“I owe her a lot.”
“Owe her? How?”
He folded the cloth he’d been using. “Things were tough when you were born. I was struggling to cope with the shocking loss of your mother, and I had to care for a newborn. That included earning a living. I had to be everything, and I couldn’t see a way to do that. You’d lost your mother and I wanted to be there for you, but the teaching job I was doing didn’t allow for that.”
“And that’s when you took a job at the hotel.” She knew that part of the story. He’d told her many times that it had been the best move he’d ever made.
“I’ve always made it sound easy, haven’t I? As if switching was simply a matter of stepping off one path and onto another.” He gave a wry smile. “It was a little more complicated than that. I was a mess—not exactly the type of reliable worker people were queuing up to hire. I wanted to be a good father—and I knew that’s what Phoebe would have wanted. She was excited about being a mother and the fact that she never managed to do that—” He paused. “I had to work, but I wanted something flexible that would let me fit around your needs. It—I was struggling.”
He’d never talked about this part of his life. He’d never talked about how he’d coped. He brushed over it, told her she was the best thing that had ever happened to him, that having her to care for had helped him heal. And it was true, but now for the first time she was seeing the true hardship of that time. The struggle. And she felt ashamed that she hadn’t asked him more about it. Encouraged him to talk. He’d always seemed capable and in control. Even though she’d known he was devastated by the loss of the woman he’d loved, she’d never pictured him struggling.
“It must have been hard,” she murmured, knowing that was an understatement. “How did you manage? Who helped?”
“Plenty of people helped, but no one was able to help with the employment side of things. No one would hire me. Or at least, not under terms I could live with. And then I tried the hotel. Alexandra had been there for a couple of years by then. I had to take you to the interview because at that stage I wasn’t ready to leave you with anyone.”
“I was at your interview?”
“Yes, and there was a great deal riding on that interview—I was desperate and ready to do anything. Afterwards, I told myself that was probably why.”
“Why what?”
“Why I embarrassed myself. I intended to go in there and impress her with my knowledge of local history and legend. I intended to show her I was confident and personable and exactly the person she was looking for to deal with the needs of the guests. Instead of which—” he ran his hand over the back of his neck “—all these years later it still embarrasses me to remember it.”
“Remember what?”
“I cried.” He let his hand drop. “And I don’t mean slightly watering eyes. I sobbed.”
She stopped breathing. Her heart felt as if it was being squeezed. “Oh, Dad—”
“She stood up and I thought she was going to leave me to pull myself together, but instead she picked up the phone and ordered two cups of strong coffee, and when they arrived she met the person at the door to take the tray, so that they didn’t see me.”
Now she was the one with tears in her eyes. “That was thoughtful.”
“Yes. She put the coffee in front of me, along with a plate full of chocolate biscuits and said she knew what it was like trying to get through a day while dealing with grief and sleepless nights. That’s when I found out she had a daughter, too. Madeleine. She was two years old.” He stared into the distance. “We talked about the pressure of being a single parent. She told me she’d lost someone she loved, too, in difficult circumstances. She was easy to talk to and a good listener.”
“And what happened then?”
He shifted and looked at her. “I thanked her for the coffee and her kindness and apologised again for losing control. Then I stood up to leave. She stopped me. Asked me where I was going. I said I assumed the interview was over. Who would employ someone struggling as much as I was? I wanted to spare us both the awkwardness.”
“But she didn’t let you leave?”
“No. And I remember exactly what happened next. What she said, word for word.” His voice was rough with emotion. “I said something like, you’re looking at a man on the edge, and she saidI’m looking at a man who cares. A man who is committed to his family. And that was it. She gave me the job. She told me not to worry about juggling work with parenthood because we’d make it work somehow.”
Evie’s eyes burned with tears. “She said that?”
“Yes. And you started to cry at that point—I had to take you to the interview—and her little girl arrived and was intrigued by you. You liked her and you stopped crying. I remember she gave you her toy giraffe to hold and you wouldn’t let go of it.”
“And that was Madeleine? But—” she broke off “—wait—if she was two and I was a baby—” And then she remembered what Abby had told her. “Abby is Madeleine?”
“Yes. Madeleine Abigail. Back then I just knew her as Maddy. We all did. Alexandra started using her middle name when they moved to Boston. I suppose she wanted to leave it all behind.”
“So you knew Abby?”
“Well, she was two years old,” he said dryly, “so I wouldn’t exactly say I knew her. Alexandra was living in the hotel at the time and she had a nanny for Maddy. Abby,” he corrected himself. “She let me share the nanny whenever I needed to. That extra flexibility was exactly what I needed.”
Evie blinked to clear her vision. “So she helped you.”
“More than that. She saved me at the lowest point of my life. I owe her everything. She enabled me to work and still be there for you. She gave me hope.”
