THE wind tasted salty on her lips and the ice-cold rain
pitted her cheeks. Kate Simmonds stared out at the slate-
grey sea and felt her hair flick painfully around her face.
She was coming home.
Too late.
Aunt Babs was dead. She lifted one shaking hand to push
back her hair. A week ago everything had been so
different, or had seemed that way. Then there'd been time.
She had known she'd make the trip back home some time —
just not yet. She wasn't ready. Even now. And Aunt Babs
had understood. She really had.
But now it was too late. Kate leant against the metal bar
of the upper ferry deck and looked out to sea. An immense
grey vastness stretching out before her. It put everything
into perspective somehow. Made all her bitter angst seem
rather unimportant and petty. She should have made time.
Aunt Babs had given her a home. She'd taken an awkward,
angry little ten-year-old into her house and loved her as
though she'd been her own. A foster mum in a million. Kate
knew she'd deserved more from her than the weekly phone
call and the occasional trip to London. It was just one
more regret to add to the pile she was accumulating in her
life.
It must be almost six years since she'd made this trip.
She'd not meant to stay away so long. Six years! So much
had changed in that time. She had changed. She was barely
recognisable from that twenty-two-year-old Katie. She'd
passed through Katie, Kay and Katherine before becoming
Kate. Reinvented. Kate Simmonds. Poised. Elegant. In
control of her life.
If only that were true. Inside she still lived with the
same cankerous uncertainties and a desperate desire to
belong. Still carried the scars of rejection. And now, of
course, there was something more. Something even deeper. A
more recent pain that seared like a branding iron. She
pushed her hands deep in the pockets of her long black
coat and turned away from the overwhelming greyness of the
March sky.
Just a handful of tourists had ventured outside to eagerly
watch the Isle of Wight appear in the distance. They stood
clustered together under a canopy of clashing umbrellas.
Dimly she was aware of a questioning glance directed at
her, then a half-smile as though the elderly lady in the
red anorak thought she might know her.
Kate looked away. She didn't. It was an illusion — like so
much of her life. She didn't want the inane conversation
she knew would follow. She wanted to be left alone with
her thoughts, however painful.
Abruptly Kate turned and walked back across the deck,
pulling open the heavy metal door. The high heels on her
suede boots made the steep steps down difficult and her
black coat spread out behind her like a flowing cape.
Below, the passenger lounge smelt of chips and stale
cigarettes but it was good to be out of the bitter wind.
Kate shook out her hair and unwound her long burnt-orange
scarf before joining the crocodile of people waiting in
line for something to drink.
"If you want coffee you're in the wrong queue." Her head
whipped up at the sound of a male voice and she stared up
into the face of Gideon…Manser.
His name fell effortlessly into place. She remembered him
perfectly. His intense blue eyes and angular features. The
small indentation in the centre of his chin. A man with
more sex appeal than the average movie star. And the
object of her unrequited teenage fantasies.
"The machine's broken down this side," he said calmly, a
faint smile pulling lines in his strong cheeks.
Gideon Manser.
Instinctively her hand went to her hair; she was
uncomfortably aware it hung damp and limp about her face.
She'd have known him anywhere. He hadn't altered at all.
Or perhaps he had a little. He was slightly thinner. Tired-
looking. Slightly worn at the edges. But he was still
sexy. Very sexy indeed.
"Thank you," she managed. She could remember, all too
clearly, what a complete and utter fool she'd made of
herself when he'd first arrived on the island. At
seventeen she'd thought he was the most gorgeous thing to
have ever walked the planet — and she couldn't have made
it much plainer.
He was older than her. Much older. A top London chef who'd
lived in France and Italy. He'd had all the glamour and
sophistication her young heart had craved. Just thinking
about how she'd behaved made her long to curl up in a ball
and howl with humiliation.
Strangely he didn't seem so old to her now. With the magic
of adulthood she seemed to have caught him up. Kate
straightened her shoulders. "It's Gideon, isn't it?" Kate
hesitated. "Gideon Manser? Do you remember me? I'm Kate.
Kate Simmonds? Well, I was always called Katie. You
perhaps don't remember me. I —"
Shut up. Just shut up. Stop babbling on, she thought
desperately. It would be better if he didn't remember her.
She bit down on her lip. He probably wouldn't remember.
Why should he? He hadn't been interested in her. They must
have laughed at her — him and Laura. Or felt sorry for
her — which would be worse.
"Of course I remember you," he said, stretching out his
hand.
Hell! She felt a flush mottle her neck as she stretched
out her own hand.
"It would be difficult not to." He smiled and his fingers
wrapped around hers. "Babs has…had," he corrected
swiftly, "photographs of you everywhere and Debbie made
sure everyone knew you were on the television now. Half
the island is fascinated by your reports from the States
each week. You're a celebrity. A local girl made good."
