Chapter 31
She didn’t know she had so many tears saved up inside her. She pedals furiously toward the village, feeling her heart shattering into thousands of tiny jagged-edged pieces. The Backstabber is Raven Hall’s new owner. And Markus is the Backstabber’s son.
She’s lost everything. Her parents, her home, and now Markus. All gone.
She swipes angrily at her eyes and swerves closer to the grass shoulder as a car approaches from behind.
It slows, and she’s horrified to see Markus’s concerned face glide alongside her.
The Backstabber himself is in the driver’s seat—she remembers, now, that his name is Hendrik.
That’s what Daddy used to call him before Daddy started drinking, before everything went so horribly, terribly wrong.
“Lara, please,” Markus says, “let us give you a lift somewhere, at least . . .”
“Go away!” she shouts. “I don’t need you! Leave me alone, or I’ll—”
She looks around wildly, wondering if she should discard the bike and run into the fields, but a car is approaching from the other direction, and she feels a glimmer of triumph.
“I’ll flag these people down,” she shouts, glaring through the open window at both of the men. “I’ll tell them you’re trying to kidnap me.”
“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Hendrik says loudly, and a moment later he accelerates away.
The second car whizzes past, and she focuses on the road ahead and continues pedaling. But Hendrik must have swung his car around in the farm track farther along; he and Markus are heading toward her again, this time on the other side of the road.
Markus leans across Hendrik and calls out, “Please, Lara . . . Leonora . . .”
She doesn’t even look at him. And a second later, they’re gone, heading back to the house they stole from her.
She cycles on toward the village, knowing she’s entirely alone now. There’s no one left in the world who cares about her anymore.
Her tears have run dry by the time the village finally comes into sight, and she hops off the bike in front of the B and B. As she slots it back into the bike shed, Stephanie appears at the side door again, frowning.
“Are you okay?” Stephanie asks.
She draws herself up, forces herself to smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She nods at the baby on Stephanie’s hip. “Is he yours?”
Stephanie presses her lips into the child’s chestnut hair. “He sure is.”
“He’s gorgeous. Thank you for the loan of the bike.” She turns away.
“Do you need help with anything else?” Stephanie calls out.
But a familiar car is drawing to a halt in front of the bungalow next door—a mink-blue Ford Capri—and her heart lifts.
“No, thanks.” She doesn’t glance back.
It’s fate. It must be.
She hurries toward the car, a tentative smile forming as she sees the young doctor spring out from the driver’s seat. He never misled her, she thinks. She always knew exactly who he was, and where he lived, and who his family was.
“Leonora?” The man’s startled gaze runs over her tearstained face, her sweat-soaked T-shirt, and the rip in her skirt where she caught it on the roadside brambles. “What on earth are you doing here? Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head, her pulse jumping as she takes in his familiar sharp-jawed face, his wiry frame, the doctor’s bag in his hand. She glances at the bungalow behind him.
“Are you on a visit?” she says.
“I am.” He tilts his head. “How about you? I haven’t seen you since . . .”
They blink at each other, remembering that awful scene in her father’s study.
“Oh,” she says, “I’m—I’m living with a kind of aunt now. But she doesn’t care where I am. No one cares . . .”
He glances up the road behind her. “Ah. Boyfriend jilted you, has he?”
Leonora’s knees feel weak—he knows her. The young doctor knows her. He can read her emotions, just like she thought she could Markus’s.
Stop thinking about Markus.
“Could I—” She lifts her chin, tries to smooth her skirt. “Is there any chance you could drive me back to my aunt’s place tonight? I hitchhiked here, but—” She gestures down the road. “It’s been an awful day, and I’m just so tired . . .”
The man studies her thoughtfully. “I can’t tonight,” he says slowly. “But maybe in the morning. If your aunt won’t worry . . .”
“Oh, thank you, Roy. Thank you.” She hurls herself into his arms, almost knocking the bag from his grip. He glances across the road to the B and B, and he pushes her gently away, but he’s smiling.
“Wait in my car while I just get this visit done. We’ll have a nice evening together, then, okay? We fit rather well together, I think, you and me.”