He frowned down at his hands resting on the rail. Very capable hands they looked, too. Brigid was still surprised at how, on such a brief acquaintance, she had actually climbed into his car and allowed him to drive her out to this isolated spot. For all she knew he could be an axe murderer or psycho. But deep down, something assured her he was to be trusted. His dog obviously worshipped him, which was in his favour. Cruel men treated their pets with as much sadism as they treated humans.
There was something unsophisticated and uncomplicated about him that drew her instantly. She couldn't recall ever feeling such a rush of attraction before. Michel certainly never had that effect on her. But then again, she had known Michel practically all her life and in reality, he was more like a big brother than a lover, which was so sad when you came to think about it.
“I had to do something to earn a living after being pensioned out of the navy,” he said, turning sideways and resting an elbow on the rail, so that he faced her. When she did the same, their eyes met, and a shiver rippled through her. It was a strange sensation, for she certainly wasn't cold. No, it was more a frisson of awareness. “I always liked to paint and so decided to give it a go. The surroundings bring out the best in me, I think.” On top of his other attributes, he had a lovely voice, low and vibrant.
“I'll say. You have a great talent. Do you sell many?” Brigid felt that although they were standing here talking like newly met people, somehow, they were on another plane, one where they were old acquaintances...lovers, even.
He didn't answer immediately, and she couldn’t decipher the look that passed over his face. Could he be sensing the vibes that were making her tremble? Then again, perhaps he just thought her nosey. Michel once accused her of being too inquisitive, but she put it down to interest in others, a trait he certainly never possessed. Often, she thought that a huge problem of his—he never went out of his way to show enthusiasm for much in life.
“Enough to get by on. My needs are simple. A couple of galleries have my work on permanent display. If you go into the pub on the foreshore, you will see one of my favourites, a longship in full sail. One or two locals saw that and ordered a similar one.” He shrugged as if it was nothing, but she knew this was not to be scorned at.
Brigid had a sudden urge to kiss him and had to restrain herself. The man would think her a wanton if she gave in to her urge. Instead, she turned towards the door. “I've taken up enough of your time, Rolf. Thanks for letting me come here and snoop around your lighthouse.”
“It's been a pleasure. I don't have many visitors, for obvious reasons.” He held the door wide and she went through, followed by Hanno, who seemed to go everywhere Rolf went.
“You don't? I would have thought lots of people were interested in seeing this great monument to the old seafaring days.”
“No. There are plenty of lighthouses around the coast offering accommodation or museums to satisfy the needs of the average tourist. Nobody wants to come to this corner of the world and see an old fossil like me.”
Should she tell him he was far from being an old fossil? Perhaps later on—providing there would be a later on for them of course. How she hoped there would be. It was hard to tell if he was interested in her or just polite. She did rather force herself on him, after all.
When they reached his little living room, he asked, “Would you like a cup of tea before I drive you back to town?”
“Love one.” Brigid breathed a sigh. At least he wasn't in a hurry to be rid of her.
While he pottered about making the tea, she looked at the one huge painting there was room for in his tiny salon, this one a sailing boat. Then she scanned along his crammed bookshelves, which held a vast array of non-fiction works—not surprisingly about Vikings, ships and early British history. When she spotted one about Celtic ceremonies she pulled it from the shelf, asking, “Are you into Celt history as well?”
He brought two steaming mugs to the small table and she sat on his one armchair while he took the long bench built into the wall. “Not wholly, but that book is very interesting. You can borrow it if you like.”
“May I? Thanks, that’s kind of you. I won't forget to give it back, promise.”
“I wouldn't have offered if I thought you were the type to do that.” He gave her that half-boyish smile she found endearing.
Setting the book aside Brigid picked up her mug. For a while, they sat in silence as they sipped their drinks, but it wasn't an awkward silence, far from it. “Do you know—I feel as if I've known you for ages instead of just a few hours,” she finally felt compelled to say.
He studied her before agreeing, “I feel the same.”
It was hard to tell if that fact pleased him or not. Brigid had the idea that Rolf never made friends easily and she felt honoured he'd allowed her into his home so readily. He already admitted that not many visitors came here to his isolated spot, so she imagined he spent many hours alone with just his hound for company. Hanno sat obediently watching them as if he understood what they were saying. The dog certainly took up a lot of space, but unlike some dogs that were boisterous and tended to knock things over with their wagging tail he seemed to know his limits and had adjusted.
“Have you been married?” Brigid groaned inwardly at that. What a question to ask, but it slipped out without thinking. Now he really would want to get rid of her. “I mean…I’m so sorry, just tell me to mind my own business.”
“It's a perfectly reasonable question to ask. Most people have been married at least once by the time they reach my age. The answer is no.” As if uncomfortable with the subject, he rubbed the nape of his neck. “I was engaged once.” A long pause. “It didn't work out.”
“Oh, I am sorry.” Perhaps now was a good time to say her farewells. He didn’t seem likely to add to that. Brigid put her empty mug down and stood. “Well, I guess I'd better be off.”
He stood too and until she turned to pick up her jacket, they were within touching distance. As she shrugged into it, he helped her and then stepped back.
