The Summer Visitors

by Fiona O'Brien, Fiona O''Brien

Genres: General Fiction

Synopsis

American documentary maker Daniel O'Connell is renting the beautiful Cable Lodge for the summer. He's hoping that three months researching an old cable station in a remote, Irish village will help him and his traumatised son finally move on from the accident that killed his wife. Meanwhile local hotel owner's daughter Annie Sullivan has communication problems of her own to deal with. As summer draws to a close, both Dan and Annie are forced to confront the pasts they've been escaping.

Release date: May 4, 2017

Publisher: Hachette Ireland

Print pages: 320

Sample

Looking out across the Atlantic Ocean, the little village of Ballyanna sits on the rugged southwest coast of Ireland. At first glance – apart from the arresting beauty of its surrounding coastline – there is not much to differentiate it from the many other seaside villages up and down the country. Around 150 years ago, however, it was a very different story indeed. Back then, Ballyanna was a vitally important location. For it was here, on this very beach, that the first transatlantic submarine cable came ashore. This ground-breaking technology meant that for the first time in history, America could connect with Europe in a matter of minutes – as opposed to news travelling by ship, which could take weeks – changing forever the way the two continents would communicate. Ballyanna and its cable station became a kind of Silicon Valley, with highly trained telegraphers relaying messages back and forth across the Atlantic via cable code, providing a communication network that would have been unthinkable just a few decades before.

But that was all a long time ago. Today, the cable station is a relic of times gone by, a low, stone ruin that looks out, rather forlornly, over the ocean its messages once traversed. The arrival of satellites in the 1960s rendered the old cable redundant. And then, as so often happens, history repeated itself. New, advanced fibre optic cables were invented and once again laid beneath the ocean from continent to continent, all around the globe.

The village of Ballyanna lost its status as a communication hub, lapsing back into its quiet, dependable rhythms. Now, though, something is disturbing those reliable patterns of village life. Something, or someone, seems determined to make themselves heard, whatever the cost, however precarious the means. And for one last time, the old cable station, for so long silent, will facilitate a vitally important communication between two very different worlds …

* * *

She looks around one more time, to triple check, although she knows already that everything is perfect. The small Notting Hill home she and Ed have made their own looks back at her, as if sensing her anticipation. The little house is tasteful, yet artfully flamboyant, the perfect canvas for Ed’s legendary art-directing talents. Annie would never have achieved such an original effect on her own, she thinks, not in a million years. But then, everything Ed owned and worked on became beautiful, in time.

Annie straightens the dress he says he loves on her, the one he says makes her gold-flecked eyes even greener, the one, he says, with his wicked grin, that he immediately longs to take off her. Her red-gold hair is freshly washed, long and wavy, the smattering of freckles across her nose still visible through her subtle make-up. She fiddles with the silver bangle on her wrist, Ed’s first gift to her and the only piece of jewellery she wears. The inscription, in small black script, reads Walk on the wild side … She takes a deep breath, forces herself to be still.

She has waited until tonight, their fourth anniversary. Ed is coming back after spending five days shooting a commercial in Cape Town. She has planned a special romantic dinner at home to mark the occasion.

She hears a key turning in the front door and waits. The door pushes open and there he is, handsome, irrepressible, his eyes raking over her, registering approval and pleasure. With a theatrical flourish, he produces a huge bouquet of flowers. ‘Bet you thought I’d forgotten.’

‘I wouldn’t have cared if you had.’ Annie means it. ‘I’m just glad you’re back. There’s champagne in the fridge, and tuna steak for dinner.’

‘Just let me have a hot shower first.’ He drags his bags inside and grabs her in a mock weary embrace. ‘Then I’ll show you exactly how much I’ve missed you.’

Dinner is perfect, just as she hoped it would be. They drink the champagne, eat the seared tuna, talk and laugh about Ed’s trip.

‘Tell me about Hubble and the merger,’ Ed says. ‘Have you made up your mind what you’re going to do?’

Annie twists the stem of her champagne flute in her fingers. Hubble is the advertising agency she set up three years ago, and she and her partners have just put the finishing touches to a lucrative merger with a global conglomerate. The payoff means she doesn’t need to work again, but the board are keen for her to stay on as creative director.

‘I’m not sure,’ Annie says. ‘Part of me would like a brand new challenge, but on the other hand, I’m not sure if I’m ready to hand over my baby to strangers just yet.’

