‘You’re confused,’ Simon said, getting up out of the chair and coming to stand in front of her, his hands on her shoulders. ‘My timing was off, Violet. If I’d known about your letter I’d have held off to give you a chance to sort it out. One thing at a time, and all that.’
She looked up into his conventionally handsome face, knowing that he didn’t mean to make her feel incapable. He freely admitted that he enjoyed taking care of her, that he liked to think that she needed him as her solid rock. And God knows that’s what he was; there wasn’t a more reliable pair of hands in the land. That was the problem, really; Violet had spent her life being sheltered, she wanted to step out on her own. She hadn’t realised how much until Simon proposed; it was as if she was going to move from one gilded cage to another.
Shaking her head, she drew in a deep breath.
‘I’m not confused. I’m going to move to Swallow Beach for the summer.’
He stared at her. ‘And then you’ll come home and marry me?’
‘I don’t think I will, Simon.’
If she thought she’d been direct enough, she was wrong.
‘I know what this is.’ He gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. ‘Fear. It’s okay to feel a bit scared of change, Violet. I’m like that too.’
‘I’m not scared,’ she said, more determined now. ‘I don’t know how to say this any more clearly without hurting you, Simon. I’m moving to Swallow Beach, and I don’t want to go there as your fiancée. I need to feel free.’
Violet couldn’t have known it, but she’d never been more like her grandmother than in that very moment.
‘I’ll wait for you,’ he said, a look of indulgence on his face. ‘You’ll come back, and I’ll be here waiting for you.’
‘Simon, please don’t,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you to put your life on hold. I’m so sorry, but all of this has really made me think, and I’ve realised that I’m not being fair to you. I think I’m stringing you along. I don’t think we have what it takes for forever.’
He set his jaw. ‘I’ll be here waiting when you come home.’ His eyes flickered with dismay. ‘Please Violet. Don’t tell me not to.’
She picked up the ring box. ‘You should take this. I can’t even promise that I’ll come back.’
He sighed and shook his head. ‘It’s a good job I know you better than you know yourself,’ he said, at last. ‘You’ll come back. I know it. You go, and I’ll be your safety net.’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘I’m going to leave that champagne on ice in your parents’ fridge, and leave that ring in your hands. By autumn, it’ll be on your finger.’
Short of having a bloody-minded argument, there was nothing Violet could do; he had her backed into a corner, and because Violet wasn’t given to arguments, she didn’t push. She’d told him the truth; she was going to Swallow Beach and she didn’t feel as if she wanted to marry him, now or in the future. The fact that he wasn’t prepared to accept it wasn’t her fault. He thought she needed a safety net. She knew the opposite to be true. She wanted to step out and walk the tightrope without a safety net, ready to be a roaring success or go down spectacularly.
‘No way, Violet. Absolutely no way.’
Della stared at her daughter, and Violet stared right back. She’d fully expected to meet opposition from her parents, and they hadn’t disappointed her. Her father was resolute that it was a terrible idea, and her mother was hopping mad. In fact, she’d go as far as to say her mother was more furious than she’d ever seen her.
‘Mum, I really don’t want to fall out,’ Vi said. ‘But please try to understand, I really need to do this.’
‘No. No, you don’t really need to do this. You need to marry the perfectly decent man who proposed to you last night, and forget any fanciful ideas of moving to Swallow Beach. Simon has a house two miles from here. You can live there. I’m sure he’ll let you go wild with redecorating, and you can still come home for Sunday lunch.’
Vi sat down at the kitchen table, the scene of so many family dinners, discussions and the occasional argument. Violet’s adventurous, rebellious streak had often placed her at odds with her placid parents, and every now and then they’d clashed over late nights, unsuitable-length dresses and even more unsuitable boyfriends.
They’d thanked their lucky stars when she’d brought Simon home, even if her dress sense hadn’t exactly calmed down. She’d settled into her own style over the years, an eclectic mix of wartime vintage and sixties boho, all carried off with a slash of red lipstick and a collection of hair accessories to rival Claire’s Accessories.
She was her own best advert; she adjusted all of her vintage buys to fit her curves perfectly, and made many of the hair accessories herself from feathers and jewels left over from her latest commission. Her business was starting to gather a reputation; she was making a name for herself in the costume world as someone whose eye for detail and carefully honed skills created wonderfully intricate showgirl outfits and feather headdresses. Boned silk corsets, sequinned hot-pants, feather and rhinestone bras. She was carving her own niche, and one day she hoped – no, she planned – to supply costumes to the legendary Moulin Rouge. It was the Holy Grail; one day she’d walk under that famous, glittering red windmill and see her costumes up there on that famous old Parisian stage.
Right now though, she had more immediate concerns. She needed her parents to accept that she was going to spend the summer in Swallow Beach; her every instinct told her that it was the right thing to do. She could work from there as easily as from here; there was bound to be space in her grandparents’ apartment for her to set up a temporary sewing room. Was it fanciful? Maybe. Was it sudden? Yes. But she was going to do it nonetheless, and she’d really like to do it with her parents’ blessing.
‘I don’t want to redecorate Simon’s house, Mum.’ His house was a minimal temple of neutral shades; the last thing he’d want would be Violet’s jewelled hues and eye for colour un-minimalising his home.
‘Fine. Buy a new home. That’s exciting, Violet! Buy a house, a big Victorian one you can do up. You’d love that, right?’
Vi shrugged. Who wouldn’t?
‘In fact, move in next door! It’s perfect. We won’t sell Grandpa’s house, you can move in there with Simon instead. Go wild with the decorating.’
Violet’s father looked at his wife, clearly alarmed. The proceeds from Henry’s house was their retirement plan; he loved his daughter and of course he’d love it if she wanted to stay so close, but his spreadsheet would be buggered, as would his grand plan to take Della on a walking tour of the Scottish Highlands. He’d have to keep working, there was nothing else for it.
‘Mum, it’s a lovely thought and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it, but no. Next door would remind me too much of Grandpa Henry. Besides, Simon loves his house, he wouldn’t want to leave it.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Violet saw her dad sag with relief and shot him a small smile. She knew how much he was relying on the sale of next door; she wouldn’t dream of taking up her mum’s offer. Della knew too, really; she was just clutching at any straw going because the idea of Violet going to Swallow Beach filled her with trepidation. Bad things happened to people at Swallow Beach. That bloody pier! Why had her father hung onto the past? God knew their memories of the place weren’t good ones.
‘Look Mum,’ Violet said, keeping her voice light. ‘Why don’t you come with me for a few days, have a look what state everything is in? It might not even be possible to stay if it’s as bad as you think.’