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VICTORIA CONNELLY
A Summer to Remember
I’d like to dedicate this book to Jill Saint and to take this opportunity to remember her wonderful mother, the writer Dora Saint (1913–2012), whose ‘Miss Read’ books are a constant source of joy and inspiration to me.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Acknowledgements
About the Author
By the Same Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
Nina Elliot glanced at the clock on the wall above the filing cabinet, willing the hands to turn a little quicker. The tiny office was so hot. The air-conditioning had broken yet again and the warm spring weather had sent indoor temperatures soaring. Or perhaps it was just Nina’s inner rage that was making her feel decidedly uncomfortable.
She looked across her paper-strewn desk towards her boss on the other side of the room.
‘No, I’ve told you that’s not good enough!’ she was yelling into the telephone. ‘Listen to me – why does nobody listen to me?’
Nina zoned out as the person on the other end of the line got their ear chewed off. She’d been working for Hilary Jackson in the marketing department of a doctors’ locum agency for ten months now and, as far as she was concerned, it was ten months too long. Her previous boss had been a sweet woman called Melanie Philips, who’d worn pink chiffon scarves and rose-scented perfume, and had never batted a blue-shaded eyelid if her staff were running late after their lunch break. The work would get done eventually, she reasoned, but let’s have a nice cup of Earl Grey first, shall we?
Melanie Philips was one of those people who seemed lit from within, Nina had often thought, but motherhood had called and the dark shadow of Hilary Jackson had descended.
Hilary Jackson was a tall, thin, rake-like woman with a pale face devoid of both make-up and humanity. She dressed in sombre-coloured clothing, which usually consisted of a navy trouser suit or, if she was in a more buoyant mood, pale grey. Today, it was the turn of the navy trouser suit.
Nina sighed and then gulped as Hilary put down the phone.
‘Have you got hold of Keith Maltby yet?’ she barked across the room.
‘I spoke to his assistant ten minutes ago,’ Nina told her.
‘Well, why hasn’t he called me back?’ Hilary said. ‘This is very important, Nina, or don’t you understand that? I have to speak to him now!’
‘I’ve left three messages for him,’ Nina explained. ‘His assistant said that he—’
‘Honestly! I sometimes think you’re trying to ruin this company, I really do! You can’t seem to do anything right. I always end up having to do everything myself. And where’s my tea? I asked you hours—’
‘It’s on your desk,’ Nina said, deciding it was her turn to interrupt.
‘Oh,’ Hilary said, momentarily floored. ‘Well, it’s stone cold now, isn’t it? Get me another and be careful not to add too much sugar. I’m sure you do it on purpose sometimes.’
‘Yes, your majesty,’ Nina whispered under her breath as she left the office and went into the tiny communal kitchen to make yet another cup of tea for her boss. Her hazel eyes felt dry and gritty, her shoulders felt tense and she knew she had knots in her back the size of golf balls.
This is no way to live, a little voice inside her said, the thought occurring to her for the first time. You’ve got to do something. You can’t stay here or you’ll go mad!
Her mind spiralled across the long, weary months