‘Are you kidding?’ He grins at her. ‘They’d have to prise you off the board of Hubble like a barnacle! You’ll be there forever!’

After dinner, Annie makes coffee while Ed pours himself a brandy. As she sits back down, he reaches for her hand across the table, where they linger for a while.

‘Happy Anniversary, babe. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’ He kisses her wrist tenderly. It’s a perfect moment. So perfect, that for weeks, months, even just days afterwards, Annie would try to remember how perfect. As if she could freeze-frame that one moment and erase all that came after.

‘Ed, honey.’ She takes a breath, her hand still in his. ‘It’s been over a year … almost two since we talked about it … I really want us to try for a baby …’

His face, even in the softness of candlelight, hardens.

‘Just hear me out.’ She has her pitch prepared.

‘We’ve been through this before, Annie.’

‘No we haven’t! Not for ages. Not since … we’ve never even had a proper discussion about it. You just said to wait a year, and I have – more than a year.’

‘I don’t want a baby, Annie.’

This is a tone she hasn’t heard before, weary with finality.

‘But why not? What would be so terrible about having a baby of our own? You love kids. It would make everything perfect. We don’t have to get married, if that’s what’s bothering you …’

‘It’s not, believe me.’ Ed drops her hand, stands up and strides across the room until he’s standing at the window, staring out into the darkness and his own reflection flickering in the candlelit glass. ‘Ed, please!’ Annie gets up and follows him over. ‘Can’t we at least just talk about this?’

‘Just leave it, Annie, will you?’ He turns around, wearing the look she has seen so many people shrink from in the boardroom, directed now at her. ‘A baby’s the last thing we need right now! Why did you have to bring this up tonight of all nights?’ He runs his hands through his hair. ‘I just wanted a nice quiet evening, and now it’s ruined.’

‘It’s not ruined, Ed, please, just sit down.’ He is scaring her now, the look on his face, the pacing, he is acting like a caged animal. ‘It … it doesn’t matter, forget I said anything, we don’t have to—’

‘Of course it matters!’ His voice is raised now. ‘Don’t you think I know how much it matters?’

And then, just as quickly, his mood changes. He sits back down, his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes before looking at her.

‘I’m so sorry, Annie. It’s a complete bloody mess. I didn’t want to tell you like this.’

‘Tell me what?’ She hears her voice, thin, unnaturally high.

And this is how she learns of Sarah, a young art director, part of a new team Ed has hired at his own agency. How he has been mentoring them, helping them with an important campaign, how Sarah has hero-worshipped him and how at first he found that amusing … before it turned into something different. And no, he hadn’t meant for it to happen, of course not, it was just one of those things. But now … now he isn’t so sure, and he doesn’t know what to do … because now Sarah, who is twenty-nine, is six months pregnant.



This is it?

I didn’t actually come out and say it, but that’s what I was thinking. Pat was doing enough talking for both of us – he hadn’t stopped, not since we’d landed at Shannon.

Shit. This was way worse than I’d expected. We were in the middle of, like, nowhere.

‘Look!’ Pat says, every three seconds. ‘A sheep! A donkey! A bale of hay! A tractor!’ Like we’d never been to the countryside before. Although the donkey, I admit, was cute.

Pat’s my twin brother. We’re eleven years old and identical, even Dad can’t always tell us apart. We’d left the motorway about an hour ago and the roads had got narrower and twistier. We’d passed through some really strange-looking towns – nothing like home. And then, right ahead of us, beneath a cliff road, the ocean had suddenly appeared. But it was grey, like the sky – like everything here. But that was okay, it matched the way I felt inside.

‘Okay back there?’ Dad’s eyes flicked in the rear-view mirror.

I nodded. Beside me, Pat was banging his forehead against the passenger seat.

In the mirror, Dad’s eyes creased, which meant he was smiling. ‘Won’t be long now, we’re almost there.’

Killorglin, Glenbeigh, Cahirciveen – weird names flashed by us, more twisty-turning roads, and then a church, a fork in the road, and signs that read Ballyanna, pointing both ways.

‘Guess we’ll take the scenic route,’ said Dad, turning right. He always said that.

We drove by more fields, with funny stone walls in between, and came to the ocean again, turned left. There was a flash of sun just then, and for a moment everything looked bright and full of colours, but only for a moment. Then it went back to grey.

