Don’t think.
“I am going to the gym for a couple of hours.” He stood up and was about to walk away, then stopped. “Oh, and Vicky, one exception to the personal calls rule.” He leaned over the desk and tore a sheet from a yellow lined pad. “If this person calls or gets in touch, you can forward to me directly.” He wrote the name quickly and foldedthe page.
Was this agood idea?
He unfolded the page. His handwriting, quick, sloping near the top,MillieSummers.
She wouldn’t call, she hadn’t in six weeks. And he had nothing to say to her. He should tear upthe paper.
After a minute, he gave it to Vicky. Then he was outthe door.
Two weeks later. La Canette.
Du Montfort was in the downstairs dining room. Recently he’d started taking his meals there when the agent, the lawyer or various people from the town hall came up to the house to discussbusiness.
Today he was alone, though, sitting at the middle of the long table reading the paper. Millie knocked.
“Since when do you needto knock?”
“I came to give you my resignation.” She walked towards the table. “And to let you know what I’ve decided.” She sat down two places away from him and folded her hands on the beautiful polished wood.
“Am I going to like it? Because I warn you, I still own this island and I can prevent ferries from docking here. If you mean to leave, you’ll haveto swim.”
She smiled. With herlips only.
Du Montfort put the paper down and waited. It had been nearly a fortnight since her visit to Blue Sage Bay. The decision had grown inside her gradually, unconsciously, but she had waited to make sure it was her final decision. There was no chance of her changingher mind.
“The only way I could take the cottage and the land would be to buy it. At full market price.”
Du Montfort threw his head back and laughed in that characteristic way he had. Another cruel memory cut through Millie’s heart. Father and son had the same laugh, the samemannerism.
“Girl, where do you think we are? The London property market? The place has been derelict for twenty years. It’s not worth£500.”
“Okay, then I will pay you £500,”she said.
She felt an unexpected calm. Despite crying herself to sleep some nights, and stray words or memories still hit her out of the blue and almost made her double over with sudden pain, but the fear had dissolved. She knew she would survive.
“And,” she said, “I’d like to pay for the jetty to be maintained as a working dock and for the isthmus to be shored up above the high-water mark so the cove isn’t cut off by the tide, ever.”
Du Montfort watched her for a long time, his eyes calculating.
“I accept on two conditions. One.” He held up his index finger. “The maritime repair levies belong with the seigneur as the freeholder of the island. So, it is my municipal services that will handle structural maintenance to both the jetty and the isthmus. You’re welcome to pay for any beautification or flowers over and above.”
Millie considered this. It was reasonable. Besides, what did she know about structural engineering? “All right.” She nodded.
“And two”—he held up a second finger—“I will not accept payment for the property until you have finished your renovations and started trading and turninga profit.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. “It is the only way I would agree to your ridiculous request. I have no intention of letting you cripple your renovation project for the sake of £500.” He gave her a stubborn look. “Non-negotiable.”
He was quick and clever. She was going to need every penny to get the place into shape and unlikely to start making any revenue until March when the weather improved. November to February… that was four months she had to live on her savings.
“But I will live at the cottage. I won’t stay here.” She met his eyes with a stubborn look of her own. “Non-negotiable.”
Du Montfort held out his right hand across the empty chair between them and shook hers. “You drive a hard bargain, young lady. It’ll be a pleasure doing businesswith you.”
She smiled again, a big, wide smile. It reached from ear to ear, although it didn’t reachher eyes.
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