The twins would have been impressed. Except they wouldn’t have taken the time to ask her what she was doing.
It felt good to have this tiny slice of herself that no one else knew about.
“This place is incredible. Has my mother ever been here?”
“Many times.” He sliced off a piece of lemon meringue.
“I had no idea. And what I don’t understand,” Liza said, “is why she’d make such a point of insisting I come down here to keep an eye on the cat, when she knew you were keeping an eye on the cat. Why didn’t she tell me?”
“That, I can’t answer.” He devoured the lemon meringue pie as if he hadn’t seen food for a month. “Could she have had another reason for wanting you to be here?” Dark glasses made it impossible to see his expression, but she had a feeling he was watching her closely.
She thought about the tense few nights her mother had spent with them before she’d driven her to the airport. She tried to remember exactly when her mother had asked her to keep an eye on the cat.
It had been at the last minute, after a conversation about how Liza put everyone else first.
Could her mother have been intervening? No, she wouldn’t do that.
Would she?
The idea settled in her mind. “It’s possible that she wanted to encourage me to take a break. And if she’d told me you were keeping an eye on Popeye, I wouldn’t have come. Popeye was the excuse. I haven’t told her I’m here yet. I need to call her.”
Her mother had noticed that something was wrong. She’d cared enough to try and help, even if her methods were a little clumsy.
She was surprised by how good it felt.
A bird skimmed the swimming pool and fluttered away again. Bees hummed in the bushes and a bright blue butterfly fluttered around the terracotta pots that surrounded the terrace.
She felt the sun burning her face and felt more peaceful and relaxed than she had in a long time.
Finn scraped the last of the crumbs from his plate. “You need an excuse to take a break?”
“I’m not good at it.” She picked up her fork and took a small mouthful of her own pie, savoring the sharp, lemony flavor.
“What is it you do? No, wait—” he lifted a finger “—let me guess. You’re in charge of a major corporation and without you to keep it afloat thousands of people would lose their jobs.”
This time he was definitely teasing her.
“I’m an art teacher.”
He pushed his plate away. “I’m surprised. You have a corporate look about you. I see you working in a glass skyscraper in the city, not a studio. I wouldn’t have guessed artist in a million years.”
“I’m not really an artist. Not anymore.” Laying claim to that title would have made her feel like a fraud. “I haven’t painted anything in a long time. I teach others to paint.” She taught them about space and form, about tone and texture, about color.
“But presumably there was a time when you painted yourself?”
“Yes. I loved it.”
“Then why don’t you consider yourself to be an artist?”
Liza considered. “An artist is someone who creates art, and I’m not doing that.”
“Why not?”
The question created a layer of intimacy that was at odds with their brief and casual acquaintance.
“It was squeezed out by other things. And you’ll probably say that we can always make time for something we want to do, but—”
“No, I understand. Creativity requires space and time, and those two things are in short supply in the world we live in. Your brain is crushed under the weight of mundane demands.” He steered a wasp away from the table. “Being overwhelmed can zap every last drop of creativity from your cells.”
How could this man who didn’t know her, understand so perfectly? “You sound as if you know.”
“Why do you think I’m living here? Although I also have the advantage of being intrinsically selfish, which helps.” He gave a half smile and stood up. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
She followed him across the terrace, down steps to the tranquil pool area and then across the lawns to the sea. A small sandy path led steeply down to the small beach protected on both sides by cliffs. Here the Atlantic Ocean crashed onto the shore, surging forward and then retreating. The rhythm was mesmerizing, the wildness a contrast to the sheltered stretch of beach on the estuary near Oakwood Cottage with its sun-drenched sand dunes.
“I didn’t even know this existed.”
“It was the reason I bought the house.” He headed down the path and she followed.
Halfway down they passed a life preserver, secured to a post.
He gestured to it. “In case someone goes for a midnight dip during one of the many wild, drunken parties I’m rumored to throw between these walls.”
She trod carefully, trying not to slip. “I’ve seen the way you drive your car, so at least some of the rumors are true.”
He flashed her a grin. “Cars are my vice.”
“The roads around here are frustratingly twisty and narrow for a fast car.”
“The problem isn’t the roads. It’s the other drivers.”
The dogs bounded past her and would have knocked her off balance if he hadn’t shot out a hand to steady her.
“Sorry. They have no concept of civilized behavior. They forget we don’t all balance on four legs.” He kept hold of her hand as they headed down the path and she was conscious of his fingers, wrapped tightly around hers. She felt as if she should tug her hand away, but left it there until they reached the bottom of the path.
Liza slid off her shoes and felt instant relief as her bare feet touched the soft sand. The beach was secluded and private. It was like stepping into another world.
“Do people ever climb over the cliffs?”
“No. Too steep. They try coming across the fields but fortunately the farmer keeps his bull two fields across in that direction—” he waved an arm “—so that’s a kind of built-in security. They can come by road, but I have Kathleen to protect me from that.”
Liza closed her eyes briefly and breathed in salt air and sunshine. Her usual daily view was buildings and streets choked with traffic and people. Her soundtrack was engines, car horns, airplanes overhead. Now there was nothing but sea, sky and seabirds.
She opened her eyes. “How does my mother protect you?”
“She has numerous interesting strategies. She misdirects people. Sends them across country, or to the next village. Occasionally she pretends to be deaf and lets them shout louder and louder until they give up.” He took off his glasses. His hair was tangled and tousled from the breeze, his eyes were bright with laughter. “She’s never told you?”