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Back The House by the Sea Save as PDF
Chapters (71)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. 60
  63. 61
  64. 62
  65. 63
  66. 64
  67. 65
  68. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  69. MORE FROM LOUISE DOUGLAS
  70. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  71. ABOUT BOLDWOOD BOOKS

Eventually, hot and breathless, my skin burning and a blister forming beneath the ankle strap of one of my sandals, we found ourselves in the central piazza. In front of us the steps that led to the doors of the Duomo San Giorgio towered over the square. I would have loved to sit for a while outside the café and drink it all in, but Joe was focused on his phone. He shielded his eyes with his hand as he studied the names of the streets that led from the piazza.

‘This way,’ he said gruffly.

I followed him into a shady, cobbled alley lined with tiny, expensive shops. At the end of the street was a sign: Studio Legale Recupero.

‘There,’ said Joe. ‘That’s it.’

‘It’s very…’ grand, I was thinking. It was nothing like the office of the solicitor who’d dealt with my side of the divorce. She’d been an acquaintance of Fitz’s and every inch of available floor and table space in her scruffy little backstreet room had been piled with cardboard files. This was modern and elegant and impressive.

Our two shabby reflections looked back at us through the darkened glass. Above us, cameras fixed to the lintel blinked.

Joe reached up to straighten the collar of his shirt. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let’s get this over and done with.’

He raised his finger and pressed the buzzer. The door opened and in we went.

6

We found ourselves in an air-conditioned reception area, full of swathes of glossy wood and butter-soft leather furniture. Birds of paradise blooms stood proud above an enormous glass vase beside the desk. We introduced ourselves and the receptionist invited us to take a seat, which we did; sitting awkwardly side by side. I leaned down and tried to adjust the position of the sandal strap so it stopped rubbing on my blister, while Joe fidgeted with a loose button on the cuff of his jacket.

A few minutes later, the lawyer’s assistant arrived and invited us to follow her into a tiny, darkly mirrored lift. I held my breath and pressed my hands against the wall behind me to prevent any part of my body touching any part of Joe’s. The lift was slow and cranky and I was scared we’d be trapped. I had to stop myself reaching for Joe’s hand. Ten years it had been. Ten years, and still my instinct was to lean to him for reassurance. Did the body never forget?