Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
She ushered him inside. “I’m so sorry about yesterday.” Amy lowered her voice so Kelly, who had trotted ahead of them into the lounge, couldn’t hear. “Ross was out of order.”
Bart pulled a face. Yes, Ross had been, but he didn’t want to talk about it with Amy—he wanted to discuss it with Ross himself.
“We’ve had words,” she added, hanging up his coat on the posh rack Penny used to admire because it had a seat incorporated into it. “I think he’s seen the error of his ways.”
He turned to his daughter-in-law. “Please don’t argue because of me.” He felt dreadful, thinking he might have caused a rift between them, however fleeting.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she replied cheerfully. “He’ll get over it.” Her breeziness quickly turned to concern once more. “It’s you I’m bothered about.”
Ross emerged from the lounge. “Hi, Dad.” His expression was wary. He didn’t look pleased to see him, and Bart’s heart sank.
“I’m sorry—” he began, at the same time Ross said, “I shouldn’t have—”
Both men stopped and stared at each other awkwardly.
Amy said, “Why don’t you two go into the kitchen and make some tea? I’ll make sure the kids stay out of your way so you can talk in peace.”
Ross gave a small shrug and led the way, walking over to the fancy tap that spewed out boiling water. There wasn’t a kettle in this house. But as he reached for a couple of mugs, he hesitated. “I was wrong. I’m sorry.” Ross sounded stiff, but at least he’d made an apology.
Bart dropped his gaze to the floor and nodded, his mouth pressed into a firm line.
Ross continued, “It was the shock. I didn’t expect to see you with another woman. Mum—” His voice broke.
A stab of pain hit Bart in the chest, and he gathered himself before saying, “I appreciate that and I feel dreadful about it, but your reaction was unwarranted. Especially since all you could think about was money.”
“What? I don’t follow.”
“You called Eloise a gold digger, or words to that effect.”
“Ah…that. I was worried she was taking advantage of you, that they all are.”
“If you’re referring to Sarah, you can keep your opinion to yourself. Your mother would turn in her grave if she knew how uncharitable you were being.”
Ross hung his head. “Amy pointed out the very same thing.” He peered up at Bart from underneath his knitted brow. “I’m sorry. I just worry about you. You only met her a couple of weeks ago, and you’re a single man with a big house and…”
“Eloise isn’t a gold digger. Far from it. You wouldn’t believe how much she’s helped with Sarah—not that Sarah is aware of it.” Bart thought of the computer that was soon to arrive. Sarah would have a fit, but she’d come round. And it wasn’t as though she’d be able to send it back.
Inhaling deeply, he let the air out in a slow trickle before he said, “Anyway, there’s no need for you to worry. Eloise has gone. She left today.”
Ross had the grace to look contrite. “Did I drive her away?”
“No, I did.”
“Did you tell her to go? If it was because you feel guilty about Mum, don’t. I know she’d want you to be happy. She’d hate for you to be lonely. Which is why I suggested you come live with us.”
“I didn’t tell her to go. She left because…” He sighed. “Let’s just say things wouldn’t work out between us. And as for moving in with you and Amy, that’s not going to happen. When I sell the guest house, I want to buy a little place in Honeycombe Bay. It’s where I belong.”
“Hang on, did you say when? Does that mean—”
“Yes, Ross. I’m going to put Sea View on the market in January. You’re wrong about me not being able to run it on my own—I can. These past couple of weeks have proved I can. But I don’t want to. It’s going to be a bloody big wrench leaving that house, but it has to be done.”
Bart couldn’t bring himself to leave Honeycombe Bay though—that was a move too far. He loved the village, and there wasn’t anyplace else he wanted to live.
Except for one—wherever Eloise was. But he could only do that if she loved him the way he loved her.
And she very obviously didn’t.
The house felt cold and empty as Eloise unlocked her front door and stepped into the dark, narrow hallway.
Shivering, she dragged her case inside and hurriedly switched on a light.
Leaving her suitcase at the foot of the stairs, she dialled up the thermostat and waited until she heard the familiar click and hum as the boiler came to life.
In no time at all, the house would be toasty and cosy.
And empty. It would still be empty.
Cross because the intrusive thoughts were distinctly unhelpful, she shrugged off her coat and eased her feet out of her shoes.
The ornate tiles felt chilly, and she curled her toes reflexively and shivered.
It was late afternoon and dark outside. The drive had been long, tedious, and uneventful.
She should have set off sooner, to arrive home in daylight, but she was glad she’d made the detour to Honeycombe’s seafront before she’d left, even if she had bawled her eyes out.
She’d returned to her car feeling as empty as the house she now stood in, but it was an emptiness she was used to. It was familiar, comforting for that very reason, and significantly better than the emotions that had been surging through her these past few days.
In the living room, she drew the curtains, blocking out the lingering vestiges of Christmas—the lit trees in her neighbours’ windows and the flashing blue icicles dangling from the roofs, for instance. They’d be up for at least another week, but she would do her best to ignore them.
She shouldn’t have allowed Christmas to get to her in the first place. If she’d stayed at home and ignored it, she wouldn’t have gone to Honeycombe Bay, she wouldn’t have fallen in love with Bart, and she wouldn’t be in so much pain.
If this is what love does to you, I don’t want any part of it, she thought. She wished love came with an off switch or a reset button, because she didn’t know how she was going to get through the next few days, weeks, and months feeling like this.
She was already missing Bart dreadfully.
Every time she blinked she could see him, a flash of his eyes, his mouth, the angle of his jaw, the silver streaks at his temples…
His voice echoed through her mind, and as she wandered around her house she kept hearing snatches of his laughter in the silence of the lonely rooms.
Hoping to distract herself and drive the memories away for a few blessed minutes, Eloise poured herself a large glass of wine and switched on the TV.
When the mellow notes of “As Time Goes By” filled the room, her misery was complete, and when Rick told Isla that they’d always have Paris, Eloise put her face in her hands and sobbed.