Deuce Read online

  Back of the Book

  When Jay Reid was in her twenties, she had it all. A professional tennis career, Charlotte, the love of her life and a new baby. It ended far too soon when Charlotte’s research vessel, RV Caspian, was lost at sea, leaving Jay to raise their child alone.

  But Charlotte was, in fact, the sole survivor of the RV Caspian. Rescued by a local fisherman, with no memory of her life before, she lives on the Faroe Islands as Katrin Nielsen. Seeing a beached seal one day triggers her memory and slowly her other identity comes back to her. She returns to England to try to reclaim her life with Jay and their child.

  Twenty-three years is a long time. Is the love they once shared strong enough to be rekindled or have too many years passed eroding all hope of a happy ever after?

  Deuce

  © 2019 by Jen Silver

  Affinity E-Book Press NZ LTD.

  Canterbury, New Zealand

  1st Edition

  ISBN: 978-1-98-854994-1

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this eBook may be reproduced in any form without the express permission of the author and publisher. Please note that piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights and is illegal.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Editor: JoSelle Vanderhoof

  Proof Editor: Alexis Smith

  Cover Design: Irish Dragon Designs

  Production Design: Affinity Publication Services

  Acknowledgments

  During the writing of this book I revisited the selkie legends of the Scottish islands and, further north, the Faroe Islands.

  In these stories, handed down to each generation, the seal people, selkies as they’re called in Scotland, come ashore and shed their skins to take on human forms. They are reputed to be beautiful, handsome beings, gentle souls – but beguiling to ordinary mortals. Attempts to keep them from returning to the sea by stealing and hiding their seal skins generally leads to disaster and heartbreak.

  The cover image is of the statue of Kópakonan—the seal woman—who features in a well-known folktale in the Faroe Islands.

  I would like to thank Affinity for taking the chance on publishing what may seem like a fairly improbable premise for a romance.

  Dedication

  For Anne, with love, always

  Also by Jen Silver

  Single Stories:

  Calling Home

  Changing Perspectives

  Running From Love

  Christmas at Winterbourne

  The Circle Dance

  Starling Hill Trilogy:

  Starting Over

  Arc Over Time

  Carved in Stone

  Short Stories:

  There Was a Time

  The Christmas Sweepstake (Affinity’s 2014 Christmas Collection)

  Beltane in Space (It’s in Her Kiss—Affinity Charity Anthology)

  Maybe This Christmas (Affinity’s Christmas Medley 2017)

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  PART TWO

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  PART THREE

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  PART FOUR

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Affinity Books

  Prologue

  I recall that the day started as many other days had for Katrin Nielsen, and I watch it now like a movie reel unfurling in my mind…

  Once she had seen Konrad off to his morning lessons, Katrin washed their breakfast dishes and tied her hair back to stop it blowing across her face on the short walk to the library, such as it was; a grand name for the single-room turf-roofed hut. She was looking forward to opening the new shipment of books that had arrived from Copenhagen the day before. The books would need to be covered and catalogued but that was a job she enjoyed.

  She sniffed the air when she left her work to go home at lunchtime. Only ten of the new books had been processed. Katrin always stretched the job out to make the most of the brief respite from the regular daily chore of gutting fish from the night trawlers’ catches.

  Konrad came racing up the path towards her before she reached their house. She loved the way he moved. Fourteen years old and all long limbs and awkwardness. He reminded her of someone she’d once known. A flicker of recognition that came and went like a lighthouse beam piercing the night.

  “Mamma. Come. There’s a seal on the sand. It’s stranded.”

  Katrin gathered her coat closer to her body and followed her son down the winding path to the small strip of beach that was only visible at low tide. A few of her neighbours were already there standing around the large mammal lying on its side.

  “Is it ill?” she heard one of them ask.

  Katrin moved closer until she could see the creature clearly. “No. It’s not ill. Seals do this from time to time. Haul out so they can rest, digest a big meal. She will rejoin the sea on the next incoming tide.”

  Konrad was staring at her open-mouthed, as was her nearest neighbour, Lars. She looked past them, past the recumbent seal, to the waves beginning the cycle of return to the shore. Her mind left them there, reverberations in her head, the swell of the sea, frantic shouts, holding on and holding on, wet, cold, pulling and pushing, falling into darkness….

  “Mamma!” A boy’s anxious face came into focus.

  “What?”

  “Are you okay? You said something now in a foreign language. About the seal.”

  “It will be okay. It’s resting.”

  As I turned away and walked back up the steep path, so many images rushed through my thoughts—faces, and one in particular. A name. Jay. Where was she? I had to get back to Jay and my baby. A small bundle in my arms, tiny fist curling and uncurling…and one thought gained prominence as I reached the cliff top…I am Charlotte Summersbridge.

