Merrin’s life had changed in a minute on the day she met him. She had woken on a ‘couldn’t be bothered’ day. With her hair unwashed and half tied up on top of her head, her clothes plucked from a pile on the bedroom floor and her less than fragrant trainers shoved on to her feet, she had set off up the coastal path in her mother’s shadow to help her clean the Mortimers’ house. It was only hindsight that would leave her wishing she had scrubbed, fussed and groomed until she sparkled.
Having helped her mum vacuum and mop the tiled hallway of the Old Rectory, she had taken the bucket outside to empty it on the flowerbeds, taking a moment to look down over the valley at the wide sweep of the fields that led all the way down to the cove. The garden, and the view for that matter, was one of the most beautiful she had seen.
‘Ah, Merrin, dear!’ Mrs Mortimer had called from the lower slope, in the way that she did, sounding and looking very much as Merrin imagined a head teacher might, if the head teacher were loud and had a fondness for floral fabrics, suede gardening gauntlets, pearls and velvet headbands. ‘Such a lovely day!’ She approached with a wide wicker pannier on her arm in which nestled a glorious combination of lavender and roses with a heady bouquet. The woman looked like something from a perfect-house magazine. Even in the heat of the mid-morning sun, her lipstick was pristine and her skin without a bead of perspiration.
‘It really is.’ She turned to face the sea. Mrs Mortimer made Merrin nervous, despite being so very nice. The Mortimers had been in residence at the Old Rectory for generations. Loretta and her elderly husband had, some years ago now, filled it with antiques, squidgy sofas, potted plants and large, heavy mirrors. Merrin knew the house well. She had on more than one occasion tagged along when her mum cleaned it, running her hands over the broad bend of the dark wooden bannister rail and the old iron locks that led to more rooms than two people could possibly need. The view today from the brow of the manicured garden was beautiful. The sun was high and sea diamonds danced on the water’s surface. From a distance, Merrin thought she saw shapes: seals, swimmers and boats, which always, upon closer scrutiny, turned out to be no more than the dart of a silvery fish or the swirl of water as it navigated a rock. She was, as ever, gripped by the moving images of the ocean.
‘How much do I owe for today, dear? I’m sure it’s more than usual, as your mother has had help.’ Mrs Mortimer walked towards her, removing her gauntlets as she did so.
‘Erm . . .’ Merrin wasn’t sure what to say. ‘Mum’ll be out in a minute. She’s just finishing off.’ She thumbed in the direction of the house.
‘Yes, of course. Would you like a drink? It’s jolly hot.’
‘No, no, I’m fine, thank you.’
Her mum had reminded her in no uncertain terms of the protocol when in a client’s house: ‘No break and no slacking. They might offer a drink or snack, but won’t be thankful if you accept. We go in and out as quickly as we can with the least fuss, noise and interruption, and we do the very best job.’
‘Like cleaning ninjas.’
‘Exactly. Like cleaning ninjas.’ Heather had smiled.
As Mrs Mortimer opened the wide front door that led to the grand hallway with the newly cleaned floor, Merrin felt her heart boom in her chest as she stared at his face.
‘Mum! I’ve been looking for you – fancy a game of tennis? It’ll be quick – I’ll thrash you and then you can get back to your roses or whatever it is you’re doing.’
‘You are so mean to your poor, aged mother!’ Mrs Mortimer gave a soft laugh.
Merrin watched as the woman put the pannier on the low front wall, next to a vast stone urn full of blue hydrangeas, and placed her gauntlets neatly next to the vase.
‘Forgot to say, my son is home for the holibobs. He is frightfully noisy, and very rude about my tennis ability, but jolly good fun!’
Merrin watched the boy walk slowly from the house. He was tall and broad and, in his pyjama bottoms and a crumpled navy linen shirt, didn’t exactly look ready for tennis, despite the wooden racket that rested over his shoulder. He had short, auburn hair and beautiful pale skin, which looked as though it had never been kissed by the sun or felt the sting of the sea. Very unlike the weather-beaten, leathery tan that graced the faces of her dad or Jarvis and Robin, who spent their time on the water or the shoreline in all seasons.
He stopped short and stared at Merrin, and she felt her face colour under his scrutiny.
‘Hi!’ He lifted his free hand in a wave, even though he was standing close.
‘Hi.’ She held his gaze, fascinated and drawn by this man, who was, she knew, a little older than her, but not much. His shirt hung from his slender frame to reveal the sharp bite of his pale shoulder blade; the small shadow beneath his clavicle held a particular fascination for her. She wanted nothing more than to reach out and run her finger over it, and curled her fingers into bunched fists to stop herself from doing just this. He blinked under her intense gaze and smiled. Mrs Mortimer made her way into the house. Not that she saw her go, but she was glad nonetheless for the chance to be alone with this boy.
Merrin felt an awakening inside her like a deep, low hum in the base of her gut that sent ripples out along her limbs. She wanted to stare at him and the urge to touch him didn’t lessen. It had been the longest time since she had found anyone of interest. But this . . . the way standing in front of this stranger made her feel was something else entirely. Excitement fizzed in her veins and her mouth felt dry with nerves. He was sophisticated, worldly and posh – all things that drew her. Merrin knew she needed to work hard to carve out a successful life, but wanted more than to wake each morning wondering where the money was coming from to put coal on the fire.
The boy stared back and she didn’t look away. His eyes were of the palest blue and there was something in the way he looked at her that felt familiar, as if he knew her. Yes, it sounded ridiculous, improbable, and yet the pull of him was strong. It was all she could do not to reach out and touch his face, wanting to confirm that he was real.