A Summer Scandal: The perfect summer read by the author of One Day in December

He rubbed his hands together briskly as she started the engine and reversed, then nosed her way along the seafront towards the pier.

‘Which way?’

Barty inclined his head across the strip of grass that served as a central reservation, towards a building fronting the main road. Following his nod, Violet scanned the scene and found herself gazing at a tall pale-brick villa, double-fronted and far more grand and ornate than she’d anticipated. Stone steps led up to the wide, central front door, flanked on either side by graceful white pillars. Curved bay windows ran up the full height of each floor of the building, and up on the very top gutters, large, white letters proudly spelt out ‘The Lido’.

‘You weren’t kidding when you said it wasn’t far,’ she murmured, taken aback. She’d imagined that the apartment would be somewhere tucked away at the back of Swallow Beach, not in the grandest building on the seafront. How frankly fabulous.

‘Where’s best to park?’

Barty directed her down a side street. ‘There’s a car park around the back for residents.’

Residents. Was she really to be a resident in such a gorgeous place, albeit only for a summer? Following Barty’s direction, Vi turned in behind the building and found a well-cared-for, almost empty car park. Even the back of the building was lovely, a rose garden already in early bloom beside the back door.

‘Does it matter where I park?’ she asked, keen not to wind anyone up on day one by parking in their space.

Barty wrinkled his nose. ‘Most people are at work, I expect; park wherever takes your fancy. Have to fight them off with a stick in the summer, mind.’ His hand was already opening the door, and he turned away to unfold his tall frame from the low passenger seat.

Sucking down a deep breath for courage, Violet swung her door wide and followed suit.

Following Barty through the back door, Violet found herself inside the ground-floor lobby, light and bright thanks to the many stained windows surrounding the front door and the freshly painted white woodwork on the gracefully sweeping staircase and two apartment doors, one either side of the tiled vestibule. Gold numbers on the doors declared them 1 and 2.

‘This is mine,’ Barty said, nodding towards number 1. ‘And that one belongs to Keris, my granddaughter.’

Vi’s jaw dropped. ‘You live here?’

He threw his hands out. ‘So it would seem. Cup of mint tea?’

Vi narrowed her eyes. ‘That’s my favourite.’

Barty looked at her steadily, half smiling. ‘Who knew?’

You did, Violet felt like saying. ‘I better not,’ she said, instead. Glancing towards the staircase, her nerves kicked back in. ‘I better head on up.’ She stalled, jiggling the keys, excited and terrified at the same time. ‘Has anyone been up there recently, do you know?’

Barty shook his head. ‘Not that I’ve noticed.’ He touched his fingers against his fedora. ‘I’ll let you get on. You know where I am if you need me. Tap the door for mint tea.’

And with that he turned and opened his own door. Looking back at her as he stepped inside, he paused. ‘Do you want me to come up with you?’

Tempted as she was to say yes, Vi shook her head. This was something she needed to do alone.

‘Thanks, I think I’m okay.’

He looked at her for a couple of silent seconds, then nodded and closed his door. Violet stood still for a few moments, fighting the urge to knock on his door and tell him she’d changed her mind, she’d love a cup of mint tea and someone to hold her hand and come with her. All she knew about the apartment on the top floor was that her grandfather had paid a cleaning company to go in once a month, but that aside, no one with any actual connection to her family had set foot near the place in decades. It was empty. Waiting. For her? Suppressing the chill that ran down her spine, Violet put her best foot forward and set off up the wide, shallow stairs.

Number 6. The swirled gold number on the left-hand door of the upper-floor landing confirmed it. Violet hesitated at the top of the marble staircase, her eyes flickering towards number 5. Who was her new neighbour? She hoped they wouldn’t mind sharing the top floor; they must be pretty used to having it to themselves after all these years.

God, but she was nervous. She’d been so caught up with the romantic notion of moving to Swallow Beach that she hadn’t paused to think about the reality of standing here poised to enter the apartment for the first time. She hadn’t counted on feeling so alone, or scared, even. She hadn’t imagined that she’d be ever so slightly spooked, or feel inexplicably certain that her life was going to change as soon as she opened the door. Shooting a look back towards the staircase, she toyed with the idea of asking Barty to accompany her after all. She almost stepped towards it, then at the last second she pulled herself together, swung purposefully towards her door, and raised the key towards the lock.

‘Er, not so fast, cat burglar. Who the hell are you?’

Violet jumped out of her skin, startled by the sudden male voice behind her. His timing couldn’t have been more spectacularly off; her heart was already in her mouth – he’d pretty much guaranteed her a heart attack. Swinging around, she tried to look more together than she felt. For a slow moment, she stared down the guy standing across the landing, mostly because she couldn’t breathe properly.

‘I know,’ he grinned, leaning against his doorway and folding his arms. ‘It’s a lot to take in.’ He gestured down at himself. ‘I can wait.’

