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

by Jessica Gilmore

‘You know what I want.’

  Yes, she did. And she wasn’t anywhere on that list.

  ‘For DL Media to work like clockwork, your parents to behave, and to find your perfect wife at the perfect time? I have news for you, Max. Life isn’t that simple. Life is emotional and messy and demanding, and you can’t hide behind spreadsheets for ever. When you find her, this right woman at the right time to make the perfect life with, she’s going to have her own chips and flaws. Her own desires and needs.’

  ‘I know that.’ His face was white under the tan, his eyes hard.

  ‘Do you?’

  Ellie stepped forward and put her hand on his arm, relieved when he didn’t try and shake her off.

  ‘You have helped me so much this last week. Helped me confront the past, helped me move on. I feel free, reborn. But it’s down to me now. It’s always been down to me. To move on or to lock myself away. My choice. Just like your parents can make their own choices. And you. You can choose too, you know.’

  ‘I have chosen, Ellie. I choose to honour my commitments. I choose to live and dream big, to keep pushing. There’s nothing wrong with that.’

  ‘I thought I was the one who was too scared to reach out.’ She looked at him, really at him, trying to see through to the closely guarded heart of him. ‘But you’re just as bad. I hope you find what you’re looking for, Max. I hope it’s worth it.’

  He covered her hand with his and squeezed, the rigid look fading from his face. ‘It will be. Same to you. Dream big, Ellie.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  His hand was warm, comforting over hers. She might not need him but the uncomfortable truth was that she did want him. Her bed was going to feel larger than it had used to, her walks on the beach a little more solitary. But that was fine. She had the festival to plan. A social life to start.

  She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lightly stubbled cheek, breathing him in one last time. ‘You’d better get going. Safe flight, Max.’

  ‘See you around, honey.’

  ‘Yes.’ She paused, then stepped closer, tiptoeing up towards him again. This time she touched her lips to his...a brief caress. ‘Bye.’

  And she turned and walked away, ignoring the whisper in her heart telling her to turn round and ask him to stay.

  What could she offer him here in Cornwall? Only herself. And that would never be enough.

  * * *

  When had Max’s office become so confining? Oh, he still had views over downtown Hartford, still had room to pace, a huge desk, a comfortable yet imposing chair. But somehow his horizons felt strangely limiting.

  Even though he could walk out now, if he wanted to. Could organise a meeting in Sydney or Paris or Prague and be on a plane within hours.

  Be in London within hours.

  Max picked up the snow globe that now stood right next to his laptop dock: a penguin balanced on an iceberg encased in a glass bauble. He hadn’t known what to expect when Ellie had given him the paper bag but it certainly hadn’t been this. Delicate, intricate, mesmerising.

  Like its giver.

  He shook it, watching the tiny flakes fall on to the miniature black and white bird, turning the arctic scene into a fairytale. It had been a fairytale. For just a few days. But he was back in reality now.

  Back in reality and ridiculously restless.

  He wasn’t sleeping well, straining to hear the waves crashing on a shore thousands of miles away; rolling over to put on arm around a body that wasn’t there.

  He’d always liked sleeping alone before. Liked the rumble of the city.

  A knock on the door pulled him back to his surroundings, and he managed to return the snow globe to its place and refocus his attention on the document he was reading before his PA entered the room. His pulse quickened. Had Ellie been in touch? He’d asked Lydia to tell him if she heard from Ellie, but there had been nothing at all in over three weeks.

  Was she well? Was she safe? She was probably busy with the shop, with her committees. Busy going to the pub with her friends...with that blond surfer who hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off her. As long as it was just his eyes.

  He made an effort to unclench his jaw. ‘Yes?’

  ‘You asked me to let you know when your father was back in his office. He arrived back ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Thanks, Lydia.’

  His father had been elusive ever since Max’s return to Hartford. Once Max had verified that Great-Aunt Demelza’s shares were valid he had done his best to track his father down so he could tell him of the change in ownership in person. It had proved impossible. In the end he had had to notify him by email.

