Summer Storm

SUMMER STORM

A Romance

BY

KATAKIN SUMMER

Published by The Volupta Press

Smashwords Edition

Copyright Katakin Summer 2022

All Rights Reserved

ISBN 978-0-473-61364-8

Contains adult themes which may be deemed unsuitable for those under 18 years of age.

CHAPTER ONE

Stephen Llewellyn was a blessed man. He had looks, money, charm, charisma and he had just celebrated his thirty-fifth birthday alone. He was newly divorced and very raw. He had also been so preoccupied coming to his new home he’d nearly knocked a woman at a bus stop onto the road off the pavement. He’d quickly apologized and helped her, before walking on. Now he sat moodily, wondering what the hell life offered him, if anything at all. He stared at dull walls and felt as if he was stuck in a cell.

His divorce wasn’t bitterly acrimonious. Stephen believed, in retrospect, he and Anne had drifted into marriage as reasonably compatible but without great depth of emotion on either side. He had believed he cared for her, very much, but he also belatedly recognized that what constituted love for him lay in a grave overseas, so, maybe, marrying Anne had really only been the hoped for start to a new and happier phase of his life. And, he acknowledged, thinking back honestly, it was for a while before they unconsciously began to recognize, Anne before Stephen, that they had nothing in common and never had. Anne wanted to be free to marry someone she had met a year before. He was Eion Cupie. Stephen had never met him and now had no desire to. He just knew that Anne and Eion had set a date.

Stephen was from a tall family. He was straight shouldered but his build was rangy, loose-limbed and sinewy rather than heavily muscled. He wore his light tawny hair quite long, just above his collar, and it tended to fall across his face; it was straight, was very thick and stood out from his head like an all-encompassing fluffy mat in an unusual but eye-catching way. His features were unremarkable other than for regularity, but his heavily lashed eyes were such a light aqua, almost aquamarine, they didn’t look real. People often said they looked artificial. He had his profession though was now at home in the UK. He had moved in another direction, he had numerous friends, only a handful he felt were truly heart-felt ones who had known him for a long time, but he still felt deeply alone and bereft.

To add to his sadness was the recent loss of their German Shepherd, a lovely fellow who had always been Stephen’s dog. It was as if his death had triggered Anne’s decision to leave. The dog had cemented them through their mutual love of animals, even though he was six years old when they were married and Stephen brought him to their new home together. He was now gone. Anne had also insisted she take the cat because, as she said with justification, an apartment in a noisy city wouldn’t be a good place for an elderly cat. So here Stephen was, in an inner city apartment, miles from his country home that had recently been sold. He brooded.

He had come to a settlement with Anne. It was amicable. Stephen gave Anne all the proceeds of the house sale and he took everything else. Since the house had sold remarkably well, Anne had done well by the deal. Stephen looked around, got abruptly to his feet, strode from the apartment to the basement and got into his car. He got out of the city, off the main motorway, and drove randomly in search of somewhere he could get out and walk to try to clear his head. A dog ran out in front of the car, Stephen tried to avoid it, swearing, and lost control of the car. Though he wasn’t driving fast, there was still enough acceleration for the car to career off the road and end up on its side in a ditch.

He came to, bewildered and disoriented. Hands were helping him out of the car, on to flat ground, then, later, he knew he was lifted onto a stretcher. He tasted blood, then he slumped. He briefly came to, mumbling, then went off again. He was taken to theatre, was patched up and then transferred to a ward. A young woman hovered anxiously in the background.

Is he okay? Please tell me. He swerved to avoid my dog.

Was your dog off a lead?

Yes and no.

What do you mean?

He took off and the lead slipped through my hand. He was still on it and I almost had him when the accident happened. I had my hand to the lead, but my dog got frightened.

The voice broke. Another quiet deeper voice spoke.

The man will be fine. It was an unfortunate accident, you did all you could, and that you got him out of the car is highly commendable. You had him exactly as an accident victim should be. The ambulance officers were impressed.

Thank you, officer.

You’re shaken up yourself. Go and get a cup of -. No. Stay here. Sergeant, could you please get this young woman coffee, a large one.

How is the man hurt?

He went sideways and despite an airbag that activated itself, he seems to have hit his face on something and shattered glass has got him. They had to get any bits out of his hands as well. He’s also sprained a wrist and has contusions here and there.

Is he conscious?

He will be soon enough. We will return when we’re told he’s up to talking with us.

His car?

Being towed away now. Stay here and have your coffee then I suggest you go home. Do you have far to go?

No.

Drive carefully. Where is your dog?

In my car.

Good. Hang onto him next time.

I will.

Don’t fret. The man will come round now they have him comfortably settled in the ward.

Thank you.

Stephen came to, aware he hurt here and there and there was a bandage round his wrist. He tried to move and flinched.

The dog, he muttered. The dog. Where the hell did it go?

You need to rest, Mr. Llewellyn, said a voice.

Stephen turned his head.

Where the devil am I? And where’s the dog?

You are in hospital. Your car ran off the road and into a ditch. You have hurt your wrist and you have had glass removed from your hands and face. You are also bruised and shaken up but you are not seriously hurt. You were lucky.

Did I kill the damn dog?

No, you didn’t.

