Out of Sight

by Rebecca Duval

  Finally, he looked up, his eyes locking with hers. “Yes, but it isn’t the other way round, is it? He chose you.”

  Oh god, not this again. Isla had really begun to think he was over it. “Your dad gave me the Rosehill contract because I needed the experience, Tim.”

  “What experience is that, Isla?” Tim’s eyes trailed over her, and Isla folded her arms across her chest self consciously.

  “What exactly are you trying to say?”

  Tim shook his head. “Nothing. I just hope it’s been instructive, that’s all. Since you might not get the opportunity again.” He turned back to his books.

  Isla had lifted her bag from the table and was moving towards the stairs, but something about Tim’s words - and his tone - made her stop. “Why do you say that?”

  Tim put his pen down and looked up at her. “C’mon, Isla. You don’t honestly think that when Parsons & Co passes to me, that I’ll keep it going, do you? That I’ll stay shackled to this place-” he gestured around the crowded back room, “-that I’ll take your pittance in rent, and let you flit about the place, coming and going as you please?”

  Isla was so stunned that her rage was slow to come, but when it did, she felt her blood begin to boil. How dare he? She’d done more for his family business than Tim ever had, putting in longer hours, going above and beyond, pushing herself out of her comfort zone, while Tim had pottered about, with his paint-flecked blazer, occasionally valuing a painting or serving a customer, knowing that his lack of enthusiasm and the gaps in his knowledge wouldn’t matter because it would all be his one day anyway. And now, because she’d taken one weekend off, and he’d come in to do some bookkeeping, he was suddenly the only thing keeping the business afloat? Isla seethed with anger.

  She turned on her heel, biting her lip to keep the tirade of venom she could feel building inside her from spilling out. She would not be goaded. She would not say something that she would regret. Still, she couldn’t prevent the stomp in her step as she climbed the staircase or the force with which she slammed the flat door after her. It was petulant, she knew, but it made her feel better. She dropped her bag onto the sofa and collapsed down beside it.

  Damn it. Isla dropped her head into her hands. Damn Tim and his jealousy. Now that her work at Rosehill was done she’d be seeing him every day, and she’d have to go on biting her tongue and pretending to get along for the sake of Len. Isla didn’t know how she was going to bear it. Or, even worse, how she would bear being away from Rosehill...and Ethan.

  Thirty Eight

  Every day, Isla thought about phoning Ethan, but each time something stopped her from hitting the call button. He knew her number. Besides, he’d said himself, he couldn’t promise her anything.

  She busied herself sorting through the final suitcase of papers from Rosehill, and trying to avoid Tim as much as was physically possible when working alongside someone. By the time Saturday rolled around she was delighted to have Zoe as a distraction.

  “You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” Isla said, stirring sugar into her tea.

  Zoe shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the stand in the back room. “Well, I don’t like to upset you, but I’m only here until twelve.”

  “What?” Isla groaned. “Why?”

  Zoe’s glance flickered to the curtain. “My hours have been cut,” she whispered.

  The teaspoon Isla was holding clattered into the mug. “Since when?”

  “Shh!” Zoe held a finger to her lips. “Since Len called me on Monday, full of apologies. Something about balancing the books for a bit.”

  Isla’s eyes grew wide. “Shit, Zo, I’m sorry. I know you need the income.”

  Zoe shrugged. “I’ll just have to hope my jewellery starts flying off the stalls, hey?”

  Isla squeezed her friend’s arm. “It will. I had compliments on the pair I wore to the ball.”

  Zoe’s eyes met hers. “Still no word?”

  Isla shook her head.

  Zoe sighed. “Why don’t you just call him, Isla?”

  “I don’t even know what I would say. Besides, he knows how I feel, Zo. The ball’s in his court now.”

  *

  It was a slow morning, with a few browsers but no sales. Tim stalked about the place, looking busy without actually doing very much. Zoe began reorganising the jewellery cabinet. Isla leant on the counter with her head resting on her chin, imagining what Ethan was doing at that moment.

  Playing the piano? Working out? Isla bit her lip. Not wandering the woods in the rain, she hoped.

  The bell above the door punctured her daydream, and she unslouched herself from the counter, not wanting to give a bad impression. Isla glanced up at the customer who’d just walked in, and her jaw fell open.

  Ethan stood in the doorway. His face was obscured by a pair of dark glasses, but Isla could make out the blurred edges of yellow-blue bruises beneath the lenses, and even the fresh layer of stubble couldn’t disguise the livid bruise creeping across his jaw. His long, dark coat was peppered with raindrops like dew, and his hair was damp.

  “Is that who I think it is?” Zoe asked from beside her.

  Isla didn’t answer.

  Ethan took a faltering step forward in the unknown space, and Isla rounded the counter, crossing the shop floor to meet him, aware of both Zoe’s and Tim’s eyes following her.

  “Ethan.” She stood in front of him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was in the area.” A smile danced across his lips like a shadow beneath water, but it didn’t quite surface.

  Aware of not just Zoe and Tim, but the other customers watching her, Isla tried to keep her expression neutral, although it was near impossible when her insides were flipping like she was on a rollercoaster.

  She offered him her elbow, her nerves tingling beneath the touch of his fingers, firm and gentle against her bare arm. Isla led him swiftly between the hoards of chunky furniture and brought him to a standstill in one of the darkest corners of the shop. They were hidden from view by a polished teak armoire, and the smell of lemons and hardwood danced in the air.

  “Would it be very unprofessional of me to kiss you?” Ethan asked.

  Isla’s insides fluttered. “Yes. But I’ll be very disappointed if you don’t.”

