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Informationen zum Autor Susan Wilson is the official House Historian of the Omni Parker House in Boston, an Affiliate Scholar at the Women's Studies Research Center of Brandeis University, and an Honorary Fellow of the Massachusetts Historical Society. Klappentext The novels of Susan Wilson are rich with stirring conflict and deeply felt emotion. "An empathetic storyteller"(Publishers Weekly),she delves into the complexities of the human heart to seek the truest meaning of love.Cameo LakePutting herself first doesn't come easy to Cleo Grayson McCarthy. A loving wife, doting mother, and dutiful daughter-in-law, she has always done her writing on the side, in hours stolen from her "real" life. Now, desperate for the solitude she needs to finish her latest novel, she convinces her husband that she must spend the summer at her best fiend's rustic cottage at Cameo Lake in New Hampshire, out of reach of cell phones and the demands of family and friends.Even as she immerses herself in her work, Cleo can't help but be aware of the man who lives across the lake. A reclusive composer, Ben Turner is struggling to come to terms with his wife's accident. An outcast, he is regarded with suspicion by the lake community, even accused by some of harming his wife. But at night, Cleo hears his music drifting across the water, and senses she has found a kindred spirit.As they meet time and again -- often on the raft anchored in the middle of Cameo Lake -- Cleo and Ben begin a satifying friendship suprising in its intimacy and depth. And when a painful betrayal leaves Cleo stunned and adrift, she finds unexpected comfort and absolution in Ben's arms.But love is never simple, and before Cleo can determine whether to fight for her marriage or seek a future with Ben, she must first know her own heart, and admit truths ling left unsaid. Even as Cleo struggles to come to terms with her own truths, Ben must find a way to face his. An unforgettable take of the many faces of love, Cameo Lake is Susan WIilson at her very finest. Chapter One The sun dappled the track in front of me, strobing brilliant to black, dazzling my eyes and making me squint. I maneuvered my borrowed four-by-four into the ruts I couldn't go around, the groaning of the behemoth vehicle condemning my inexperience. Just the good side of mud season, the track was only vestigially wet in the deeper grooves, uncomfortable but not impassable. Heavy tire marks ahead of me guided my way when I would have packed it in otherwise. After the lonely three-and-a-half-hour drive from Providence, it wouldn't have taken much else to turn me back from committing myself to this exile in the New Hampshire woods. Grace's instructions had been precise. I found the turnoff to the cabin easily: third left beyond the abandoned fruit stand, watch for the faded blue sign cameo lake at the head of the mile-long private way. Before going any further I paused, checked my watch, and picked up the mobile phone plugged into the lighter. Grace had warned me that the cabin lay in a dead zone for microwaves and the car phone would only work at the top of the drive. Once down the road, I was lost to all outside communication. A fact which had made the offer to borrow her cabin that much more appealing. "McCarthy." Sean's voice was abrupt. "Hey, I'm here." "You made good time." "Under four hours. One stop." "Good. Good." I knew Sean must have a client with him, his half of the dialogue was shaded with preoccupation. "I'll call you at home." "Fine. Wait. I've got a dinner tonight. Call late." "Never mind, I'll call tomorrow." I repressed my annoyance that he couldn't spend this first night of my being away at home with the kids. Sean had been remarkably agreeable, if not precisely enthusiastic, about my making this working retreat. Putting a good face on it. Every time I mentioned some aspect of the upcoming...
