Chapter 12 #2
‘I shouldn’t have really, I know,’ he replies, managing a smile.
‘It was my stupid pride. Plus I wanted you to simply be cracking on with your own life. Now you seem to have taken this very foolish decision to return, so I might as well come clean. I’ve been talking to Liam, and he’s interested in buying the place.
He’s made an offer, and I’ve verbally accepted.
I’m glad you’re here, really, Ellie, so I can tell you face to face.
I always had this pipe dream of passing it on to you, but you’ve never shown any interest – and besides, in the current situation, it’s not exactly a dream inheritance – it’s just a lot of debt and responsibility housed beneath a very pretty thatched roof! ’
I feel a jolt of surprise at this news, and force myself to pause and think before I respond.
Liam didn’t mention this, and I suppose I understand – it’s not his news to share, and also from the way Dad is talking, it’s not even a done deal.
I also feel a slight undercurrent of concern – does he really want to sell?
Or is that the shock of his illness speaking?
‘Are you sure?’ I ask, frowning. ‘I know it must have been a shock ending up in hospital…’
He pats my hand and smiles. ‘It wasn’t because of that, dear.
Liam didn’t visit me on my sickbed and persuade me to sign over my kingdom.
In fact I approached him. I saw what he did for Maggie, and what he’s doing at Rosings, and initially simply went to him for some advice.
You look upset, and I’m sorry for that. Are you actually bothered about your inheritance?
I know perhaps you expected more, and so did I.
I was planning to set aside some of the proceeds of the sale for you, you know… ’
I’m horrified at the idea that he thinks I’m sitting here fretting about money – that he thinks I’m doing mental arithmetic and calculating how much I might be losing.
I have never wanted to be rich, or to seriously have a billionaire boyfriend.
I just need enough to live comfortably and independently, hopefully doing something I enjoy.
Give me a full heart over a full bank account any day. I know this about myself – but does he?
‘Dad, no! Seriously, no – I’ve always kind of assumed that you would live forever.
I’ve not once thought about what you might leave me in your will!
Please don’t think like that – and any money you make from the sale, if you go through with it, is yours and not mine.
I have my own life and manage my own income; I don’t want to siphon off yours. ’
He stares at me intently, as though trying to tell if I’m being honest or not.
‘I mean it,’ I say emphatically. ‘I’d rather you used it enjoying yourself. Take Sandra to Hawaii. Buy yourself a boat. Retrain at RADA and become the next Cary Grant. Whatever.’
He quirks an eyebrow at my suggestions, but some of the tension seems to leave him.
‘I suspect I’m rather sensitive about this, darling, because of my own history.
My parents were the first generation of our family to deal with financial strife, and I was the first de Vere son not to inherit the home that had been with us for centuries.
I wanted better for you. I wanted to leave you some kind of legacy. ’
‘Dad, come on, please – I have zero interest in legacies! I was just worried that perhaps you felt pressured into selling. You always seemed to love running the inn, and I hate the idea of you being forced out of it.’
He nods and seems to accept this. ‘I have mixed feelings I suppose. After you and your mother left, it was a lifeline really. I threw myself into it to fill the void. But in recent years, it’s become harder and harder, and the pleasures have been outweighed by the problems. I must say I find the idea of all that pressure being lifted really rather refreshing.
Plus I do quite like the idea of Hawaii.
Or maybe the Scilly Isles, because Hawaii is very far away. ’
I hate to think of his life being a void after we left, but I know it is true.
I can’t blame myself for that – it certainly wasn’t my idea to leave, and whatever happened in their marriage is still a mystery.
I have had moments where I have worried that I contributed, with my petty rebellions and teenage angst, but I genuinely don’t think that’s the case.
I was a pain in the ass, but a normal teenage girl-level pain in the ass.
I want to ask him what happened. I want to ask him why he didn’t fight for me. I want to tell him how much it hurt me, feeling like he didn’t want me enough to even try, or to visit me in the States. But now is not the right time. He looks fragile, and I’m not sure I’m ready to hear his answers.
‘Well, it’s your decision to make, and yours alone,’ I say. ‘I am not a factor in this. I’m here now, and I’ll help you run the place until you feel better or simply decide that enough is enough. Besides, with my god-like skills behind the bar, profits are bound to soar!’
He pulls a face and says: ‘Oh dear. Must we really repeat that experiment?’
‘We absolutely must! I will not be defeated! Now, come on, I have more important things to think about – like steamed gingerbread pudding!’