After a little, Andrew returned to her, his face alight with enthusiasm. ‘They only arrived three days ago. He’s been trying to find a partner for a golf game. Apparently there’s a championship course only five miles away. Did you know that?’

  ‘You haven’t brought your clubs.’

  ‘No problem. Rodney says we can hire some from the Pro. He’s already done a recce. I said we’d have dinner with them, and then we can make a few plans. You don’t mind, do you, darling? The most extraordinary thing. Running into Rodney Cumberwell in this neck of the woods.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kate faintly. But Andrew looked happy. Perhaps that was what holidays were all about. To make people look happy. ‘Is that his wife?’

  Andrew’s eyes twinkled. ‘Well, she certainly isn’t his mistress. Come and be introduced. Be social.’

  She wondered if she should stand up and start screaming. I do not want to be introduced. I do not wish to meet the Cumberwells. I want to swim and look for wild flowers and drink champagne and be with you.

  But, of course, she did not. It was no good. It was too late. She finished her wine and set down the empty glass. She looked across the room, and saw Mrs Cumberwell was smiling at her. Mrs Cumberwell, with her new perm and her swollen feet stuffed into her best court shoes.

  Kate got to her feet, and, following her husband, went to be introduced to the unknown lady, in whose company, she knew, she was going to spend the next two weeks.

  Harbour of Love

  Most nights, from this old house, you could hear Lake Michigan – a distant murmur of endless breakers, rolling up and over the sand. The air smelled of fresh water, and a warm breeze moved the curtains at the open window of Julia’s bedroom, where she lay wide-eyed and unsleeping, as the hall clock, deep in the darkness, chimed away the small hours of the morning.

  Alone, she thought of Ivan. He was still in London. He had gone for a month on business. A lesser man would have said to Julia, ‘Come with me,’ but Ivan respected her job as a fashion magazine editor – her devotion to it, her competence. ‘I’d give anything to show you London,’ he said instead, ‘but there’ll be other times when we can travel together.’

  ‘That’s a promise,’ Julia told him, and he had laughed and kissed her, sealing the agreement.

  She had not known then that she would not see him again. While he was away, Julia received a phone call from her mother, and her world, her whole secure and satisfying existence was blown sky-high, as totally as if someone had deliberately placed a bomb beneath it.

  Barbara and Tony, her sister and brother-in-law, had flown to Colorado for a vacation, a second honeymoon. The plane had crashed in the mountains and there were no survivors. Christopher, their three-year-old son, had been left in northern Michigan with his grandparents, in the warm, comfortable house along the eastern shore of Lake Michigan where Barbara and Julia had grown up.

  At first, numb with shock, making a few necessary arrangements, getting into her car to drive the long way from Chicago to her parents’ home, Julia had thought of no one but Barbara. But as the shock wore off, and grief swelled to take its place, there was room, too, for other chilling truths. Tony had had no other family, so now, for little Christopher, there were only his grandparents and his Aunt Julia. Words like duty and responsibility filled her mind. Who was to shoulder the responsibility for the little boy?

  For the next three weeks Julia thought of little else, and the answer was clear. Of course she must raise Christopher. Julia’s parents had had their children late in life. Her mother was now sixty-eight, her father nearly eighty. Christopher was a demanding and active little boy who cried at night because his mother and father had gone and he didn’t know where. In the face of such circumstances, every other consideration simply paled into insignificance. Christopher must be cared for and Julia’s parents could not be expected to start over again with a small grandchild. It would not be fair to them and it would not be fair to Christopher.

  It would be best if Julia and Christopher stayed near her parents but not underfoot. There was a small cottage at the end of the road that led to her parents’ house. Old Mrs Martin had lived there for as long as Julia could remember, but several years ago, when she died, Julia’s father had bought the cottage, restored it, and had since rented it as a vacation home. Now, at the end of summer, the cottage stood empty, providing Julia with a solution. She would pay rent to her parents to keep things on an even keel for them, and she and Christopher would move in, close to their only family, yet still on their own.

  It meant giving up the job she loved, selling the small house she had worked so hard to buy, and leaving all the friends she had made in Chicago. It meant leaving Ivan …

  * * *

  Now, unable to sleep, Julia remembered meeting Ivan more than a year ago. A young couple had moved into the house across the street from where Julia lived. She had introduced herself to them, welcomed them to the block, and they began a casual, neighbourly friendship. So, a month later, when they threw a housewarming party, Julia was invited.

  She had worked hard at the office that day and almost didn’t go to the party but finally decided that she must. As she rang their doorbell, she told herself she would stay only five or ten minutes.

  There were footsteps down the hall and the door opened. Julia stood there, smiling, expecting one of her new young friends, but instead she saw a very tall, dark-haired man, carrying a small tray of glasses.

