***
Two days later, and Aria stood on her veranda in the drizzle, waiting for the reporter to show. After half an hour she stomped up to the gate to check it was working.
The journalist held out her hands. ‘I thought you’d both forgotten our appointment. I’ve been pressing this as well as phoning.’
Aria apologised. ‘The buzzer only works in my neighbour’s house, and my phone has no signal here.’ She led the reporter to her cabin and, as they marched past Nic’s house, she realised she hadn’t seen him for a while. Maybe he’d hotfooted it back to London for a haircut? Aria briefed the reporter on everything she’d learned over the last week or so, shaking her head as she passed the half-dug beds, randomly pulled weeds and rudimentary allotment. She really needed to get on top of the digging and growing. It was already too late for some plants which would need to go in next winter. But the job on the other side of the lake would take most of her time now. When the estate agent had accepted her quote by return email, she suspected she had underquoted.
Aria paused her thoughts there as the woman next to her drew in a big breath and sighed at the beauty of the lake. ‘How lucky you are that this is your backyard. I’d give anything to look out at this every day.’ While she was pleased the reporter understood its appeal, Aria rushed to tell her the cabin was just a fishing hut for day visits. She’d made sure the sofa bed was folded away and the pillows stowed an hour before the scheduled visit. She picked up a stone and wiped it clean with her thumb before skimming it on the lake, a practice she never got tired of.
‘It’s entrancing, I know, especially the thought of swimming in it, but it’s not the same lake as it used to be. Did you follow the links to the articles I sent? I’m sure you will be familiar with them, as most of them were published in your paper. Belinda and I have been putting together a leaflet about the neglect and careless destruction of the town’s best asset.She will be giving them out to everyone who visits the tourist office. I’ve also been in touch with the people who run our annual swimming event, and they are going to let me have a stall to hand them out there. I think people will respond to an appeal to their better nature and hopefully pressure those thoughtless companies to do something about it. The state of the lake was something my father was very passionate about, and I feel it is only right I take on his cause. He crossed the lake every day on the steamer and often climbed the fell to get a good view of it on his day off. He predicted this problem twenty years ago and worked towards eradicating it all his life.
‘Look around. There used to be dozens of summer cabins like these. Now they are all gone. People like my neighbour have bought up all the land and are contributing to the damage with their fancy developments. Houses of the size he is staying in over there need utilities and infrastructure like roads and car parks. All this destroys delicate ecosystems as well as discharging run-off into the lake. He’s planning a marina too, and you should have heard the noise created by a jet ski a few weeks ago. God knows what other kinds of pollution are flooding in.’ She bent down and kissed Tiger’s velvet head before continuing. ‘And that’s before you factor in the blue–green algae and knotweed. I wonder if organisers are monitoring the lake yet in advance of the Spring into Summer Swim, because I do worry about the water quality.’
The reporter nodded. ‘There’s a new sponsor. He’s donating a significant sum of money in exchange for naming rights. I’m due to talk to him next.’
‘Who is it?’ Aria asked. ‘Actually, I can probably guess.’ Either Nic, with his inexhaustible bank account, or Justin with his untamed ego and ambition. There was very little left in the town that didn’t have the Hetherington logo on it. ‘Everything is becoming commercialised, geared towards the tourist or second-homeowner. And this screws up the services, amenities and nature they come for.’
When they finished talking, Aria stood with her back to the water for a photograph for the paper’s social media. One day soon, her neighbour’s marina would likely block her view of the lake. She would fight against that day with every fibre of her body.
20
After staying up late studying Theo’s assessment of their business, Nic slept through his alarm. He woke to the sound of the doorbell. Checking his phone to see who it was, he quickly threw on some jeans and a sweater. Two minutes later, he opened the door to the journalist, and profusely apologised. ‘I honestly never oversleep. Must be this refreshing Lakeland air!’
