The jetty caught her eye, and she made her way towards it, dragging her feet. As she stepped onto it, her mind took her back to yesterday morning, and she swallowed hard.
When she reached the end, the waves lapping around the wooden struts below, she could almost feel Rocco’s breath on her neck, and she turned, half-expecting him to be there.
But it was empty, just like the future which stretched ahead of her, a line of loneliness disappearing into the distance.
Chapter 22
A knuckle rap on his office door jerked Rocco out of his reverie, and he dragged his eyes away from the sea glass picture of the loch on the wall opposite his desk. The sun was streaming in through the window, illuminating the artwork perfectly, and he’d found himself gazing at it. He’d been doing that a lot since his return from Skye. He’d been back less than three weeks; it felt like a lifetime. It had been the longest nineteen days of his life.
‘Wakey, wakey,’ Claire chirped. She was standing in the open doorway, one hip cocked, her head tilted to the side, a smile playing about her mouth.
‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ His gaze flickered to the picture, then away again. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘The Robinson report: have you finished it?’
Guiltily, he replied, ‘Almost done.’
‘I need it today.’
‘I’m aware of that. You’ll have it by three p.m.’
She pursed her red-painted lips. ‘I suppose that’ll have to do, but if you can get it to me sooner, I’d appreciate it. I’m out of the office tomorrow and the day after, so I need to look at it today.’
‘I said you’ll have it, and you will.’
She did the head-tilt thing again. ‘Are you OK, Rocco? You seem a bit distracted.’
‘Distracted’ could hardly describe the abject misery he felt. He wished he’d never set eyes on that damned castle. He should have listened to Beverly and instructed Jermyns and his solicitor to deal with it. But oh no, he’d just had to see it for himself, hadn’t he?
And had turned his life upside down as a result.
He’d been perfectly happy, right up to the point he’d locked eyes with Giselle in the graveyard. Now he wasn’t sure whether he’d ever be happy again.
‘How’s probate coming along?’ he asked.
‘It’s getting there, but these things take time. There’s a lot to sort out.’
That was a pity. He could do with severing his ties to the castle as quickly as possible because the temptation to go back was intense. But what would that achieve? He’d only be torturing himself. Giselle hadn’t exactly been distraught when he’d left, and he wasn’t interested in merely carrying on where they’d left off. He wanted more than friends-with-benefits or a casual fling. Besides, leaving her again would be intolerable.
‘How about we have dinner this evening and I can bring you up to date?’ Claire offered.
Huh? He’d been lost in thought again, and it took him a second to remember what they’d been talking about. ‘Um, no thanks. I’ve got plans. Pop it in an email.’
Claire pressed her lips together and her face tightened. ‘As you wish,’ she snapped and stalked off on her high heels, her hips swaying in her slimline skirt.
Giselle continued to play on his mind as he completed the report, stopping frequently to lose himself in this memory or that. If he closed his eyes, he could see her, feel her, taste her. And if he tried hard enough, he could imagine being on Coral Beach, or Lealt Falls, or any of the other places that were indelibly imprinted on his memory.
After uploading the report to the firm’s shared drive and notifying Claire that it was available, Rocco slumped back in his leather chair, the spring-loaded back bouncing. It was a far cry from the elegant Queen Anne chair in the parlour. And his modern glass and chrome desk couldn’t compare to the solidity of the polished wooden one Mhairi had favoured.
He hadn’t been able to tell whether either of those pieces of furniture were antiques, or whether anything else in the castle was, but no doubt the expert that Claire would employ would shine some light on the value of its contents.
He missed the sense of history those old things had given him, and as he gazed around his office with its sleek, ergonomic fixtures and fittings, he realised the only thing of beauty in it was Giselle’s picture. It was also the only thing that had any real worth to him, despite its inexpensive price tag.
Rocco decided to call it a day. He’d go to the gym and work off some of his restlessness, then he’d have a sauna. The steam usually relaxed him, and he could do with all the relaxation he could get right now. His shoulders and neck ached with tension, and staring at a computer screen for hours on end wasn’t helping.
The gym was a private one, and it wasn’t cheap. He’d been remiss lately, not having bothered to go since his return from Skye, so maybe that was the problem. He’d become used to a certain amount of exercise, but since he’d been back, all he’d done was mope around, feeling sorry for himself.
He needed to get into a routine again, and although bunking off in the middle of the afternoon to pound some rubber and lift a few weights wasn’t part of his usual routine, it might help get him back on track. Twenty kilometres on the treadmill might also tire him out enough to help him sleep because he was sick of lying awake night after night wishing he was back on Skye. Wishing he was in Giselle’s bed.
