“Come back to our paradise soon?” he said.
She shook her head, sorrow in her farewell smile. “Au revoir, and merci beaucoup, my dear friend.”
As she bent down to slide into the taxi, she noticed a stray feather from some seabird lying on the cobblestoned street. She picked it up, knowing she’d never see the exotic island of Corsica again, the wild thyme, the ancient stone ruins, the awe-inspiring coastline.
Or Edward. The man she loved.
And then she cried as the taxi drove away. Silent hot tears. To keep herself from shattering, she focused on the white lace of the Mediterranean crashing to shore.
Edward may have insinuated his way into her emotions, but she was through thinking about him and his trendsetting friends who believed they could manipulate ordinary people.
Well, he and his friends wouldn’t be controlling this woman.
Inhaling a sturdy breath, she opened the taxi’s window and released the feather into the wind. An updraft carried it for a short while before it plunged to the ground.
As a fat, stubborn tear fell down her cheek, she concentrated on her last view of Corsica—a moss-covered fountain beside a statue of Napoléon, shade-loving vines climbing over trellises, a random scooter skirting past the taxi.
Determinedly, she brushed the tear away. “Good-bye, my beautiful island, and my Mr. Right. Somewhere in my heart, I knew I could never live in your world.”
But she had hoped. And she had dreamed.
What had she expected? An affair of the heart? A story of true love?
She sank her head in her hands and told herself not to cry.
She cried anyway, because she just couldn’t govern her feelings anymore.
The remainder of Friday passed in a blur, but at last Maeve was in her flat and putting the kettle on for tea. She’d been fired from Merrimac, although she’d denied any wrongdoing. Collusion wasn’t even part of her vocabulary. Nevertheless, her company was small and couldn’t take any chances going up against giant corporations. Besides, Mrs. McShea had pointed out when Maeve had gathered her personal belongings from her cubicle, Maeve had bunked off from work from when she’d landed in Corsica to when she’d returned to Ireland.
Maeve hadn’t denied the charge. How could she?
Saturday dawned with the same angry, relentless rain that had saturated Corsica the day before. She drew on a sweater, pulled on a pair of wool socks, and boosted a fire in the hearth. Crinkles sat at her feet, gamely wagging her tail.
“I thank the good Lord every day since I found you at the rescue shelter.” She picked up her dog and was rewarded with a light lick on her cheek. What was better than a dog’s love—their kind hearts, their devotion for their owner, their companionship?
With Crinkles in her arms, she padded to the window and gazed out at the somber sky. Then she turned and scanned her tiny living room. Her flat seemed so quiet without her brother.
Despite her mother’s questions when she’d stopped in the previous evening, Maeve had been thrilled to see her brother looking healthy and content, and had lifted a prayer of thanks.
To top off her success in avoiding any inquiries concerning Edward, she’d noted that her mother and brother were getting along brilliantly.
Holidays would be lovely this upcoming year with their small family of three. But first came the end of summer, followed by autumn. Even now, she could feel the warm season pushing away, easing into shorter days and gloomy, unfriendly nights.
She crumpled into her comfortable chair by the fireplace and Crinkles cuddled beside her. Tightly, she closed her eyes, but that didn’t stop the tears that streamed freely down her face.
By afternoon, the rain had settled to a slow and steady drizzle. Deciding soup would ease the sadness in her chest, she put a chicken on the stove to boil, one she’d bought on her way home the night before. She managed to eat only one bowl, but that left ample servings for her mother and brother.
Feeling revived by the soup, she unpacked her luggage. Routine stabilized her, strengthened her and kept her mind and hands busy.
In the deep quiet of afternoon when the shadows of the day lay long, her doorbell jangled. She glanced at herself in the living room mirror. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her eyes watery and red. Swiftly, she groped for her handkerchief and dabbed at her face.
“Remember me?” Colleen shouted from the other side of the doorway. “Why haven’t you answered my texts?”
Maeve opened the door. “Sorry.” Seeing her best friend’s questioning gaze, she stuttered, trying to catch her breath. “T-tea?”
