Chapters (48)
- Cover
- The LastSummer
- Dedication page
- Glossary
- Map
- Prologue
- BEFORE
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- AFTER
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Chapter Twenty-Eight
- Chapter Twenty-Nine
- Chapter Thirty
- Chapter Thirty-One
- Acknowledgements
- The Hidden Beach
- The Spanish Promise
- The Greek Escape
- The Rome Affair
- Summer at TIFFANY’S
- There’s a Karen Swan book for every season . . .
- The LastSummer
- Also by Karen Swan
Effie peered more closely, raising a hand and tentatively touching the mirrored glass. She tapped a nail against it. Back home, she could sometimes see an essence of herself in the summer waters in the bay, when the wind dropped in the late afternoon, but this time, the impression didn’t scatter at her touch. The girl just blinked back at her. She had big round eyes that were the blue of March, hair the colour of barley. She pressed her fingers to the skin of her cheeks, but the freckles didn’t disappear and she saw – compared to the housekeeper, the strangers on her journey, and the villagers of Lochaline – how very much more brown her skin was than theirs. It was because of the way the wind carried heat, as well as salt, to their island. All her neighbours had the same brazened look too. She bared her teeth – they were pearly bright; the whites of her eyes too – and finished with her hands on her cheeks as she blinked and pulled fearsome expressions, seeing herself in every attitude for the first time.
The housekeeper cleared her throat. Effie realized she had forgotten all about her, and dropped her hands with a blush.
‘Your laundry and linens will be washed once a week, on a Thursday. Make sure they’re in the basket by Wednesday night.’
‘Oh, I can do my own.’ She had never had anyone else wash her clothes before and the idea of it was strange.
‘That would be disruptive,’ Mrs McKenzie said disapprovingly.
‘Oh.’ Effie nodded her acquiescence; the housekeeper made ‘disruptive’ sound very ominous indeed.
‘Breakfast is at seven. Dinner at twelve. Tea at six, not a minute later or you’ll go without. Mrs McLennan is a stickler for keeping good time, as she might well be. The days are busy enough without being kept waiting for others.’
‘Of course.’ She turned to face the housekeeper. ‘When will our cottage be ready, do you know? I must make arrangements for my father to travel.’
He had remained in Lochaline for the short term in order that the bothy which had been chosen for them, somewhere on the estate, could be restored first. Apparently, upon closer inspection, the roof had partially collapsed, the door was rotted and the chimney needed repointing.