Chapter Fourteen #2
A soft smile lit Ryther’s features for a moment, but it quickly faded. ‘I share your sentiment, my dear. I too once had the most wonderful summer of my life in the cove. I never fully recovered from it, or the aftermath.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Ellie touched him on the arm, and he patted her hand.
‘As am I. But your story isn’t over, is it? Mine, sadly, had no possible happy conclusion, but where there is hope, Ellie… Never give up on it.’
He eased onto his feet, raised a hand and headed to where Dev and Theo could be seen emerging from the takeaway, and Ellie shivered. Had she given up? Was she just accepting that this was the way it was with Will? The way it always would be? That there could be no other outcome?
She looked around, then crossed the cobbles, returning a wave from Old Patrick, who sat with some men of a similar age outside the harbourfront pub, before turning to browse the window of Pen & Ink.
‘Hey, Ellie!’
Spinning around, she waved at Marcus, walking towards the bistro where he waited.
Dinner was fun. Marcus reminded Ellie of her brother, though clearly older, and they’d had a good laugh.
Despite Nicki’s kissing noises and that old thing you do to your mates of turning your back and caressing your own shoulders as she’d left, Ellie was somewhat relieved when Marcus opened up about a current dilemma.
He’d been trying to date for over a year – he was lonely, he admitted – but out of the blue, he’d realised there were feelings buried deep for someone he’d known for years.
Ellie sat back in her seat as a beautifully presented dish of crispy chicken was placed before her, and she leaned forward to inhale the scents of yummy Thai spices. ‘Gosh, that smells good. So, is this lady aware of how you feel?’
Marcus paled. ‘Lord, I hope not!’
Chuckling, Ellie sipped her wine. ‘Well, you might have to drop some hints, then.’
They tucked into their food, jokingly coming up with ways to discover if a person likes someone else without making it obvious what they were about.
Ellie struggled to contain her laughter as Marcus recalled how a local friend – not renowned for his love of theatre – had once tried to impress a woman he fancied – known for her rather prim views on life – by taking her to what he thought was a classy magician’s show at the London Hippodrome, only for it to turn out to be Magic Mike.
The humour fled, however, as Ellie’s eye caught a party entering the bistro.
Will, dammit.
Pretend it’s a stranger.
Fine. Obviously. That’s easy.
‘Are you okay?’ Marcus sobered, eyeing Ellie across the table. ‘You’ve gone awfully red. Here, have some water.’
He filled her glass, and Ellie snatched it up and took a gulp.
‘Yes, thanks. Sorry. Think the sauce was too hot and spicy.’
‘A bit like the show.’
Marcus waggled his brows, and Ellie began laughing again. It was successful, at least momentarily, in blotting out Will, who happened to be on the opposite side of the cosy bistro, but in her direct line of sight. The same couldn’t be said for the gentleman, who frowned fiercely.
Thankfully, Marcus didn’t have a sweet tooth, so once they’d finished their bottle of wine, they left the bistro. Ellie deliberately didn’t look towards Will’s table, which was fortunate, because if she had, she’d have found his gaze fixed hungrily on her as they passed by.
Fastening her camera strap over her favourite plum-coloured jumper, Ellie stuffed her feet into her walk boots and headed into the town and along the lane down past Harbourwatch, taking the coast path from where it led from the tidal beach up through a dense coppice of trees.
With no particular route in mind, she let her feet guide her, but with her head down, mulling on the upcoming shoot and Mrs Tremayne’s demands, she barely heeded the path’s direction until she detected the smell of woodsmoke and looked up, puzzled.
‘Great,’ she muttered as she crested the brow of the hill, pausing to draw breath, hands on hips.
Ellie emerged onto the track outside Marcus’s site, chewing on her lip as her eyes fell on the sign for Peaches Cottage.
She turned back, but just then a shaft of sunlight pierced the thin layer of cloud overhead, sending a golden pathway across the sea, and her breath caught.
Removing her lens cap and stuffing it in her jeans pocket, she scooted onto the coast path again, heading for where she knew there would be an unrestricted view of the water.
The whitewashed cottage remained much as she’d last seen it, nestled in its russet blanket, smoke billowing from the chimney.
Ellie glanced around, then turned her back to the building to face the sea, clicking away in delight, tilting the camera now and again for an unusual angle, stepping further down the path than she’d gone when she’d first come across Peaches.
‘Beautiful,’ Ellie murmured, lowering her camera and simply enjoying the view for a moment. She reached for the lens cap, but as she fastened it in place, her gaze straying further down the path, a strange sensation took hold.
Memories coalesced in her mind, wrapped precious tendrils around her heart as Ellie was drawn further along as though tugged by an invisible cord.
And then she saw it, the overgrown opening beside a stretch of wooden fencing, partially concealed by the hedgerow, and emotion came from out of the blue, gripping her rib cage, closing in on her throat. Squeezing through, she stared at the steps and, down below, the beach. Their beach.
Ellie forced a few more branches aside and peered down. It looked passable, and before she could change her mind, she was through the gap, the branches snatching at her jumper, as though objecting to her passing through.
Stepping carefully, one hand grasping the handrail – which hadn’t existed last time – and the other her camera, she slowly made her way down the roughly hewn steps.
Someone had certainly done a good job of making the beach more accessible from the cliff top, though it clearly hadn’t been used since the summer, autumn debris liberally scattered on each step.
Reaching the sands, Ellie jumped down the last deep step, then looked around, assailed by the sweetest of memories. The breeze was less kind on the shore, whipping her hair from inside the scarf, tendrils slapping her in the face, the salty sea air caressing her lips.
She licked them, relishing the familiar taste, then shivered. With a faint laugh, she brushed the hair from her eyes. The taste was a memory, indeed, but it had been preferable when her bare skin was kissed by the summer sun’s rays.
A faint sound came from the left, and she glanced over as a figure emerged from behind an outcrop of rocks.
Really? Again?