“Aye. Are you all right?”
“I’m grand.” Her voice cracked, only slightly, but enough for her friend to take hold of her hands.
“Then why were you crying?”
Maeve averted her gaze. “I’ve excelled in crying ever since I left Corsica.”
“That’s absurd. I’ve known you since we were in primary school, and you never cry.” Colleen hung her jacket on a kitchen chair and wiped the water drops from her glasses. “The rain is cold and nipping through me like prickles of ice. I’ll say aye to that cuppa tea?”
A handful of minutes later, with tea and a plate of biscuits in front of them, Colleen perched across from Maeve in Maeve’s cramped kitchen. Crinkles rested beneath the table, crunching a treat Maeve had fetched from the cupboard.
“I’m sorry about your job,” Colleen began.
“Fortunately, you’re still employed, so a wee bit of fair play there.” Maeve chewed on the corner of a biscuit, then drank a mouthful of tea. “Monday will come around soon enough. In the help-wanted section of today’s newspaper, one of the shops on Fifth Street is hiring. It’s only a block away, so I could easily walk.”
“With your experience, you’ll find a good job. You’re a brilliant purchasing agent.”
Was she? Instead of answering, Maeve poured her friend more tea.
“The tea is good and hot.” Colleen boosted her sugar intake with another lump. “Maeve …”
“Aye?” Maeve dropped back in her chair and stared at her steaming cup.
“Have you heard from Edward?”
Just the sound of his name sent a beat of pure yearning through her heart and relit a fire she didn’t think she could ever extinguish. She missed him so much.
“Aye.” She gulped a lungful of air. She couldn’t lie, not to Colleen. Desperately, she tried to hide the catch in her voice. “He’s left numerous phone messages and texts.”
Realization emerged in Colleen’s cornflower-blue gaze. “Which, I’m assuming, you haven’t answered. And I can see by the look on your face you’re in tatters …”
Maeve bent her head to hide the welling tears, but not soon enough for the keen-eyed Colleen.
“You fell in love with him, didn’t you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Chin lifted, Maeve offered Colleen a quivering smile. “I met him a week ago.”
“Love isn’t measured by time. Why haven’t you answered his messages?”
“I can’t.”
Colleen pushed back her teacup, then clicked her French-manicured fingernails on the table. “Why not?”
“Because I wouldn’t know what to say.”
Because it would distress her too much to hear his voice.
Maeve flopped back in her chair and gripped the armrests. “If only you knew how he lives. What we imagine to be the lifestyle of the rich and famous doesn’t even come close.”
“You’ve told me all week about it, remember?”
“Then you should understand.”
“I understand, all right. You’re a coward.”
“Me?” Annoyed, Maeve flashed her friend a pained stare.
“Oh, don’t get your dander up.” Colleen threw up her hands and studied a crack in the ceiling. “You’re ignoring him because you’re upset, although none of this is his fault. We both know it was Bentley.”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps? Perhaps?�
�� Colleen jerked from her chair, stalked two paces, then pivoted. “Surely you don’t doubt Edward. I did some digging on the internet last night. Bentley’s a big front and a slow back. From what I gathered, he’s feigning a family wealth that isn’t there anymore.”
In a deceptively casual tone she hoped would dissuade Colleen, Maeve refuted, “None of this matters anymore.”
“I didn’t know you were so ridiculous.” As if too furious to continue, Colleen went back to her tea, dissolved a handful of sugar cubes in it, and stirred vigorously. “If you want to break it off with Edward, tell him straight on.”
Maeve gave a half laugh. “There’s nothing to break off.”
“Umm, nothing except your starry-eyed week together.” Colleen shoved Maeve toward her laptop computer sitting on a narrow kitchen counter. “Tomorrow, book a ferry from Dublin to Holyhead. Then take a train to London.”
“Surely you’re joking?” Maeve’s eyebrows jerked up. Her fingers clenched into small fists. Momentarily irrational, she almost agreed with Colleen before they settled back on their chairs.
