Three Weeks Last Spring

Chapter One England April 1999 Skye Dunbar stood by the window, and looked out across the meadow, and waited for the transatlantic phone call to connect. It had been a miserable weekend—dull, wet and cold, cold as the heart that beat inside her breast. She glanced at her watch, and calculated the time difference, early morning in San Francisco—Debbie should be up by now. After a few rings, a sleepy American voice answered. "Hello?" "Debbie? It's Skye. Did I wake you?" "Not really, I was lying here thinking about getting up. Talk to me, you sound anxious." Skye took a deep breath. "I have decided to take a months’ sabbatical. I've contacted American Airlines and have an option on a flight leaving in just over a weeks’ time. They're holding it for the next twenty-four hours." "Why, that's great. You need to get away and you know San Francisco loves you." "Actually, Debbie, that's why I’m calling, I'm not flying to San Francisco. I'm going to Seattle and—" "Skye, you can't possibly want to spend a month there, not after all that happened last year." "I can't explain why, but I need to go back." Skye twisted a strand of her hair between her fingers while she waited or Debbie's response. "I don't understand, and if you want my advice, you’ll come here and stay with me. After all that lying bastard put you through, I’m amazed that you can even contemplate being within a one thousand mile radius of Washington State. Please, come here and stay with me. We can visit all our old haunts—Fisherman's Wharf, Chinatown. We can go for a drink in the John Barleycorn and listen to that folk singer you liked so much. And if that doesn’t appeal, then we could hire a car and drive along the coast. You haven't seen the Marin Headlands or Monterey yet. And if you wait until I get to the office on Monday and I'll see if I can beg for some vacation time. Perhaps we could meet somewhere else. How about Vermont?" "That's a lovely thought, Debbie, and I do want to see Vermont, but in the Fall. Please, save your holiday time. This is just something I have to do on my own. I can't explain why. I go to bed at night and in my dreams I see this figure on a beach. I know it's me. It sounds crazy, I know, and I really don't expect you to understand. Just give me your blessing and tell me that if I need you, you’ll be there for me, okay?" "I guess you know what is in your heart, although I really do worry about you, Skye. You have to put what happened behind you and move on. So, tell me, just where are you going?" "I've rented a cabin in the San Juans." "You've done what? No-one goes to the San Juan Islands in the middle of April. It’s too cold for one thing and Friday Harbor will be deserted. What will you do there for a whole month on your own?" "I thought I would catch up on some reading, go walking and generally enjoy the scenery." "Hmm, I don't know. If you ask me, the last thing you need is to be by yourself. However, now that you've made your mind up I don't suppose there's much I can say to dissuade you. But promise me, if you become too upset or lonely up there, you’ll get on the first available plane to me, here in San Francisco. Deal?" "Deal. And, Debbie," Skye hesitated before continuing, "thanks for understanding. You’re the best friend anyone could ask for. As soon as I finalise my plans I'll let you know." Skye replaced the receiver and turned once more to look out of the window. Am I being stupid wanting to go back to the Pacific Northwest? What will it achieve? Will it even put my mind at rest? They were questions she couldn't answer, yet in her heart she knew she was doing the right thing. She’d met Michael while on a visit to Debbie the year before. He knocked her to the ground while roller skating in Golden Gate Park. He helped her up, and insisted on buying her a coffee. Coffee had somehow turned into lunch and before they knew they’d spent the whole day together. Skye was due to fly home the following day and Michael had insisted she give him her address. She had agreed, but hadn’t really expected him to keep in touch. Six weeks later, returning home after a particularly fractious day at work, she’d found his letter waiting on her doormat. That initial letter, like those that followed, had been read and re-read time and time again, the words feeling as if they were almost engraved on her heart. Finally, in January Michael had written asking her to visit. Skye quickly pushed the thought of him out of her mind. She had so much to accomplish in the coming days that daydreaming wasn't a luxury she could afford. Her flight confirmed, and the cabin booked, she needed to concentrate on clearing her diary. Then all she had to do was pack her suitcase and talk herself into getting on that plane. The following week passed in a blur. She arrived at the office early and brought all her files up to date for John, her business partner, to take over in her absence. They’d met at university shortly after Skye's mother's death, and they’d been good friends ever since. At thirty-nine, he was five years Skye's senior. Six feet tall, and of muscular build, with brown eyes, unruly curly hair, he had a smile that could melt the iciest of hearts. John had been a Graduate Teaching Assistant when Skye had started her degree course. When Skye graduated, she and John had set up business together. Years of long hours and neglected holidays had finally begun to pay off and their services were in demand by major corporations and all over the world. But despite the success they experienced, their relationship had never passed beyond friendship. None of Skye’s closest friends knew what she did for a living, apart from the fact that she was a high-level executive, and whatever it was, she didn’t like to talk about it. In another few months, she and John would be making a presentation to Government officials in the hope of securing an exclusive contract—top secret, and most the most demanding of their respective careers. The day before Skye was due to leave she scheduled a meeting with him. "Skye, what are you going to do with an entire month's leave? You'll be bored by the end of the second week, and you know how busy things can get here. There is still a lot of testing to do." "I realise that, but you did say you could handle it. The code is complete, so you really don't need me." "This has to do with what happened between you and that navy guy last year, hasn't it? I wish you'd tell me what brought you scuttling back to the office two weeks earlier than planned. I told you not to trust a guy in uniform and in particular a sailor, but you didn’t listen. What you need is a real man, not one of these military types who still play with the action man they got as a child." "And just who did you have in mind—yourself?" John ignored her comment. "You've been like a scared rabbit ever since you got back. You never go out; you're slowly becoming a recluse. You spend every waking hour here at the office. Just what did the bastard do to you?" "I don't wish to discuss my love life, or lack of one with you. And what if I do spend all my time here—that's my choice. At least the work gets done and we are ahead of schedule on one or two projects." "Look, love, I know something happened and whatever it was, it must have been something major to have affected you this way. But you have to pick up your social life. You can't continue to bury yourself in your work or it will make you ill. You'll meet someone else and I promise you if he really loves you he won't hurt you. Besides if you’re frightened of being left on the shelf you could always marry me." "I appreciate your concern. But, you and I both know that while our business relationship works, a more personal one wouldn't. You're not the type to settle down, so just leave it there before one of us says something we'll regret. Now about the Jones account—" "Before we get back to business hear me out. Professionally you're one of the most logical people I know. You've an eidetic memory and know instinctively when a project is about to go pear-shaped. You're a shrewd and ruthless businesswoman when necessary. You've even got a temper to go with the colour of your hair, but then nobody's perfect. But having said all that, you're just a big softie at heart." John reached across the table, took Skye's hand, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "What I can't understand is why you couldn't see that this guy was trouble." Skye’s expression told him he’d over-stepped the mark. "If you must go on this idiotic trip, will you at least let me take you to the airport on Sunday?" Skye smiled. Only her voice betrayed mild annoyance. "Thank you for that character analysis. Remind me to return the favour one day. I am quite capable of organising a taxi. But if you feel you must, then I'll accept your offer. Check-in is at noon. " "I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty." Sunday dawned warm and sunny, and although early April the daffodils were already in bloom. As she showered and dressed, Skye couldn't help wondering if this was the new beginning she was seeking or whether she was just being plain stupid. A short time later, she heard John's BMW pull into the drive. She took one last look around the house, picked up her suitcase and opened the door. ...