One Silver Summer Read online

  The words were out before she could take them back: firecrackers flipping and spitting. How could he do this right now? Play the parent. She wasn’t a kid anymore. She wasn’t even his kid.

  “You could have fallen, or drowned, or … just got lost …”

  Sass turned on her heel, wanting to go back where she’d come from. Wanting to stay in that moment with Alex. Galloping until she couldn’t breathe, galloping until she forgot all this. David took a step toward her.

  “Come on, Sass, let’s go home. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m new to all this.”

  “Leave me alone. You turn up, and I’m … I’m just supposed to go with you, and do what you say.”

  A snuffling dog poked his nose under her arm and licked at the salt on her hands. She wiped her face, all tears and snot. Harry Houdini, Potter, and Styles. She scooped him up and buried her face in his black coat. He understood.

  Helena huffed at Alex across the long, polished dining table. A mile long, it gleamed in the soft light of the trembling chandelier. Dust motes spun in the air and a brass carriage clock ticked on the mantelpiece. Tick, tick, tick.

  “You’re late for dinner and you haven’t bathed, or changed.”

  She sniffed to make her point. Alex had washed his hands by the look of him, but his clothes had the distinct whiff of salt and horse sweat.

  “Sorry, Grandma.”

  “I don’t think it’s too much to expect, do you? It’s so much fairer on Mrs. C.”

  With a stiff nod to Corbett, her butler and chauffeur and the husband of her cook and housekeeper for more than forty years, Helena indicated they were ready to eat. He stepped forward. Grilled mackerel—her favorite—fished by their local man.

  “Where have you been?” She spread a hard curl of butter on her bread.

  “I rode down to the beach. The tide was out and I … just forgot the time,” Alex stammered.

  “You’re honest, at least.” She warmed to him a fraction. “So tell me, how was it?”

  “It was …”

  He fumbled to do it justice.

  “Dear boy.” Helena put down her butter knife and she reached for the long stem of her wineglass. “I can see in your face that it was glorious! Just tell me next time if you expect to be late.” The crystal flashed as she tipped it to her mouth.

  “Grandma?” Alex began again, lighter this time. “Gran, I was wondering … I’ve met someone, down at the beach, a friend who I’d like to ride out with. If I could bring Bo in, we could ride out together. She’s ridden before and loves horses. Gray ones,” he added with an unnecessary flourish.

  “A girl?” She looked down her nose, replaced her wineglass, and picked up a fish knife.

  “Yes.” He paused.

  “Do we know her?” she asked, chin out, entirely the countess now.

  “I’m not sure … I mean … probably not. She’s from the States.”

  Helena stared. “An American?” She lingered on the word like a small fish bone. She hadn’t seen that coming, which was ridiculous given the number of visitors to Cornwall.

  “Yes.”

  “I see …”

  Helena dabbed her mouth with her napkin and put it down, a faint trace of Elizabeth Arden on the stiff white linen.

  “No. I’m afraid not. Quite impossible. Perhaps if I knew her, but you can’t go gallivanting off. I have a responsibility to your parents, as I think you know very well. Besides, Bo is a precious old horse these days and I haven’t even seen this girl ride. I’m sorry, it’s just the way it is.”

  Alex slumped a little in his chair and Helena reached across and patted his hand. “May we eat now? I’m really rather famished.”

  Sass stuck Harry through the back door of the cottage and climbed the steps to the boat loft, where she took off her damp things and sat at the edge of the bed. She hadn’t meant what she said to David; it had just come out. She reached over and picked up the photo of Mom that she kept beside her pillow. It had curled in the sunlight. It wasn’t a good one, but it was the most recent. She was mouthing something to whoever had taken it, doing that thing with her hands that Sass couldn’t make out, however much she tried. Bet it wasn’t “Hey, take another one, in case it’s my last.” Sass put a finger to her lips and touched it.

  “Mom, I kissed a prince today.” Her mother would sooner believe that she’d kissed a frog.