  His father hadn’t replied.

  Max leaned back in his chair and stared at the snow globe. This was it. Everything he wanted was within his grasp. He should feel elated, and yet the best word he could find to describe his feelings was hollow.

  Empty.

  He glanced over at the snow globe again. He swore the penguin was trying to tell him something.

  It was a short walk to his father’s office, which occupied the other top floor corner suite. Max’s great-grandfather had settled in Hartford in the early nineteen-twenties to provide printing services to the city’s insurance industry, but had soon branched out into book publishing and journalism. It was Max’s grandfather who had taken the company into TV, film, and expanded out of the US.

  But although they now had offices around the globe—publishing headquarters in New York, digital in Silicon Valley and Los Angeles—the heart of the operation remained in Connecticut. Where it had all begun.

  The door to his father’s office was closed but Max didn’t knock, simply twisting the handle and walking in. To his surprise his father wasn’t at his desk; he was standing at the window, looking out over the river beyond, his shoulders slumped. Would he concede defeat before the battle began?

  Max hoped so. It might be necessary, but he had no stomach for this fight.

  ‘Hi, Dad.’

  ‘Max.’ The shoulders straightened, and his expression as he turned around was one of familiar paternal affability. ‘Good vacation? Where did you go? Cornwall?’

  As if he didn’t already know.

  ‘I wasn’t on holiday. I was in London and sorting out Great-Aunt Demelza’s estate. Did you know she lived in the house your grandfather was born in? She left it to me. It’s pretty special.’

  ‘Are you going to sell it?’

  That was his father. Not a trace of sentimentality.

  Max closed his eyes briefly and saw the round white house perched high above the harbour, the golden wood of the polished floorboards, that spectacular view. ‘No. I’m thinking of keeping it.’

  Ellie’s words floated through his head. ‘The village needs young families not more second home owners.’ It might be a selfish decision but it was the right one. For now, at least.

  ‘It wasn’t all that she left me, Dad.’

  His father’s jaw tightened. ‘Apparently not. The papers...they’re legitimate?’

  ‘Seems so. You realise what that means?’

  ‘That we’re equal partners. Well, you are my son, although it seems a bit premature for you to have so much control. You’re still just a boy.’

  Max breathed in, willing himself not to rise to the bait. ‘We need to talk, Dad. Want to take a walk?’

  Hartford, like many cities, had a gritty side, and many affluent families, like Max’s own, preferred to live outside the city in large estates by the river, or in one of the quaint and historic small Connecticut towns.

  But since he had moved into one of the many luxury apartment blocks catering for young professionals Max had grown fond of the old city, especially enjoying the riverside paths and parks which were vibrant public spaces, perfect for walking, running and cyc
ling. He steered his father towards the river, glad to be outside—even if the temperature was hitting the high eighties.

  He was even more glad that, unlike his father, he had taken advantage of the company’s Dress-down Friday policy and was comfortable in dark khakis and a short-sleeved white shirt.

  The park was full of people: families picnicking, personal trainers putting their clients through their moves, couples lying in the sun. Steven Loveday looked around at the buzzing space in obvious surprise. He probably never walked in the city, Max realised. He would be driven in to the office, to the theatre, to the high-end restaurants he frequented, but otherwise he spent his life on his estate or at his club.

  ‘This is all rather nice.’ He followed Max down the steep steps and onto the path. ‘I had no idea this was here.’

  ‘I guess you wouldn’t have.’ Max wanted this talk, had sought it out, but now it was time he was finding it hard to find the right words. ‘I spoke to Mom.’

  A smile spread across his father’s face and he clapped Max on the shoulder. ‘That’s my boy. Has she seen sense?’

  ‘I spoke to Mom and I told her exactly what I am about to tell you.’ Max kept his voice level. ‘It’s not my place to arbitrate your divorce. That’s between you guys. Personally, I think you need to go and talk to her face to face. She deserves that courtesy, at least.’

