A Will, A Wish...A Proposal (Contemporary Romance)

by Jessica Gilmore

  ‘If you’re going to be a sore loser...’

  Max looked annoyingly at ease, leaning on the railing and waiting for her, his cheeks unflushed, his chest not heaving for breath. Unlike hers.

  ‘No, no, I concede. I’m not sure I’d have won even with a head start. Next time I pick the competition. Speed-reading, maybe.’

  She stepped onto the causeway to join him, but as she did so she heard her name called from someone behind her and twisted round to see who it was. It wasn’t often she found herself hailed in such a friendly way.

  A group of wetsuit-clad surfers had left the sea and were making their way up the beach, boards tucked under their arms.

  ‘Ellie, wait!’

  She turned to meet them, all too aware of Max behind her. The surfers were all locals. Some were born and bred, and some were incomers like Ellie, lured to Trengarth by the sea, the scenery and the pace of life. Ellie often forgot just how many people her own age lived in the village, many working at The Boat House café or the hotel of the same name, others owning businesses they ran from their homes. The group in front of her included a talented chef, a website designer and an architect.

  ‘Hi...’ She wasn’t sure why she was so self-conscious as she called back, but the heat in her cheeks wasn’t completely down to her recent exercise.

  ‘Are you coming to the quiz tonight?’ asked Sam, the architect, as he jogged ahead of his friends to join her. ‘We would never have won last week without you.’

  It wasn’t often she ventured out, but a week ago she had popped into the pub, completely unaware that it was the weekly hotly contested quiz night, and had been co-opted on to a team. She had felt unexpectedly welcome, and for the first time had been uneasily aware that her incomer status might be something she enforced on herself. Especially where the under-thirties in the village were concerned.

  ‘Well, if you ever picked up a book you might have a chance. I sell quite a selection, you know. Come in and I’ll make a personal recommendation.’

  ‘Tempting...’ Sam was standing a little closer, his blue eyes smiling down into hers in unmistakable invitation.

  Ellie waited for that same jolt of libido she had experienced earlier. Sam was tall, handsome, he wore the tight-fitting wetsuit very well and was looking down at her with appreciation. But, no. Nothing. Not even a tiny electric shock.

  Disappointing. He would be a much more suitable person to have a crush on. If only her body would agree.

  She took a step back, breaking the connection. ‘Besides, I was more than useless at the sports questions and I had no idea how terrible my geography was until last week. I’ve been paying extra attention when I shelve the travel guides to try and brush up a little.’

  ‘So you’ll come?’

  The rest of the group had caught up with Sam and were waiting for her answer. She knew them all, but none of them was close enough to count as a friend.

  She hadn’t noticed the difference before.

  ‘I... I might,’ she said finally. ‘I was about to pop down to the Herrings to introduce Max to the place so... Oh, this is Max Loveday. Miss Loveday’s great-nephew. He’s come over to sort out the house and help me make a start on the festival.’

  She was aware of Sam’s appraising gaze as she introduced the rest of the group to Max, and was glad when she could finally make her escape with the promise that she might see them later.

  Max didn’t speak for a few moments as they retraced their steps along the seafront, but the silence was tight, the easy camaraderie of the beach gone as if it had never been.

  ‘Is he your boyfriend?’

  Ellie felt her cheeks warm again. She didn’t need to ask who he was referring to. ‘No.’ She was glad her voice didn’t squeak. ‘I’m not seeing anyone at the moment. Are you?’

  What did they say? Attack was the best form of defence, and she really didn’t want to be discussing her personal life with anyone. Especially not with Max Loveday.

  ‘Me?’ His voice was amused. ‘Not at the moment. My last relationship ended a couple of months ago. I was always too busy to date, and it was apparent that our timetables didn’t match, so I called it off.’

  He sounded as detached as if he were discussing cancelling a dinner reservation, not ending an intimate relationship.

  ‘Your timetables?’ Had she misheard? Was that some kind of slang term for sexual compatibility? Or something really hip to do with auras?

  ‘Stella wanted to get engaged this year, but I’m not going to get married before thirty. Ideally I would like to be around thirty-four, and I don’t really want to think about kids until two years after that.’ He shrugged as if that was the most natural reason to break up in the world.

  ‘But...’ She stared at his profile in fascination, looking for some hint that he was teasing her. ‘Didn’t you love her?’

  ‘I liked her. We had a lot in common. She was from my world.’ Max paused. ‘That’s what’s important. That’s what ensures a harmonious marriage. Love isn’t enough of a bedrock to build a marriage, a family on. It’s not solid enough, not real enough.’

  ‘It isn’t? Surely it’s the most important thing?’

  Despite her hideous three years with Simon and his warped idea of what love meant, in spite of her mother’s inability to exist without it, love was still the goal. Wasn’t it? Right now she might only find it in books and films, but one day, when her libido was behaving itself and she found herself attracted to the right man at the right time, she hoped she would fall in love. Properly this time. Not mistaking infatuation and fear for the real thing.

  She hadn’t even considered a timetable.

