Читать книгу A Will, a Wish...a Proposal - Jessica Gilmore - Страница 9

CHAPTER THREE

THE SHOP HAD been busy. So busy Ellie hadn’t had a moment to dwell on the morning’s encounter. And even though she knew a fair few of her customers had come in to try and prise information about Max Loveday out of her—or out of the far more forthcoming Mrs Trelawney—they had all bought something, even if it was just a coffee.

Slowly Ellie began to tidy up, knowing that she was deliberately putting off the moment when she would head upstairs. She loved her flat, and normally she loved the silence, the space, the solitude. Knowing it was hers to do with as she pleased. But this evening she dreaded the time alone. She knew she would relive every cutting remark, every look, every moment of her bruising encounter with Max Loveday. And that inevitably her thoughts would turn to her ex-fiancé. It wasn’t a place she wanted to go.

And tomorrow she would have to deal with Max all over again.

As always, the ritual of shutting up shop soothed her. From the day she had opened it the shop had been a sanctuary. Her sanctuary. She had planned and designed every feature, every reading nook and display, had painted the walls, hung the pictures, shelved each and every book. Had even chosen the temperamental diva of a coffee machine, which needed twenty minutes of cleaning and wiping before she could put it to bed, and sanded the wood she used for a counter.

She had been able to indulge her love of colour, of posters, of clutter. Nobody expected a bookshop to be tastefully minimalist.

By seven o’clock Ellie could put it off no longer. Every book was in its rightful place. Even the preschool picture books were neatly lined up in alphabetical order. A futile task—it needed just one three-year-old to return the entire rack to chaos.

The shelves were gleaming and dust-free, the cushions on sofas, chairs and benches were shaken out and plumped up, the floor was swept and the leftover cakes had been boxed away. She’d even counted the cash and reconciled the till.

There was literally nothing left to do.

Except leave.

Ellie switched the lights off and stood for a moment, admiring the neatness of the room in the evening light. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. If Demelza Loveday hadn’t encouraged her to follow her dreams, hadn’t rented her the shop, where would Ellie be now?

And, like the fairy godmother she’d been, Miss Loveday had ensured that Ellie could always stay here, always be safe. The shop and the flat were hers. Nobody could ever take them away from her. And, no matter what Max Loveday thought, it hadn’t been Ellie’s idea. The legacy was a wonderful, thoughtful gift—and it had been a complete surprise. The one bright moment in the grey weeks following Miss Loveday’s death and the unwelcome burden of the trust.

A rap at the closed door made her jump. The shop was evidently closed. The sign said so, the shutter was drawn, the lights dimmed right down in the two bay windows. But it wouldn’t be the first time someone had needed an emergency gift. That was the thing about small towns: you were never really fully closed.

‘Coming,’ she called as she stepped over to the door, untwisting the lock and shooting back the two bolts before cautiously opening it...just a few centimetres. Not that there had ever been any robbery beyond the odd bit of shoplifting in Trengarth’s small high street.

Ellie’s hands tightened on the doorframe as she took in the lean, tall figure, the close-cut dark hair and stubbled chin.

She swallowed. Hard. ‘I didn’t think we were meeting until tomorrow.’ She didn’t open the door wider or invite him to come in.

‘I wanted to apologise again.’ Max held up a bottle of red wine. ‘I found this in Great-Aunt Demelza’s wine cellar. She had quite a collection.’

‘It’s your collection now.’ Ellie didn’t reach out and take the bottle, her hands still firmly clasping the door, keeping it just ajar.

Max pulled a face. ‘I can’t quite get my head around that. It seemed pretty intrusive, just walking in and showering in the guest en-suite bathroom, looking around at all her stuff. I mean, I didn’t actually know her.’

Showering? Ellie immediately tried to push that particular image out of her mind but it lingered there. A fall of water, right onto a tanned, lean torso... Her fingers tightened as her stomach swooped. Her libido had been dead for years. Did it have to choose right this moment to resuscitate itself?

‘I was planning on chocolates as well, but the shop is shut.’ He gestured behind him to the small all-purpose supermarket. ‘They were shut this morning as well. Do they ever open?’

