The Boy is Back in Town Page 2

Ethan shrugged the tension away from his shoulders.

  He had seven days to finish the house before his parents flew into London, then he would get back to honouring Kit in the only way he knew how. By sailing to the max and teaching young people how to live their lives to the full, just as Kit had done.

  With a bit of luck his parents might actually like what he had done. Especially when they found out that he had made a couple of alterations to the original plans. Instead of an extended parking area, Ethan had built a solid garage, workshop, boathouse and jetty. These were his personal gifts to his parents. And particularly his father.

  Maybe, just maybe, they could find the time to sail out on their own boat together from their private jetty, like they used to, when he came back in July to make good his promise to open the Swanhaven regatta.

  Now that was something worth looking forward to.

  A squall of icy sleet hit Ethan straight in the face and he roared with laughter and dropped his head back in joy. That was more like it. Bring it on. Bring. It. On.

  Marigold Chance thrust her hands deep inside the pockets of her thick padded down coat and braced herself against the freezing wind, which was whipping up the sand onto the path that led away from Swanhaven and out past the marina and jetty to the wild part of the Dorset shoreline.

  Leaving the village behind, she walked as fast as she could to get warm, her target already in sight. A slow winding path started on the shore then rose slowly up and onto the grassy banks onto the low chalk hills which became cliffs at the other end of the bay.

  Steps had been cut into the cliff face from the beach, but Mari paused and closed her eyes for a moment before she stepped forward, desperate to clear her head and try to relieve the throbbing headache which had been nagging at the back of her neck for the past twenty-four hours.

  This part of the beach was made up of pebbles which had been smoothed by the relentless action of the waves back and forth to form fine powder sand in places and large cobblestones in others. It had been snowing when she arrived in Swanhaven and the air was still cold enough to keep the snow in white clumps on top of the frozen ice trapped between the stones at the top end of the beach where she was walking. The heavy winter seas carried with them pieces of driftwood and seaweed that floated in the cold waters of a shipping lane like the English Channel.

  For once Mari was glad to feel the cold fresh wind buffeting her cheeks as she snuggled low inside the warm coat, a windproof hat pulled well down over her ears.

  The relentless pressure of her job as a computer systems trouble-shooter was starting to get to her, but exhaustion came with the job and it was all worth it. In a few years she would be able to start her own business and work from home as an internet consultant. With modern technology, she could work from home and run an online internet advisory business from anywhere in the world, and that included Swanhaven. This small coastal town where she had spent the first eighteen years of her life was where she wanted to make a life and create a stable, long-standing home, safe and warm, for herself and Rosa. A home nobody could take away from her. From either of them.

  Mari inhaled slowly to calm her breathing and focused on the sound of the seagulls calling above her head, dogs barking on the shore and the relentless beat of the waves.

  She could still hear the flap of the pennants on the boats in the marina and the musical sound of the wind in the rigging of the sailing boats.

  This was the soundtrack of her early life, which had stayed with her no matter where she might be living and working. Here she could escape the relentless cacophony of cars, aircraft engines, noisy air conditioning and frantic telephone calls in the middle of the night from IT departments whose servers had crashed. In her shoulder bag there were three smartphones and two mobile phones. But right now, for one whole precious hour, she had turned everything off.

  And it was bliss. Her breathing tuned into the rhythm of the ebb and flow of the waves on the shore and for a fraction of a second she felt as though she was a girl again and she had never left Swanhaven.

  Sailing and the sea had formed a fundamental part of her childhood. She loved the sea with a passion. She knew how cruel it could be, but there was no finer place in the world. And Kit would understand that.

  Turning her back to the wind, Mari slipped the glove from her left hand and reached into the laptop bag she carried everywhere. Her fingers touched a precious photograph and she carefully drew it out of the bag, holding tightly so that it would not be snatched away in the gusty wind. It was only right that she should look at this photograph here of all places, even though it had been around the world with her more than once. Not like Kit’s best friend Ethan Chandler, on the deck of some horrendously expensive racing yacht, battling the ocean for his very life, but inside a bag which went into the cabins of aircraft and hotel rooms and even restaurants and offices and computer server rooms.

  The smiling face of her mother looked back at her from the photograph. She was a tall, slim, pretty woman with freckled skin illuminated by the sunlight reflected back from the water in the sunny harbour of Swanhaven. One of her arms was draped around Rosa’s shoulders. Rosa must have been about fourteen then and so full of life and fun and energy. Her baby sister was always ready to smile into the camera without a hint of embarrassment or hesitation. But this time Rosa and her mother had something to laugh about—because they were watching Kit playing the fool. As always. Seventeen years old and full of mischief, Kit was their hero, full of life and energy and funny, handsome and charming—everyone loved him, and he was indulged and spoiled. Kit would not sit still for a moment, always jumping about, always wanting to be in the action, especially when it came to the water and sailing.

