Return to Summerhouse (The Summerhouse 2)

Amy looked at Zoë in disbelief. “Faith didn’t tell her therapist about this man who meant so much to her?”

“I guess not. I tried to get Jeanne to tell me some things about Faith, but she’d only tell facts. After her husband died, Faith moved away from that little town where she grew up, and she’s been living in New York for the last year and going to Jeanne three times a week. It wasn’t easy to get info out of Jeanne, but she told me that if Faith hadn’t agreed to therapy, her mother-in-law was going to press charges and keep her in jail for as long as her money could buy. It seems that Faith didn’t just punch the woman a couple of times; she went berserk and attacked her with everything she had, including a few plates. The old woman was in the hospital for two weeks.”

“Our quiet little Faith?” Amy said, looking down the street to where they were to meet her.

“It seems that Faith has a great deal more anger inside her than she lets on.”

“She has reason to be angry,” Amy said, “but I haven’t seen it. Faith seems so down-to-earth, so sane. I can’t imagine her attacking anyone.” She started walking, but Zoë caught her arm.

“There’s something else.”

“What?” Amy asked.

“Jeanne didn’t say anything directly, but she kept asking me what kind of mood Faith was in. Happy? Despondent? In despair? That sort of thing.”

“Okay, so now you’re giving me the creeps. We don’t have to bolt our bedroom doors, do we?”

“No. I think that Jeanne was hinting that Faith tends to take her unhappiness out on herself.”

“You mean suicide?”

“That would be my guess,” Zoë said, then when she saw Amy’s face, she said, “So help me, if you let Faith know we know this, I’ll…I’ll tear up that drawing of your husband.”

“If you do, I’ll have this one.” Amy took the book she’d bought out of the little bag and flipped it open to a photo of an oil painting. The caption under it read Lord Tristan James Hawthorne, Sixth Earl of Eastlon, 1763–1797.

Zoë’s mouth dropped open at the sight of the portrait. The man was an exact likeness of the one she’d drawn. She looked at Amy in astonishment. “Where did you find this?”

“In the bookstore. He’s the man in your drawing and the man in my dream.”

“What…?” Zoë began. “How…?”

“Come on, let’s go meet Faith. Let’s get her to talk so we don’t have to tell her that you were snooping into her life.”

Zoë ignored Amy’s jibe. “If Faith ever visits her hometown again, or looks on the Internet, she’s going to find out.”

“Gee, that reminds me of someone else I met recently. If you ever went back to your hometown or searched on the Internet, I bet you would find out a lot about what happened to you.”

“I don’t think I like you very much,” Zoë said, glaring at Amy.

“That’s funny, because the more time I spend with you, the more I like you.” She smiled at Zoë’s frown. “I’m starving, so let’s go get something to eat, then we’ll go to the grocery and get something for tonight. With the way you pack away the wine, we’ll need four bottles.”

“I want to borrow that book,” Zoë said.

“Hold your breath,” Amy said, laughing as she walked ahead toward the place where they were to have tea.

Nine

“So what did you two do today?” Faith asked as she ate a buttered scone.

Zoë and Amy could only stare at the difference in her. Faith’s hair was now shoulder length and it had been dyed to a deep auburn. She had on makeup and her green eyes glistened. She’d also bought a new outfit of dark brown trousers and a cream-colored shirt. She’d topped it with an expensive-looking red leather jacket.

“Where did you get those clothes?” Amy asked in awe. “I haven’t seen anything that didn’t have a duck embroidered on it.”

“The hairdresser told me about the place. It’s really a woman who sells out of her house. She said she hates tourists so she sells only to

people who have been recommended to her.”

“Your hair looks great,” Amy said.