Summer's Secret Read online

  Chrissie returned with the water. “Here you are, honey,” she said, and Summer leaned up on one elbow to take the glass. Chrissie looked down at her. “You have to accept that Jack was killed in an automobile accident six months ago; he’s buried in Boston, and we all went to the funeral.”

  Summer nodded. “Don’t look so worried. I know it wasn’t Jack,” she said quietly, remembering the mysterious gentleman’s eyes, so deep and blue, like the sea outside... Jack’s eyes had been a shade of greenish hazel.

  Andrew sat back in his chair beside the sofa, absently toying with the little piece of cracked medieval pottery he used like someone else might use worry beads. He’d found it in a plowed field during his student days and kept it as a memento. It was part of an ancient spell someone had cast on an enemy. I, Gerald of Salisbury, do curse Thomas of Winchester. May he never profit from that which he stole from me, may he ... That was all, the rest of the inscription was lost forever.

  Summer watched him turning it over and over in his hands. “You’ll wear that thing out one day,” she murmured, sipping the water.

  He set it aside. “Look, Summer, if I’d suspected something like this might happen, I’d never have agreed to it. It was a damned fool thing to do anyway,” he added.

  “Nothing happened, so don’t blame yourself, Andrew. Besides, I was the one who kept pestering after seeing that TV program about the woman who believed she was Marie Antoinette reincarnated. It really freaked me when she said all those things under a trance, and I just couldn’t wait for you to do the same to me.”

  “I know all that, Summer, but after all you’ve been through recently, I still should have known better. It’s one thing to try regression for therapeutic reasons, quite another to do it out of idle interest when the subject is in poor health and as stressed out as you.”

  She stretched across to put a reassuring hand on his knee. “Olivia Courtenay hasn’t got my health problems, so I felt great. Don’t worry so, I’m quite okay, truly.”

  “It’s hardly okay to think you saw Jack again,” he pointed out quietly.

  “I’ve already said I know it wasn’t him, but whoever it was sure as hell looked like him. If it weren’t for his eyes ...” She shrugged and didn’t finish.

  Chrissie sat on the floor beside her. “As long as you’re quite clear about that, it’s okay,” she said, then leaned her head right back to look up at Summer. “So it put a whole new meaning on the phrase ‘learned by heart,’ did it?” she said.

  The words sent Summer’s thoughts winging back to childhood. Their mother had died at Summer’s birth, and because their air force father moved constantly from base to base around the world, he didn’t think it fair to inflict such a nomadic life on his motherless daughters, so they’d always lived with an aunt.

  He came home every chance he could though, and whenever he was going somewhere new, he gave them a different phone number to call. “Learn it by heart, honeys,” he’d say. He was dead now too, lost somewhere over the Pacific when his plane just disappeared, but the phrase remained special to them. It was their phrase.

  She nodded at Chrissie. “That’s all I could think of to describe it. You see, although Andrew kept telling me it was all a deep-seated memory and so on, it still felt really weird to just instantly know everything about this new self. It was all there inside me, no having to make an effort to learn. In my heart already, if you follow my meaning.”

  “Yes, I guess I do.”

  Andrew had relaxed a little now and looked at Summer. “So you used to be a classy Olivia Courtenay, eh?”

  “It seems so. You know, I was almost afraid to go back in case I used to be Lizzie Borden, or maybe some awful old trapper who smelled as high as his pelts!” A little of the excitement began to stir through her again, and her eyes lit up hopefully. “You will let me do it again, won’t you?” she begged.

  He avoided her gaze. “I’m not sure I should, Summer ...”

  “Don’t be a spoilsport. I’m here on vacation, so humor me. After all, I’m the only sister-in-law you have.”

  “Thank God,” he muttered.

  “I heard that.”

  He shuffled awkwardly. “Look, Summer, I’d like to, truly I would, I just don’t think it would be a good idea. In the last six months you haven’t just lost Jack, you had pneumonia, and then became diabetic as well.”

