up, yawning her way back to the cottage as tiredness finally hit, and at 6 a.m. she crawled back into those sweet, white sheets and fell fast asleep.
* * *
When she awoke for the second time, it was almost noon. The sun was high and bright in the sky, and Aunt Judith had left a note to say she had a bridge game and would be back this afternoon.
It was a perfect day for a walk, and perhaps the beach. No one had a suntan in England. A few people they knew had ventured to places like Acapulco or Majorca for their honeymoons, but travel was exotic and expensive, and there was little hope of turning golden brown in the weak English sun.
She stretched her legs out, pale in her cutoffs, and grabbed some baby oil from the bathroom cabinet, squeezing it into her straw tote next to a towel and a book. She put on the crocheted bikini she’d bought on Carnaby Street on a trip up to London, unsure when she would ever wear it, but knowing it would be a good investment if she ever went on vacation again.
Twisting her hair into a loose braid, she pulled a T-shirt over the bikini, grabbed her bag, and headed out the door.
Five
Main Street looked exactly the same, as picture-book perfect as it had always been. Audrey wandered along, looking into all the store windows, smiling and saying hi to everyone she passed, stopping to chat to the people she knew, all of whom knew she was coming from her aunt’s, all of whom were delighted to see her.
She made her way down Straight Wharf, pausing outside one store, its windows filled with canvases, gorgeous seascapes, propped up against one another, a few nudes, reclining women on mussed-up sheets, their faces turned away from the artist. And as she stood, thinking how beautiful they were, she noticed movement behind, and there he was, Brooks, waving at her to come in, a wide grin on his face.
“Hey!” He put down the canvas he was holding and walked over to her. They both paused, Audrey feeling the unexpected urge to hug him, but how could she, she barely knew him. They stood grinning at each other, unable to wipe the smiles off their faces. Brooks eventually extended a hand, which she shook, laughing as she glanced around the room.
“I guess I’ve stumbled upon your studio! These are so beautiful, Brooks. You’re so talented!”
“You’re surprised?”
“No. I guess I thought your work would be more abstract, I have no idea why. Look at how you’ve captured Nantucket! Are they for sale? I’d love to buy one!”
“Which is your favorite?” Delight was in his eyes.
“Let me look through. May I? Is that okay?”
“We’ll look together.”
* * *
They wandered round the studio, Brooks telling Audrey about the paintings, what inspired him, funny stories about how they almost got sabotaged. His sleeves were rolled up, his arms tanned, the hairs a golden brown. Audrey found herself staring at those strong arms, recognizing she was feeling feelings she should not have been feeling; hoping that they would go away, even though they felt so very, very, good.
Her husband might have been very handsome, but Audrey’s appreciation of his looks had always been intellectual. She knew Richard was good-looking; it just didn’t necessarily have much of an effect on her.
It certainly never caused her to catch her breath, a jolt inside her body when his arm brushed hers, as was happening each time Brooks touched her accidentally, or placed a hand in the small of her back to guide her elsewhere in the studio.
When he talked, she turned to him, her eyes running over his thick, dark hair, streaked with gold from the sun, the dimples in his cheeks when he smiled, the way he moved with an extraordinary ease, as if he were a man entirely comfortable in his skin.
He wore paint-streaked jeans, an untucked white shirt. Audrey had a vision, suddenly, of him walking across the bedroom, naked. She inhaled sharply, aware of an unexpected stirring in her loins.
“I love this one,” she said quickly, turning away so he didn’t see the deep flush rising on her cheeks. She went over to a small, delicate watercolor of the Sankaty lighthouse. “I love the big ones, but this one is so delicate, so pretty, so perfectly captures the essence of this place.”
He picked it up, examined it, then handed it to her. “You have great taste. The watercolors