  Steven Loveday stood still, incongruous in his hand-made suit amongst the rollerbladers, joggers and families. ‘Right...’ he said slowly.

  ‘She won’t come after the company.’ Max took a deep breath. Here goes. ‘As long as I’m in charge.’

  His father looked at him blankly. ‘What?’

  ‘Dad, our profits are down. We’re losing some of our most valuable staff. Rumours are flying through the industry that we’re on the brink of collapse. The publishers tell me that agents aren’t entertaining our bids. We’re losing ground.’

  His father waved a hand, dismissing the litany of disasters. ‘That was bound to happen after your grandfather died. We knew there would be some instability.’

  ‘It’s been over a year.’

  ‘We have a strategy.’

  ‘No. No, Dad, there isn’t a strategy. I don’t know what we’re doing, the board doesn’t know, and none of our senior directors have any direction. You’re on a spending spree and I spend my whole time firefighting. It’s not a strategy. It’s a disaster.’

  ‘Come on, Max, things are a little tight...’

  ‘I own fifty per cent outright.’ There was no point rehashing the same old arguments. ‘You own twenty-five per cent, with an interest in the other twenty-five. Your share is yours. You can do what you like with it. But I want you to sign the other share over to me now. Not when you retire. If you do then Mom will leave the company alone. The rest of the settlement is up to you two—but you owe her, and I think you know it.’

  His father’s eyes narrowed. ‘And if I won’t?’

  ‘Then I’ll go to the board and force a vote. I’m pretty confident that they’ll back me.’

  His father started walking slowly along the path. The colour had left his face and he looked every minute of his fifty-eight years. Guilt punched through Max but he ignored it. It was time Steven Loveday faced the consequences of his actions.

  ‘Dad, you are about to have another baby. A chance to do it all over again.’ Max didn’t add to do it right, but the unsaid words hung uncomfortably in the air. ‘You say you love Mandy. I hope you do. I hope for all our sakes that this time it’s real. Spend time with her...with the baby.’

  ‘Take early retirement? That would be convenient.’ His father’s words were laced with scorn.

  ‘Or take an executive role. Dad, honestly, are you enjoying it? Running DL Media? Does it buzz through your brains? Is it the first thing you think of when you wake up, before you sleep?’

  ‘Well... I...’

  ‘Or do you miss the afternoons golfing, the long lunches? It’s okay if you do, Dad. I’m just saying that running DL is all-consuming. And I don’t think that’s what you want.’

  ‘And you do? You want to be like your grandfather? Work first and the rest of the world be damned?’

  Max looked away, across the river. ‘It’s all I know. All I want.’

  At least it had been. But it hadn’t been work occupying his mind as he lay in bed fruitlessly chasing sleep over the last few weeks.

  It had been a small terraced building on a steep road and the dark-eyed, toffee-haired girl who occupied it.

  She hadn’t been born and brought up in his world. She didn’t know the rules.

  She had no interest in timetables.

  But when he imagined his future she was all that he could see.

  ‘I don’t see that I have much choice. You’ve won, Max. I hope it’s all you want it to be.’

  His father turned and walked away, leaving Max alone by the river.

  He should be elated. The company was his. He had won.

  But he had no one to tell, no one to celebrate with. He was all alone, and the only person he wanted to share his news with was on the other side of the Atlantic.

  * * *

  Maybe she should get a dog. Something to walk on the beach with, something to talk to. Uncritical adoration.

  Ellie breathed in and turned slowly. The briny air filled her lungs and her eyes drank in the deep blue of a summer ocean. The roaring of the waves filled her ears. Trengarth on an idyllic summer’s day.

  It was perfect, and yet somehow it didn’t fill her with the usual peace. Discomfort was gnawing away at her and she couldn’t assuage it. Not with work—the shop seemed to run itself these days. Not with the festival—thanks to the brilliant volunteers making sure not a single task remained to be done. And now not even a walk on the beach helped.