Ellie looked over at the firmly drawn shutters, grateful for a chance to think about anything but long, steamy showers. ‘They do open for longer in the school holidays, but otherwise the hours are a little limiting. It’s okay if you know them, but it can be frustrating for tourists—and then Mr Whitehead complains that people drive to the next town and use the bigger supermarkets.’

There. That was a perfectly safe, inane and even dull comment. Libido back in check. She was most definitely not looking at the golden tan on his arms, nor noticing the muscle definition under his T-shirt. No, not at all.

‘You really didn’t have to,’ she hurried on, forcing her eyes back up and focussing firmly on his ear. No one could have inappropriate thoughts about an ear, could they? ‘Really.’

‘I think I did.’ His smile was rueful. ‘I managed a few hours’ sleep on the couch and when I woke up I felt just terrible. Not just because of the jetlag. My grandfather would have been horrified if he had heard me speak to a lady that way. He brought me up better than that.’

Grandfather? Not parents? Interesting...

‘Anyway, I thought I’d make amends and get some air...have a look at this town my great-grandfather crossed an ocean to escape. I don’t suppose you’d like to join me? Show me around?’

No, she most definitely would not. In fact she had a very important date with the new edition of Anne of Green Gables she had unpacked that very morning: hardback, illustrated and annotated. She also had a quarter-bottle of wine, a piece of salmon and some salad.

Another crazy evening in the Scott household of one.

Would anything change if she threw caution to the wind and went out for a walk before dinner, book, bath and bed? In fact she often took an evening walk. The only real difference would be her companion.

He was her beloved godmother’s nephew. Surely Demelza would have wanted her to make him welcome, no matter how bad his first impression? Hadn’t she just been remembering just how much she owed her benefactress? She really should replay the debt. Besides, he was trying to make amends. She wasn’t used to that.

A flutter started low down in her stomach. For so many years she had been told she was in the wrong, no matter what the reality. A man admitting his mistake was a novel experience.

Ellie swung the door open and stood back. ‘Come in,’ she invited him. ‘I just need to change my shoes and grab my bag.’

It would have been nice to have some more notice. She was still in the grey velvet skinny jeans she had pulled on that morning, teamed with a purple flowered tunic. Her hair was neatly tucked back in a clip and she wasn’t wearing any make-up. Not that she usually did for work, but she suddenly wished she had some armour...even if it was just a coat of mascara.

Ellie waited as Max stepped through the door, moving from one foot to the other in indecision. She needed to go upstairs, but she seldom invited other people into her flat. Would it be odd to leave him kicking his heels in the shop while she grabbed a cardigan and quickly brushed out her hair? At least there was plenty for him to read.

‘You might as well come up.’

Not the most gracious invitation, but he didn’t need asking twice, following her through the dark bookshop to the discreet wooden door at the back of the shop which marked the line between home and work.

Ellie was used to the narrow, low staircase, but she could sense Max taking it more slowly, his head brushing the ceiling as the staircase turned. He breathed an audible sigh of relief when he arrived at the top of the staircase with the top of his head still intact.

The narrow staircase curved and continued up to the third storey, where her bedroom, study and bathroom were situated, but she stepped out into the flat’s main hallway. It was simply decorated in a light olive-green, with the colour picked up in the striped runner covering polished floorboards. At the far end a window overlooked the street. Next to it a row of pegs was covered with an assortment of her jackets, coats and scarves; boots and shoes were lined up beneath them.

On her right the kitchen door was slightly ajar. Her unwashed breakfast dishes were still piled on the side. Ellie fought the urge to shut the door, to hide them. In the years she had lived with her ex, Simon, she had learned quickly to tidy up all detritus straight away. Leaving dirty dishes out for a few hours was a small act of rebellion, but it made the flat hers, the kitchen hers. A sign that she was free of his control.

‘Just go straight ahead.’ She tried to keep her voice light, to hide what a big deal this was.

The living room ran the full length of the building, with a window at either end flooding the long room with evening light. A red velvet three-seater couch and matching loveseat were arranged at right angles at one end of the room; a small dining table with four chairs stood at the other. The walls were plain white, but she had injected colour with dozens of framed posters: her favourites from her last three years of bookselling.

Max stepped inside and looked around. ‘No books?’ He sounded surprised.