We turned in through a pair of iron gates and pulled up outside a big old house.

‘This is it. Cable Lodge, that’s us.’

The door opened and a woman came out. She waved. Dad got out of the car and we followed.

‘Welcome.’ The woman smiled, and shook hands with Dad. ‘You must be the O’Connells. I’m sure you’re exhausted after your journey.’

She was about the same age as Grandma, I guessed, but fatter, with chin-length brown hair that was longer at the front and shorter at the back. She had a nice smile. Her voice went up and down, like a song. Pat had already run past her, through the open door and up the stairs.

‘Let me help you with your bags,’ she said, bending to pick one up.

‘Absolutely not.’ Dad stopped her. ‘I wouldn’t hear of it!’ He held out his hand. ‘Hi, I’m Daniel. Most people call me Dan.’

‘Daniel O’Connell,’ she said, laughing. ‘Well that’s an easy name to remember around these parts. I’m Joan Coady. Welcome to Ballyanna. I’m here to let you in, see you’ve got everything you need.’

She was wearing cargo pants and a green t-shirt that said Let’s Swing! in big black letters across her chest. I got the impression she was a bit hot and bothered, as Grandma would say. She looked at me then and blew a piece of hair away from her face. I decided I liked her.

‘This is Sean,’ said Dad.

‘Hello, Sean.’ She smiled down at me. ‘Good to meet you.’

I nodded, but I kept my eyes on the writing on her t-shirt.

She must have noticed me looking at it because she laughed and said, ‘I’m a very keen golfer – most of us are around here.’

Dad coughed. ‘Take your bag inside, Sean and go choose your room. I need to talk to Joan.’

I followed after Pat, up the big old stairway that wound around and around, dragging my bag behind me. The house was warm, which was good, because the weather sure wasn’t, not compared to home anyway, and it was already June. Upstairs there were some really big rooms, and the one at the front of the house had a double bed. There was a neat bathroom too, with a big old bath and lots of pipes.

I found Pat on the next floor, in a back bedroom with slanting ceilings. There were two small windows that looked out towards mountains in the distance and a big skylight above. Pat was climbing in and out of a freestanding wooden closet. There were three beds and a small, old-fashioned fireplace.

‘Cool, huh?’ Pat leaned in to examine the black metal shelf and coloured tiles around the grate.

I lifted my bag onto one of the beds and sat down.

‘This is my room.’ Pat said. ‘I found it first. Go get your own.’

But I just kept sitting there, chewing my lip.

Pat straightened up and sighed. ‘Oh, okay, we’ll share it. But I get the bed by the window.’

I nodded. Easy deal. I didn’t want to be on my own.

Pat went to look around and I began to unpack my clothes, putting them in the big chest of drawers that creaked when I pulled one open. Inside they were lined on the bottom with paper, the same kind that was on the walls, and someone had put in a little bag of nice-smelling stuff tied with coloured thread. It smelt of outside.

‘I could hear them downstairs.’ Pat came back in, and leaned against the window. ‘He’s telling her about how you’re not talking.’

I went to stand beside him and pulled the blind up and down. It was raining now, running hard down the windowpanes.

‘I heard them,’ he went on. ‘She said, “the poor little fellow”.’ Pat said that in a sing-song voice, just like Joan’s. Pat could imitate anyone. ‘It’s been over a year now.’ He gave me a dig in the ribs. ‘Don’t you think it’s time you, like, said something? I mean, how long are you going to not talk for? It’s really stupid.’

I knew he was right, but I just shrugged. I didn’t know when I would talk again. I didn’t know if I ever could.

* * *

One thing Dan O’Connell has learned in the last year – the only thing, maybe – is that life goes on. Even if you feel like you’re walking through it on autopilot. Someone had stolen his, taken everything he knew, loved and lived by and turned it on its head. Some days he felt like he’d been sucked up by a twister, hurled around, and spat back down amidst the debris of a landscape he knew he should recognise but couldn’t. And without familiar landmarks to navigate by, he was lost.

Husband, father, widower – those labels were supposed to tell him something about himself, but he was damned if he knew what it was. But he was still a father, even if he had no clue how to manage this new and terrifying version of parenthood. They would figure it out together. That’s what he told himself anyhow.

