They’d fought it to begin with; tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. Neither of them wanted to hurt old Bunny, after all: he was a good, if dull, husband and a loyal officer. Then Bunny had been very badly wounded in Northern Ireland, confined to a wheelchair, and Venetia had decided that she must stick with him.
    Of course, old Bunny had known the truth about their affair. He’d even hinted – only the slightest of hints – that he was glad of it, that Venetia needed a normal physical life and that he’d rather it was with someone he knew and trusted. And they’d always been very discreet. He’d felt guilty when Lottie had said that about Matt being a bit shocked by his callousness to Venetia; but it didn’t do to become
sentimental. It was far too late for him and Venetia to make a try at marriage. He’d been alone too long and she was a stiff-necked woman who wouldn’t want to change her ways; she was, after all, a good few years older than he was. No, no, by the time Bunny died it was already too late. Much better to leave well alone; to keep the sensation of romance alive by maintaining a little distance whilst, at the same time, watching out for her and making her feel part of the family whenever possible.
    But all the same, it was a waste. God, what a mess it all was; what an utter bloody mess. And now it seemed that Nick might be heading down that same road.
    Milo sagged a little in his chair: he felt old and tired and dispirited. His loved ones were all in trouble: poor Matt with agonizing writer’s block; darling Im and Jules and that sweet baby about to be made homeless; and now dear old Nick on the brink of divorce.
    He heard footsteps behind him, felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and looked up into Lottie’s eyes, those amazing eyes, and his spirits lifted slightly. She always seemed to know when his courage ebbed; her touch revitalized him.
    â€˜Matt’s going off to see Imogen and Jules,’ she said. ‘He’s just phoned her and she’s invited him over to tea. I thought I’d take Pud for a walk up on Crawter. We might go on around Pool Bridge and over Wilmersham Common. Like to come?’
    She knew it was one of his favourite drives, and the walk would do him good.
    â€˜Bless you, darling,’ he said gratefully. ‘I’d love it.’
    Â 
    Driving out from Bossington, Matt was trying to contain his sense of guilt. He’d told Annabel that it was going to be a busy weekend and therefore not a good one for her
first visit to Exmoor. To make himself feel better about it, he’d actually phoned her; made it sound as if it was going to be one long whirl of social engagements and family commitments, but agreed that she must come down one of these days. Meanwhile, he’d phone, he said, as soon as he was back in London. She’d been so understanding that it made him