What?
Was that it? The personal pronoun? That was his whole answer?
“I wanted to apologize.”
For ignoring her, for being an ass, for disturbing her peace, for flirting then withdrawing just now? The list was endless.
“Last week. On the ferry when we first met. I was very rude.”
Oh yes, that too.
He hesitated as if debating if he should say more.
She had vowed to stop being too nice. Since she no longer needed to please a man, or play nice around jealous colleagues, she could be as frank as she liked. “Yes, you were.”
He grimaced. “I didn’t want you to take it personally. It was my stuff. I was having a very bad day…” He paused. “More than one bad day. It seemed everyone I knew was calling me every day to ask how I was. I took the ferry to get away from them all, so when you asked…” He shrugged unable or unwilling to explain more. “Anyway, I am sorry.”
She remembered the phone falling into the sea. So he had dropped it on purpose. What happened to make him this way? She kept her mouth shut. None of her business. If he wanted to explain he would have.
“Thank you. Apology accepted.” She bit her lip then went on, “And appreciated.” And was rewarded with a smile, a real one. It lit up his face.
“I was going to mention it before,” he said. “But I haven’t seen you at breakfast for a week.”
She’d been going down to breakfast very early to eat her porridge with Cook before he came down.
“I have my breakfast before seven.”
His eyes settled on her for a moment in that thoughtful quiet way he had. “Because of me?” he asked.
Not an easy question to answer unless she wanted to lie. Or be rude.
After a moment he grinned good-naturedly. “I would have done the same in your place.”
He came closer and held out his hand. “I would like it if we could be friends.”
She made herself consider. Yes, he had been cold over the last week but perhaps he’d been feeling guilty. Either way, he had come all the way upstairs to apologize which can’t have been easy. Men didn’t usually like admitting their mistakes.
“Friends.” She shook his hand.
No air-shake this time. His palm was warm and strong and he held her hand for a long moment.
Then he said, “If you’re not busy, would you like to come for a walk? Bring your sketching pencils.”
Chapter Eleven
He didn’t takeher far, just down to the marina where a couple of small white boats bobbed in the water below the parapet.
“Are you cold?” he asked as they walked over the wide stone wall.
“No.” She buttoned up her jacket but the sun was bright still and the cliff screened them from the wind.
“There’s not far to go.” He offered her a hand on the huge white rocks that flanked the bay at the end of the marina.
What a strange man. On the face of it he was refined and soft, all troubled and struggling to say the right thing. Yet he had a way of taking charge, making you respect and trust him.
So here she was, following him without question on a mystery walk.
“We’re here,” he said at last.