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  The lane leading up to the house was little more than a farm track, deep ruts on either side of the strip of grass. Tess checked her satnav. The image on the screen clearly showed a turn into the unnamed lane. Her destination lay at the end of it, only thirty seconds away. She thought she’d heard the name of the cottage as Sea View, but the small wooden sign pointing up the lane read “Seal View.” Hoping the undercarriage of her car wouldn’t suffer, she maneuvered it slowly round the corner. No horrible scraping noises alerted her to possible damage.

  When the reclusive Jay Reid agreed to see her, Tess had envisioned meeting in a London hotel. However, the retired tennis player’s business manager, Mo Farrell, made it clear Jay spent most weekends away from the city, and the winter months always found her sequestered on the lonely stretch of coastline near Hunstanton from Friday to Monday.

  Had she taken up bird watching? Tess couldn’t think of much else to occupy anyone out here on the eastern edge of England. An edge that was receding further away from the continent each year as if the shoreline had a Brexit plan of its own.

  Birds of the non-feathered variety were mainly what she hoped to ferret out on this visit. Jay Reid’s reputation for bedding
young players on the tour had outweighed her achievements of winning two Grand Slam titles and briefly holding the number-one spot in the world rankings.

  Getting her to name names wouldn’t be easy. No one had come forward in the twenty-three years since Jay’s retirement from the tour. The adage of “what happens on tour stays on tour” seemed to have held true. But with the revelations of, mainly male, abuse of power hitting the headlines every day, Tess wondered how long it would be before someone would indulge in a “kiss and tell” story from Jay’s past.

  She had seen the photos, watched the videos. Jay Reid’s meteoric tennis career shone brightly for eight years, then crashed and burned. At twenty-seven years old, the British star seemed to have no barriers to continuing to play at a high level for many years to come.

  With the expanse of North Sea shining in the distance, the cottage came into view when she rounded the last bend. The squat grey building looked like an extension of the landscape. Visiting on a sunny day made it less bleak, but Tess could imagine how desolate it would look on a windswept rainy day, which was likely most of the year on this coastline. She parked behind a battered-looking Land Rover—one of the old models, the green paintwork daubed with mud, giving it the look of an abandoned army vehicle. The gleaming chrome of the motorbike next to it looked more like the kind of transport Jay would use.

  Tess grabbed her bag from the front seat and climbed out of her two-year-old Honda Civic. She did a quick inventory to make sure she had her camera, recorder, and notebook. Unnecessary, as she’d checked three times before leaving home early that morning. Walking past the Land Rover and the bike, she was greeted with an unexpected view of a well-tended garden, sloping down from a patio.

  A woman came out of the open doors and stood looking at the view before turning to acknowledge Tess.

  She hoped the shock didn’t show on her face. The photos she’d studied showed a tall, athletic figure with androgynous good looks. Jay Reid was only fifty years old. Surely she hadn’t shrunk so much or acquired so many lines on her face. Perhaps she had a drink or drug problem.

  The woman came closer. “Hi, we spoke on the phone. I’m Mo.”

  “Oh. Of course.” Tess hoped her smile covered her initial reaction. She held out her hand, “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Jay will be out in a few minutes.” Mo shook her hand with a strong grip. “I’ll leave you to it. You’ve got my number.” Nothing resembling a smile crossed her features, and she brushed past Tess after letting go of her hand.

  The roar of the motorbike shattered another of her misjudgments since her arrival. She shook her head.

  †

  A flock of seagulls wheeled away from her line of sight. Whatever had attracted them to the shore below had no doubt been hoovered up in their greedy beaks. Jay glanced at the timer. Another ten minutes. She kept her legs moving. Spinning. An apt metaphor for her life, wheels turning, going nowhere.

  The journalist would be here in half an hour. As soon as Jay had finally given Mo the go-ahead to tell the woman she would talk to her, Jay had had second thoughts. Did she really want to rake up the past? She had always been thankful her career ended before the advent of social media. A few paparazzi could be shaken off, but not now when seemingly everyone carried a mobile device capable of taking pictures and sending them out to the world. Her secrets would have been public knowledge in no time.

  Fifty years old, half her life gone if she lived to a hundred. Half her life wasted. Why would anyone want to read about that? She started the five-minute cool-down and reminded herself she was doing it for Charley and the seals. Nothing else mattered. Her successes on the tennis courts, her conquests in bed, those were the moments the journalist would want her to talk about. But that wasn’t Jay’s over-riding passion any longer. It hadn’t been since she quit the circuit. The only thing that mattered, the one thing she had never publicly spoken of…the loss of the love of her life. Could she ever manage to explain what the world…her world…had lost when Charley and the rest of the research team disappeared into the depths of the North Sea?