‘No problem, my previous interview overran. But I’m afraid I can’t stay long. I have to be in Penrith for midday.’ She accepted his offer of coffee, and asked for a picture of him on the balcony. ‘Have you spoken to your neighbour recently?’ she enquired as they moved outside. ‘You’ve probably heard Aria is starting aClean Up Inglemerecampaign. Her target is companies who dump waste into the lake, but she’s also concerned with run-off from developers and farmers.’
Nic clicked his jaw in frustration. He always combed through plans before each round of discussions, making sure all the details were taken care of. Theo had pimped the latest documents until they were more sustainable than natural wine, while her accusations were as watertight as shredded cork.
‘We strictly adhere to environment regulations and have a spotless record on health and safety. I am all in favour of keeping the Lake District clean and vibrant, which is why we’ve sponsored the swim,’ he told the reporter. ‘And of course, we want to give something back to this wonderful community which I hope to be part of for a very long time.’
The journalist looked down to check her phone was recording. ‘I believe the late Mr Wilson set up the swim to try and protect the lake in the long term. He knew it would need to be regularly tested and meet health requirements for a public event.’
Something about her statement was off and it took him a moment to work out what it was. ‘Sorry, did you say thelateMr Wilson?’
She nodded. ‘He died a couple of months ago, I believe.’
‘Oh,’ Nic said, his face dropping. ‘I didn’t know.’ For fuck’s sake, had the whole town conspired to keep yet another thing from him? Aria herself had had plenty of opportunities to tell him her dad had passed away.
‘Did you ever meet him?’
Nic thought back to the confrontations they’d had while the show home was being built, and quickly shut her down.
She raised her camera. ‘Could you smile? Then I think I have everything I need.’
***
Nic was busy all day, but he stopped work to engage a cleaner before taking a walk around the lake. It was an uncomfortablestroll as one of his new walking boots dug into his toes. On his way back, while distracting himself with thoughts of what he’d have for dinner, he knocked on a door so riddled with woodworm an asthmatic wolf could blow it away in one huff. When it swung open, he blinked twice. Aria Wilson had answered his knock in pale-green silk pyjamas with spaghetti straps. The colour accentuated the shade of her eyes, but it wasn’t her face that arrested him – it was the sheerness of the fabric draped across her chest that left little to the imagination. Intending to ask why she’d lied about her father and to probe into the misguided campaign, he now found himself unable to speak at all. Instead, his gaze travelled downwards to the matching shorts that hardly covered any of her thighs, before returning to her chest.
Noticing his stare, she grabbed a cardigan from behind the door and threw it on. ‘I was chilling out after tea and fell asleep,’ she said defensively. In an effort to regain his composure and to stop wondering what it would feel like to be wrapped around her like the sweater, he glanced into the hut, expecting to see some fishing tackle and gardening equipment. Instead, he was astonished by the sight that met his eyes. A fully furnished room, complete with mini fridge, coffee table, and pictures on the walls. The whole set-up was rammed with stuff and cosy as hell. There was even a corner crammed with toys for the dog. On cue, Tiger trotted over and tugged at one of Nic’s laces with his teeth. Aria bent down to scold her pet for trying to fetch her neighbour’s boot while it was still on his foot. In the process, she gave Nic an eyeful of a chest without a bra, her soft white flesh coming to points in neat buds. Jesus, he was starting to come undone. Thoughtsof caressing that unblemished skin with his lips and tongue mingled with confirmation this was where she was living. It wasn’t a fishing cabin or weekend retreat. Nic stepped out of the way as Tiger went for his other lace, his mind racing straight to the solution of all his problems.One word to the authorities and she’d be out.Then she’d be more inclined to sell, assuming it was legally hers. If she didn’t cooperate, he could still get the council on side or make a stink in the paper, if he couldn’t get any traction there. But then, was he the kind of guy who forced a woman onto the street?
‘You’re living here.’
She looked around the hut, as though trying to see it through his eyes. ‘I am not,’ she said defiantly. ‘The sofa bed has been here for years.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘And the cooker?’
‘Barbecues,’ she replied, without much conviction.
‘Indoor barbecues?’ he said, not buying any of it. ‘So, tell me, wheredoyou live?’
