‘It was a heart attack.’
‘I know.’ The solicitor had informed him of this.
The tears spilt over to trickle silently down her cheeks. It was like watching an elf or a fairy cry. Should he try to comfort her? The thought of holding her made his heart leap. He really needed to get a grip on his emotions. Desire had no place here.
‘It was my fault,’ she announced miserably.
‘Excuse me?’
‘I was late. If I’d been on time, I might have been able to—’ She broke off, pressing her lips together, and didn’t say anything further until they rounded a corner and the loch came into view between the trees.
A small cottage lay directly ahead, and beyond it a sliver of beach and a wooden jetty. He could smell the tang of salt and seaweed. The midday sun was bright through the dappled leaves, and he could hear the cries of gulls along with the tweets and chirps of smaller birds in the branches overhead.
Then they left the trees behind and were walking on coarse sand, and he felt incongruous in his suit and tie as his polished black shoes sank into the golden grains beneath his feet.
‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’ he asked.
In another life he might have removed his jacket and tie and slipped out of his shoes. But not in this one. He wasn’t here to play in the sand. Actually, whywashe here, on this beach with Giselle? Why had he wanted to speak to her alone? Was it to ask her to be discreet about their prior relationship? If so, from the look Avril the receptionist had given him, that boat had already sailed. And what did it matter if they’d known each other briefly a decade ago? He’d been young, they both had, little more than teenagers on holiday. Who would care?
He should go back. He had work to do. No doubt there was a slew of emails in his inbox, and a plethora of messages on his phone, not to mention a report he really should have completed yesterday.
His hand crept to his trouser pocket, then dropped to his side without taking his phone out, and he followed Giselle onto the rickety wooden jetty instead.
She was in profile, staring out over the water, the sun turning her hair to platinum, the braid lying over her shoulder like thick rope, and he remembered digging his fingers into the silken strands.
Rocco inhaled deeply and let his breath out in a slow trickle. He could do without such memories invading his thoughts.
Woodenly, she said, ‘I was supposed to be having coffee with her, but I was late. Too engrossed in my work. I lost track of time. Only for ten minutes. But those ten minutes could have made the difference. Between life and—’ She spoke in disjointed sentences, and he could hear the pain in her voice.
Without meaning to, he found himself saying, ‘My father died. Eight years ago. Car crash.’ The words came out, bald and abrupt. They made her pause.
‘I’m sorry. That must have been rough.’
He shrugged. It had been. Extremely.
Not wanting to talk about it, he changed the subject. ‘It was a surprise seeing you at the church. I thought you were from… East Kilbride, was it?’ Near Glasgow, he remembered her saying.
‘I’m from Skye originally, born and bred. But we moved to East Kilbride when I was in my late teens. I live here now.’
‘When you sayhere, do you mean Skye in general or Duncoorie in particular? Surely you don’t live at the castle?’ Might she be a member of staff and, as a consequence, live on site?
His time with Fraser – sorry,Cal– had been limited this morning and it hadn’t been a question he’d thought to ask. He would ask it soon, though, because he wasn’t sure where he stood when it came to property, tenants and eviction notices. That would be one for his lawyer.
She said, ‘Technically, I live in Duncoorie, but my bothy is nearer to the castle than the village.’
‘Bothy?’
‘Cottage.’
Ah. Another Scottishism, along with ‘kirk’. It was like a foreign language, one he had no intention of learning. ‘Why did you return to Skye?’
‘I never wanted to leave, but my dad got a job in Glasgow. I doubt you’ll remember, but I have a twin sister. She was happy about the move – she enjoyed being able to travel into Glasgow – but I wasn’t so keen. When I got the chance to come back, I took it.’
Rocco remembered her telling him she had a sister. There was nothing about Giselle and those days in Venice that he’d forgotten. Saying that, he forgot very little. His memory was one of his strengths, especially when it came to business.
‘What do you do, jobwise?’ he asked.
‘I’ve got a studio at the craft centre. Didn’t you know?’