  ‘My parents were madly in love.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Madly being the operative word. Apart from the times when my father was in love with someone else. I don’t know which was worse: the awful strained silences, the lies and the falsity when he was having an affair, or the making up afterwards. Once he bought my mother a Porsche. Red, of course. Filled it with one thousand red roses and heart-shaped balloons.’

  ‘Oh, that sounds...’ Ellie fought to find the right word and failed.

  ‘Vulgar?’ His voice was grim. ‘It was. I don’t want that kind of ridiculous drama in my life. Respect and mutual goals are a far tidier way to live. A lot less destructive.’

  ‘My parents loved each other too.’ The familiar lump rose in her throat at the memory. ‘But there was no drama. They were just really happy.’

  Max stared straight ahead. ‘I spent most of my childhood either playing peacekeeper and go-between or being ignored as they went off on yet another honeymoon. Unless I was with my grandfather. It was all much more stable there.’

  ‘Sounds like he wasn’t so different from your Great-Aunt Demelza. She was one of the calmest people I knew.’

  ‘Mmm...’

  His mind was clearly elsewhere.

  ‘Ellie, would you mind if I took a raincheck on the pint? I’m still pretty jetlagged and it’s been a long few days. But tomorrow I’m going to start going through the house and I would really appreciate your help. You knew her best.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Ellie was relieved not to have to spend more time with him now. Especially not in the intimate setting of The Three Herrings, where the little cubicle-like snugs meant an easy drink could easily feel like a tête-à-tête. And it meant she could definitely get out of the pub quiz and curl up with her book, just as she had planned.

  Yes, she was definitely relieved. She wasn’t feeling a little flat at all...

  * * *

  For the longest time The Round House had been the place that Ellie loved best in all the world. It wasn’t just its curious shape, like something out of a fairytale, with its high circular roof, the huge arched windows looking out to sea. Nor was it just the knowledge that in its
rounded walls were rooms full of treasures. Whether your tastes ran to books, clothes, jewellery, home-baked food or collections of everything from stamps to fossils, somewhere in the various cupboards, cabinets and boxes there was bound to be something to catch your eye.

  Once, at first, it had been her holiday home: the flagstone hallway liberally sprinkled with sand as she ran in straight from the beach, barely pausing to wrap a towel around her before heading to the kitchen for freshly baked scones and a glass of creamy Cornish milk. Later it had been a place for grief and contemplation, long hours huddled in the window seat on the first-floor landing, staring out to sea, wondering just where it was she belonged.

  And then it had been a refuge. Literally. A place to regroup, to lick her wounds. Demelza Loveday had given her all the time, space and love in the world. It was a debt she could never repay. Making sure she helped her godmother’s dream of a literary festival come true was the least she could do.

  But today, watching Max open the arched front door and invite her in, a realisation hit her. One she hadn’t allowed herself to articulate before.

  The Round House would never be her home again. It belonged to Max Loveday. From now on it would be a second home, visited once a year, or sold on to strangers. Her last link to Demelza Loveday would be severed.

  But for the moment at least nothing had changed. The hallway was still furnished with the same aged elegance; the glass bowl on the sideboard was set in the same position. Only the hat stand was missing its usual mackintosh and scarf. Demelza’s clothes had long since been gathered up and given away to charity.

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  Ellie started, aware that she had been standing immobile, staring around the hallway for far too long. ‘No, sorry. It’s just...’ She hesitated, unsure how to articulate the strange sense of wrongness. Then it came to her. ‘It smells all wrong.’

  Max sniffed. ‘It was a little musty when I got here, I’ve had all the windows open, though.’

  ‘No, it’s not that.’ It wasn’t what she could smell, more what she couldn’t. That elusive sense that something important was missing. ‘There’s no smell of baking. No perfume in the air. Your great-aunt liked a very floral scent, quite heavy. It’s gone now.’

  Max leaned back against the wall, his casual stance and clothes incongruous against the daintily patterned wallpaper. ‘The whole house was cleaned after her clothes were disposed of—she’d asked that they were given away or sold, and I guess the executors took care of that. But all her papers are here. Her books, pictures, ornaments. I have no idea what to do with it all.’

  He didn’t sound dismissive. Not exactly. But nor did he sound at all appreciative. He had no idea how special his gift was.

  ‘Where do you want to start?’ It wasn’t his fault, Ellie reminded herself. He didn’t have the links she did. What were treasured memories to her must just be so much clutter to him.

  ‘In the library. The solicitor gave me the key to her desk. Apparently all the papers in there are mine now. They sold off the stocks and other financial assets for the trust so it must all be family stuff.’

  ‘More information about the sea captain?’

  The pinched expression left his face. ‘Maybe. That would be cool.’

  In Ellie’s admittedly not at all unbiased opinion, the library was the heart of the house. Demelza had turned what had been the morning room into a book-lined paradise filled with window seats and cosy nooks. In summer you could look out upon the ocean, basking in the sun through the open French windows; in winter a roaring fire warmed you as you read. The rounded walls held glassed-in bookshelves, reaching from floor to ceiling. Polished oak floorboards were covered with vibrant rugs in turquoises and emeralds. The same colours were reflected in the curtains and the geometric Art Deco wallpaper.

