‘Old war-time photos of dances, the village, but records mainly. Including a record of correspondence between an N. MacLeod and a J. Kowalski.’
Her eyes flicked to the box, then away, as if it contained something dangerous.
‘You’re not going to look?’ he asked gently.
She stayed very still. That was when he realised it wasn’t disinterest holding her back, but fear.
He opened the box and took out the top file.
‘N. MacLeod,’ he read. ‘Returned correspondence marked “return to sender” dated 1946. It looks like they corresponded from 1941 to 1946.’
Her hands trembled as she took it. ‘And the sender was J. Kowalski,’ she murmured, tracing the name with a fingertip.
‘Kate…are you all right?’ he asked quietly.
She blinked rapidly, eyes suddenly bright, and managed a small, wobbly smile. ‘Yes. Thank you.’
He nodded once. ‘Then I’ve done what I came to do.’ He stepped away. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
When he glanced back he saw Kate hadn’t moved. Every instinct urged him to go to her, to sit at that old kitchen table and talk through what he’d found. But he wasn’t family. He wasn’t even a friend anymore.
He’d forfeited that right the moment he chose his project over her daughter.
Chapter Sixteen
The days that followed blurred into work and family. Lucy kept herself busy but there was nothing she could do about the nights. Because the nights were worse — nights were Oliver. She lay awake, jaw tight, building lists in her head: ruthless, arrogant, untrustworthy. Enemy of the people of MacLeod’s Cove. Enemy of her.
And then she’d remember the way he’d looked at her, and the list would fall apart.
Day followed night, and she made excuses not to go to MacLeod’s Cottage. One of the drawbacks of a tight-knit family was that there was nowhere to hide — no quiet corner you could vanish into without someone noticing the empty space you’d left.
She put it off for as long as she could, until Jen arrived unannounced at the café. She hadn’t been expecting her because every day now, during school hours, Jen could be found at their father’s old desk in the drawing room of MacLeod’s Cove, writing. She’d found her muse after years of losing it. Lucy couldn’t help wishing she’d stayed, tending to it, at MacLeod’s Cottage. Today at least. Like a coward, Lucy fled into the walk-in larder.
Marcus appeared a moment later. ‘Jen’s here for you.’
‘I’m busy, Marcus. Tell her I’ll catch up later.’
He hesitated, then shrugged. ‘Sure.’
Lucy waited until she thought Jen had had enough time to grab some cakes for herself and Kate and leave the café before she eased the door open. Jen stood on the other side with arms folded, and a look on her face which meant business.
‘You can run,’ Jen said, ‘but you can’t hide.’
Lucy grabbed a couple of tins off the nearest shelf as if she’d come in for a purpose and slipped past her. ‘What are you talking about? I thought you creative types didn’t go in for clichés.’
Jen’s mouth twitched. ‘There’s a reason they’re called clichés.’
‘I don’t want to know.’
‘You’re going to hear it anyway.’ Jen’s tone was light, but her gaze wasn’t. ‘Because they’re easily understandable. And you need to understand that you’re running away from something because it’s too hard, and you can’t. It’s too important.’
‘I love you Jen, you know that, don’t you?’ asked Lucy with forced politeness.
Jen narrowed her eyes. ‘Yes. And the feeling is mutual, which is why I’m here.’
’No. If you really loved me you’d respect the fact that I want to hide from the world, and you’d leave me alone in peace!’
Jen ignored the first half of her sentence and simply cocked her head in question. ‘You’re not “in peace” though are you?’
