‘Tell that to Gran’s driver. He’ll already be contemplating his future now the estate is under new management.’
She gives a shake of her head, a bitter laugh. ‘I hardly think he wants to drive all the way down from the Highlands to ferry me around.’
‘It’s not about want—it’s his job. It’s what the estate pays him for.’
She laughs some more and my already frayed nerves snap. ‘I’m glad you find this so amusing.’
She huffs at me, raises her brows to the heavy sky above. ‘You’re a fool if you think my laughter stems from humour, Edward.’
She shakes her head, takes the last step down and turns to look up at me. I steel myself for whatever she has to say. I steel myself against the warmth that pulses through me at having her so close again. Against the age-old anger and hurt that wants to resurrect itself even though its ancient history.
But now I have Gran’s betrayal to add to the mix.
‘We’ll talk at the estate,’ I say. It’s an order, not a request. ‘It’s where we’ll be living after all.’
My skin crawls as I acknowledge the truth of it. I feel my heart beating harder, faster, daring her to deny me.
‘OK.’
I swallow, ignoring the kick to my pulse that her surprising agreement triggers. ‘Good.’
‘But I’ll get to the estate under my own steam. When are you intending to leave?’
I stare off into the distance. The hustle and bustle of Edinburgh is a relief from her and the pressure building inside my head, my chest. Why is it so hard to breathe with her around? To concentrate and think clearly?
Maybe she’s right to demand some space—some time apart before we discuss a way forward. A way that gets her out of my life for good with as little of my grandmother’s estate as possible...
‘Soon.’ My resolve builds with my thoughts. ‘I have some business to deal with here first.’
‘OK...’ She’s already stepping away. ‘I’ll message to let you know when I’m ready to talk.’
‘Won’t you need my number for that?’
She pauses, her cheeks colouring as she inches back to me, her hand rummaging in her pocket. Her eyes don’t quite meet mine as she passes me her phone, and for some unknown reason—probably the masochist in me—I let our fingers touch and feel the age-old connection warm me. Tease me.
I’m as attuned to her sharp intake of breath as I am my own, and I see the fire behind her eyes as they lift to mine, dizzying in their intensity. A thousand long-buried wants grapple to the surface and I want to pull her to me. I want to do what I didn’t have the nerve to all those years ago...
And then her hand is snatched away and I’m jarred back to reality—it’s all in me, not her. I’m the one wanting, feeling more than I should...
I clench my jaw, grip her phone tight, key in my number and dial it so that I have her number too, then thrust it back at her.
‘Thank you.’ She eyes me warily, wets her lips. ‘Goodbye, Edward.’
Goodbye, Edward.The simple phrase launches the past into the present with painful clarity. Now I get a goodbye...only twenty years too late.
She starts to walk away and anger rears up...ugly, bitter, cold.
‘Summer...?’
She pauses, turning just enough to look at me. ‘Yes?’
I breathe in her beauty and feed the pain that is very real and very present. ‘You may have found a home in Glenrobin once, and Gran may have gifted it to you again, but I’m not her. And I’ll find a way around this if it’s the last thing I do.’
Her eyes widen and I turn before she can creep beneath my shield anew. I don’t care if I’ve hurt her—I don’t... Although the nails slicing through my palms tell me otherwise.
I walk away before I surrender to the guilt, and raise my shoulders against the knowledge that Gran will be turning in her grave.
I have myself to protect in the land of living, Gran, surely you can see that?
As for Summer... She doesn’t get to leave for twenty years—no goodbye, no nothing—and then come back with a claim on the estate. My family’s estate. She doesn’t.
And it’s just the claim on the estate you’re worried about...?
It’s as though Gran is in my head, goading me into acknowledging the true source of my unease, and I thrust a hand through my hair.
In the distance, my driver steps out of the car, races around to the boot and pulls out an umbrella. Too late. I’m soaked through. And I hadn’t even noticed. Not the rain beating down, nor the wetness that’s seeped through to my skin.
I wave him away, much preferring the drumming beat of the rain to the panicked staccato of my heart.