Violet looked away out of the picture window towards the sea, ignoring his smart-arse remark. In truth, he was quite a lot to take in. Tall and tanned, so far so good, but also wearing overalls unbuttoned down his bare chest to waist level. He radiated a laid-back kind of charisma that Hollywood directors no doubt wished they could bottle, all dark curls and eyes that said more than his mouth.

‘I’m Violet,’ she said, aware she sounded clipped and prim as she raised her chin and looked at him again. ‘And I’m not a cat burglar. I live here.’

It was his turn to look surprised. ‘No one lives up here but me.’

‘Well, now I do.’

‘In there?’ he frowned towards her door.

‘Yes.’

‘Since when?’

‘Since now. Since this minute.’

He nodded slowly. ‘Have you been inside yet?’

Violet bit her lip. ‘Not yet.’

‘I didn’t realise the old place had been sold,’ he said, frowning.

‘It hasn’t. It belonged to my grandparents.’

‘Oh, right.’ His eyebrows flicked upwards, from confusion to surprise. ‘Well, welcome to the neighbourhood.’

When he made no move to go back inside, Violet nodded out of politeness and turned her back on him, raising the key to her lock again. This time, she didn’t hesitate. It slid in easily enough; the caretaking company were obviously doing a good job. And because there was nothing else for it, and because she could feel her new neighbour’s eyes burning the back of her neck, Violet pushed the door open and stepped back in time.

CHAPTER FOUR (#u57291a77-a29f-55e7-afa5-22124fdd8f8c)

It didn’t smell of anything, really. She’d braced herself for it to somehow smell like her grandpa’s house, maybe, or of her grandmother’s perfume, which she knew was ridiculous. Or, more likely, of stale year-upon-year emptiness. But, no doubt thanks to the diligent upkeep of the cleaning company, it simply smelt vacant, as if waiting to catch the scent of someone new.

Closing the door, Violet stood in the small hallway to get her bearings, lowering her bag slowly to the floor and breathing deeply. She was here. This was it. Little as it was, the square hallway told Violet two things straight away. One, her grandmother had an eye for colour and interior design, and two, she was going to adore number 6 Swallow Beach Lido. It was pure seventies retro glamour right down to the shell-pink Bakelite telephone table, topped of course with a curly-wired ivory telephone, its sharp-angled handset resting lengthwise over the dial. Violet lifted the receiver and placed it against her ear, then replaced it, feeling foolish as she caught her reflection in the mirror over the table. As if there would have been any dialling tone.

Four doors led off the hallway, each of them closed. Turning the handle of the nearest door, Violet pushed it wide and stepped through it, finding herself in the bathroom.

‘Oh my God,’ she whispered, her eyes darting all around the room. It had all of the usual things – bathtub, loo, sink – but none of them were the usual kind. The huge, turquoise kidney-shaped bathtub had been inset into a surround with steps up, and the whole bathing corner had been lined with mirrors, like a child’s music box. It wasn’t a wallflower’s bathtub, that much was for sure. The loo and sink were squared off and equally bright turquoise, and the forest-green-and-turquoise-swirled wall tiles added to the impact. The taps were gilt, water-spouting goldfish, the light fitting a golden chandelier. It was a Hollywood starlet’s bathroom, and Violet found herself almost laughing with unexpected delight.

‘Go Gran,’ she whispered, turning a tap, glad to see the water flow from the goldfish’s open mouth. She hadn’t thought to check if the utilities were still connected; it seemed that she was in luck.

Opening the wall cupboard above the sink, Violet found herself looking at a collection of vintage glass-bottled bubble baths and paper-wrapped soaps, all still perfect thanks to being tucked away safe from the daylight. A pang of sadness washed over her at the sight of a glass holding three toothbrushes, two adult, one smaller. Her mum’s. Closing the cabinet quietly, she backed out of the room.

Right, so which door next? Vi looked at each of them and chose the one on her right, pushing it open slowly to reveal a single bedroom. She didn’t go inside, just stood in the doorway of her mum’s childhood bedroom and let the sweet sadness settle over her. The low, white single bed covered with a lemon and white patchwork eiderdown, the chunky white and lemon furniture, the wheeled book-box filled with well-thumbed picture books. Della had been seven or eight when she’d left this room for the last time, and as far as Vi could see, it hadn’t been touched since. She didn’t venture further inside the room. She would eventually, but of all the rooms in the house she knew that this one was likely to be the most difficult for her personally, because it represented her mum. Clicking the door closed, she moved on to the next, the master bedroom where, once again, glamour reigned.

Violet drew in a sharp breath; it was unique, and wild, and quite stunning. One wall had been hand-painted, a marine-blue ocean adorned with mermaids, some coy, others joyfully bare-breasted with their arms flung over their heads as they basked on rocks. As she neared the wall for a closer look, glints of iridescent gold glittered in their scaly tails, and their eyes seemed to watch with interest, as surprised by her presence as she was by theirs.