  “Gee, thanks for reminding me what a little bundle of fun and energy I am,” Summer replied wistfully, recalling how animated she’d felt as Olivia. It had felt good. Very good indeed.

  Andrew sighed. “All right, so I’m putting a damper on it, but you must face facts about your health. It takes a while to get over a bad bout of pneumonia; that’s why you’re here on vacation. And as for the diabetes, well, you know what a job they had getting your insulin and so on balanced properly. The last thing you need right now is a lot of stress.”

  She sighed and put her glass down. “The pneumonia’s over and done with, and I’m coming to terms with losing Jack. As for the diabetes, well, it’s hardly the end of the world, is it? I do my insulin on time, I eat on time, I do my tests when I should, and I don’t rush around. In fact, I’m such a nauseatingly good girl, my doctor all but patted me on the head the last time I saw him.”

  Chrissie looked reproachfully at her. “It’s all very well to be flippant, Summer, but in spite of what you say, you’ve far from regained your strength after the pneumonia, and stress can definitely upset the diabetic status quo.”

  Summer sighed again. “Look, I’m getting all the darned sea air I can, and since they got the insulin right, I haven’t had a trace of hypoglycemia.”

  “Okay, maybe you haven’t actually gone into a coma, but you’ve gotten all shaky, hot, and bothered from time to time, and don’t try telling me it was the weather!”

  Summer’s jaw set obstinately.

  Andrew leaned forward quickly. “Don’t let’s fall out over this, for it really isn’t worth it.”

  Summer caught his unwilling eyes. “I really enjoyed being Olivia. It was the first real fun I’ve had in ages, and you’re going to stop me doing it again,” she said plaintively.

  He gave her a long-suffering look. “You fight dirty,” he complained.

  “Yes, because I want my own way,” she admitted frankly.

  A wry grin played on his lips, and Chrissie looked at him in dismay. “Don’t give in to her wheedling, Andrew Marchant, or I’ll never forgive you.”

  Summer prodded her between the shoulder blades. “You keep out of this. You’re just jealous because when you tried regression, you didn’t get any further than your first birthday in this life!”

  Chrissie was forced to laugh. “Oh, go to hell,” she muttered.

  “I’d rather go to 1807.” Summer raised hopeful eyebrows in Andrew’s direction.

  He looked at his wife, who shrugged resignedly, so he nodded at Summer. “All right, but on one condition.”

  “Anything!” Summer promised triumphantly.

  “At the first sign of anything untoward, it’s to be understood that I’ll bring you straight back here to the present.”

  “That’s fair enough. When can we do it? Tonight?”

  “God, you’re a pushy woman.” He sighed.

  “I don’t believe in hanging around.”

  “Don’t I know it. Okay, tonight, but it will have to be late.”

  “Late? Oh, yes, I forgot, you’re both going out to eat.”

  Chrissie eyed her. “You’re still invited, you know. We can fit in with your times.”

  “Have you any idea what it’s like looking at the dessert trolley and having to settle for fruit salad? No, thanks, I’m not into that kind of torture, so you guys go out and enjoy yourselves.” Summer got up and glanced outside. “I think I’ll walk on the beach,” she said.

  Chrissie looked at the clock on the TV. “You’ll be sure to remember the time, won’t you? You mustn’t eat late.”

  “I’ll be back on the d
ot to eat my regulation crust,” Summer promised.

  As the door closed behind her, Chrissie got up from the floor and went to sit on the arm of Andrew’s chair. “I wish I could stop worrying about her, but she’s still my kid sister.”

  He caught her hand and pulled her down on to his lap. “I know, but your kid sister is a big girl now,” he said, hugging her close.