Thank god. I like dogs.

Then knowing the dog is safe should mean you can relax.

Came from nowhere, fretted Stephen. Tried to swerve. Did swerve. Hit an oily patch. Car went.

Your car is in safe-keeping, Mr. Llewellyn. You need to rest.

I’m confused.

There is no need to be. You are going to sleep now.

No, I’m not. Stephen struggled to haul himself up on the pillows. I’ll be fine. I just want to -.

Stephen found he had to drink from a small cup. He swallowed reluctantly, then once more slumped back on the pillows. A woman doctor stared down thoughtfully at him before she left his room, leaving a nurse to make sure Stephen was comfortably at rest. Stephen came to, on and off, to find he was washed, toileted, then encouraged to eat, before he found himself dozing once more. His bruises on face and hands came out and were nasty, his splinter wounds, some bigger than others, healed over and his wrist ached less. He still seemed dazed at times and answered questions from police and doctors vaguely and irascibly. Finally, more aware, he heard a conversation.

Yes. We can verify again that the patient’s name is Stephen Llewellyn. That is on the license. When asked about close kin, all we hear is his surname Llewellyn, then Wales, so we doubt if he has any family. From what we can gather, when he speaks, he is recently divorced from a woman called Anne. We have traced his home to a country house just sold in the last few months, but we have no idea of anywhere else he may live. There was little information on him at the time of the accident. We will attempt to follow up on the ex-wife.

Attempted suicide?

No. That is highly unlikely.

Bloody nonsense, said Stephen crossly. Ever heard of an oily patch on a country road?

You’re awake are you? asked a deep male voice.

What does it sound like? growled Stephen. For god’s sake, will you let me out of this goddamn bed? .Stephen turned his head to see a short, stocky men eying him in a measuring manner.

When you are able to keep your balance, certainly.

Can’t I?

Not yet. You nearly fell this morning.

Did I? I don’t remember.

Mr. Llewellyn, is there anyone we can contact to tell them you are here?

Stephen sighed.

Yes, but not the ex-wife. You could contact a friend of mine who would want to know. We were in the military together a while back. Monty will know to contact Cadi.

Family?

Llewellyn.

You are more lucid again, Mr. Llewellyn. That is a very good sign.

Wasn’t I?

No, not at all.

I see. Stephen sighed. What now?

We get you back on your feet as soon as we can so you can go home. We need your address, Mr. Llewellyn, and the contact you mention.

Okay.

Then you need to rest again.

Still in the bed.

Still in the bed, Mr. Llewellyn.

Very well. I’ll do as you say. How do you know my name?

Your license.

The man beside him smiled down and grasped the extended hand.

You’ll get well quite quickly, I assure you. You just got knocked about a bit. How do you feel?

Tired, but perfectly well aware where I am, why and what happened. I’m grateful, Doctor. Call me Stephen. Everyone else does.

I know you are. Just let the world slide for a bit, Stephen. That will help things along.

Okay.

Can you write information on this pad for us?

Stephen obliged then, as he took the notepad, the doctor nodded at a nurse who held a cup to Stephen’s mouth. He held her wrist, his eyes met hers, he sighed again and let her tilt the cup at his mouth. The doctor smiled at the nurse.

He’s had quite some experiences if what we’ve all heard from his mumbling and calling out is correct, and it would appear that some have been very tough indeed and extremely unpleasant. He is a fighter and will get himself right. Rather an admirable man. Keep him quiet. Being feisty and determined have served him well, but not now. What is paramount is rest so I am leaving instructions for ongoing sedation. I will see him later today.

.

Stephen woke to a familiar figure beside the bed.

Monty.

Steve, you donkey. What’s this about dogs and oily patches then? Not like you, old man, not at all.

Monty, so pleased to see you.

Stephen held out a hand to have it grasped firmly.

How do you feel?

As if I was run over by a bus. I’ve been worse.

True, you have, but what happened, Steve?

Cruising along a lane, a dog appeared trailing a lead and ran directly in front of the car. I tried to swerve to avoid it. It was frightened. Can still see the brown eyes.

Then?

The car began to slide. I did all I could but the car had a momentum of its own and the next thing I knew I was heading for a deep ditch. Hawthorn everywhere.

You went right in, old fellow, on the side. The car windows were smashed. Must have been all the bushes that got you. How’s the wrist?

Okay if I don’t tweak it.

You still superficially looked a mess when I was here yesterday.

Were you here?

Yes, the police and hospital contacted me. I spoke to Daffyd and Cadi.

Are they okay?

Of course. Marcia and I will be taking you home with us when you’re discharged.

Stephen slowly shook his head.

Thanks for that but, no, Monty, I’ll be alright back at the apartment.

No, old friend, you won’t. I promised Cadi.

Monty.

No, Steve. They won’t discharge you unless it is with someone. That makes sense after your being so shaken up. Steve, do you really want to go back and sit or lie staring at the walls of that apartment?

Stephen stared for long moments at his friend, felt his hand released and reluctantly shook his head.

Not especially, he sighed.

Why did you rent such a godforsaken place, Steve?

Somewhere to go, was the somewhat disconsolate reply, Stephen’s head averted in a way that told Monty all he needed to know.

"You’re hurting badly, old man, and not just