  Would whoever bought this house keep the room this way? It was horribly unlikely.

  Max had wandered over to the far side of the room, where he was examining a case of blue-bound hardbacks. ‘She owned the entire catalogue...’ His voice was reverential. ‘That’s incredible.’

  ‘I was only allowed to touch those under strict supervision even when I was all grown up. She said they had too much sentimental value.’

  Max raised an eyebrow. ‘Not just sentimental; they’re worth a fortune to collectors. These are all first edition Kerenza Press classics.’ He opened the glass door and carefully slid one out. ‘Just look at the quality...the illustrations. We stopped producing these years ago. I always wished we had carried on.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘DL Media. Kerenza was the very first imprint my great-grandfather started. He named it after his wife, my great-grandmother.’ His mouth twisted. ‘It means “love” in Cornish.’

  ‘It’s a beautiful name.’ No wonder Demelza had such an amazing collection of books, but why had she never mentioned that she was part of the DL Media empire? All those long talks about books, about the shop, about the festival, and she had never once let slip her literary heritage.

  For the first time Ellie was conscious of a gap between her godmother and herself. Not of age, or privilege, but of secrets withheld, confidences untold.

  ‘I knew that you worked for DL Media because of your email. I didn’t know that you were DL.’

  Ellie gave a little laugh, but it sounded false even to her own ears. Max was heir to one of the last big publishing and media companies in private hands. No wonder he wore an air of wealth and privilege like a worn-in sweatshirt: so comfortable it was almost part of him.

  ‘She didn’t mention it?’

  Ellie shook her head. ‘Never. She never really spoke about her life in America. Sometimes she would talk about her university days here in England. That’s how she knew my grandmother. All she said about her working life was that she regretted never marrying but that in her day women could have jobs or they could have marriage, not both. She never mentioned her family or where she’d worked.’

  ‘She worked for DL until my great-grandfather died. Then there was some kind of argument—about the will and the direction of the company, I think.’ His face was set as he stared at the book in his hands. ‘There’s nothing to tear a family apart like money. Wills and family businesses must be responsible for more fractures than anything else.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know...’ That old bone-deep ache pulsed. ‘Families fracture for many reasons. But sometimes we forge our own family ties. Blood doesn’t always run deeper.’

  ‘You’re not close to your family?’

  ‘I lost my father and brother in a car accident.’ How could something so utterly destructive be explained in just a few words? How could the ripping apart of a family be distilled down to one sentence? ‘My mother remarried.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ His eyes had darkened with sympathy, the expression in them touching somewhere buried deep inside her, warming, defrosting. But the barriers were there for a reason.

  She stepped back, putting even more space between them. ‘It was a long time ago.’

  ‘Do you like your stepfather?’

  ‘He makes my mother happy. She’s not really the kind of person who copes well by herself. It’s a relief to know that someone is taking care of her.’

  It was the truth, so why did it feel as if she were lying?

  * * *

  ‘I’ll definitely ship all this back, but nothing seems urgent.’ Max stared at the floor of the library, now liberally covered in papers, paperclips and folders.

  His great-aunt had definitely been a hoarder. And an avid family historian. There was enough here to write a biography of the entire Loveday clan—one with several volumes. But so far he hadn’t found anything to indicate that she had still owned part of the company.

  Ellie sat cross-legged close by, sorting through some of the newer-looking files, many of which w
ere about village committees and his great-aunt’s charitable commitments.

  ‘This looks different. It’s in a legal envelope and addressed to you, so I haven’t opened it.’ Ellie handed over a large manila envelope. His name was neatly typed on the label.

  ‘Thanks...’

  This could be it. His pulse began to speed as he reached for the envelope, and then accelerated as his hand brushed hers. His fingers wanted to latch on to hers, keep holding on. Her hair had fallen out of its clip while they worked and she had allowed it to flow free. Max could barely keep his eyes off the smooth flow of hair, constantly changing colour in the sunlit room, one moment dark chocolate, the next a rich bronze.

  It had to be natural. He couldn’t imagine Ellie sitting for hours in a hairdresser’s chair. His mother had her hair cut and dyed monthly, at a salon that charged the equivalent of a month’s rent for the privilege.

  No wonder her alimony demands were so high.

  ‘What is it? A treasure map for some ancient pirate Loveday’s plunder?’

  ‘Fingers crossed.’ If it was what he was hoping for then it would be worth far more than any treasure chest.

  Max slit the envelope open and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

  ‘No X marks the spot.’

  ‘Disappointing.’ Ellie got to her feet in one graceful gesture. ‘Shall I start tidying some of this lot up? I don’t think there’s any way you’re going to get through this entire house in just two weeks.’

  He could barely make out her words. All his attention was on the piece of paper he held. ‘Read this. What does it say?’

  She glanced at him, puzzled, before taking the paper. Max rocked back on his heels, his blood pumping so loudly he could barely make out her voice as she read the paper aloud.

  ‘It says that Demelza remained a silent shareholder even after her severance from DL Media and that she’s left her twenty-five per cent share of the company to you. Very nice.’