Ellie laughed, a little nervously. ‘Oh, plenty of books. I keep them on the landing and in the study. I thought being surrounded by books all day and all night would probably turn me into a real hermit instead of practically being one.’

‘Here.’ He proffered the wine to her. ‘Please, take it.’

Ellie looked at it. She needed to make her position clear before she accepted the wine...before she showed him round the village. Before she was distracted again by the evening sun on a bare arm or visions of showers. She had promised herself that she would always speak out, always be honest, never allow herself to be pushed back into being the quiet, submissive ghost she had been with Simon.

Only it wasn’t quite so easy in practice.

She took a deep breath, her fingers linking, twisting as she did so. ‘I’ll be honest, Mr Loveday...’

His eyebrows flew up at her words but he didn’t interrupt, just leaned back against the wall, arms folded as she spoke.

‘You were very rude to me earlier. You don’t know me, and you had no evidence for your words. If it was up to me you would be on your way back to New York right now but for one thing. Your great-aunt. It was her wish that we work together and I intend to honour that. But if you speak to me again the way you did earlier then I will be talking to the solicitors about resigning from the trust.’

She wanted to collapse as she said the words, but forced herself to remain standing and still. Although she couldn’t stop her eyes searching his face for telltale signs. For narrowed eyes, a tightened mouth, flaring nostrils. Signs she knew all too well.

She clasped her hands, trying to still their slight tremor. But Max Loveday’s face didn’t change—except for the dawning hint of respect in his eyes.

‘Fair point—or should I say fair points? First of all, please, if we’re going to work together, do call me Max. Secondly, I don’t live in New York. I live in Connecticut, so if you do send me away please make sure I end up in the correct state. And third...’ He paused. ‘You’re right. I was rude. There are reasons, and they have nothing to do with you. I can only apologise again.’ He closed his eyes briefly. ‘There are things going on at home that make it hard for me to believe in altruism, and my great-aunt did leave you this building.’

‘I didn’t ask her to.’

‘No, but look at it from my point of view. I don’t know you. I just see the cold, hard facts. She was on her own...possibly vulnerable. She left her fortune in your—in our hands—and bequeathed to you a home and livelihood. On paper, that’s a little suspicious.’

Ellie hated to admit it, but he had a point—and she had been shocked by the will and her own prominent part in it. There was one thing he hadn’t taken into consideration, though.

She laughed. ‘You didn’t know your great-aunt very well, did you? I can’t see her being taken in by anybody. She didn’t suffer fools gladly.’

‘I didn’t know her at all. She moved over here before I was born. I wish I’d made an effort to see her before it was too late.’

‘You should have done. She was worth knowing. Right, I’m just going to...’ She gestured upstairs. ‘I won’t be long. Make yourself at home.’

She slipped out of the room. She didn’t care about impressing Max Loveday, but there was no way she was heading out without brushing her hair and powdering her face. Maybe a quick coat of mascara. To freshen up after a long day at work. That was all.

Trouble was, she wasn’t even fooling herself.

* * *

So this was Ellie Scott’s home. Bright, vibrant, and yet somehow bare. For all the posters on the walls, the cushions heaped on the inviting sofas, the view of the sea from the back window, there was something missing.

Photos. There were no photos. Not on the walls, not on the sideboard, nor on the mantelpiece over the cosy-looking wood-burning stove. He had never yet met a woman who didn’t decorate her personal space with family portraits, pictures of friends, holidays, favourite pets, university formals. Max himself had a framed picture of his parents on his desk in his office, and a few childhood photos in his apartment. The picture of himself aged about ten on his grandfather’s boat, proudly holding up a large fish, was one of his most prized possessions.

Maybe they were tucked away like her books, but somehow he doubted it. Where had she come from? What had made a young woman in her early twenties move to a tiny village miles from civilisation and stay there? Or had she walked out of the sea? A selkie doomed to spend her life in human form until she found her sealskin once more? With those huge brown eyes and long, long lashes Ellie certainly fitted the bill.

‘Okay, ready when you are. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long?’

When Ellie had said she would be a minute Max had been prepared for a twenty-minute wait. Minimum. Yet barely five minutes had passed since she had left. She had pulled a long light grey cardigan over her tunic, swapped her pumps for sneakers and brushed out her hair. That was it.