“What’s the story then, Maeve?”
“Sorry, I just don’t know anymore.” Maeve rubbed her arms. “Besides, I don’t have any money.”
“Merrimac gave you two weeks’ severance. Use part and go directly to Penelope and Edward’s main offices.”
“I don’t know where they’re located.” Maeve groped for a better answer. “Perfect Match didn’t disclose any personal information.”
“Thank goodness, again, for the internet and your brilliant techie friend.” Colleen slipped a paper from her pocket and slid it across the table to Maeve. “Here’s the address.”
At a loss for words, Maeve frantically considered how to end a conversation that would only lead to more pain if she pursued it.
“Doesn’t he have enough, Colleen?” She reached down to pet Crinkles. The dog represented security and everything good in her world. Crinkles nosed her fingers, hoping for another treat. With a heavy sigh, Maeve put her head in her hands. “Shouldn’t living an exorbitant lifestyle surrounded by more worldly goods than anyone can comprehend be plenty for one man?”
“He doesn’t have you.”
“As if that matters to a rugger bugger like him. I’m certainly not showing up on his office doorstep like a pining puppy.”
Colleen took a bite of biscuit and washed it down with tea. “I suppose if I was in the middle of a misunderstanding like you are, I’d see things the same way.”
“This is more than a misunderstanding.”
“Is it?” Colleen held up a hand. “Please, just to stake my argument, let’s presume he’s in love with you.”
Maeve opened her mouth to object, and Colleen stopped her with a sardonic head shake. “From what you told me about all his special surprises, even a cabbage would realize how much he cares.”
“No. It’s better if I move on and forget him.” Maeve surged to her feet and began clearing the table. “Sooner or later, I’d make a right moron of myself and—”
Colleen crossed to her and gave a tight hug. “I doubt he’d spend all his time, money and energy on a woman he cares little about.”
A torrent of clashing emotions swept through Maeve as Colleen determinedly continued. “At least give him the benefit of listening to what he has to say.”
“And then what?” Maeve swiveled and busied herself at the sink. She’d tried so hard to numb her emotions, and then here had come Colleen. “He’ll give me a little pat on my head and send me on my way? I’ll be mortified.”
Colleen plunked her hands on her ample hips. “Your pride may need to suffer.”
“I can’t. I just can’t.”
“All right, then stay here in Ireland. And when you read about his engagement to Davinia what’s-her-name in the Dublin papers, let me know your thoughts then.”
“Maybe I’ll consider …” Maeve studied her worn hardwood floor. She needed time to sit somewhere quiet and reflect. Surely Colleen could understand.
She met her friend’s gaze. “I’ll—I’ll wait a while first.”
“Which will be even more uncomfortable as the weeks go by.” Colleen plucked a slice of chicken from the pot of soup and chewed slowly.” Rounding back to Maeve, she poured on a brilliant finale. “Provided, of course, he hasn’t wed Davinia in the interim.”
Chapter Ten
The following morning, Maeve peered out at another wet drizzle streaming down her bedroom window. Her entire flat felt damp. She opened the top drawer of her bureau and sniffed the lavender-scented sachet she’d brought from Corsica to place with her clothes. Tied with a purple satin ribbon, the sachet’s fresh, appealing scent reminded her of France.
She closed the drawer, the fragrance too painful a reminder. She’d been a foolish woman who’d chosen to believe fantasy over reality. End of story.
Still, her flat was so forlorn. After showering and getting dressed, she grabbed a history book and sat by the fireplace. Crinkles snored at her feet, easing her loneliness. She’d mindlessly turned several pages of the book before she gave up, realizing she couldn’t concentrate on sixteenth-century war tactics.
Save for a cuppa tea, she didn’t have the heart for breakfast. For lunch, she’d heat up a bowl of the chicken soup. Perhaps she’d be hungry by then.
As she stared out at the dreary day, her cellphone pinged. The sound almost sent her to her knees. If it was Edward, should she consider answering his text? These unmanageable feelings for him were so chaotic and powerful.
