‘You like it?’ She shifted from one foot to the other, clearly trying to ward off the cold.
‘I love it.’Don’t say I love you. ‘It’s the perfect present.’ He admired the painting a moment longer, slid it back into the envelope and placed it carefully on the back seat of the car. Turning to Alicia, he opened his arms wide. ‘Come here.’
She melted into his arms, her lithe frame fitting perfectly into the shape of him, her heart thumping against his chest, giving life to his own heartbeat.
‘You’re a queen,’ Jamie murmured. ‘It’s been a privilege to spend this week with you.’ He held her close for a final moment then pulled back to kiss her. But tears were welling in her eyes, and concern stalled him.
‘I’m sorry.’ She dabbed at her face with her sleeve. ‘I can’t help it. I’m just so touched by how much you love the painting, and at your words.’
‘It really is perfect, Leesh. Truly. In a week, you’ve understood me more than people who’ve known me years. The painting is getting pride of place in my lounge. It’s the closest thing to having you with me.’ He wanted to tell her to come and visit anytime, but the last thing she needed washis desperation when she was returning to her real life soon.
So, with one last kiss of those perfectly pink lips, Jamie got into his car and waved goodbye to Alicia. Driving away, he glanced in his rear-view mirror to see her standing in the car park, arm waving high like a forces’ sweetheart. The scent of frangipani wove around him, and he wondered if he’d be able to drive home, such was the aching in his heart, his bones, his everything.
No sooner was Jamie out of the hotel driveway than the aching was replaced by a sense of overwhelming emptiness that hit him like an oncoming truck. Alicia had never sat in his car, yet she was absent. The passenger seat that had never known her was devoid of her. And all along the winding roads back to Kinshore, he longed for her wise words, her infectious laughter, her captivating silence.
Finally, Jamie arrived in Kinshore, the sense of loss undiminished. Thoughts of Alicia swirled like a dazzling kaleidoscope in the winter sun. His instinct was to text her and say how lost he was already, but he restrained himself; he wouldn’t burden her with his emotional turmoil. Why should he impose his intense feelings on her because he’d been repressed for years. She should be allowed to carry on with her life.
Mechanically, Jamie prepared a pot of pasta, which he ate consumed by thoughts of Alicia. Focusing on work was going to be a struggle after thinking only of her for a week, especially since her ideas for the business begged to be entertained.
After dinner, he relaxed on the couch, the fire burning and a glass of whisky on the table and opened the envelope with the painting inside. When Alicia had handed it to him, he’d half expected it to contain the nude portrait, whichwould have been quite something, but would have needed hidden in a drawer. The actual contents were, pleasingly, something he could display.
Ben Corrin stood as a commanding force of nature in Alicia’s painting, captured in perfect shades of cobalt, moss and snow white. Despite the bleak weather, she’d seen the mountain’s majesty and everything that endeared it to Jamie. Through the canvas, Alicia’s own essence – all her perceptiveness and sensitivity – seemed to flow. Dram in hand, Jamie propped up the painting on the table, leaned back on the couch and admired the scene.
Then, like a shot of neat whisky to the back of the throat, an idea struck him.
Chapter 23
Alicia
Alicia’s head lolled forward and she jerked awake for the fourth or fifth time this flight. Since Jamie left the hotel, she had struggled to fall asleep, either from the lack of his presence or lack of sex. Days had been spent sitting on her porch slugging thick black coffee, to capture the spirit of the man and to stay awake. But it was a poor substitute so she gave up, checked out of the hotel two days after Jamie and decided to go home via another country altogether. Now, exhaustion blurred her focus on the dramatic scenery below, the angular peaks of Norway’s mountains jutting across the horizon, like out of focus sisters of those in Scotland.
Both Scotland and Norway held an emotional significance for Alicia: Norway connected her to her childhood, to holidays spent forgetting herself deep in its forests, Scotland to the man she had spent a week losing herself in and would struggle to forget. How could it be that she was halfway to falling in love with Jamie yet would never see him again? She couldn’t shake the feeling they had missed an opportunity.
As the plane descended into Bergen airport, she regained some vigour. This was the place of her ancestors, of idyllic childhood memories and the home of one of her favourite people ever. There was lots to be grateful for.
For several hours Alicia steered her hire car through winding, wintery, spruce-fringed roads. The radio cut in and out, but she was content with her own company. Mid-afternoon, high in the mountains, she pulled up in front of a large wooden house, similar in some ways to the lodge she’d been staying at in Scotland. This place held her heart. So many of her fondest childhood memories rested here, and glimpsing the front of the house roused them. It was as if she had only popped out to the shops ten minutes ago to buy some sugar. Not that you could do that here. The nearest shop was some miles away. But in this tiny corner of the world where time seemed to stand still, Alicia was swaddled in an overwhelming embrace of safety and belonging.
Speaking of overwhelming embraces, as soon as she set eyes on her grandmother, Astrid, in the doorway of her home, Alicia was being enveloped in a toasty and vibrant hug. The woman was in her seventies but spilled over with sprightliness and life.
‘Come in, come in. I have hot chocolate on the stove.’ Astrid hurried Alicia into the warmth of her lounge, where one could marvel through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows – a more recent modification to the traditional property – at the vast expanse of snow-dusted spruce trees. The peaks of timeless, majestic mountains dominated the background, their jagged, snow-capped summits jutting into the clear sky.
Like Alicia, her grandmother was an artist and much of her work was on display around the house. Alicia’s grandfatherhad passed away twelve years previous, and Astrid enjoyed a simple life not dissimilar to that she had with her husband, painting, keeping the house in shape, making bread and hosting visits from friends and family.
‘I’m sorry it’s been so long since I last visited.’ Alicia cupped her hand thrown mug which was filled with hot chocolate made by blending slowly heated milk with the finest Norwegian dark chocolate.
Astrid gave a casual shrug. ‘What have you to apologise for, my darling? You’ve been busy.’
Alicia knew her grandmother was sincere, but when she mentioned Alicia being busy, did that mean that busy fending off the Chad fallout? About the photos.
‘Yes, I have, but possibly I should have taken a break sooner. For my own sanity. And you are such a tonic, Bestemor. Just sitting here with you is like medicine.’
‘I am glad, but let me ask, why do you need medicine? What is it that ails you?’
Perhaps Astrid didn’t know. After all, why would she? Nobody in the family was going to call her up and tell her, and this was such a remote part of the country that electricity ran off generators and many people eschewed the internet. Moreover, even if her grandmother had access to the web, she’d be unlikely to spend time searching her own relatives.
‘Do you mind if we don’t talk about it?’ Alicia asked. ‘I would rather enjoy this blissful place and lovely company.’
‘Of course, my darling. Let’s focus on only the good things and fire up your soul, which I sense is dampened, although there’s a spark there still.’ Astrid reached over to her granddaughter.
