Lighthouse Bay A Novel by Kimberley Freeman

Author:Kimberley Freeman
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Touchstone
Published: 2013-04-09T00:00:00+00:00

First thing Monday morning, Libby phoned Ashley-Harris Holdings, gave her name and asked to speak to Tristan. A few moments later a man’s voice was on the line.

“Tristan?”

“No, Elizabeth. I’m Yann Fraser. I’m handling this part of the project now.”

“I understand that, but it’s Tristan particularly I want to speak to.” She and Tristan had connected. She’d felt it, and she knew he did too. She didn’t want to talk to a stranger. She wanted to pose her questions to somebody she trusted.

“Tristan is in Sydney this week. But I’m happy to help.”

Libby paced in frustration. “No, I’ll work it out,” she said. “Good-bye.”

She hung up. Was Tristan just a smooth-talking charmer sent in to soften her up? She certainly felt disinclined to do business with Ashley-Harris now.

But the money.

Libby was about to return to her art room when the phone, still in her hand, rang.

“Hello?” she said, realizing too late that there was still impatience in her voice.

“Libby? It’s Tristan Catherwood.”

Immediately, she softened. “Tristan! I’m so glad you called.”

“Yann just texted me to say you were looking for me. I’m in Sydney for a few days. Look, I need to explain something to you and it’s potentially awkward, so be kind to me.”

Libby frowned and said slowly, “Okay.”

“I know I’ve handed you over to Yann. He’s my equal in the business, and he’s more than qualified to handle any property agreements we make. But there’s a reason I handed you over.” He fell silent.

“Go on,” she prompted.

“I don’t think business and pleasure mix very well,” he said softly.

“What do you mean?” But she suspected she knew what he meant, and flushed warm at the thought.

“I mean,” he said, “that I felt very strongly about you when we met. I was reluctant to see you go. And I can’t ask you out for dinner if we’re in the middle of a property deal.”

Now it was Libby’s turn to fall silent. It had only been two months since Mark’s death. She was in no way ready to date.

“Libby?” he said with a nervous laugh. “I just asked you out for dinner.”

“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I . . . The man who died. He was . . .”

“Oh, I see. He was your partner?”

No. He was never her partner. He was never her husband. He was her lover. They saw each other one weekend a month and the occasional stolen week away in an exotic location where nobody knew them. They never had dinner with friends or family. She never met his mother. She had loved Mark, but he was not her partner. She took a deep, shaking breath. “I’d love to have dinner with you, Tristan,” she said.

“Really? I mean, I do understand if it’s too soon.”

“I’d love to,” she said again. “When are you back from Sydney?”

“Friday morning. How about I pick you up on Friday night at six?”

“That sounds wonderful.”

She regretted it as soon as she hung up, but it was too late. The future was coming. It had to.

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