  Hearing a soft knock at the door, Sass leaned over and put the photo away.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Jessie. Can I come in?”

  “Sure …”

  “I brought you some food.” Jessie put down a plate of bread and cheese, and a bowl that steamed tomato and basil.

  “You didn’t come by the cottage to say good night. David feels bad. Is everything okay? You’ve been getting on so well lately.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, I should have, but I just wanted to be by myself.”

  To think about a boy, a horse, and a beach.

  “You two are more alike than you know. Did you have a bad day?”

  “No. It was … kind of perfect.”

  Jess looked so puzzled by her answer that Sass wanted to explain. She had to tell someone.

  “I found a horse. A silver one. Like in your painting.”

  “Which painting?” Jessie sat down beside her.

  “That one.” She pointed at the dream horses by her bed. “The one you’ve been fixing up by that artist, Lucy someone.”

  “And?”

  Sass paused. How much she should tell her? Alex was a secret she wanted to keep. “And then I met a boy from the estate who was riding on the beach and we got talking.”

  “You met a boy this evening from Trist?” For all her laid-backness, Jess looked surprised. Sass didn’t fill in the in-between.

  “Yes.”

  “Is … is he nice?” Jessie asked carefully.

  “Yeah, he’s my age and he’s really good with horses.”

  “That nice, then?” Jessie grinned. “Is that why you forgot to come home?”

  “Yeah. Sort of.” Sass felt herself redden. “I … I really like him and I think he likes me.” She felt a trickle of sand in her pocket because it was true, if only she could bring herself to believe it.

  “Okay, I understand now, Sass, but take it slow. You have all the time in the world.”

  Sass nodded, but she felt just the opposite. If she’d learned anything over the past few months, it was that no one had all the time in the world. Life could change in a splinter of glass and a crump of metal, but sometimes, sometimes, it could maybe change for the better: a splash of hooves through water or the echo of a heart beating with yours.

  Plum rammed the lid of the suitcase closed and sat on it. She couldn’t wait any longer for Alex; she’d make up his mind for him. Go visit: pop by. He was only in Cornwall, not halfway across the world. Cerise’s new boyfriend had a yacht down there and they were going tomorrow for a long weekend. She’d cadge a lift with them. Alex could hardly turn her down, and the rest would be easy.

  She’d chosen what to wear already. She smirked a little smirk. Short shorts or her white jeans, depending on the weather, with a cheeky Breton sailor top and a pair of high wedges. Framboise wouldn’t notice them gone. And she must take her shiny yellow Hunters to brighten up a field. Alex had lots of fields. He was always banging on at school about the sea and his horses. Well, she could do coast and country too. It wouldn’t kill her.

  The biggest drag was being stuffed in the back of the Porsche. Give it a couple of years and things would be different. She and Alex would be driving; they could have the roof down and then she wouldn’t mind about her hair. Oh god, sunglasses … which ones?

  Plum had been to Cornwall once before she met Alex: a Discovery Sailing Week with the school. How anyone “discovered” they liked sailing was beyond her. Total nightmare. She’d arrived with her suitcase expecting a big boat … or at least one with a motor. Instead, it had been the windy type.
An old wooden ship with real sails. The wind had blown and the sea had frothed, though the heeling wasn’t the worst part; that was quite fun. It wasn’t even the tacky thing either. “Going about,” as one of the boys had excitedly explained, after she thought he’d asked her out. No. It was the nausea. Everybody had been so seasick, except for her and the crew. She’d had to sit there, zigzagging pointlessly up and down the coast in a stained orange life vest listening to them all chuck up. It was disgusting.

  This time, she’d be in charge. She’d get past “hello” and then casually mention how awks it was playing gooseberry to Cee-ce and whatshisname. Alex would invite her to stay at his grandmother’s huge place and history would be made.

  Her only worry, if she had any, was his parent thing. The divorce. She wouldn’t want it to get in the way. He’d been so cut up rushing off from school. She’d understood—it had happened to her—but you got used to it by the third time around. There were even some advantages. Not many, but a few.