Yet she looked completely fresh, like a dryad in spring.

Anything less like the manicured, blow-dried, designer-clad women he worked with, dated and slept with was hard to imagine. But right now she was fresh iced water to their over-sugared and over-carbonated soda. Not that he was looking in any real way. It was the contrast, that was all. It wasn’t that he was actually interested in wholesome girls with creamy skin. He just didn’t know many. Or any.

‘Yes. Ready.’ He might be staring. He wasn’t staring like some gauche teenage boy, was he? Reluctantly he pulled his gaze away. ‘Come on, honey, let’s go.’

* * *

The sharp breeze that had greeted him earlier in the day had died away, and despite the hour the sun still cast a warm glow over the village. The gentle warmth was a welcome contrast to the heat and humidity of home and the wet and cold of the Sydney winter—not that Sydney’s worst could compare to the bone-chilling cold of a Connecticut winter, but it could still be unpleasant.

‘There are more houses up there, the school and the children’s playground.’ Ellie pointed up the hill away from the coast. ‘Useful things like the doctor’s surgery and the bus stop that takes you to the nearest towns. But I don’t suppose you’re interested in those?’

‘Not unless I was planning to move here.’

‘What will you do with the house?’ She turned and began to walk the other way, down the hill and towards the swell of the sea. He fell into step beside her.

‘I don’t know.’

The moment he had stepped into the wide hallway of The Round House, looked at the seascapes and compasses on the walls and heard the rumble of the sea through the windows he had felt a connection. But even the idea of keeping it was impractical.

‘It’s way too far away to be a holiday home, but now I know there’s a real family link I’d hate to sell it on.’

‘Trengarth has enough holiday homes. It needs young families to settle here, to put down roots. They’re talking about closing down the primary school and bussing the kids over to the next town.’ She paused and looked back up the hill. ‘Once this was a proper high street: haberdashers, ironmongers, butchers, toy shop...the lot. Your great-aunt has some amazing photos, dating right back to Victorian times. Now it’s all gift shops and art galleries, and the front is buckets and spades and surf hire.’

She sounded sad. Nostalgic for a Trengarth she couldn’t ever have actually experienced.

‘Is that why you moved here? To put down roots?’ Was there a family in her future? A man she was hoping to settle down with? There had been no hint of anyone else in her flat. No hint of any family or partner.

‘I moved here because it felt safe. Because there was someone here I loved and trusted.’

She didn’t say any more, and he didn’t push it as they carried on to the bottom of the hill. When they reached it she crossed over the road to a narrow sidewalk, taking the right-hand fork along the harbour wall.

On the other side of the road, houses faced out: brightly coloured terraced cottages in whites, blues, pinks and greens making a cheerful mosaic. Winding narrow streets twisted and turned behind them, with houses built higher and higher up the cliff.

‘This is the old town. Most of these would have been fishermen’s cottages once.’

‘Once?’

‘Some still are,’ she admitted. ‘Some are retirement properties, and a few are owned by villagers. But probably half are holiday cottages. Which is fine when they’re full. My business depends on tourists with money to spend and time to browse, and so do the cafés, the B&Bs, the art galleries and the bucket and spade shops. It’s when they’re empty, or they don’t get rented out and are only visited two weeks a year, when it’s a problem. That’s why it’s important that we really try and make this festival a success. It could bring so many more people here.’

She stopped and leaned on the iron railings, looking out over the curve of the old harbour.

‘I love this view. The fishing boats safely moored inside the harbour, the powerboats and sailboats further out... Sometimes I wish I could sail, just set off and see where I end up.’

Her voice was unexpectedly wistful. Max stole a glance at her profile. She was in another world, almost oblivious to his presence as she stared out at the white-flecked waves.

‘You don’t sail? You live by the sea and don’t sail? You must surf, then.’

He gave her an appraising look. She was very slim, almost to the point of thin, but there was a strength and a lithe grace in the way she moved. She would probably be a natural on a board.

She shook her head.

‘Swim?’

‘No.’ A reluctant smile curved her mouth. ‘I love the sea, but more as something to look at, listen to. I’m not so much one for venturing on to or into it.’

