by Bella Andre
Owen pictured Mari’s flushed cheeks, full lips, and flowing hair. “Even lovelier.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Owen headed back to the bookshop with two bags—one containing a set of sheets and a duvet cover, the other stuffed full of teabags, scones, clotted cream, jam, and the flowers Alice had brought by Mathilda’s cottage earlier that morning.
His personal assistant, Gael, who worked remotely from Edinburgh, was rescheduling his afternoon meetings. One with a director and writer from a French TV production company that wanted to create a twelve-episode series from his grandmother’s books. Another with a digital media company interested in converting his grandmother’s books into a graphically rich reading experience.
Gael had clearly been shocked to hear that he was taking some impromptu time off today, particularly after he’d reassured her that Mathilda’s health wasn’t the reason for his bunking off so suddenly. He would make up the hours tonight, but his grandmother was absolutely right that he couldn’t simply deliver sheets and food to Mari, then leave her to deal with the mess in the flat by herself.
As Mari was expecting him this time, he let himself into the bookshop before calling out, “I’m back with supplies.” Though there was no reply, he started up the stairs. The door to the flat was still ajar, but when he knocked, she still didn’t respond.
“Mari?” He poked his head in the doorway…and found her fast asleep on the leather sofa in the living room.
She had cleaned off enough space to curl herself up into a ball, her head resting on her open palm rather than on one of the dusty pillows. She was still wearing her trainers, which made him think she hadn’t planned to fall asleep. Before his grandmother’s stroke, Owen had traveled extensively for work—and play. He knew firsthand how hard jet lag could hit you.
Even in sleep, Mari’s brow was slightly furrowed. Still, her beauty shone through, pure and lovely.
So lovely, in fact, that she stole his breath away all over again.
Not wanting to trespass in her private space, he considered leaving the bags at the door. But he couldn’t shake his concern over the state of the flat. Nor could he simply walk out without helping in some concrete way.
Given that he had already canceled his meetings and now had the afternoon free, it seemed a waste not to get started cleaning the flat while she was sleeping. Hopefully, she wouldn’t freak out when she woke to find him there.
Walking quietly into the open-plan kitchen, he put the bag of food down amongst the clutter, then headed down the hall. In Charlie’s bedroom to the right, his friend’s jacket was still hanging on the valet beside the door, his shoes beneath it.
Owen’s chest clenched. Charlie’s death had been a major blow to the entire island community. Not only had he kept his illness a secret for months, blaming his weight loss and pallor on a lingering flu—but once his cancer diagnosis had come out, he had refused to seek treatment. In his final weeks, he had isolated himself from everyone, closing the bookshop and locking the door. The ambulance sirens had sounded the dreaded death knell.
And Elderflower Island hadn’t been the same since.
Closing Charlie’s bedroom door, Owen went into the second bedroom, guessing that was where Mari would prefer to sleep. Though the guest room was less cluttered than Charlie’s room, it was still in desperate need of a hoovering. Since that would wake Mari, he would have to be content with airing and dusting the room and putting fresh sheets on the bed. He wanted to do something that would help her feel a little more comfortable in her new home. One that Owen, along with everyone else, wondered if she intended to keep.
If she had come with the expectation of finding the bookshop as it had been in its heyday, she must be sorely disappointed. What, he wondered again, had kept her from coming until after her father’s death? Had they been in touch all these years? Had she deliberately stayed away? Or had Charlie insisted their relationship remain a secret for some reason? Hopefully, she would be willing to provide some answers.
Owen opened the French doors that led to the Juliet balcony off the guest bedroom and wiped down the room’s hard surfaces with a cleaning rag. Next, he stripped the mattress, pillow, and duvet and remade the bed with fresh linen, putting the dusty sheets into his bag to take home to wash.
Upon returning to the living room and finding that Mari hadn’t stirred from her spot on the couch, he decided to tackle the kitchen. Growing up in a crowded, busy house, he’d been taught how to cook and clean. As kids, they’d each had a room that was their responsibility. Owen’s had been the kitchen.
Thankfully, there were several mostly full bottles of cleaning supplies in the cupboard beneath the sink. For all of Charlie’s many positive aspects and good intentions, he hadn’t been much for keeping things tidy. His part-time staff had taken care of cleaning the bookshop, and a cleaner would come to the flat once every month or so with a mop and duster. Still, the rooms had never reached anywhere near this state before.
Working as quietly as possible, Owen washed and dried the dirty mugs, dishes, and silverware littering the kitchen surfaces. He dusted the windowsills, cleaned the windows that overlooked the river until they sparkled, and polished the sink fixtures. The small refrigerator was in a horrifying state, particularly from an olfactory perspective. Owen held his breath as he got on with clearing out the rotting rinds of cheese, the molding pasta sauce, and the bunch of grapes that had liquefied, so he could wipe down the shelves and drawers. At last, he laid the blue-painted kitchen table with scones, clotted cream, and jam, along with a teacup and saucer.
“Owen?”
He turned to find Mari sitting up on the couch, her hair tangled on one side, her left cheek lightly imprinted with the outline of the small gold ring on her pinky finger.