“Don't forget the book.” He picked it up and handed it to her.
“Thanks.” She had forgotten it, while busily pondering why his engagement didn't work out. Nosey of her to be so inquisitive, but she had an insatiable urge to know everything about this enigmatic man.
The dog followed them down and bounded ahead as they walked the path. Out here he was in his element, running free on his long legs, and barking at flying birds. The pathway was so narrow in places Rolf was forced to walk behind her. The wind had grown gusty and strong, so she didn't bother making conversation. There was something mystical about this place that appealed to her and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she felt somehow as if she had stepped through a time warp.
Silently he helped her into his car and Hanno hopped into the back seat as if it was his right. They didn't say much on the drive back to town, just a few simple comments about the scenery. When he drew up in front of the bookshop where she said she would like to be dropped off, Rolf jumped out and came around to open the door.
Brigid didn't quite know what to do or say. Desperately she wanted to ask if he was interested in meeting up again but didn't want him to think her pushy. There had been plenty of opportunity to ask for a date on the drive in and he hadn't broached the subject. “Thanks so much for letting me see your lighthouse.” She looked down at the book in her hand. “And thanks again for the loan of the book. I'll get it back to you as soon as I've read it.”
“No hurry. Enjoy it.” He waved her offer away.
Disappointed, she offered the other hand. “Well, thanks again. It's been nice.” Again, she groaned inwardly. Was nice the best she could come up with?
He nodded, shook her outstretched hand, and turned back to the car. As he drove off, she wanted to weep. He didn’t even ask where she was staying while in town, proving he'd merely been polite and couldn't care less about seeing her again.
* * *
Brigid glanced at her
reflection in the small mirror above the dressing table. The room at the one hotel in the town was adequate if not grand. The bed was comfortable, the linen spotless, so what else would she need? There was the air of a real country hostelry about it, which she liked, and it even had a thatched roof making it picturesque and quaint.
A feeling of depressing deflation hung over her since Rolf drove off this afternoon. Fool that she was, she half expected him to follow her into the bookshop, had hoped he would. But she'd found the book she wanted and then walked the short distance to the hotel without him turning up. So, that was that. A chance encounter that promised so much yet produced so little.
That wasn't entirely true—she'd spent a few interesting hours in the company of a very intriguing man, a man she guessed wasn’t usually one for letting people invade his personal space. Although Michel was half French, despite what most would expect, he was the most plebeian person you could meet. Brigid always despaired at his lack of romance and imagination. When looking back at their courtship, she often wondered why she did marry him. Perhaps back then, like many women, she possessed a foolish female idea she could change him, bring out the French side of his nature—their presumed love of all things romantic.
That was not particularly generous of her, but it was the stark truth. Only she knew that. If he lived, she doubted if anyone would have been any the wiser about her disillusionment with the hand Fate dealt her. Michel was never a very imaginative lover. Worst of all, he wasn't interested in how she felt about most things, never took the trouble to find out what pleased her or dissatisfied her in bed, or out of it. The only thing that ever fired his imagination was his work, and Brigid found that uninspiring. Often back then, she wanted to bang her head against the wall in her despair. If only there was someone she could discuss all these things with, but there was never anyone, even her mother never guessed at her feelings of disappointment.
It filled her with guilt, actually—but as long as she kept these thoughts to herself, no one would ever know the truth. Friends and family all thought she was devastated at his death. At the time, perhaps she was, but the sorrow soon passed. Michel doused her excitement about life. Rolf had re-ignited that excitement.
That was why she felt so deflated now—because it all turned out to be fanciful dreaming.
Shrugging into her short black jacket Brigid picked up her keys and purse. No good crying over lost chances.
Her gaze rested on the book he loaned her. There was still that. She would need to return it, so.... Not all was completely lost. At least not yet.
* * *
Rolf smiled up at Maria as he took his seat. It was toasty warm in the hotel's cosy dining room where a welcoming log fire threw out a generous heat. After handing him the menu, and recommending the roast of the day, Maria nodded and walked off back to the kitchen, no doubt wondering why he decided to dine here this evening when he had seldom done so before, and certainly never alone. Perhaps it had already filtered down the town’s admirably efficient grapevine about his lunch with Brigid earlier.
He stroked his chin, his attention on the door and not on the contents of the menu. Food was the last thing on his mind. In fact, only one thing—or rather person—had been on his mind since dropping her off earlier.
Eyes focused on the doorway, he tried for nonchalance. If her first reaction showed annoyance at finding him sitting there, then he would pretend that he suddenly remembered he had somewhere else to go and take off. As the door opened, Rolf held his breath. The couple who were in the teashop earlier came in, the woman turning to speak to someone who followed them. Rolf saw Brigid's dark hair first, then her profile as she answered the woman's comment.
Maria bustled in from the kitchen, greeting the couple as the door closed after the threesome. Brigid's eyes seemed to search out the room, and when her gaze met Rolfs’ a look of recognition flittered across her eyes before her small smile turned into a gleaming grin. The radiance of that smile shot right to his heart with the swiftness of an arrow. In that moment he knew without a doubt, he would lay down his life for this woman.
