“Maybe.”
I curled up into him.
“Maybe you’re right.”
* * *
I woke up before him,just as it was becoming light. Yesterday lingered around me like a hangover that should’ve been there but had decided to ghost me instead. I expected there to be some form of doubt, but instead the day felt less fragile.
I need the bathroom so I trundled out of the barn and into the house. I knew Gabe was working on plans to start renovating, beginning with the parts of the house he wanted to keep. He’d need to be in the house before October, when the storms would come in and the winds would pick up. And I was a little insistent that I needed to sleep closer to a bathroom, even if he didn’t.
My bag was at the foot of the stairs, Marcy’s letters inside. I’d read a little more, finding out about her life on the island, recognizing places she mentioned. There had been another box of photos I figured had been taken around that time too, which I’d used to almost illustrate the story.
I poured a glass of juice, normal orange this time and not the weird crap that Gabe made, and sat down to read a little, not quite ready to head back to barn. Her writing was rushed, it seemed, as if she was having to write in a hurry and I wondered whether someone was trying to read over her shoulder.
Dear Alice,
It’s been an odd few days. The weather has taken a turn; the blue skies we were used to have been a shade of grey I haven’t seen since the storms we had in April. This has meant the guests spending time indoors, which in turn has meant more work with washing and tidying up, but having to do it as discreetly as possible. Julia Stretton has spent much of the time in bed resting. In all honesty, Alice, I’d have done the same. It seems like summer has sailed away.
Your present thrilled me! I was so excited to receive one of Arthur’s books. He is so talented, although I’ve only read the first few chapters and usually just before I go to sleep. Do you think he will write you in to one of his books as a character? It would be wonderful if he did! Or even use your name for the heroine?
Every letter you send is full of him and what he’s been doing. It appears that your relationship is growing into something more than friendship, my dear. I do hope you’re enjoying it. My only wish is to meet him soon to make sure he is worthy of you.
Things have been strange at the hotel. Don talks to me every day. He waits in the lounge each morning until I’ve finished with the breakfast dishes and always orders an extra pot of tea for me. We then sit and look through the newspapers together. No one pays us any mind, especially as I play bridge with Julia each afternoon when she comes downstairs for a cucumber sandwich, which I think is the only thing she eats all day. Julia seems to like me, which makes me feel rather bad although I shouldn’t.
Every interaction I’ve had with Don has been civil, friendly, nothing inappropriate.
Until two nights ago. But no one knows, not even Jennifer.
I took my usual evening walk along the beach just when the tide was coming in. The gulls were flying low, suggesting that more bad weather was on the way. A few fishing boats had gone out early, again probably because they sensed a storm incoming. Snowdonia was barely visible across the water, the clouds low and dark.
Don was sitting on one of the large rocks that had been worn smooth with walkers taking a break there. I didn’t spot him, too lost in my own thoughts, until he said my name.
“Mr Stretton!” I almost stuttered, partly because I was unaware that anyone else was out there, but also because I had been thinking about him.
He laughed, a really deep laugh which made my insides vibrate. “Sorry. And you should call me Don. You’re hardly just a maid. You’re the hotel owner’s daughter so don’t dismiss yourself.”
“I’m really not of the same status as you.”
He shook his head at me. “I’m the son of a man who lit the fires in the morning for the people who lived in the big houses as a way to earn money so he could have food. I know everyone here thinks we’re like the big mill owners are and we’re out to just make money, but it isn’t that simple.”
“Your wife’s said to be a cousin of a duke.” It was a rumour I’d heard fly through the island.
Don laughed. “Third cousin twice removed or something like that. She’d like it to be a closer relationship.” His words were almost as sharp as my father’s knives.
I wasn’t sure what to say at that point, Alice. All the years I’d spent at the guesthouse had taught me not to interfere in relationships unless I thought someone was at harm. It wasn’t my place to be someone’s confidante or offer advice, but something tugged in my chest.
“You don’t sound like you’d appreciate a closer link.” It wasn’t interfering. That was what I told myself, but I was curious.
“No. I’m not into that status thing. I want to develop my father’s business and create jobs for people. Not through using my connections, but using my brain.”
“How did you and Julia meet?” I felt like Alice in Wonderland, taking two steps and falling down a rabbit hole.
He gave me a smile that wasn’t a happy one. “It was almost arranged. Her mother is friends with my step-mother. She pushed for it as it was a good connection to make and Julia’s father was looking to invest money. My step-mother was also interested in widening her social connections. But Julia was friendly and happy and at the time, she was the wife I thought I should have.” He looked desperately unhappy by the time he finished speaking.
I wasn’t sure what else to say. I knew people got divorced but it was frowned upon and I was certain that Don wasn’t the type to take himself out of a marriage easily. I have no idea what to do, Alice. I can’t talk to anyone here about our conversations, but it feels like we’re becoming closer.
We walked along the sand and he talked a little more about how he missed having someone to chat to every day, how Julia wasn’t interested in his job or anything relating to his interests. She didn’t want children yet, even though she was nearly thirty and he confessed that he didn’t know how to make her happy.
