Views of Summer

It seems that autumn has officially arrived on these shores and the weather has turned chilly and wet already. We can't really complain, as 2013 was the first decent summer we have had in a few years. Still, while days draw shorter and jumpers are coming out of the wardrobe, we can make the summer feeling last a bit longer with a good read. 

I have taken full advantage of the current Crooked Cat's End of Summer Sale to fill up my Kindle with a few books and help me bring a ray of sunshine into the grey days of late. With titles covering a wide range of genres, from thrillers to fantasy, chick-lit to paranormal, contemporary to historical fiction, horror to children and YA books, there is definitely something to suit every taste, and for the next few days all e-books are available at the bargain price of just 77p.

The sale of course includes my own novel, A Summer of Love,  a perfect read to lift the gloom of the changing season; a heartwarming story of  loss and forgiveness, family ties and love, that captures the colours, light and atmosphere of summers in Cornwall.

Here's an excerpt.

The beach in the summer was lively and colourful, filled with people in holiday mood, but Jonah much preferred it out of the tourist season, when it was deserted and melancholic. He lit a cigarette and looked over at the tangle of bodies, windshields, towels, surf boards, buckets and spades scattered on the sand. There was something more attractive about the sad, darker side of things, he considered. Happiness seemed to leave him cold. 

He leaned against the bonnet of his car, feeling agitated like a schoolboy on his first date. Sally was late.

He hadn’t been too sure how seriously she had taken his invitation, though they had quickly exchanged phone numbers just in case, and he’d been surprised when she had called him the following day to let him know that Ewan had left for Springfield Hospital with his sister.

“We could go for that lunch tomorrow, if you’re still up for it.”

And so here he was, waiting in the car park by the beach, feeling oddly nervous.

He had come to the conclusion that time had finally washed his feelings away, like the waves erased footprints and sandcastles from the beach, and Sally was no more than a memory.

Only she wasn’t.

If he had any sense, he would leave for London right now, go back to Sophie and his life, but the summer air and its perfume, and the Cornish light that he had so often tried to reproduce in his paintings, had messed with his senses and he just could not bring himself to go.

He always had that pull, he remembered, that desire to escape and that longing to stay. Deep down, he had carried a piece of that place with him. He could find it in almost each painting, in the twisted, visionary landscapes he created. They were surreal versions of familiar images; the beach, the cliffs, the meadows he had played in, the narrow lanes he had walked, the coastline, the tides and the waves. 

He threw his gaze far, to the horizon, like many times before when he was a boy dreaming of a future that had never materialised. So absorbed in his thoughts, he didn’t realise Sally had joined him until her voice made him jump.

“Sorry I’m late.”

He stared at her, soaking up her natural beauty, carelessly bundled in sailor jumper and jeans. “No worries.”

***

Successful artist Jonah Briggs is a man who has made mistakes. Aged just eighteen, he was sent to prison for two years, leaving his family shattered and his first love, Sally, to wait for his return.

 But at eighteen, two years seem like a lifetime, and some promises are hard to keep. 

When Jonah reappears in her life, Sally finds herself torn between him and Ewan, the young Cornish farmer she has married, divided between loyalty and passion, duty and love. 

Over the course of almost two decades, through meetings and partings, secrets and revelations, and two momentous summers, Jonah will have to confront his past and heal old wounds, while Sally will face the consequences of her choices – whether to follow her conscience or her heart.