Although he might have been totally misrepresenting Jennifer Atkinson’s view on the matter, expanding a slight emphasis into a pit of evil intent, it seemed obvious to him now that she must bitterly resent his existence. Without him, she had probably formed a cosy picture of Ben happily married to her only daughter and many more grandchildren just like Molly having been produced. And in a way, if she was thinking this, she’d be right. He’d separated Ben and Kate. And Ben, being so easy-going, might well, without his input, have married Kate, because sometimes it was easier for men to go along with things rather than upset the proverbial apple cart. Ben might well have married Kate and continued to fuck him occasionally on the side. After all,he’dbeen married when they’d met, so it must have crossed Ben’s mind that he could have the normal life he so desperately wanted, as well as the illicit, unnatural one he craved.
He knew he was probably overthinking Jennifer’s views on him, but possibly not. Perhaps he was just projecting some of his old, dark beliefs about himself—the darkness which had come into Ben’s life, pulling him down, hispre-morbid tendencies—onto a woman who had more genetic link to Molly than he did. Ben’s daughter whom he loved. It was not easy for him to love. It was confusing. It scared him. But also he was afraid of nothing, so what was he to do with these new feelings? He didn’t know, and so walking away, leaving them to have their family reunion seemed the wisest thing to do.
He was not in the best of moods therefore when he pushed open the door to Morwenna’s shop. She glanced up, appeared to sense something in the scowl upon his face, or possibly in his curt greeting, and surprisingly offered, ‘I was just about to take a break. Flip the sign, and I’ll make us a cuppa—if you want one.’
Debating whether to just leave—he really didn’t know why he’d come—he saw the sign was the one that was deliberately provocative and meaningless, which had annoyed him the first time he’d seen it.Gone to lunch be back half an hour.He rolled his eyes, felt calmer, and did as she asked.
There was a small kitchen at the back of the shop, and he eased himself into a chair around a tiny folding picnic table while she busied herself putting the kettle on and sorting some mugs.
‘You on your own today? No pretty one with you?’
‘He is being nice to Molly’s grandparents—they are with us for Christmas.’
She turned slowly, gave him a look, and explained through a badly suppressed grin, ‘I meant my little giver of shells, but I’ll grant you Ben is always one to admire as well.’
He felt his lip curling and his mood plummeting once more. She brought over a couple of mugs of tea and, to his surprise, a large box of chocolate biscuits. She didn’t look as if she ate much at all, and if she did allow something past her lips, that morsel would be gritty with seeds or dates, or some such other healthy addition. Apparently not; she chose a couple of white chocolate and raspberry ones with relish and began dunking and munching.
‘So, to what do I owe this pleasure? Last minute presents? Oh, sorry, you’re a man: starting your Christmas shopping?’
He was curious that she called him being there a pleasure. It was novel for him anywhere. ‘What did you think about Dr Mark’s meeting?’
‘Yeah. I wondered what you’d make of that. What do you think about Mark? I didn’t realise you knew him.’
‘I don’t. He seemed out of his depth.’ This wasn’t entirely how he’d viewed the young professor’s contributions to the planning group, but in his current mood he didn’t feel like making the effort to tell the truth.
‘He was being diplomatic. Don’t ever underestimate Mark. Another?’ She nodded at his now empty mug and got up to put the kettle back on.
He glanced at his watch, very aware that he didn’t have long. Even this small gesture made him clench his jaw. It was a cheap thing, this plastic watch, one that he’d bought to replace his beautiful and extremely expensive accessory now at the bottom of the ocean. Possibly being admired by great white sharks.
Who was he these days?—this man wearing plastic.
He cast his mind back to the airport tarmac. Jennifer coming towards them, smiling broadly. She’d spotted Molly hopping up and down beside Ben’s legs and had paused in her arms-out gesture, her hands falling limply to her sides. She’d knelt. Ben had begun to explain, but Molly had piped up, ‘Papa said I could.’
And Jennifer nailed it. ‘Who?’
Who indeed?
She had collected herself, as politeness would dictate—Hello, Sir Nikolas—but it really hadn’t helped. Suddenly, clearly unfelt by anyone other than him, the dynamic had entirely changed between them all. Molly, her father and her grandparents—an unbroken line of inheritance—and Sir Nikolas standing unnoticed in the shadows, watching, thinking.
Sir Nikolas Mikkelsen. He didn’t think of himself as that man anymore. In his head, he was Aleksey—always had been. But he was well aware that Ben didn’t think of him like this at all. And names did mean something. You could not slap a new name on something and change its fundamental characteristics.
Morwenna put the freshly made tea down in front of him and pushed the biscuits closer. ‘Penny for them.’
He thought she meant the food for a moment until he got it and quirked the muscles on the side of his face that still worked properly. ‘You would be over-valuing them.’
‘So, are Ben’s parents staying for the whole holiday?’
‘They are not Ben’s parents.’
‘Oh. So they’re…was Ben married—before he met you?’
He clenched his jaw again. Oddly, both sides worked just fine for that. ‘No.’
She read the room and only offered lamely, ‘Well, it’s always stressful with any family at Christmas. Isn’t that what they say?’
‘You…have no family here?’
‘Not now, no.’ She shifted the tin so it lined up with a fold in the table. ‘I was married. Had a little girl. But I lost them both.’
