As Cara waits for the luggage carousel to fill with suitcases, she glances around the baggage collection area and sees the young American on the down escalator. He looks a little jaded after the flight and wisps of wavy dark hair escape from his man bun.
Lucky guy spending the next year travelling, she thinks, though it’s not something she would swap her life for. Her children are her raison d’être and it’s important she considers Greg’s offer carefully. She tries to ignore the flutter of fear.
Noisily, the carousel jerks into motion and the first of the bags appears at the top of the chute. A suitcase slides down and joins the revolving platform at the bottom, almost falling off, and a woman darts forward to grab it. All at once a number of bags slide onto the chute, all jostling for space.
‘Hello again.’
Cara turns. Clear brown eyes.
‘Hi.’
‘Did you enjoy Upper Class?’ he asks.
‘I’d be lying if I said no,’ she says with a guilty smile. ‘How was your flight?’
‘Once I’d cut the legs off the kid kicking the back of my seat it was fine.’ He laughs at her horrified face. ‘Only joking! Bet you had none of that upfront.’
She laughs. ‘It was very grown-up!’ Behind him, she spots her suitcase on the chute. ‘That’s mine,’ she says, positioning herself to extract the bag from the moving carousel.
‘Let me,’ he says. ‘Which one?’
‘Oh, thanks. The blue suitcase with the surfer stickers.’ He gives her a quizzical look. ‘My son stuck them on.’
Pulling the suitcase towards him, the young man places it on the floor beside her. ‘Son? You don’t look old enough.’
She smiles politely. ‘One daughter, two sons.’
His eyes open wide. ‘Then you must have had children very young.’
‘You’re being very kind.’
‘No, I’m not,’ he says. ‘I mean it.’
Cara gazes at him. Even though he’s obviously had a trying flight, the young man fizzes with life. That’s how Christo once was. Her heart pinches. How cruel life can be, changing in an instant.
‘Well, I’d better get going,’ she says, glancing at her watch. ‘I have to be at Paddington by four.’
‘Yes.’
‘Goodbye, then. Enjoy your year of travel.’ She smiles at him.
With her mind already focused on the onward journey, Cara doesn’t see him watching her walk away as she makes her way through customs. Emerging onto the arrivals concourse, she looks around for signs to the Heathrow Express.
‘Would you mind if I travelled with you into London?’ he asks, coming up fast behind her with a large rucksack on his back.
She looks at him in surprise. ‘Where are you heading?’
‘I haven’t booked anywhere. Thought I’d find a hotel once I got here.’
Cara raises her eyebrows. ‘Is that how you plan to travel in Europe?’
‘More or less,’ he says. ‘I’ve got a couple of people to stay with but I don’t like to plan too rigidly. I prefer the let’s see what life brings approach.’
How free he is! She used to be that way… once.
‘Well, OK, then. Let’s catch the train together.’
As they walk across the concourse following signs to the airport rail link, Johnny asks, ‘If I came to Cornwall, where would I find your gallery?’
Cara considers him. There’s nothing to suggest trouble. He’s just a young man embracing all that life has to offer. Just like Christo… ‘Porthleven, on the south coast beyond Helston.’
‘What’s its name?’
‘The Art Shack.’ Inadvertently, Cara cringes. Greg thinks it’s so quaint and has suggested she change it. But, so far, she’s dug her heels in. She gives a small frown, disappointed at letting Greg’s opinion make her doubt her original choice. The gallery’s name has served her well up to now.
‘I like that,’ he says. ‘It conjures up images of it being on the beach.’
‘Almost,’ Cara says, silently thanking him for bolstering her flagging self-belief. ‘It’s in a courtyard just off the harbour.’
‘Sounds great. Think I’ll definitely look into making a detour while I’m here.’
The rail journey to Paddington passes quickly with Johnny chatting about his forthcoming travels. On the point of going their separate ways, he says, ‘Thanks, Cara, for making the start of my year’s sabbatical memorable.’
She laughs. ‘And thank you for making my journey home from New York enjoyable.’
He grins. Picking up his rucksack, he hoists it onto his back and turns to walk away, but hesitates. ‘See you in Porthleven.’
‘There’ll be coffee waiting,’ she says, ‘and, you never know, I may even splash out on a Cornish pasty!’
‘An offer I can’t refuse. See you soon.’ He smiles at her before disappearing into the crowd.
Checking the departures board for the Penzance train, Cara sees she has only minutes to spare. As she hurries towards the platform her mobile phone rings. She ignores it; if it’s important, whoever it is will leave a message. Hauling her suitcase onto the train, she stows it in the luggage compartment and walks through the carriage to a window seat. She makes herself comfortable and looks around, half expecting the young American to reappear. She smiles to herself. He was pleasant company and helped pass the time, but if she accepts Greg’s offer, occasions like this won’t be allowed to happen. Her smile slips. His offer is good, she reminds herself. It assures her of a future for her children. It will, however, mean being Greg’s partner in the true sense of the word. Maybe, with time, she will get used to his physical demands. She closes her eyes to the distasteful vision of Greg making love to her. Suddenly, Oliver’s face swims into view. Aargh! Stop thinking of him! Why is it that whenever she feels compromised her mind strays to him? Sighing deeply, Cara opens her eyes and takes out her mobile. A voicemail from Morwenna.
‘OMG! Phone me. He’s coming!’
Cara immediately phones her friend.
‘Oh, Cara, thanks for phoning back so quickly,’ says Morwenna. ‘I’m beside myself. Tas is coming to Cornwall!’
‘When?’ Unwittingly, jealousy threatens to derail Cara. She’s not jealous of Tas, but the whole Tas, Oliver, ‘summer of love’ she and Morwenna experienced.
‘This Friday! What am I going to do? I’ve got at least two stone to shift,’ Morwenna says in anguish.
Cara laughs. ‘Mo, calm down. You’ll give yourself a heart attack.’
‘Too late, I’m already having one.’
‘Take deep breaths. Tas will accept you just as you are. Where’s he staying?’
‘Don’t know. I forgot to ask. I can’t believe it. It’s so long since I saw him!’
‘You will take it slowly, won’t you?’ says Cara, feeling like the older sister.
‘Yes. If there’s any chance at all, I don’t want to blow it this time,’ Morwenna says, steadying herself. ‘I’m sorry to call you about this,’ she adds, remembering Cara’s reaction the last time she mentioned Tas, ‘but there’s no one else I can share it with.’
‘That’s OK, Mo. I’m pleased you called me.’
‘OH MY GOD!’ Morwenna shrieks, making Cara hold the mobile away from her ear. Suddenly curious, she asks, ‘Where are you?’
‘On a train.’
‘What are you doing on a train?’
‘I’ve just got back from New York.’ Cara hears the sharp intake of breath.
‘New York?’
‘Yes. Greg arranged a fleeting visit to show me his world.’
‘Well, that’s nice… I think,’ Morwenna says hesitantly. ‘Was it?’
‘It was interesting and exhausting, but I can’t wait to be back in the cove.’
‘He’s not trying to lure you away from us, is he?’
Cara squeezes her eyes shut. ‘He was just showing me New York and his home in the Hamptons.’
‘Well, as long as that’s all he was doing, because, Cara, you’d never be happy living in the States with Greg. I know he’s smooth, sophisticated and moneyed but he’s old enough to be your father, for God’s sake!’
‘He’s only twenty years older, Mo.’
‘Exactly. I rest my case.’