‘Wow...’ He shook his head. ‘You live literally five minutes away and you just look at it? I was going to try and hire a boat while I’m here. I think I may have to offer to take you out for a sail. It’ll change your life.’

‘Maybe.’

It wasn’t a refusal, and her smile didn’t slip away as she resumed walking.

‘Okay, if you take that road there it will lead you to the most important building in Trengarth: The Three Herrings. There is another pub further along, with a beer garden and a view of the harbour. It’s lovely, but...’ She lowered her voice. ‘It’s mostly used by tourists and incomers. The real Trengarthians frequent The Three Herrings, even though there is no view, the chimney smokes and the grub is very much of the plain and plentiful variety.’

‘Got it.’

‘Do you want to see the beach?’

‘Sure.’

They turned around and walked back, past the high street and onto the wider promenade. No houses here. Just shops selling ice cream, sun cream and beach toys, a couple of board shops filled with body-boards, surfboards and wetsuits, which Max noted with keen interest, and a few cafés.

‘The Boat House,’ Ellie explained, when he stopped in front of a modern-looking glass and wood building on the ocean side of the road. ‘Café by day, bistro by night, and a bit of a cool place to hang out. I used to have dinner with your Great-Aunt Demelza here on a Friday evening.’ Her voice softened. ‘I turned up as usual the Friday after she died...just automatically, you know? I didn’t really take it in that she was gone until I was seated by myself.’

‘I’m sorry. Sorry that you miss her and that I didn’t know her. And that nobody came to the funeral—although we lost Grandfather just a few months before, and things were difficult.’

That was an understatement. His father had barely finished the eulogy before he’d had started gathering up the reins at DL and turning the company upside down.

‘It’s okay. Really. I have some experience at arranging funerals.’

There was a bitter note to her voice that surprised him.

‘Besides, she was very clear about what she wanted. I didn’t have to do much.’

She turned away from The Boat House and headed towards the slipway that would take them on to the beach.

Max stood for one moment to take in the view. The slim figure all in grey was getting smaller as she walked along the wide golden sweep of beach. The cliffs were steeper on this side of the bay, green and yellow with gorse, and rocks and large pebbles were clustered at the bottom before the stony mass gave way to the softer sand.

The sea roared as the tide beat its inexorable way in, the swell significant enough to justify the presence of lifeguards’ chairs and warning flags. Not that it seemed to deter the determined crowd of surfers bobbing about like small seals.

The breeze had risen a little. Enough for Max to feel a slight chill on his arms as he stepped on to the sand. He inhaled, enjoying the familiar tang of salt, and heard the cry of gulls overhead and the excited shrieks of a gaggle of small children who were racing a puppy along the tideline.

For the first time in a long time Max could feel the burden on his shoulders slip away, the tightness in his chest ease.

‘Hey, Ellie!’ he yelled. ‘Wait for me.’

He took off after her, enjoying the burn in his calves as he sprinted along the resistant sand, enjoying the complete freedom of the here, the now.

‘This is magnificent,’ he panted as he skidded to a halt beside her. ‘What a beach. If I lived here I’d have two dogs, a boat, and I’d surf every day.’

She flushed. ‘I do walk on the beach, even if I don’t immerse myself in the sea. And I have thought about maybe getting a guinea pig.’

‘A guinea pig? You can’t walk a guinea pig.’

‘Some people do. They have harnesses and everything.’ But she caught his eye as she said it and a smile broke out on her face: a full-on, wide-mouthed grin.

It transformed her, lighting up the shadows of her face, bringing that elusive prettiness to the forefront. Max stood stock-still, stunned.

‘Harnesses...right. I see.’ He turned back as he said it, instinctively heading for the safety of the large white house just visible at the top of the cliffs.

He wasn’t here to flirt, and Ellie wasn’t giving off any signals that she might enjoy the kind of no-strings fun he’d be interested in. It was far better not to notice how her face lit up, not to notice the sparkle in the large eyes or the intriguing dimple in her cheek. Far, far better not to notice just how perfectly shaped her mouth was: not too large, not too small, but pretty damn near just right.

‘Come on,’ he said, bouncing on his heels. ‘I’ll race you back to the road. Loser buys the winner a pint. Ready? Go!’