Pushing back his chair Rolf hastened to his feet as Brigid crossed the room towards his table. She wore a short black jacket over a light blue blouse and a skirt that skimmed her knees, but that was all he took in before she was standing in front of him. Then his attention focused on her eyes and that smile.
“Rolf,” she said softly, clearly surprised to see him there. “How nice to meet up with you again. Fancy that. Two chance meetings in one day. What a coincidence!”
“I often dine here,” he lied. He’d been in the dining room perhaps twice and on both occasions when his sister came for a visit. “Are you meeting someone? Perhaps we can share a table if not.” His breath went on standby as he waited for her answer.
“I'd love to share with you. I hate eating alone.”
She shrugged out of her jacket and hung it over the back of the chair as Rolf held it out for her. He waited until she was seated then sat back opposite her, hoping his nervousness didn't show. “I'm used to it. But it's nice to have company now and then.”
Now she was opposite him he didn't know what to say, or how to act. The effect she had on him was unsettling, making him feel much like he did when, as a spotty teenager, his cockier classmates were remorselessly teasing him for his crush on a girl who was far too superior for him and way out of his league.
As she shook out her table napkin, she met his gaze. “I thought perhaps I'd never see you again—and I'm so glad you decided to come here this evening,” she added hastily, glancing about the room.
Should he tell her he booked here on purpose after questioning the local cop in a roundabout way and found out she was staying at the hotel and not at a friend's place? Better not—she might get the impression he was stalking her. It was awful to be so paranoid, but the world was populated with cranks and weirdos these days and who knew what impression she might already have of him. But then, of course, she did come home willingly with him earlier in the day not knowing what sort of man he might be. Also, it was she who made the suggestion not him, so hopefully he came across as trustworthy.
“I'm glad too. And don't forget I loaned you the book. I would have come chasing you if you didn't return it.” Rolf handed her the menu. “Would you think it presumptuous of me if I say the meals on me?”
“Depends.” She wrinkled her nose, as she appeared to give it thought. “Is this a date?”
“Would you like it to be?”
“Would you think me forward if I said I'd love it to be?”
The glow of warmth spreading through him at that declaration stayed with him as they ate the main course. That glow stayed as they talked about this and that and nothing in particular between mouthfuls of the delicious meal.
“Did you find the book you were after?” he asked after the plates were taken away by Maria, who eyed them speculatively, no doubt working out that this unplanned meeting was another juicy bit of gossip to be passed on later.
Brigid’s eyes shone with excitement. “I did, and it's so interesting. I can’t decide whether to read yours first or that one. Both have wonderful stories about the Celts. I think I must be as fascinated by their ancient lore as you admitted being by the Vikings. I have this theory...” Again, her nose wrinkled as she touched a finger to its side and leaned closer as if about to confide a secret. “I believe I've lived before, and most certainly was around in the ninth or tenth century.”
“Is that so?” Rolf considered telling her his own belief but decided to leave that for now, her theories were so much more interesting. She always seemed to be having fun relating her ideas. Could it be she hadn’t met anyone before who was willing to listen to her? Unlike those fools, he could listen to her until the cows come home.
“Well, I have incredibly vivid dreams—and they always feature the same man,” she said in a hushed tone. “I used to wonder if it was because of the stories handed down about this couple who fell in lo
ve, you know the Celtic maiden and the Viking warrior I mentioned before who founded the basis of the saga. But...” She hesitated briefly. “As I got older and the dreams became more...” A slight blush made her cheeks pink. “More, you know...intimate...I started to realise that I knew this man too well. I'd shared a past life with him.”
Rolf rubbed his chin. “And this man wasn't your husband?” He had more or less worked out that it was unlikely to be her deceased spouse.
A fleeting look of sadness passed over her features. “No. I thought at first it might be. But Michel was...” Another small shrug, while she shifted her cutlery around. “He wasn't my soul mate. I know it sounds terrible to say that. You must think me dreadful telling you this when we’ve only just met, but I feel I’ve known you for a long time, know you’ll understand. I did love him in a way, well, I must have done to marry him. But we were more like good friends than anything else.”
Rolf was stopped from making a comment by their desserts being set on the table. Probably a good thing as he really had no idea what to say to that. She was right—he was slightly shocked at her telling him about something so intimate, but at the same time foolishly pleased that she felt she could confide in him.
They chatted about the nearby beauty spots and the locals for the rest of the meal and through after-dinner coffee, laughing often and sharing a small joke or two. Rolf had never enjoyed the company of a female so much. He didn't want the evening to end, dreaded saying goodnight. But eventually, when it looked like Maria was getting fed up waiting for them to leave, in fact sent them a meaningful glare, he said, “Thanks so much for sharing the evening with me, Brigid.”
She glanced about, caught Maria's stance and folded arms, and said, “Thank you. I guess we'd better make a move, our waitress thinks we have overstayed our welcome.” She laughed at that.
As they left the dining room, Rolf asked, holding his breath, “Would you care for a stroll?”
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