  * * *

  The tide was going out, and gulls screamed overhead as Summer strolled along the wet sand. There were only a few people around, some sailboarders, a woman walking her dog, and two lovers dawdling hand in hand. Bracklesham wasn’t a large resort; indeed it was very small, little more than a shoreline of assorted residences—houses, bungalows, apartments, and trailer parks—directly facing the beach. Pebbles were heaped against the sea wall, and low wooden breakwaters jutted unevenly across the sand that was only exposed at low tide. It wasn’t the British coast at its most beautiful, but it was pleasantly intimate, and there was enough sea for everyone.

  Something made her glance back toward Chrissie and Andrew’s apartment. Chrissie was watching from the balcony and waved. Summer returned the wave, then walked on. She could almost feel her sister diligently counting the minutes until the next obligatory snack that was needed to keep the dreaded diabetes at bay. It was as if she feared that even the tiniest lapse of vigilance would bring the walls of Jericho tumbling down.

  After a while, Summer leaned against one of the barnacle-encrusted breakwaters to watch the lovers, who’d paused right by the water’s edge to embrace. They were so rapt in each other they didn’t notice the waves creaming around their feet.

  Summer smiled. This time a year ago, she and Jack had kissed like that right here on this same English beach, except it had been at night, and they’d done much more than just kiss and hold hands!

  She remembered it had been an unusually still warm night for the time of year, and they’d gone for a swim, then watched the moonlight on the water. Jack had quoted Byron. When the moon is on the wave, And the glow-worm in the grass, And the meteor on the grave, And the wisp on the morass; When the falling stars are shooting, And the answered owls are hooting, And the silent leaves are still, In the shadow of the hill... Every word came back to her now, as clearly as if he stood with her again.

  She lowered her eyes for a moment, and then allowed the memories to flow again. She’d teased him for waxing so poetic, so he’d chased her along the shore to an isolated spot where they’d rolled over and over in each other’s arms in the waves. Not quite like the famous old movie, but close enough, and right now from here to that sweet moment seemed like an eternity.

  The images flooded through her mind. Jack’s lips were on hers again, and his hands roamed her skin in that way that made her come alive to everything about him. Her breasts tightened with need, and it seemed the coldness of the sea rippled over her again now. She could almost feel the heat of Jack’s body piercing her as he made love to her amid the waves. Oh, God, how she missed him; how every empty day and night ached with desperate longing for what had gone forever.

  Her hands tightened into helpless fists as she brought them down on the breakwater. “Damn you, Jack, why did you have to go out that day? Why didn’t you walk, instead of taking the car? Why didn’t you stay in bed and make love to me again ...” The whispered words were lost in the noise of the gulls overhead.

  She made herself walk on, climbing over the breakwater and then setting off along the next expanse of shining sand. Her thoughts were still of Jack. They’d gotten to know each other in one of the most romantic settings in the world, a ruined Inca temple. She was a researcher for a travel company, and had been sent on an assignment into unusual working vacations in exotic places. Jack was the leader of an archeological team offering just such opportunities to those with sufficient interest and stamina.

  Sleeping uncomfortably under canvas and spending hours scratching in the earth in the hope of finding artifacts hadn’t made any difference to the effect Jack had on her. Within days she’d fallen hook, line, and sinker for his golden California looks and wry sense of humor. Soon they were lovers, and when the dig was over, he’d come to live with her at her Boston apartment.

  Their happiness had been complete until March this year, when he died in that stupid, stupid car accident she’d actually witnessed from the apartment window. He hadn’t seen the truck coming the other way, and the police report showed that the truck driver wasn’t paying attention because he was too busy lighting a cigarette. It was true what they say, things like that seemed to happen in slow motion, but for her those few seconds had now lasted six long, wretched, heartbroken months.

  She glanced up at the clear blue September sky, her fair hair blowing in the salt breeze. “I miss you, Jack Windham,” she said softly.

  But there was no answer. There never was.

  Chapter Three

  It was dark and the tide was just in as Summer looked out of one of the rear windows of the apartment. Chrissie and Andrew were getting out of the car after returning from their dinner in nearby Chichester, but as they began to walk from the parking lot toward the door, a thought struck her.