‘I think you should go,’ Matt the bereavement counsellor had said. ‘A change of scene will do you guys good, it might even be the breakthrough Sean needs. Some distance might give him a little perspective.’

‘Can’t do any harm,’ Dr Shriver agreed when he ran the idea by her in her office. ‘The question is, how will you handle it?’ She’d looked at him through those tortoiseshell-framed glasses that made her brown eyes seem even bigger. ‘You won’t have the support framework you have here, Dan.’

‘It’s only for the summer,’ he said. ‘We’ll be back in time for school. But at least it means I’m getting back to work. And apart from anything else, I need the money.’

‘Of course you do. I understand.’ As Sean’s trauma specialist, Dr Shriver understood the practicalities of the situation as well as the nuances. She was a mom herself, after all. ‘It could happen any time, Dan, you know that. Sean will talk when he’s ready. Don’t panic if it takes longer than you expect.’

‘I keep telling myself that.’

‘Good. You keep doing that.’ She’d got up from her desk to show him out. ‘I’ve never been to Ireland. I’d like to go. I have Irish ancestors, so does Kirk, my husband.’

‘With a name like mine, I guess I must too. Maybe I’ll get to look them up.’ He’d smiled and turned to go.

‘Dan?’

‘Yes?’

‘Try not to worry, try to have some fun. And remember, I’m at the other end of the phone if you need me.’

‘Let’s hope I don’t. But thank you, Dr Shriver – for everything.’

‘Any time, it’s a pleasure.’

He meant it. Dr Shriver had been fabulous. In fact, everyone had been wonderful, and kept on being wonderful. Dan hadn’t known so much kindness existed in the world.

It had been over a year now, since the accident, and somehow they had got through the first anniversary, but still Sean hadn’t said a word – not one single word. Dan wondered if he ever would. The longer it went on, the more frightened he became. Dr Shriver said it was textbook post-traumatic stress disorder, that they had to continue as normally as possible, that Sean should go back to school, continue with his therapy and bereavement counselling and that when he was ready, then he would speak. In the meantime it was vital to keep the lines of communication open any way Dan could, to keep Sean from retreating any further.

Everyone was doing everything possible, but when it came to the crunch, Dan was still the breadwinner – whatever about not talking, they still had to eat.

The timing of this research trip couldn’t have been better. He was to travel to Ireland, to a small village in the southwest called Ballyanna that was home – according to the tourist comments he’d trawled through online – to some jaw-dropping scenery, terrific trout and salmon fishing, and a world-class golf course. The irony of the project he would be researching was not lost on him. The submarine Atlantic cable had finally enabled people to communicate between continents for the first time in history. That was to be the subject of the documentary he and his crew would eventually produce. Now communication was the one thing denied him, just when they needed it most. Instead Dan had to wrestle with the silence of his son, which lay between them, as real and deep as any ocean and just as perilous to navigate.

He could do this, he knew he could. He had to, for the sake of his family. This was work – a return to normality of sorts, albeit in another country they’d never been to before. But maybe that was a good thing – travelling to a place without memories. That had to be an improvement, because he couldn’t feel more of a stranger anywhere else than he already did in this bleak terrain his own life had become. At least in Ireland he wouldn’t be surrounded by constant reminders of everything he’d lost. And maybe, just maybe, Sean might find his way to talking again. They might even find their new beginnings as a family – their way back to each other. Dan sure as hell hoped so.

* * *

It is the walking cliché bit she cannot bear, that makes her want to grind her teeth every time she thinks about it, which she can’t help doing now as she takes one last look around the eerily empty house she used to call home. The contents have been divided, the furniture and paintings packed and put into storage, much like her feelings. Annie is done with feelings – look where they got her.

She drops the keys off at the estate agents, calls an Uber and heads back to Soho for a parting lunch with Theo, her co-founding partner at Hubble. It is June, and the city couldn’t look prettier or more inviting. London does summer particularly well, she always thinks. It is her favourite time of year here, watching people shrug off their winter pallor along with their coats, emerging from their buttoned-up practicality and Englishness, seeming to finally unfurl in the welcome warmth. Even the statuesque architecture is softened and bathed in light. Although she is too busy these days to enjoy the typical summer pastimes of leisurely lunches in smart outdoor eateries, strolls through the parks or lazy evenings in riverside pubs, Annie enjoys knowing it is unfolding all around her. It is easier these days, she reflects, to watch other people’s lives rather than to contemplate her own.