“Feeling better now that you’ve had some rest?”
She nodded as she ran a hand through her hair. “The last thing I remember is sitting down.” Her words were slightly husky now, and though her jeans and jumper were rumpled, she still wore them with natural grace. “How long have you been back?”
“A couple of hours.” He beckoned her into the kitchen as he put the kettle on for tea. “Why don’t you have something to eat and drink?”
Her eyes were huge as she looked around the kitchen. “You did this while I was sleeping?” She gaped at the clear countertops, at the pristine stove top, at the vase of bright flowers, and at the smudge-free windows. “Not only bringing me food and flowers, but cleaning the entire room?” He thought she just might throw herself into his arms out of sheer gratitude. “How can I ever repay you?”
“As I said before, I’m happy to help.” He smiled as he added, “No repayment is necessary.”
“Thank you.” She looked a little shy as she asked, “Will you at least join me in eating the food you brought?”
“I’d like that.” He set another place at the table. “Does builder’s tea sound all right?”
“That’s really strong black tea, isn’t it?”
“Strong enough to strip the paint off these walls.” Which, frankly, looked like they did need to be stripped and repainted.
“Sounds perfect.”
He was gratified to see her lavish clotted cream and his sister’s homemade strawberry jam on a scone, then hungrily dig in.
“This is so good.” Her sentence, spoken around a mouthful, came out as one long string of sound.
“My sister Alice will be glad to hear you think so. I know she’s looking forward to meeting you. Everyone is.”
Mari put down the scone, looking a little wary again. “It sounds like all of you knew my father really well.”
“We did.” At least they’d thought so. “Although none of us knew about you.”
“He left when I was three.” A shadow crossed her face. “I never heard from him again.”
Owen’s heart broke for her. What possible reason could Charlie have had to leave his own daughter? And then never speak to anyone of her again…
&
nbsp; “I’m sorry, Mari.”
“I’m sorry too.” Clearly uncomfortable with their line of conversation, she stood up and began clearing away the food. “You’ve been so helpful, and I’m really grateful, but I don’t want to take up any more of your day. I should let you go.”
Knowing he should heed her request to be alone, even if he thought it was the last thing she needed right now, as he also stood, he felt compelled to say, “Any questions you want to ask about Charlie, about his life or business, I’m happy to answer as best I can. I know you’ve just gotten off a plane, and I’m sure you want to spend some time getting settled in, but perhaps tomorrow I could take you to breakfast and do my best to fill in some gaps?”
She stared at him, clearly bemused. “You’re being so nice to me. Did he mean that much to you?”
“He did. And trust me when I say that I completely understand how, when it comes to family, things aren’t always as straightforward as we would like them to be.”
“Family.” The word was barely more than a whisper of sound from her lips. “I don’t know if only knowing him for three years counts.”
“Maybe,” he said softly, “I can help you figure out the answer to that by answering some of your questions.”
She was silent as she pondered the possibility. Finally, she nodded. “Breakfast tomorrow sounds good.”
* * *
A text from Alice buzzed onto Owen’s mobile as he was leaving, the bag of dirty sheets to wash back at the cottage slung over his shoulder.
Malc and I bunked off early to get a drink at the pub. Meet us there?
For the past year, Owen had turned down offers from both family and friends to meet up so that he could stay close to his grandmother at all hours. Today, however, Mathilda had been fiercer than usual in her insistence that he get out more. His parents and siblings had also mentioned more than once that they were concerned about his becoming a hermit. Still, his gut clenched at the thought that something might happen to his grandmother while he was gone, especially since it had been hours since he’d last seen her.
He was just typing in a message telling Alice that he’d take a rain check, when a follow-up text came through from his sister.
I’m with Gran now. She says she feels great, and she’s planning to binge-watch a new cooking show. She insists you “live a little” and come to the pub with us.
Just as he’d said to Mari, family wasn’t always straightforward. But that didn’t mean love wasn’t there. He didn’t intend to smother his grandmother—all he wanted was to make things right. Clearly, today that meant giving her some space.
Only twenty yards from the pub, he texted Alice to let her know he’d grab a table and the first round.
Ten minutes later, his sister burst through the doors. Her jeans were covered in their usual layer of potting soil, her cheeks were rosy from working outdoors, and she was wearing a faded cap with Kew Gardens stitched on the front.
“It’s a miracle! You’re actually here for a drink.” Alice pinched herself, then him. “Just making sure neither of us is dreaming.” Barely pausing for breath, she said, “Gran said you met Charlie’s daughter. I looked in the bookshop window, but I didn’t see any signs of life. Tell me everything.”
Malcolm strode in just then, looking every inch the businessman in his bespoke Italian suit and polished leather shoes. Fortunately, on the inside he was still the same rugby-playing, down-to-earth guy he’d been when they were kids.
“Perfect timing, Malc.” Alice kissed him hello on both cheeks. “Owen is just about to give us the dirt on Charlie’s daughter.”
Owen tensed at the word dirt. Now that he’d met Mari, he regretted the way everyone on the island, including him, had been prepared to assume the worst about her.
“First of all, Mari loved your scones and jam.”
“Mari?” Alice asked. “I thought her name was Marina.”
