Chapter 21
Rocco slammed the lid of his laptop shut and got to his feet. Beverly blinked over the top of her glasses.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘Rocco!’ his mother called after him, but he didn’t stop. ‘What about dinner? Rocco!’
Taking the stairs two at a time, he was in the castle’s impressive hallway and out the door in seconds, speeding across the car park to Giselle’s studio, praying she was still there.
She was.
Startled, she leapt to her feet when he barrelled inside. ‘Come on,’ he said, holding out his hand.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Anywhere, as long as it’s not here. I’m not wasting another second of our last day together.’
‘We’ll go to my place.’
‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ he replied, heading towards his car. ‘But to be honest, I don’t care where we go, as long as we’re together.’ It was corny, but true. He didn’t want to think about tomorrow; tomorrow was another day. It was this day that counted.
He didn’t want a hurried goodbye. He wanted a long-drawn-out farewell, even though it would hurt. More fool him for falling in love, and he was being even more foolish by torturing himself like this, but he had to hold her, had to kiss her, had to make love to her until the very last second.
When he brought the car to a stop outside the bothy and cut the engine, he blurted into the ensuing silence, ‘I don’t want to return to London.’
Giselle gazed at him, but said nothing, her expression unreadable.
Rocco tensed in dismay. She didn’t feel the same way. He could have sworn… But she’d known all along that theirs was a transient relationship, so why would she feel more for him? It was only him who was hoping for more and it was only him who’d committed the cardinal sin of falling in love.
So he hastily added, ‘It’s so beautiful here. You’re incredibly lucky having all this on your doorstep. I’m going to miss it.’ I’m going to miss you.
‘Everyone feels like that after a few days away.’ Her tone was flat, then she seemed to shake herself. ‘Why are we sitting in the car when we would be much more comfortable in bed?’
With a sad smile he followed her into the bothy, and no sooner had the door closed behind him than she was in his arms and his mouth was on hers. And as he kissed her, he prayed she couldn’t see the pain in his eyes.
It was dark. The only illumination came from the smattering of stars visible through the skylight.
How many nights had she lain here staring up at them, Giselle wondered.
Rocco lay on his side next to her, his eyes closed.
She assumed from his regular breathing that he was asleep, worn out from their lovemaking.
She was weary too, but sleep eluded her.
And in a way, she was glad, wanting to relish every second of the time remaining with him.
Soon it would be morning and he’d be gone, but for now she could pretend.
If you stare at them for long enough, you can almost see the stars moving, she thought absently, a physical passing of time far more ancient than any clock, but just as implacable.
There was no arguing with time; no amount of pleading or bargaining could slow its progress.
It would move on, and what was the present would all too soon become the past. And she’d be living in a future without Rocco.
She badly wanted to beg him to stay, but she knew it was pointless. By rights, he shouldn’t have stayed as long as he had, but Skye had worked its magic, as the island often did.
Or was the reason simply that he’d wanted to enjoy owning the castle for a while before he put it on the market?
What had Claire made of it, she wondered. Had she arrived at a figure yet? Had she seen enough to be able to put a value on something that should be priceless?
Rocco needed someone like Claire: a woman who understood his world, who was at home in it. A woman who spoke spreadsheets and pivot tables, not sea glass and shells. A woman who could accompany him to expensive restaurants, not one who preferred picnics on the grass or fish and chips out of paper.
The stars had definitely moved; the three glittering ice chips of Orion’s Belt were now two, as the world wheeled beneath them. Soon they would fade, replaced by the harsh reality of the morning sun.
If she could stay here forever, hold this moment forever, she wouldn’t hesitate.
Slowly, Giselle turned her head and found Rocco gazing at her, and when he reached for her again, she went to him with a heart full of love – and sorrow.
‘Just coffee,’ Rocco said.
Giselle poured him a cup of the instant stuff. It was all she had.
Despair encompassed her. She handed it to him as he sat on her sofa.
That plain blue mug of cheap black liquid was a symbol of the differences between them. No coffee maker for her. No ground beans, no filters, no fancy cup. Hers was a simple life. His wasn’t. She lived hand to mouth. He owned a sodding castle. And he was about to leave it – and her – for good.
‘What time is your flight?’ she asked.
‘One p.m.’
‘It’s five thirty now.’
‘Yes.’ The word trickled out of his mouth on a sigh, and she knew what the next ones would be. ‘I’d better go after I drink this.’
Giselle bit her lip. So he had.
The coffee was drunk far too quickly, and she watched him put the mug down and get to his feet. She rose, feeling awkward and uncertain, and praying she wouldn’t cry. Not until he’d gone, at least. After that, she’d howl the house down.
‘I know it’s early, but do you want a lift to the studio?’ His eyes were on hers and she looked away.
‘I think it’s best if we say goodbye here.’ She even managed to say it without her voice breaking.
‘Come here.’ He opened his arms wide, and she stepped into them.
Sliding her hands around his waist, she held him tight, burying her face in his neck, breathing in the scent of him one last time.
