He nods miserably. ‘The day after I was supposed to meet you.’
‘Oh, Ash, I’m so sorry.’
He shakes his head. ‘I was in such a state. I found out that there was a café on the square and I called to ask if anyone would go out at three o’clock and look for a girl with red hair. There was hardly any phone reception at the hospital, but I managed to get through again to ask if they’d seen you. They said they hadn’t. I called again, asked if they could take another look. I offered to send money to cover the inconvenience, but they said it wasn’t necessary. I don’t know if it was the language barrier or whether they were fobbing me off, but they claimed they never saw you.’
‘I was late,’ I reveal, as the agonising memories flood back.
Eight days of stress and panic in the blistering heat, looking and never finding.
‘Did you ever go back to interrailing?’ I ask.
‘No, that was the end of it for me. It was kind of the end of everything.’ His voice sounds strained as he explains. ‘Hugo was seven years older than me. We weren’t close. He was the heir and he grew up knowing he had responsibilities, which he took seriously. It was different for me. I was allowed to pretty much do what I wanted, but Hugo always knew what was expected of him. After we lost him, I had to step into his shoes.’
He looks downcast, and then he pitches forward and places his hand on the armrest near to where I’m sitting, staring at me intently.
‘I would have met you in Madrid. I’m sorry I couldn’t.’
My eyes fill with tears.
‘Ellie,’ he murmurs, covering my hand with his.
My heart hurts so much at the contact because my body recognises him. The thought of pulling away is agonising, but I force myself to slip my hand out from under his grasp, still trying to make sense of everything.
‘So what were you planning to do?’ I ask melancholically. ‘Travel together for a few weeks andthencall it off?’
His brows pull together as he shakes his head. ‘Why would I call it off? I don’t know what would have happened once we’d got back to the UK, but I thought we’d play it by ear.’
‘How was thisevergoing to work?’ I ask, flustered.
He seems lost for words, and a deep weariness comes over me.
‘I think you should take me home.’
He swallows. And then he nods, averting his gaze.
He drives me back to the cottage on his bike. I tap his stomach as we turn out onto the farm track, reminding him that I don’t literally want to be dropped at home.
‘You really don’t want to be seen with me, huh?’ he says drily as I climb off and remove his helmet, handing it back.
‘No.’ I slide off his jacket.
He frowns. ‘You know, I grew up with a bunch of those guys. They’re friends. None of them are worried about favouritism.’
I laugh. ‘Is that what you think concerns me? That’s a little entitled of you,’ I say acerbically.
‘You’re bothered about how this looks,’ he says slowly,and I can practically see the cogs in his brain whirring. His eyes widen. ‘Are you embarrassed about us?’
‘Does that surprise you?’
‘To be honest? Yes,’ he replies, shrugging his jacket back on. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you.’ He looks a little amused.
‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ I respond.
‘You should,’ he says, pulling his helmet over his head and flipping down the visor.
It’s the last thing he says before he rides away in the opposite direction.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