  Mari remembered the day she’d taken the photograph so well. It was the Easter holiday and the sailing club had been open for a training day. Of course Kit was the instructor, yet again, but he was not content to simply smile for his younger sister, but had to leap forward onto one knee and wave jazz hands at her, which, of course, made Rosa and her mother laugh even louder. This was her happy family she loved, so natural and so unrehearsed. Just a typical shot of a mum having fun with her three kids on a trip to the marina.

  Looking at the image now, she could almost feel the sun on her face and the wind in her hair on that April morning when she’d captured the precious moment in time when they’d all been so happy together. It was hard to believe that she had taken the photograph only a few months before the yacht race in the annual Swanhaven Sailing Regatta when they lost Kit in a freak accident and the thin fabric of safe, loving little family was ripped apart.

  He had been the golden boy. The much-loved only son.

  Oh, Kit. She missed him so much, like a physical ache that never truly went away, but somehow over the years she had learned to push it to the back of her mind so that she could survive every day, though the pain of the loss was still there. Coming back to Swanhaven, and seeing the boats in the marina and young people finding such joy in the water, brought back all of those happy memories so vividly.

  They had been such good times with her family all around her.

  Mari ran her fingertip down her mother’s face on the photograph, just as the wind picked up and almost whipped it away, and she popped it back into her bag, made sure that it was safe and pulled on her gloves as quickly as she could.

  Perhaps she was not as ready to see her old home as she thought she was? It had been her mother’s dream that one day she should be able to buy back the home she had loved so very much, but she’d died before Mari could help to make that dream come true. And it broke Mari’s heart to think that she had let her down when they had come so close to making it a reality.

  But she still had Rosa to take care of, so she drove herself to work harder and longer to help her sister, no matter what the cost to her own dreams of running her own business.

  Turning away from the cliff, Mari faced the wild buffeting wind from the sea and skipped down the path back onto the
shore, walking faster and faster along the rough large boulders, sliding on the wet surface, squelching against kelp seaweed, until she was at the end of the jetty and in front of her was the curving bay and the rising cliffs of chalk towering above in the distance.

  She took a couple of steps further along the beach and there it was, the low dip in the cliff made by a small river and the sloping grassy bank and the winding path from the shore which led to the cottages where they used to live. Bracing herself, Mari lifted her head, back to the wind, and looked up towards the houses she could see quite clearly now. At this distance, the aged and weathered old roofs blocked the view of the actual house itself, but she could see a large placard from the local estate agent announcing that the house was soon to be sold by auction and the contact details. She had talked to the elderly couple who owned it a few times, but they had not been interested in selling. Until now, when a broken hip had forced them to move into the village.

  Tears pricked her eyes and she wiped them away with the finger of her glove. Cold wind and regret assaulted her eyes. But her mouth sheltered a secret smile.

  It had taken years of working nights, weekends and public holidays for the extra salary she needed to build up savings but she had finally done it this week after her bonus for working over the whole Christmas and New Year holiday had been paid. It was hard to believe that she finally had enough for the deposit she needed to buy back the house their father had built brick by brick. This was probably the only chance she would have to make this house a home again for herself and her sister, where they could live and work side by side one day.

  Other people had social lives. Lovely homes and designer clothing. Even boyfriends. Instead, Mari Chance had become the ‘go to’ single girl who was willing to work when her colleagues spent precious holiday time with their families. Promotion after promotion had meant travelling to some far-flung parts of the world at a moment’s notice. But she did it. And most of the time she loved her work. Loved the idea that she could arrive at a business office where the staff were panicking and walk out with the IT system working perfectly. That was deeply satisfying. Besides, she did not have any personal commitments, not even a pet. But all that travel came with a price.

  The crushing loneliness.

  And now the one thing she had been dreaming about for the last three years was finally going to happen—it was so close, she could almost feel it. Everything was ready. She had the funds, her place at the auction had been booked, and she knew the going rate for the property from recent sales figures.

  This was the house she had been born in. The house she had loved and been so happy in, and now she could make the offer—in cash and above the expected price with a loan facility already agreed at the bank, if the price was higher than she had budgeted for.

  She had to have this house.

  She had to.

  This was where her travelling and relentless activity and exhausting work was finally going to come to an end. This was where she was going to spend the rest of her life. Building a routine with Rosa in the place where she had grown up with extended family all around her. She was ready to come home to Swanhaven.

