The Nereid & The Lighthouse at Cape Kayli (Part 4, page 3 of 63)


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Part 4

Catching his own reflection in the window, Richard found that he was smiling broadly.

Before registering the face as his own, it had seemed the type that belonged to the sort of strangers he most envied; those of tired, sunburnt parents, the active types found combing the beaches in windswept, remote places; and it occurred to him that for the first time in his life he was genuinely alive, genuinely happy. He tried dismissed the letter from his mind. Bother the lot of them if they were too wrapped up in themselves to appreciate the small things that gave life its true value.

He chuckled to himself as Jennifer self-consciously tugged at the bottom of her bathing suit where she obviously felt that a little too much of her derriere was showing. Despite bearing two children, she remained her former self: petite, lithe, well-knit. She was utterly beautiful in the way that a swimmer was beautiful, every line of her rounded and feminine, needing no paint or adornment which, on her, would detract from her essence. She would always protest that she was plain, unremarkable, and he would reply that one could say the same about Danish furniture and pewter, which was pleasing for its economy, its simplicity, its quality and its balance between function and design. And she would grimace, and profess her love of things Victorian, regardless whether they were in good taste or not, and they would end by laughing at the absurdity of arguing about things neither of them cared about very much, and then they would steal a few moments away from the children’s eyes if they could, and make love . . .

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