The cab drops her off at her favourite Greek restaurant in Berwick Street, where Theo is already holding court at his usual pavement table, a bottle of champagne chilling beside him.

‘Celebrating already, Theo?’

‘They insisted,’ he says with a grin, pouring her a glass as she shakes her head and sits down. ‘Although Cosmo doesn’t really believe you’re abandoning us, do you, Cosmo?’ Theo looks to the elderly waiter for confirmation, who shakes his head and assumes an appropriately mournful expression.

‘Neither can I.’ Theo lifts his glass to hers. ‘What will we do without you for three whole months? That’s if you last that long. Personally I give it six weeks, max. Then you’ll be climbing walls and bouncing off ceilings.’

‘I thought we’d agreed that’s what I’d be doing if I stayed here?’

‘Ah yes.’ Theo’s eyes narrow. ‘But that was when I thought you were going to escape to a spa on the far side of the world, or write your novel in a beach hut – not go home to Ireland …’ He rattles their order off to Cosmo in fluent Greek then sits back in his chair to look at her. ‘Are you really sure about this?’

‘You know I am. And you know why.’

Theo holds her gaze and nods. ‘I just, you know … wonder if it’s the right thing … going home isn’t always the answer.’

‘Right now, it’s the only one I’ve got. And besides, I’m needed there.’

‘We need you here.’

‘I’ll only be an email away. We can Facetime, it’ll be romantic, just as if I’m in the office, except with a different backdrop.’

‘I was never good at long-distance relationships. I like my partners in the office, not another country.’

‘We’ve been over all this,’ she reminds him. ‘Everything’s been signed, everything’s going ahead, my lawyer is on speed-dial if you need him …’

‘I know,’ Theo says, watching her carefully, ‘but it won’t be the same. Apart from anything else, I’m going to miss you.’

Annie smiles. ‘I’ll be back before you know it. When it’s all over and … and things are back to normal.’ She glances around the street, unwilling to meet his eyes.

Theo is still watching her. He sighs, takes a sip of champagne. ‘Tell me about your family again, and why you have to go home to rescue everybody.’

‘I’m not rescuing anybody. My dad isn’t well, my sister’s husband seems to have been involved in some very dubious financial dealings. Poor old mum is trying to cope with it all and could do with some help in the hotel. I need to find out what’s going on and sort it. Damage limitation, Theo – not rescuing.’

‘Why you?’ Theo looks cross. ‘You need a rest, not a family soap opera. Don’t they know that?’

‘You sound like my sister.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘She says I’m a control freak. Too uptight for my own good and always trying to fix everyone, expecting the impossible from people, especially family.’

‘And do you?’ Theo raises an eyebrow.

Annie frowns. ‘How can you ask me that? You know me as well as anybody.’

‘I think the only person you expect the impossible from is yourself,’ Theo says softly.

Annie ignores the comment. ‘It’s odd, I suppose, but I’ve never really felt I belonged with my family. I never understood all the unspoken rules the others seem to take for granted. We baffle each other at best and irritate the hell out of each other at worst. When I was younger, I couldn’t wait to get away.’

‘Sounds very normal to me, but then I’m Greek. You know what they say, you can choose your friends, but not your family … and don’t forget, you have made your own family, Annie, here in London, with us.’ Theo makes an expansive gesture. ‘Think of all you have achieved in the last ten years. All the friends you have who care about you …’

‘I know,’ Annie sighs. ‘But this is something I have to do, Theo, so no more discussions, please. I’m just going over to Ireland for twelve weeks to help out and not be here for a while, okay? Can we leave it at that?’

Theo holds up his hands in a gesture of defeat.

Lunch passes peaceably, they discuss clients, the agency and the merger. The past six months have been exhausting, since Hubble was targeted for a buyout by the multinational WHM&R. But after Ed’s bombshell, Annie welcomed the chance to throw herself into work even more than usual, to the extent that her friends and colleagues began to worry about her.

That’s why Theo had insisted she take a sabbatical. ‘Go away, lie on a beach somewhere nobody knows you. Please, Annie, you’re scaring us and it’s only a matter of time before you start scaring off clients, you’re radiating nervous energy. And you really don’t look well.’