  At that moment an icy blast ran up inside Mari’s coat and a deep shiver crossed her shoulders and down her back, making her stamp her feet and clap her hands together to restore some circulation. Time to get back to hot tea and toasted crumpets—Rosa’s favourites. She could come back and see the house any time she wanted—but perhaps not today.

  Indulging in a brief smile and a final lingering look, Mari turned back into the wind as she strolled back towards the marina and the stone terraced cottage Rosa had made her own. Instantly Mari’s eyes were drawn to a small sailing boat which was coming towards the jetty from the west. It was the only boat on the sea and was too small to have crossed the Channel so it could not have come very far.

  For a moment Mari wondered who was brave enough, or foolish enough, to be sailing in open waters on a day like this. Icy blustery wind and grey skies did not equate in her mind to a pleasant sailing experience. She continued walking, her head angled down against the wind, but she could not miss the small craft as it came closer and closer towards the shore and the safety of a berth in the sheltered marina. She walked swiftly to try and get warm but, even with her fast pace the stiff wind in the small white sail sped the light craft faster than she could walk.

  It was coming in too fast. Much too fast. The closer she got to the marina, the faster the boat came towards her. He had not even lowered the sail and, oh, no, the crosswind was gusting now across the entrance to the marina. There was no way this boat could stop itself from being smashed against the jetty or the stone breakwater of the marina.

  No! She had to do something. Shout. Call for help.

  Mari looked frantically around—but there was nobody close enough to hear her call and the wind would snatch away any chance of being heard in the town.

  The cellphone was useless—the lifeboat would never come out in time. There were only seconds to spare before the boat collided with the dock.

  She started jogging, running for the shore, waving her arms above her head, trying frantically to attract the attention of the sailor, who seemed to be totally oblivious to the danger he was in. Mari was shouting now, over and over, ‘Watch out, watch out,’ but the words were flung back into her face by the bitterly cold winds which attacked her cheeks and eyes so that she could hardly see with the tears of winter blurring her vision. Her hat was long gone, blown away in the wind.

  Her heart was beating so fast that she thought she was going to pass out. Heaving lungfuls of cold air tipped with icy sleet, she reached the edge of the water and had to bend over at the waist, a hand on each knee, not daring to watch as the small boat was tossed violently from side to side like a plastic bath toy.

  She knew exactly what was going to happen next and the horror of what was to come filled her mind. She could not watch.

  Her face screwed up in pain, ready for the terrible sound of the hull smashing against the jetty, her hands ready to press against her ears to block out the horror and the cries of anguish from the lone sailor. Eyes closed, she knew what was coming and yet felt so powerless to prevent it that the horror of the moment washed over her with a cold shiver which ran across her shoulders and down her back.

  She waited and the seconds seemed to stretch into minutes.

  And then the minutes grew longer. And all she could hear was the smashing of the waves on the shore and the screeching of the herring gulls as they swooped down into the harbour in the wind.

  Slowly, slowly, hardly daring to look, Mari lifted her head and pushed herself to a standing position.

  Just in time to see a tall sailor step off his boat onto the jetty, coil the rope around a bollard on the pontoon one-handed and use his other hand to rake his fingers from his forehead back through his hair as if the wind had made a nuisance of itself by messing up his hairstyle.

  The sail was down and neatly wrapped, the boat was perfectly aligned in a berth in calm waters and the sailor looked so composed he might have just stepped from a cruise ship on a lazy summer afternoon.

  Stunned and totally bewildered, Mari could only watch in amazed silence as the man double-checked the rope, glanced at his watch and then turned around to stroll casually away from her down the walkway which led back to the town. And just for a second she saw his face for the first time.

  Her heart missed a beat.

  Ethan Chandler was back in town.

  CHAPTER TWO

  MARI lifted her head so she could look at Ethan again, just to make sure that she was not mistaken, except this time with her mouth half open in shock.

  But of course it was him. Nobody else came even close to Ethan in looks or ability. He had sailed on his own around the world non-stop! Little wonder that he could moor a small boat on a floating pontoon in an English winter.

  Ethan … She was looking at Ethan Chandler.

  A bolt of energy hit h
er hard in the stomach and punched the air from her lungs. The blast was so physical that Mari clutched hold of the edge of the stone wall of the marina with both hands to stop herself from sliding onto her knees. Frozen with shock.

  She could not believe this was happening. It had to be some sort of crazy nightmare brought on by lack of sleep and far too much caffeine and wine last night over dinner with Rosa.