Giselle pulled away first. She had to. She needed him to leave now, before she broke down completely. She was barely managing to hold it together.
‘I’ll—’ he started.
‘Shh.’ She put a finger to her lips, and when he opened his mouth to speak again, she pushed him towards the door. ‘Go,’ she urged.
His eyes boring into hers, he nodded, gave her a small smile, then was gone.
Giselle heard him walk towards his car, hesitate, then carry on. The engine fired, idled for a moment, and then he drove off.
She strained to listen as the sound grew fainter and fainter, until it faded completely.
Then she sank onto the sofa, put her face in her hands and let the tears come.
Sobbing, she rocked back and forth, sharp talons savaging her heart with a pain that was physical.
It hurt so much she couldn’t breathe, and she gasped as wave after wave of desolation engulfed her.
She wished he’d never come back into her life.
She wished Mhairi had left the castle to anyone other than him. She wished, she wished, she wished…
Giselle leapt to her feet. The walls were closing in. She had to get out of here.
Her instinct to head to the loch was out of the question. Not today. She couldn’t take the risk of bumping into him.
Instead, she headed away from Duncoorie, its castle and Rocco.
There was a standing stone high on the mountain above the bothy. Grey, weathered and ancient, she craved its promise of solitude. She’d not taken Rocco there, and few people knew of it, which was what she loved about it. She’d been planning on showing it to him, but…
Oh God, he was gone. Really gone. And she didn’t know how she was going to go on without him. In a far too short a time, he’d stolen her heart and left her empty and bereft. Apart from the pain.
The steep gradient levelled off, and the stone came into view.
As monoliths went, it wasn’t large, but it was old, and it might seem silly, but she could sense its power.
Why it had been driven deep into the mountain to stand sentry wasn’t known, and right now Giselle didn’t care as she sat, breathless, at its base.
Her fingers dug into the springy grass, and she could feel the warmth of the rough rock against her back.
Automatically, her gaze sought her little bothy, then travelled over the landscape, picking out the kirk where darling Mhairi lay, then moved across the waters of the loch before coming to rest on the castle.
Her heart squeezed and she suddenly felt incredibly weary with a tiredness she’d never experienced before. It was more than bone deep – it was soul deep.
What was the time?
Giselle wished she’d thought to bring her phone with her, but she’d rushed out of the house so fast she’d forgotten it.
Would he have left yet?
She tried to guesstimate the time and concluded that it was unlikely to be more than seven thirty, but she wasn’t sure how long she’d been lost in her misery. It already felt like days.
She would stay here a while longer, then she supposed she’d have to return to her house and later to her studio, when she was sure he’d left, and begin to live the rest of her life without him.
Rocco’s car wasn’t in its customary place in the castle’s car park,
but Giselle didn’t expect it to be. He had long gone by the time she
hesitantly slipped into the studio, locking the door behind her. She
didn’t switch the lights on because she couldn’t face talking to anyone
right now. In fact, she wasn’t sure why she was here; she certainly
wasn’t in the mood to do any work. But she felt she had to try to return
to some semblance of normality, and being in her studio was a start.
Feeling shaky and weak, she perched on a stool and massaged her temples. She really should try to eat, having had nothing more than the coffee she’d half-drunk with Rocco this morning, but the thought of food turned her stomach.
A hot drink, then. She had a kettle in the studio, so she made a coffee with plenty of milk. At least she’d have something in her tummy, and the caffeine might perk her up a bit.
It kind of did, because after she’d swallowed the last mouthful, she felt jittery and restless, unable to settle, so she did what she always did when she was crabby – she went to the beach to search for sea glass.
Even if she failed to find any (and there were times she didn’t), the very act of scouring the seashore would be soothing.
Hoping no one would see her and want to speak to her – Avril and Jinny in particular, because she didn’t want to have to answer any questions or see their sympathy – Giselle took the longer route to the loch around the rear of the craft centre.
Skirting the cafe’s outside seating area, she scooted past the duck pond and took a lesser-known path to the beach.
The tide was still quite high, but was receding, the waves sucking at the bank of pebbles, the familiar music filling her ears and the smell of brine filling her nose.
The wind had picked up, clouds scudding across the sky, obscuring the sun.
Rain was on its way, she guessed. It would be another damp walk home, but she kept a foldable rain jacket in her bag, so hopefully she wouldn’t get totally soaked.
But even if she did, she didn’t care. It would be a fitting end to a shitty day and would reflect her mood perfectly.
Anyway, she was used to hunting for sea glass in all weathers, so a bit of rain didn’t bother her.
She wasn’t doing much foraging now, though. She was too busy feeling sorry for herself.
The jetty caught her eye, and she made her way towards it, dragging her feet. As she stepped onto it, her mind took her back to yesterday morning, and she swallowed hard.
When she reached the end, the waves lapping around the wooden struts below, she could almost feel Rocco’s breath on her neck, and she turned, half-expecting him to be there.
But it was empty, just like the future which stretched ahead of her, a line of loneliness disappearing into the distance.