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“I don’t know. All I know is that they gave them to her on DVD as a gift on her sixtieth birthday.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite a gift. On the other hand she was something of a legend. I bet they all adored her. She must have been fun to work with. Are those DVDs in the house?”
Was he expecting her to invite him over? And how would she feel watching them? She’d always felt mildly resentful of The Summer Seekers. As a child she’d felt it was competition for her mother’s time and affection. “I don’t know where she keeps them, but I can ask.”
“You should keep them under lock and key. They’re probably collector’s items.” He turned to look at the sea, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “She knows how to live life. And she never conforms to society’s expectations. She was presenting long after other people would have been pushed aside, presumably because she was irreplaceable at the time. And look at her now—most people would expect her to be living in some sort of residential accommodation, and she’s traveling across America.” His shoulders shook with silent laughter. “She’s amazing. She knows how to hunt down every last delicious crumb of happiness and devour it. Most people tread those crumbs into the carpet. You must be pleased that she’s still so active and engaged in life.”
She felt guilty that she’d ever considered trying to persuade her mother to move out of the house. “Her lifestyle causes me anxiety.” And she’d been thinking about herself, not
Kathleen. In her own way she’d been as selfish as the twins.
“She’s lucky to have a caring daughter like you.”
Was she? She had a feeling Kathleen would have chosen an adventure-seeking, globe-trotting daughter.
There had been a reason she hadn’t wanted Liza to drive her on her special trip.
She changed the subject. “Martha sent me a photo of her sipping cocktails on a roof terrace in Chicago.” She showed him the photo on her phone and he took it from her, shaded the screen with his hand.
“Brilliant. Are there more?”
She leaned across and swiped. “Martha took a photograph of the car.”
His smile widened. “Well, dammit—she went ahead and rented the Ford Mustang.”
“You knew she was planning to rent a sports car?”
“She asked me about cars. Wanted to know what I’d rent if I was doing that trip. Easy enough to answer, because I’ve done that trip—in that car.” He handed the phone back to her. “She’ll have the best time. So who is Martha?”
“Martha is a stranger who she hired without even checking references. Typical of my mother.” But in fact Martha had proved to be thoughtful. She was sending photos every day, along with amusing updates and videos. It seemed her mother had chosen her companion well. “You seem to know a lot about her trip.”
He hesitated. “She didn’t talk to you about the planning?”
“No. I kept waiting for her to ask for help because she hates the internet, but she never did.” She paused. “What are you not telling me?”
“She’s discreet. I feel I should be too.” He rubbed his hand over his jaw. “My team helped her with the arrangements. As you say, she’s not that comfortable with the internet.”
“You booked it? Why didn’t she ask me? I would have done it.”
“I offered. I would have been offended if she’d refused.”
“I suppose that explains why she stayed in the Presidential Suite in Chicago.”
“They gave her that? I hoped they would, but it always depends who else is staying of course.”
“It was thoughtful of you.” She tried not to be hurt that her mother hadn’t turned to her for help. “I misjudged you. I thought you were a complete rogue.”
“Rogue? I’ve never actually heard someone use that word outside a costume drama.” He leaned closer, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “I am a rogue, Liza. I’m selfish, and if I’ve done something that helped someone it probably benefited me too.”
She couldn’t imagine how helping her mother could have helped him.
They walked across the sand until they reached the water’s edge.
“Tide is coming in. I could sit here and watch it all day. Sometimes I do just that.” He stooped and picked up another shell. “I hadn’t written anything in a year when I found this place.”
“You mean music?” Liza was embarrassed that she knew more about his reputation than his music.
“Music and lyrics.” He turned the shell over and rubbed at the sandy interior. “It’s a funny thing. You can sit forever and try and force yourself to produce something. Hard work always plays a part, but in the end it’s about a magical something that’s as delicate as the new shoots of a plant. And you can’t force that. You’re an artist. You understand.”