  Max was right. Watching wasn’t enough. But she had been on the sidelines for so long. How could she step out onto the crest of a wave?

  She stepped back onto the road, for once not turning back to admire the view.

  ‘Hi, Ellie, are you walking back? I’m going that way.’ Sam was breathing hard as he caught up with her.

  ‘You are?’ Ellie looked at Sam in surprise. ‘Don’t you live in the old town?’

  ‘Yeah, but I have some business on the hill.’ He looked vaguely uncomfortable.

  She had seen a great deal of Sam recently. He’d been walking on the beach at the same time as she had several evenings recently and always joined her. Twice he had been at The Boat House when she’d popped in for her regular Friday lunch and he’d asked her to sit with him. He was on the organising committee, on her pub quiz team. He had popped in to the shop several times, to buy presents or ask for recommendations.

  They’d laughed about how they must stop bumping into each other all the time. And here they were. Again.

  Ellie’s stomach swooped and it was all she could do to keep walking and talking normally. She’d suspected that he liked her before. But now she was sure. He liked her liked her.

  Her hands felt too big, her legs too long, her laugh too grating. She was hyper-aware of her every word and gesture. They all seemed clumsy and fake. Breathe, she told herself crossly. Max liked you liked you and that didn’t worry you.

  And Sam was great. A catch. He had an interesting job, he was funny, community-minded. He was handsome enough, if you liked fit, blue-eyed, blond-haired surfer guys.

  Did she?

  Or was she a little too fixated on dark-haired, caramel-eyed Americans?

  Unobtainable dark-haired Americans.

  She was supposed to be moving on.

  ‘Sorry, what was that?’ Sam had been speaking and she hadn’t even heard him.

  ‘The festival,’ he repeated. ‘It’s going well.’

  ‘It seems to b
e,’ she agreed cautiously. ‘Obviously it’s early days yet, and we have a long way to go, but DL’s London office have been really helpful. I think we’re guaranteed some big names through them anyway, so that should put us on the map.’

  Her phone beeped at this opportune moment and, thankful for the interruption, she smiled at Sam apologetically. ‘I should get this. Go on without me. Honestly.’

  He looked as if he might protest, but she turned away, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she did so. At some point she was going to have to let him know she wasn’t interested.

  Because she wasn’t interested. Although how she wished she was. Darn Max Loveday. He was supposed to be the cure, not the poison.

  The number on her phone was a London one, which wasn’t unusual these days. She had never spent so much time on the phone, mainly to agents or publishers, trying to secure the names she wanted whilst considering the ones they were pushing at her. It was a real game of nerves, and to her surprise she got a buzz out of the negotiations.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Ellie? It’s Andy Taylor here, Head of Retail Marketing at DL Media. We met at the industry awards the other week.’

  ‘Hi, Andy. Is this about the festival? Because all my paperwork is back at the shop.’ She dimly remembered him, but he wasn’t one of her usual contacts.

  ‘Festival? No, no. Actually, Ellie, I was calling you on the off-chance that you might be interested in a job. We have an opening here at DL Media and I think you might be the perfect candidate.’

  Ellie stood in the street, time slowing down, until all she could hear was the slow thumping of her heart. Even the cry of the gulls, the chatter of children outside the ice cream shop faded away. That irritating, interfering man. Did Max have to try and sort out everything?

  ‘Did Max put you up to this?’

  ‘Max? You mean Max Loveday?’ Andy Taylor laughed. ‘Oh, no. He doesn’t interfere at all with local staff, or any hiring below director level. No, it’s your experience we’re interested in.’

  ‘My experience?’

  Stop repeating things, Ellie or he’ll change his mind.

  ‘It’s a retail marketing role. Obviously you run a really successful shop in a remote area, and I think that means you’d be able to bring a really valuable perspective to the role.’