  He said at once, ‘I’m not the butler.’

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘No. I’m your host’s cousin. The name’s Ivan Peele. Come on in.’

  Julia entered and he shut the door behind her. ‘For some reason, you don’t look as though you’ve come far,’ he said.

  ‘From just across the road. I live there.’

  ‘Oh, you’re the beautiful neighbour I’ve been hearing about. Julia, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes it’s Julia. But you shouldn’t believe all the gossip you hear.’

  ‘You mean about you being beautiful? But they were right. You are.’ He handed her a glass. ‘Have a drink,’ he said, ‘and let’s go join the party.’

  She was twenty-seven and had known many men, but walking through the open doorway in the company of this tall, handsome stranger was like nothing she had experienced before. She felt that she was beautiful and exciting. The modest housewarming was, all at once, the most delightful party she had ever been to.

  Later, Ivan asked her to have dinner with him. They slipped away from the party and walked around the corner to a little Greek restaurant. Talking to him wasn’t like finding out things about a new person, it was like being with someone you had known for years, and as though, at any moment, either of you might say, ‘Do you remember …’

  He told her about his job. Electronics, an international agency, exports … Julia heard his words, but she wasn’t really listening. She noticed his warm, deep voice, his brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. She thought, no man so charming could not be married. And when she learned that he was not married, she was surprised at the happiness that filled her.

  They saw each other often after that, spending warm summer evenings in the brightly lit city. By day they took long walks together, or picnicked in the park. Once, they drove out into the country, stopping along the side of a quiet road under a canopy of giant trees to eat the lunch they’d packed. It was, then, for the first time, that Ivan spoke of marriage. Not marriage to Julia, but simply the business of getting married.

  ‘Not yet,’ he told her. ‘Not for a long time, I think. Does that bother you?’

  She thought about it. She said truthfully, ‘No. I’m not all that eager to get married myself just now. Three of my friends were married last year and not one of the marriages lasted more than nine months. I think that’s a mess.’

  ‘And you’re happy, staying the way you are?’ he asked.

  ‘So happy that I don’t want anything to change it.’

  Ivan reached for the wine bottle and emptied the last of the wine into their glasses. ‘You know, my love,’ he said, ‘we’re so alike in so many ways. It seems a small miracle.’

  She leaned forward to kiss him. ‘I like being like you,’ she said.

  ‘I like being like you too. The only thing is, I’m not as pretty.’

  He disappeared from time to time. His work took him to Europe, Japan, China. Now he was in London, gone for a month. Julia had driven him to O’Hare Airport and seen him off. ‘Meet me when I get back,’ he told her, and she promised that she would.

  * * *

  The next morning, while her father gardened and her mother took Christopher with her into town for groceries, Julia wrote to Ivan. The letter should have been a difficult one, but it was not, because she had always spoken to him as she thought, and now she wrote as though she were speaking to him. She told him everything that had happened, explaining why she must leave Chicago; she wrote:

  I know I can’t come back. I won’t be at the airport when you return, but this letter will be waiting at your apartment, so hopefully you won’t have too long to wonder what has happened to me.

  Knowing you and having this year together has been the sort of miracle that doesn’t happen to many people. How lucky I am, and how thankful that we didn’t make a permanent commitment to each other. The more tenuous the ties that hold us together, the easier it is to say goodbye.

  My love,

  Julia

  The weather, which for days had been mild and damp and overcast, suddenly brightened. It was the middle of September, but the day was as warm as midsummer, and Christopher wanted to go to the beach. Julia led him to their usual picnic spot, a secluded stretch of sand and dunes out of reach of the wind. The lake was a deep blue and there were random sailboats scattered about the curve of the bay.

  They walked together to the edge of the lake, and Julia helped Christopher fill his bucket with sand to build a castle.

  ‘Did you and Mommy do this when you were little?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘That was in the olden days.’

  ‘Yes,’ Julia said. ‘Things are different now. It’s not your mother and me. It’s you and me.’

  Christopher did not comment on this. He seemed, suddenly, very little, very vulnerable. Julia thought fiercely: I won’t let him forget his mother. I won’t let him miss out on all the good things Barbara would have wanted for him. It will be so worthwhile. It has to be worthwhile, otherwise there is no point in living a life without Ivan.

  The more tenuous the ties that hold us together, the easier it is to say goodbye to you. She had written that a week ago, wanting him to believe that it was true, but the truth was that she felt as though she had been torn up by the roots.

  Christopher had been absorbed in his sand castle, but now he looked up, over Julia’s shoulder. There had been no sound of footsteps behind her, but suddenly a long shadow moved forward. A man sank down on his haunches beside her, his face level with hers. ‘Hello, Julia,’ he said.

  It was Ivan.

  Only her imagination could have brought him to this empty, lonely place. He was in London.