Kate looked down at her boots. "Oh, right." She should
have guessed she'd be a minor celebrity on the Isle of
Wight. Debbie had just loved it when she'd landed the job
as LA correspondent and started making weekly television
reports. Couldn't hear enough of who was doing what and
with whom.
And Aunt Babs had just been proud. The thought speared her
with guilt. She should have come back to the island before
now. It would have meant so much to the woman who'd
changed her life so dramatically.
Gideon looked across at the other queue. "We'd better get
in line or there won't be time to have a coffee."
"I suppose not."
She felt her stomach twist in a nervous flutter. Gideon
Manser. Why did he have this effect on her still? She was
twenty-eight years old, for heaven's sake. Her world was
peopled with sexy men. She'd interviewed most of them. He
wasn't anything special.
And yet…
She fiddled with the strap of her handbag. It was probably
the place. It brought back memories she hadn't thought of
in years. Rocked her off balance. Or maybe Gideon was just
a symbol of what she couldn't have. Something else she
couldn't have, she amended silently.
She looked back at him. His jacket collar was pulled up
against the cold, his jeans were dark and his hands were…
well, they were beautiful.
He reached across for the tray. "Debbie said you'd be
coming home for the funeral."
"Y-yes." 'Was it difficult to get away?" Kate reached
across for a tray of her own but he stopped her. "Don't
bother. I'll get these."
"You don't have to. I —" She broke off and let her hand
fall back. "Thank you."
"So —" he turned to smile at her ' — was it difficult?"
His smile was like a gateway to a time tunnel. She felt as
if she was shooting back through the years at the speed of
light. So many memories flashing by. The kind that came up
to bite you when you were least expecting it.
At seventeen she'd fantasized about what it would be like
to kiss him. At night she'd closed her eyes and pretended
he was her pillow and imagined his voice telling her how
much he loved her. She pulled her gaze away from his lips,
embarrassed.
She'd been an idiot. It wasn't surprising a man of twenty-
six hadn't been interested in an adolescent seventeen.
"Did you find it difficult to get away for the funeral?
Debbie thought you might be too busy. Not be able to make
it."
Kate stuffed her hands down into the depths of her coat
pockets. "Oh, no."
"No?" he repeated.
He seemed to be watching her critically. Probably
wondering why she couldn't have visited Aunt Babs and
Debbie more often if it were so simple.
On the surface she'd just packed her bags and left without
a backward glance. Only a few very special people knew
why. And they wouldn't have told a soul.
"How long are you staying for?" he asked. "Until
Wednesday. Not long. I've got to get back to London…" The
line moved forward and Kate reached for a china cup. It
was good to have something sensible to do with her hands.
She rested it on the metal grid and pushed the 'coffee
white decaf' button.
"Not going back to the States immediately, then?" 'No."
She put the cup down on a saucer and made an effort to
relax. "And how are you?" She watched his strong hands go
through the same procedure as she'd done. "Good." He
hesitated. "You heard about Laura, I suppose?"
Her stomach did a somersault as the floor appeared to
disappear beneath her feet. Damn it! She had heard.
With crushing clarity she remembered Debbie's tearful
phone call. The shock of hearing that Laura was dead. How
could she have been so thoughtless? "Yes, I —"
"She died." 'Y-yes, I know. I'm so sorry." She pulled her
hand through her hair. "I meant to write at the time but…"
She trailed off weakly.
But…she'd been busy with her own trauma. Her own grief had
been so intense when Richard left that she'd struggled to
believe anyone could be hurting as much as she was. She'd
had no compassion left for anyone but herself.
Not even Debbie, who'd been distraught at having lost her
friend. With a pang she realised she'd scarcely given
Gideon a thought.
She looked up at his face. His pain was there. Etched on
his face. In his eyes. And there was nothing she could
really say to help him. How did you even begin to say
something sensible to a man who'd lost the wife he'd loved?
His smile was tight. Forced. "Two years ago. Not long
after Tilly was born."
"I know. I'd just gone to LA. Debbie rang me…" Thankfully
the queue moved on again. "I'm sorry. I —"
"Do you want a muffin?" He cut her off. "Or perhaps some
chocolate? You're usually safer in these places if it's
wrapped."
Kate looked up. One moment death, the next muffins. It was
strange how people did that. Moved in and out of grief. It
was as though they couldn't bear to think about it for too
long. Just touched it and then had to turn away before the
pain became too great.
"Nothing. Thanks."
He reached out for some biscuits. "I missed breakfast. It
was an early start," he said by way of explanation.
Kate nodded. The queue moved on again and they reached the
till point.
Laura Bannerman had had everything: two parents who loved
her, a beautiful home, her own pony, blonde hair, no acne —
and Gideon.
It was difficult to think of her as dead. Horrible now to
think how much she'd hated her. Well, envied was a more
accurate description. She hadn't hated her. Her life had
seemed enchanted, that was all, and if she could have
waved a magic wand and changed places with Laura she would
have.