  Finally, there was Cressida Slater. What to do about her? Plum stabbed at the journalist’s name next to the gossip column spread out beside her. Should she tell her that she was going? Then if Cressida, Plum supposed, happened to be down there with a photographer, well …

  It was why she had to get what she was wearing exactly right.

  Sass gazed at the scarlet slippers in her hand and felt momentarily homesick. She’d bought them one long, hot, sticky afternoon in Chinatown. So hot, the city was suffocating. You sweated doing nothing. She and Mom had taken the subway to Canal Street to go shopping. They loved going there and if they got too hot, they’d tuck inside a store with an air conditioner to feel a blast of cool. It was how she came to buy these. Slip-ons. Made in Hong Kong. Only five dollars in cotton and plastic, but the sun had glittered on the sequins on the front and Mom said she’d buy them.

  Afterward, they’d had dim sum: those perfect steamed dumplings, though half the time, you didn’t know what was inside them. Sometimes it was pork, or prawn, or vegetable. You just pointed and a cranky waiter would toss down a basket and scribble a Chinese character on the check. It might have been a word, or a number. The whole guessing was the fun of it. She paused and gathered her thoughts; life was so random. Look at how she’d met Alex. A prince in a field? She couldn’t help smiling. And when he kissed her, he really kissed her; he hadn’t stopped kissing her till her breath ran out. That was also unexpected somehow. She looked down at her hands; too shaky for chopsticks, that was for sure.

  Sass sighed. Alex wouldn’t get to kiss her today. It was the wedding of Jessie and David’s friends and no getting out of it.

  “It’s only up the road, at a local church, no distance at all. You can wear your new dress. They’ll ring the bells and there’ll be wedding cake and fizz, and a jazz band.” Jessie had been firm. “It’ll be good for you to dress up. Fun.”

  Sass had put on the Daphne dress. It was lovely, but it itched a little, and the shoes that Jessie had lent her had been three sizes too small; they were like Bigfoot and Bambi, which was why the red slippers were pulled out. She slid her feet into them now and pointed them forward, then back, then scrunched her toes hard. No seeing Alex. And not tomorrow either. But on Monday … She tapped them together and a thrill ran through her.

  Alex woke up late. He sat up and swung his legs out of bed. The old bedstead grated in protest. He’d kicked off his sheets in the night and they lay in a tangled heap. What time was it? He reached for his phone. Useless for anything else without a signal. Glancing at the palm of his hand, he saw where he’d scribbled the name of her uncle’s gallery. He curled his fingers tight.

  It was past nine and bright daylight was creeping around the curtains that had hung there all his life. He yawned and stretched and fell back on the bed, running a hand across his chest. What was Sass doing now? He could picture her on Bo, mud on her face and her hair swirling loose. He liked her. “I really, really like her!” There, he’d said it out loud to the ceiling.

  Getting up, he headed for the shower. Sass was the summer he didn’t want to end. His secret for as long as he could keep it.

  The wedding was held in the smallest church Sass had ever seen. No bigger than a shoe box stuffed with colored tissue. It felt miles away down a winding lane by the shore of an inlet where a small bunch of boats lay stranded in the mud, waiting for the sea to roll in. Seabirds with long beaks pecked at slippery rocks and a sour smell of drying seaweed hung in the air. It was hot and still, and packed; standing room only at the back. Guests stood around chatting outside until the organist struck up as the bride arrived, pink-faced in a swirl of tulle, with two small, glowering flower girls.

  Sass closed her eyes and concentrated. She imagined she was at Eddie’s Ices. She swallowed again and took a deep breath. It was no good; instead of cooling her down, her nine-year-old self was picking the nuts off a cherry-vanilla sundae with extra whipped cream. A tower of milky sweetness that was making her feel sick, but she kept going because it was Mom’s special treat. She couldn’t even remember why.