  Ivan read her thoughts. ‘I had to come back a few days early. Your letter was waiting for me – a real eye-opener of a letter. I drove all night to get here. Someone in town directed me to your folks’ house, and your father told me where I could find you.’

  He spoke as though it were the most normal procedure in the world, but his casual voice did not convince her. She put her hand on his shoulder and felt the warmth of his body, reassuring herself he was real.

  Christopher had not resumed his digging. He knelt there, silent, gazing at the tall stranger. Ivan smiled at him. ‘Hi Chris.’

  Christopher did not reply, but went back to his digging.

  ‘Julia,’ Ivan said softly, ‘I think you’re crazy.’ He said it kindly, so that the words had no sting to them. ‘There has to be another alternative, you know.’

  ‘You suggest one,’ she said.

  ‘Come back to Chicago.’

  ‘Oh Ivan. It’s too late. Where I go, Christopher has to go too. I sold my house. Where would we live?’

  ‘With me,’ he answered simply.

  It was an astonishing suggestion. ‘It can’t work,’ she said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, because of everything. I couldn’t just live with you. Not with a child.’

  ‘I wasn’t asking you just to live with me. I was asking you to marry me. We could buy a house, big enough for all of us.’

  ‘Oh.’ She found herself torn between laughter and tears. ‘I’m not as desperate as that. Please don’t be sorry for me.’

  ‘Sorry for you? My darling girl, I love you. I simply can’t live without you. It’s as simple as that. I need you. I think you need me. And Christopher needs us both.’

  ‘But you were so happy just as you were.’

  ‘It will be different, but just as good. We might even have other children. It happens, you know.’

  ‘And what would you do with a house full of children?’

  ‘What every other man does. Love them, yell at them, bring them up. Until now I have never felt the need to marry. With you, it’s become the most important thing in the world to me. Say yes, Julia. Say yes now.’

  But before she could say anything, Christopher let out a shout of excitement. Shallow waves slapped at the sandcastle.

  * * *

  Ivan got to his feet. ‘Here,’ he said, picking up a spade, ‘make a channel. The water will run into a moat and save the walls.’ The water rushed over his shoes, soaking the bottom of his pants.

  Christopher and Ivan worked frantically to save the castle, but Julia stayed where she was, sitting on the sand with her arms wrapped around her knees. Like the unstoppable incoming waves, Julia felt happiness flow through her body. She looked at Ivan with his ruined shoes and his trousers wet to the knees. He did not seem to mind, and indeed, why should he? On such a day, at such a time, this tiny instant out of a whole life, it seemed as though nothing could ever matter again.

  ALSO BY ROSAMUNDE PILCHER

  The Carousel

  Voices in Summer

  The Blue Bedroom and Other Stories

  September

  Flowers in the Rain and Other Stories

  Wild Mountain Thyme

  Under Gemini

  Sleeping Tiger

  The Empty House

  The End of Summer

  Snow in April

  The Day of the Storm

  Another View

  The Shell Seekers

  Winter Solstice

  Coming Home

  About the Author

  ROSAMUNDE PILCHER (1924-2019) wrote such worldwide bestselling novels as The Shell Seekers, September, Coming Home, Winter Solstice, and Voices in Summer. Her breakthrough novel, The Shell Seekers, sold more than 10 million copies. Pilcher also authored the photographic autobiography, The World of Rosamunde Pilcher. She was an Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE) and lived in Perthshire, Scotland. You can sign up for email updates here.

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  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Introduction by Lucinda Riley

    1.  Someone to Trust

    2.  Anniversary

    3.  Skelmerton

    4.  A Place Like Home

    5.  Ghosts of the Past

    6.  Jonathan

    7.  The Key

    8.  A Fork in the Road

    9.  The Stone Boy (The Winds of Chance)

  10.  A Touch of Magic

  11.  A Smile for the Bride (Oh Heavenly Day)

  12.  Magic Might Happen

  13.  Through the Eyes of Love

  14.  Our Holiday

  15.  Harbour of Love

  Also by Rosamunde Pilcher

  About the Author

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  First published in the United States by St. Martin’s Press, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group

  A PLACE LIKE HOME. Copyright © 2021 by The Literary Estate of Rosamunde Pilcher. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.

  www.stmartins.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Pilcher, Rosamunde, author.

  Title: A place like home / Rosamunde Pilcher.

  Description: First U.S. edition. | New York : St. Martin’s Press, 2021.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2021006925 | ISBN 9781250274953 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781250274960 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCGFT: Short stories.

  Classification: LCC PR6066.I38 P47 2021 | DDC 823/.914—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021006925

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  Originally published in Great Britain by Hodder & Stoughton, an Hachette UK company

  First U.S. Edition: 2021

  eISBN: 9781250274960