  She dashed to her bedroom and rooted through the chest of drawers for the little portable cassette recorder she knew was there somewhere among the photograph albums she’d brought with her. At last she found it, but to her dismay there wasn’t a cassette inside. She hurried down the passage to Andrew’s study to get one of the many he kept in readiness for his work. As she then ran into the living room, she heard Chrissie and Andrew exchanging greetings with the people who lived in the apartment across the landing. She slid the loaded recorder under the sofa and was seated watching TV when they came in a few seconds later.

  Half an hour after that, as Andrew prepared to regress her for a second time, she fussed around with the sofa cushions and allowed one to fall to the floor. Under cover of picking it up, she surreptitiously turned the recorder on, then lay back and closed her eyes as Andrew began. His voice was soothing, caressing almost, and the music he used began to beguile her senses. It was almost like being seduced, she thought, as she sank into the trance that opened her mind to the otherwise forgotten past.

  Andrew waited until her breathing was steady. “Right, Summer, if I’ve got this right, you should now be Olivia Courtenay.”

  The vitality had returned, and she glanced excitedly around. “Yes, I am!”

  “Tell me what’s happening this time.”

  “It’s the evening of Twelfth Night, I’m inside the Black Lion now, and have just come down the main staircase with a lighted candle. Guests have to light their own way to and from their rooms because the upper stories are always dark, and I’m returning my candle to the special candle table right next to me. The hall is brightly lit, though, with wall candles and a big log fire.”

  She continued describing what she could see. The long oak-paneled hall before her was almost deserted, but there was still a great deal of music and merriment emanating from beyond the closed door of the crowded dining room to her right. From time to time the kitchen door to her left would open, and waiters and maids would dash to and from the dining room with trays and plates of food.

  At the far end of the hall was the door into the inn yard, and next to it were four fully laden coat stands. Several dozen pairs of wet overboots had been left on the floor, and numerous walking sticks were propped against a great longcase clock. There were sprigs of holly tucked behind sporting prints on the walls, and a garland of ivy hung around the large stone fireplace in the alcove opposite the dining room. The fireplace was flanked by high-backed settles, where two clergymen dozed while waiting for the London stagecoach, their valises at their feet.

  She could see her reflection in a faded mirror opposite. Her raven hair had been painstakingly but flatteringly pinned up in a knot on top of her head, with a frame of little curls around her face. The eyes she had earlier described as large and gray, were indeed very beautiful, and her lip
s were generous without being too full.

  Her figure could definitely be described as curvaceous, and was outlined to perfection by the soft folds of the same damson velvet gown she had worn before. The trained skirt wasn’t looped up at the back now, but fell to the floor to drag against the lowermost step of the staircase. A white cashmere shawl rested over her arms, a little black velvet reticule bag was looped over her wrist, and she wore gold earrings and her wedding ring. It was like looking at a stranger, except that the stranger was her. And I’m really quite lovely, she thought in wonderment, continuing to stare at the reflection. Those were her eyes looking back at her, and that was her figure!

  She was about to speak to Andrew again when suddenly the door from the yard opened and a middle-aged lady and gentleman entered. They were dressed in evening attire, but were clearly very distressed about something, at least the lady was, for she was weeping copious tears, but her husband was as much angry as upset.

  They were an odd couple, Summer thought, he very military and precise with pale eyes that were close-set above a hooked nose, she a plump person with girlish russet curls that looked suspiciously like a wig. There was a little too much rouge on the woman’s cheeks and lips, and beneath her costly sable-trimmed cloak she wore a pink gown that had the sort of frills that would have been more appropriate for a young woman than for someone old enough to be a grandmother. She could so easily have appeared ridiculous, but there was something so touching about her sobs and the way her stern-looking husband fussed fondly around her, that Summer suddenly found herself hurrying concernedly over to them.