  Sass forced herself to look up from the boothlike pew and the people crushing her on either side. Hymns were being sung. Prayers done. A sudden hush had descended for the vows. A bead of sweat rolled past her ear and down her neck. Breathe, Sass, breathe. The minister was droning on … and on, and on.

  “I am required to ask anyone present who knows a reason why these persons may not lawfully marry, to declare it now …”

  She was back in that other church, everyone in black for Mom’s funeral.

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust …”

  What was that smell? Was it the flowers? Sass’s hand flew to her mouth and she rushed out through the side door of the church and leaned heavily against a headstone. In the shade of a yew tree, she bent over and took a gulping breath. Don’t puke. Concentrate. She heaved.

  “My dear girl, can I help you?” It was an elderly English lady in stout laced shoes, a tweed skirt, and a green quilted vest. She held out a large spotted handkerchief that Sass took gratefully. She wiped her face and blew her nose, offering it back to the woman, who shook her head, motioning her to keep it with a flick of her fingers.

  “I’m okay. Really. I just needed some air.”

  “Was it so very romantic?” the old lady inquired in a voice that suggested she didn’t believe it.

  “No … I mean, it was lovely. It’s just … I’m not feeling so well.”

  “Ah, I see …” The woman was more sympathetic. “One never knows how these things will go. I’m here to see the family.”

  “Are you bride or groom?” asked Sass, wanting to be polite.

  “Oh no, my dear, they’re all dead and buried. When you get to my age, you find yourself almost quite alone, but it gets easier, and here, they’re never far away.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of a line of elaborate marble headstones on a raised area that looked out across mud flats to the water beyond.

  “Shall we sit down? I have a thermos of tea.” It was more of a command than a suggestion.

  The lady sat down at one end of a nearby bench with Sass at the other. She twisted the top off a steaming flask and carefully poured a plastic cupful that they shared between them for a few minutes.

  “What’s your name, dear?”

  “It’s Sass. Saskia Emerson.”

  “You’re an American?”

  “Yes, from New York. I’m here for the summer. Maybe longer.”

  “Are you staying nearby?”

  “Not far away. And yourself?” Sass thought she should ask.

  “Oh, I’m from these parts. Born and bred.” She gestured in the vague direction of everywhere. Not that she could mean that. The old lady continued. “Did you know that during the war thousands of Americans were here?” Her voice went a little fierce, as if they were all clustered on this one spot.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “For D-day. Most of them, at least. Officers billeted, other ranks in tents in fi
elds and woods.”

  Her face had taken on a distant look. She had to be really old. The war was so long ago. Sass had never met anyone who was in it for real.

  “How old were you then?” The question just asked itself. How rude was she? But the woman reached over and patted her hand. She looked into Sass’s face as if she saw something there.

  “Not much older than you are now, my dear.”

  The old lady rose to her feet.

  “Where’s your mother? You’ve not been well.”

  It was as though someone had sucked the last oxygen from the air. Sass thought she might faint. She shook her head as her answer caught in her throat with a choking sound that seemed to come from somewhere else.

  “Mom’s dead,” she blurted out. The bitter words lay there in a cold puddle of sick. She wanted to throw up again.

  The woman’s face clouded over; that or the sun went in. Every part of Sass felt limp.

  “Oh my dear, I’m so very sorry …” She had just reached out and put a liver-spotted hand on hers when Jessie appeared around the side of the church.

  “Sass! Are you all right, my love? I saw you rush out, but I couldn’t move.”

  The woman interrupted her, a little sharply, Sass thought.

  “She’s been sick. I wonder, should I drive her home?”

  Jessie looked at the lady, her eyes widening in recognition. Sass felt her own shoulders sag in relief: they knew each other and she could go home without ruining everyone’s day.

  “Er … yes, of course,” Jess stammered. “If that’s what Sass wants, or when the service is over, we’re happy to take her?”

  “Really, there’s no need. My car is here. She just needs rest and shade. It’s awfully stuffy today.”

  She waved an aged hand in the general direction of the church gate. Sass looked over. A gleaming car slid into view as a peal of church bells rang out over the water.