One Summer in Cornwall by Karen King (best books to read for success .TXT) 📕

He read it over, it was light and friendly, like her text. He wanted to put ‘please don’t go. I’ll miss you. I love you’. But he didn’t. Obviously, his feelings for her were deeper than hers for him, otherwise she would be upset about going, trying to find a way to stay. He knew that she had no choice but to sell the cottage but she could rent a place in Port Medden. If she loved him as he loved her she would talk to him, discuss options with him.

I love her!

The words had popped into his mind without him thinking about them, but he knew they were true. I love Hattie.

And she obviously didn’t love him. Well, he would cope with it, and there was no way Hattie would find out how he felt. He didn’t want sympathy, apologies or guilt. He read his message again and pressed send.

So that was it, no ‘see you later’ or ‘shall I pop around to chat?’, no ‘I’ll miss you’ or ‘I didn’t expect it to be that quick’. Just ‘let me know if I can help’.

Hattie’s heart ached as she reread Marcus’s text. She had been so stupid to get so close to him. She’d known from the start that she was just another holiday romance They had both agreed ‘no strings attached’. Only she’d gone and fallen for him, hadn’t she?

Well, he hasn’t fallen for you.

That’s why he hadn’t asked to come round to talk to her, or offered to pop in after work tonight. She was moving on, the summer romance was over.

They had been so close and now it was like there was a chasm between them.

You had sex, once, that’s all.

It had felt more than ‘just sex’. Afterwards, he had held her in his arms, stroked the back of her hair as she had lain listening to his heart thudding in his chest. And he had kissed her before he left, a proper kiss, gazing into her eyes as if she was the only woman in the world who mattered to him.

She hadn’t imagined it all, surely

He’s probably like that with all the women, she told herself. She’d thought he was a womaniser when she’d first met him. That’s how it is with surfers and artists; they’re like magnets for a lot of women, aren’t they? She was just another in a string of women falling for Marcus. Like Estelle. He flirted with everyone. Even Mali.

And she had gone and fallen for his charm. Stupid her. Well, if he wanted to forget what had happened between them then that was fine by her. She would pack up the cottage and make herself a bright new Marcus-free life.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Marcus was surprised to get a call from Lady Thomwell the next morning.

‘Afternoon, Marcus,’ she said when he answered. ‘I wondered if I could have a word?’

Surely she didn’t want him to do another painting. ‘Sure. What about?’

‘A friend of mine is holding an art exhibition in London for up-and-coming artists, and I’d like you to exhibit one – or more – of your paintings. There’s a substantial cash prize for the most distinguished piece of work, and smaller amounts for second and third place.’

‘How substantial?’ Marcus asked.

‘Five thousand pounds,’ she replied. ‘Are you interested?

He thought about it, his mind running through the paintings he’d done. There was nothing very recent, most of his work just lately had been commissioned. There was the painting of the sunset over the sea he’d done last autumn . . .

‘I’ll have to check if I’ve got anything suitable. Most of my recent work has been sold,’ he said. ‘I’m guessing there isn’t time for me to paint anything new?’

‘The exhibition is in just under three weeks. Does that give you enough time?’ Lady Felicity asked. ‘I’m going to London for the exhibition and staying with a friend for the week. So I can take the painting down for you and bring it back. Do think seriously about entering, you’re very talented and this will be good exposure for you.’

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said. ‘Thank you for telling me about it.’

After the phone call was finished he went up to the attic to look at the collection of paintings he had there. The sunset one was good, but not his best. He really wanted to do something new. Something different, something so vibrant that it would almost seem alive.

Then an idea struck him. Buddy. With his bright-green plumage, yellow nape and red-and-yellow tail feathers, the parrot would make an ideal subject for a painting that would really stand out. He wanted to bring out his cheeky personality too. Then he remembered the photo Hattie had taken of Buddy pinching a piece of toast from his plate. She’d sent the photo to him. He took his phone out of his pocket and selected the photo gallery. There it was. Buddy perched on the table, head bent towards the plate, a piece of toast in his beak. He zoomed in on the parrot, cutting out the background detail. That would make a great painting. And give him something to remember Buddy by when Hattie had gone. If he made a start straight away, he should be able to finish it in time. He sent a text to Lady Thomwell confirming that he would enter the competition. If he worked flat out he could do it, and it would take his mind off Hattie leaving.

The next couple of weeks passed quickly for Hattie. Too quickly. The survey had been done on the cottage, Hattie had cleared out most of the clutter, and time was ticking by. Mali had found a couple of houses to rent within ten minutes from her and Lou so Hattie was going up to see them this weekend. Although Mali had told her that she was welcome to Lou’s bedroom as long as she needed it, as Lou could move