‘I can’t, Theo. I can’t stop, because if I do it all comes back to me … work is the only escape I have.’

‘I know, Annie, believe me I understand, but that’s exactly why you need to stop, or you’re going to make yourself ill. Is that what you want doing the rounds on the grapevine – that the inimitable Annie Sullivan has gone to pieces or had a breakdown over a failed romance … over a mere man?’

Annie had looked at him as if he’d slapped her across the face. The words stung, but they also achieved their intended effect, which Annie knew, deep down, was Theo’s well-meaning, if blunt, attempt at forcing her to hear him and take him seriously. Reluctantly, she’d agreed. That had been six weeks ago.

People stop by the table to say hello, a television producer they work with joins them, sits down to chat for a few minutes. Theo is his usual ebullient self, but all the time he is discreetly watching her. Annie knows she is much more than a business partner to him – Theo and she are old and very dear friends, and she knows he has watched and worried about her these past three months as she has turned into someone even she doesn’t recognise. Annie is far from stupid. She is fully aware people are whispering about the ridiculous hours she has been keeping at work, the weight loss, the tightness around her mouth, the uncharacteristically brittle humour and, most telling of all, the dark circles and hollows beneath her sad green eyes. But try as she might to pretend she was coping, she knew deep down she was falling apart.

Theo knew the whole story, of course, he would have anyway, even if Annie hadn’t told him herself. The gossip had circulated indecently quickly.

He had listened sympathetically when she had told him. And although she was calm and matter-of-fact as she related the details, she could see from his expression that Theo felt her pain, her acute sense of betrayal and loss. He was deeply sorry for her, but not surprised. That was the hardest part, for Annie.

Theo had known Ed long before Annie had ever met him, and was well acquainted with the trail of broken hearts he’d left in his wake. So was Annie, if she was honest. She had gone in to the relationship with her eyes wide open. As womanisers go, Ed was right up there – handsome, brilliant, funny, and devastatingly charming. And the worst of it was, he was a genuinely nice guy. Theo liked him, everybody did – it was impossible not to. But as Theo’s current wife, Kristina, so aptly pointed out, Ed was simply catnip to women, and he was equally enamoured of them, too. Annie had lasted longer than her predecessors. She had begun to believe they had a real future together. She tried, and failed, to hide her pleasure when people said that Ed had finally been tamed, finally found the one … and then the inevitable had happened.

Annie was stoic throughout the whole sorry mess that unfolded, but her close friends and colleagues knew the toll it took on her. Eventually Theo told her he could stand it no longer and insisted she take a break. Get away, have a change of scene.

She admitted Theo was right. In certain circles – and advertising was one of them – London was as small as any village, and just as claustrophobic. It would be impossible for her to avoid Ed either in business or social situations. And given the current circumstances, that would be intolerable.

Three months will fly, Annie tells herself. She’ll be back before she knows it, when all this unpleasant business is behind her and she can get back to doing what she does best.

All the same, when the waiter waves down the black cab to take her to Heathrow and Annie’s suitcase is retrieved from behind the counter, she has a momentary lapse of composure. Without her artfully chic work uniform to hide behind, dressed as she is now, in just a simple t-shirt and jeans, Annie feels vulnerable and much younger than her thirty-six years.

When Theo gets up to enfold her in a bear hug, his eyes are bright.

‘Stay in touch,’ he instructs her. ‘Call me when you have settled in, let us know how you’re doing.’

Annie nods, not trusting herself to speak. It is kindness these days that is her undoing.

She clambers in to the taxi, puts on her sunglasses and closes her eyes, willing the driver not to chat. She doesn’t want to be rude, but she will be curt if she has to be.

Once he has his directions, thankfully the cabbie doesn’t try to engage her in cheery conversation. They manoeuvre Soho’s tight corners, leaving the West End behind, then the motorway looms ahead, and for the first time, the familiar weight in Annie’s chest gives way to panic. But there’s no going back now, no matter what Theo might say. In her heart she knows that. So she takes a deep breath, blows her nose, and wipes the tears that leak from beneath her dark glasses. She will not cry. She will not indulge in self-pity. She is just very, very angry, and she has every right to be – at Ed, at his breathtaking betrayal and, most of all, at herself.

* * *

It is to be a perfect day on the peninsula, the local weatherman assured her on the radio this morning, but this good news has not improved Breda Sullivan’s mood. Be