Uncertainty collided with hope as she picked up the phone to check the screen.
Instead of Edward, an incoming email from Carissa was emblazoned with the title, “Remembrances of a Perfect Match created in Corsica.”
Telling herself she should resist the temptation to open the file because her heart couldn’t afford to be any more broken, Maeve tried to stop herself and failed.
Slowly, she read and reread Carissa’s email.
‘Hi Maeve,
Sorry you left our beautiful island so abruptly. We miss you and Pierre says bonjour.
Hope you enjoy these remembrances of Corsica.’
Your Perfect Match specialist,
Carissa’
Maeve scrolled through the attached photos, and a sting of longing grew in her chest.
Orange lilies in her hands, the first photo was of her and Edward cuddling at the foot of les Calanches Cliffs. Aye, they’d agreed to act for the cameras.
But had they been acting?
Maeve changed the picture size and zoomed in on Edward. His expression was tender as he gazed down at her, which she hadn’t noticed when he’d kissed her.
She rewound the day in her mind, remembering his smile when they’d perched on the rocks with the splendor of Corsica before them.
“Wouldn’t you agree, Maeve?” he’d said. “We get along so well. We’re never at a lack for words. Perhaps we are made for each other.”
Edward.
She wanted to cry out, to weep. She squeezed her eyes shut, running her fingers across the phone screen to touch his face, willing the tears not to fall.
The second photo was taken in his suite. He’d worn his fleece shorts and Snoopy T-shirt. She was dressed in his chambray shirt, which would have fallen to her knees if she hadn’t tucked the edges into her jean shorts. The orchids portrait was propped behind them, and she held a bouquet of Corsican lilies. He was leaning against her, exaggerating his injury. She recalled how the closeness of his hard, toned body had made her feel both faint and lighthearted.
And that feeling had never changed.
She scrolled further to the third photo, taken of them beside the fishing boat. Edward, with his midnight-black hair, startling green eyes, graceful dark eyebrows. He’d surprised her with a passionate kiss, prompting Carissa to exclaim they were the Perfect Match success story.
“I love everything about you,” he’d said when there were anchored in a cove. “Surely you mu
st know that by now.” And then he’d brushed a soft kiss on her lips in that intimate way he had.
A fist squeezed so tightly around her heart she could hardly breathe.
Edward.
She breathed out a shaky sigh. So many remembrances—vaulted stone doorways in ancient towns, the pattern of boat silhouettes and fog on the harbor, their enchanted night on the French Riviera. As they’d sauntered hand in hand, he’d pointed out the trellises decked in climbing vines, and low marble fountains with basin rims broad enough to sit on.
Stop, she scolded herself. Her home was hundreds of miles away from him, from Corsica, from La Bonaparte Resort.
Her Irish lifestyle? Well, that was a million miles away.
Stubbornly, more memories resurfaced.
“Remind me to never quarrel with you.”
And she’d assured him she would do anything to avoid a conflict.
But did that mean surrendering, giving up the man she loved?
Her mouth fell open. Her head came up.
With an exclamation, she embraced the fluttering in her chest. Grabbing her cellphone, she rang Colleen.
Maeve kept her tone steady when Colleen picked up. “Will you watch Crinkles for me?” she asked.
“Job-hunting on a Sunday, aye?”
“No, I’m hoping you’ll spend the night. I’m off for a wee bit of traveling.”
“Really?” Maeve heard Colleen’s short intake of breath. “Where?”
“To London.”
“You’re a fine thing, you know that?” Colleen started whistling the tune from a familiar Irish jig. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Decision made, fine or foolish, Maeve bundled her hair up and packed some necessities into an overnight bag.
She could do this.
She kept her chin up while she organized an overnight bag with her necessities. She was prepared.
Besides, Colleen was right. She couldn’t be so spineless as to ignore Edward simply because it upset her to be near him. How could she be so petty? If she admitted the truth, didn’t she owe him that same honesty? She’d have a straight conversation with him, then head back to Ireland the following morning.
Maeve (Perfect Match Book 6) Page 11