  Losing tennis matches had threatened at times to overwhelm her emotionally. But there was always another day, another game, and another chance to win. Losing Charley hit her harder than anything else she’d faced up to that point in her life. By the age of sixteen, she had already lost her parents to a car crash, and then four years later, her older brother to an oil-platform explosion only days after she won her first Grand Slam match. It was no wonder she held on tightly to what had been left to her—the baby she and Charley had planned to bring up together.

  Mo called out from the kitchen, “I’m leaving now. The coffee pot’s set up. You just need to switch it on.”

  “Thanks.” Jay stepped off the exercise bike and walked around the screen as Mo entered the conservatory. “I have time for a quick shower, don’t I?”

  “Definitely. And don’t come any closer. You smell pretty ripe even from here.”

  Jay flicked the towel at her. “Go, then. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  “And play nice!” was Mo’s parting shot as she left.

  “Don’t I always?” Jay muttered, heading for the shower.

  †

  “I never get tired of the view.”

  Tess turned to face the speaker. Jay Reid in person. She could have stepped straight off a tennis court, dressed in shorts and a form-fitting T-shirt. If Tess hadn’t known her age, she would have thought Jay was closer to forty than fifty.

  A small dog trotted out from behind Jay’s legs. Tess held out a hand for it to sniff. She wasn’t a dog person, but she knew this was a safe way to let the animal approach.

  “He doesn’t bite.”

  After a cursory sniff, the dog licked her fingers, then settled down under the wooden bench next to the conservatory door.

  “He’s cute. What breed is he?’

  “Boston terrier. Coffee?”

  “Yes, thanks. Would you mind if I used your loo first?”

  “No, of course not. On your right, past the kitchen.”

  Tess’s first impressions proved wrong again. The conservatory, kitchen, and bathroom were all outfitted like an IKEA showroom. A quick peek into the sitting room revealed the aspect she’d expected: dark, authentic wooden beams not far above her head, and a stone fireplace at one end. For a moment, a strange feeling assaulted her. A sense she’d been here before. She’d never really believed in it, but it was a clear déjà-vu moment. Tess shook her head. She had never been to this part of the country in her life.

  Jay had set out the coffee mugs on a table in the conservatory. Tess sat in the cushioned chair her host indicated. She hoped she was getting this first impression wrong as well. So far, the subject of her visit didn’t seem too thrilled to see her. None of the usual introductory pleasantries, asking about her journey, or even introducing herself. Obviously Tess knew who Jay was, and Jay knew she was coming. Still, it made her feel uncomfortable, off balance. Maybe that was the intention.

  She helped herself to milk and a spoonful of sugar. The clatter of her spoon against the side of the mug brought the terrier back inside. He looked at the plate of digestive biscuits on the table, then up at Jay.

  “No, Ritchie. They’re not for you.”

  He seemed to understand and sat by Jay’s feet. She fondled his ears before reaching for her own mug. No milk or sugar for her. No wonder she looked trim for her age.

  Tess had interviewed many people, some who were more willing to talk than others. She always got through in the end. But something about Jay Reid made her think this was going to be a particularly difficult task.

  “When you’ve finished your drink, we’ll go down to the beach.”

  “Okay.” She looked at her shoes. They were comfortable for walking, but she wished she wasn’t wearing a skirt. An October breeze off the North Sea wasn’t what she’d bargained for. But if walking would get Jay talking, then she would have to go with it.

  †
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  The poor girl looked frozen by the time they walked back from the beach. So Jay led the way into the sitting room and got the fire started. It would take a few minutes for the flames to catch and start consuming the logs. Ritchie claimed his place by the hearth.

  “Tea or coffee?” Jay would have offered something stronger, but Tess had a long drive ahead of her.

  “Tea would be lovely, thanks.”

  When Jay returned with the tray, Tess had set up her laptop. She moved it to one side of the low table to make room. With the tea poured and fire starting to crackle, Jay gave in to the inevitable purpose of the journalist’s visit.

  Tess asked the usual questions about her early years. Talking about her parents didn’t get any easier with the passing of time. And she didn’t want to talk about Stewart. After deflecting those prompts, she moved on to the start of her tennis career. How she was self-taught, with her brother finally convinced it was the best way forward for her, after only two terms at university. They’d both learned the hard way that life was short. Her goal had been to play at Wimbledon, and she couldn’t believe her luck when she got a wild card into the tournament after only her first year on the tour. Two semi-final finishes had brought her to the attention of the higher echelons of the tennis world.