“She prefers Mari. In any case, she was exhausted and hungry after her flight. It didn’t help that the shop and flat are a complete mess. After saying hello and seeing the state of the place, I went back to Gran’s for clean sheets and food, helped clean up the flat a bit, and made her tea.”
Alice put down her drink and looked more closely at him. “You like her.”
“She could barely keep her eyes open and napped for a while, so we didn’t spend that much time talking. But yes, I like her.” More than he’d liked anyone in a very long time.
Malcolm didn’t look convinced. “What’s her story?”
Of the five of them, Malc was the most analytical. He demanded facts, rather than guesses or estimations. It was one of the reasons his multimillion-pound business deals rarely, if ever, went wrong.
“I don’t know much yet,” Owen replied, “and even if I did, Mari’s story would be best coming directly from her. But what I can tell you is that it isn’t her fault we didn’t know about her until now.” Any way he turned things over inside his head, he couldn’t understand how Charlie could have left Mari when she was only a toddler. Never talked to her again. Never held her again.
Alice took a sip of her lime and soda, considering. “I still can’t believe he kept her from all of us.”
“Sometimes,” Malcolm said, “even when you want to be with someone, that doesn’t mean it’s possible.” This wasn’t the first time over the years that he had made a cryptic statement along those lines. But just as he had every time before, he pivoted. “When are you seeing her again?”
“Tomorrow for breakfast.”
Alice whistled. “Not only did you do the unthinkable and take time off work this afternoon to help clean her flat, but you’re taking off even more time to see her tomorrow morning! She’s obviously made a huge impression on you—we haven’t seen you emerge from the office this much in a full year. Now I’m really dying to meet her.”
“I honestly can’t imagine Mari had any idea of what she was walking into,” Owen told them. “She’s going to need a lot of help cleaning the place up and getting the shop back into some kind of working order again.”
“Did she tell you whether she’s planning to keep it?” Malcolm asked.
“As I said, we didn’t get that far.” And even if they had, it didn’t feel right to sit with his brother and sister and speculate about her intentions. “Tell me, what’s blooming in the garden—and in the world of highflying business deals?”
It was a clear cue to move on from discussing Charlie’s daughter. A cue his sister surely wouldn’t want to heed, but thankfully she did as she told them about her day aerating compost heaps at Kew Gardens. No wonder she smelled particularly earthy today—she’d been all but rolling in organic soil since eight that morning.
She nudged Malcolm. “My workday is pretty different from your day in your climate-controlled skyscraper, isn’t it, Mr. Highflier?”
“Not as different as you’d think.” He grimaced. “Negotiating my newest deal felt exactly like diving into a compost heap.”
When Alice laughed, Owen realized he’d checked out of the conversation. “Sorry, what was that?”
“Never mind.” His sister grinned. “Keep daydreaming about the American bookshop heiress, while I get the next round.”
CHAPTER SIX
Mari cleaned the flat all afternoon and long into the night, jet lag keeping her awake while the rest of London was sleeping. It wasn’t until she had finished mopping the kitchen floor that she finally stopped to take it in.
This was my father’s home.
It still didn’t seem quite real, that she was actually here, surrounded by his furniture, his pictures, his cups and plates, his art on the walls. Once she’d woken from her nap—and with the mess cleared away—Mari could see just how charming the flat was.
Her mother’s home and Charlie’s flat were as different as night and day. Where the Spanish-style California rancher was decorated with brightly colored ceramic tiles on the floor and countertops, had every modern convenience in the kitchen and
bathrooms, and featured a large green lawn out in the backyard, the London flat had old floorboards, a clawfoot tub in the bathroom, and a stunning view over the river. Every time Mari looked out the window, as day turned to night, the river was different. Calm, then rising, then fast-flowing, and now, as the moon rose high in the sky, calm again.
How, she wondered, would her mother react if Mari did a video walk-through next time they spoke? Not well, that was for sure.
Oh no, how could she have forgotten? Mari had promised to check in with her parents tonight before bed, but she had neither gone to sleep, nor remembered to charge her phone. Rummaging through her bags for a power converter, she plugged in her cell. As soon as it came to life, a half-dozen missed calls—and many more texts—buzzed through. All were different versions of the same panicky message from her mother, apart from one from Carson.
Hope you’re having a great time. Tried to talk Mom off the ledge when she didn’t hear from you tonight, but you can guess how well that went. Text anytime if you need to chat.
Calling her parents from Charlie’s flat didn’t feel right, so once her phone’s battery had been sufficiently charged, Mari headed downstairs and out through the store that seemed in even worse disarray at second glance. The street outside was quiet and empty, the sky clear, and the moon shimmered over a river as smooth as glass.
It was one of the prettiest scenes imaginable.
Wishing she’d had more than that short nap on the couch to restore her fried brain cells before this call, she dialed her parents’ house.
“Mari?” Her mother picked up on the first ring. “Thank God. We thought something had happened to you.”
“I’m fine, I just got busy and then my phone battery died.”
“What have you been busy with?” Her mother was instantly suspicious. “The flat and store are both dumps, aren’t they? Just like I said they would be.”