  “In that case…”

  He slid his glasses off and pocketed them. His face was healing, but there could be no doubt he’d been in a fight very recently. Isla tilted her head towards his, and Ethan’s mouth met hers with a gentle ferocity, that knocked the breath from her. All thoughts of professionalism were obliterated by Ethan’s kiss. Isla could have happily stayed there, pressed up against the old armoire all day, customers be damned, but it was Ethan who pulled away.

  Isla smoothed a hand over her clothes, trying to hide her disappointment.

  “What are you really doing here?”

  “I told you, I was in the area. I had to meet Connor.”

  Isla swallowed her surprise. She’d assumed his offer to help Connor had been a one-off, spurred on by what she’d overheard at the ball. Was it possible it had become a regular thing? That Ethan was starting to get involved with the family business again?

  “I was hoping to take you out for lunch,” he said.

  “Oh, wow. Erm…”

  Ethan looked uncertain now. “Unless you’re busy?”

  Under any other circumstances, Isla would have jumped at the invitation, but given this was her first week back, and Tim’s insinuation that she’d been neglecting her duties at work in favour of dallying with a client, she knew she shouldn’t.

  “I don’t think I can leave-”

  “Yes you can,” Zoe interrupted.

  Isla whirled around and saw her friend standing at the other side of an upcycled table. “What?”

  “You swapped shifts with me, remember? So you’re finishing at twelve, which is- oh, look at that, right now.” Zoe tapped her watch and raised one eyebrow.

  “But-” Isla began.


  Zoe shook her head, her curls bouncing. “No buts. It’s too late to change your mind now.” She unwound her scarf from around her neck, and with a very pointed look, turned, and disappeared into the back of the shop.

  Isla turned back to Ethan, who was waiting patiently, his expression was one of faint amusement. “Is that a yes?”

  Isla blew out her breath in a shaky laugh. “Actually, I think that was an order.”

  On the pavement outside the shop, Ethan came to a standstill.

  “What is it?” Isla asked.

  Ethan rubbed one hand across the back of his neck. “Well, it’s been a while, I dinnae ken where to take you.”

  Isla smiled and offered him her elbow. “I know just the place.”

  *

  Hours flew by in a whirl of food and conversation. Ethan told her about the project in Portobello- a rehabilitation facility that Connor had been trying to get off the ground since Ethan had been discharged from hospital.

  “I think it’s given him something to focus on when he felt like he couldn’t help me,” Ethan said, tracking one thumb up the stem of his wine glass. “The trouble is, he’s too close to it now to see the problems. That’s what happens when your heart gets involved in business.”

  Isla confessed her worries about Parsons & Co, and her troubles with Tim.

  By the time they’d had dessert, and Ethan had walked her back to the shop, the shutters were down.

  “How will you get home?” Isla glanced up and down the busy street.

  “Dinnae fash. Ryder will pick me up.”

  “Oh.” Isla relaxed. “So...do you want to come up and wait?”

  Ethan’s brow creased above his dark glasses. “Actually, I think I’d better wait out here.”

  Isla blinked. “Okay.”

  “But are you free next Saturday?” He tilted his head.

  Realisation hit Isla. “Ethan, are you asking me out on a second date?”

  He shrugged. “If I was, would you say yes?”

  Isla laughed. “I might. It depends where we’re going.”

  “Hmm.” Ethan scratched his chin. “Then I’ll have to see what I can come up with.”

  Isla leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on his lips. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  *

  Saturday morning, Isla woke with butterflies. It was ridiculous, she knew. She and Ethan had already had sex- multiple times. She’d worked in his home for weeks, met his parents, and watched his brother beat the shit out of him. He’d shared his darkest secrets with her. They might have only known each other for a matter of weeks, but those weeks had taken place inside the pressure cooker that was Rosehill Hall.

  This was different. It was the real world...and, it was a date.

  And not just lunch in a crowded restaurant, either. Ethan was taking her out for the day. He’d called the night before to check she was free for the full day. Fortunately, it was her Saturday off, so she’d agreed to be ready by ten.

  As it was, it was only 8.45 am, and Isla was already bathed, dressed, and nibbling on a slice of buttered toast by the window, as though she expected the Range Rover to materialise down the narrow cobbled street at any minute.

  A date. The word rattled around Isla’s mind. Ethan had said he couldn’t promise her anything, but the word itself was full of promise. After all, wasn’t the point of a date to get to know someone? To decide if there was a future for the relationship?

  Isla’s stomach fluttered again, and she dropped the half-eaten toast onto her plate and smoothed one hand over her dress. She had no idea where he was taking her, so she’d decided to play it safe with a knitted dress, tights, and knee boots.

  Not that Ethan would know, or possibly care, but she would know.

  By the time the car pulled up outside the shop an hour later, Isla’s nerves were in overdrive. She stepped out onto the pavement and watched as Ethan climbed from the passenger seat. He was wearing his usual dark woollen coat, and boots, although they were both clean, and dry. His hair ruffled in the breeze, falling across his eyes, and Isla resisted the urge to sweep it back.

  “Morning,” she said, suddenly shy.

  “Good morning.” Ethan looked as unsure as she did, and Isla thought they might have gone on standing there for some time if Ryder hadn’t climbed out of the car.

  “Isla, it’s good to see you again.” He winked and opened the rear passenger door for her.

  Isla felt some of her nerves dissipate, as she climbed into the car.

  Ryder met her eye in the rearview mirror. “Nice beret.”

  Isla touched a hand to her head self-consciously. It had been a last-minute decision, and a nod to the temperature, which was falling rapidly as November drew to a close.

  “Thanks,” she said. “Where are we going?”

  Ethan clicked his seatbelt into place. “It’s a surprise.”

  But when the city streets widened, giving way to the suburbs, and gulls wheeled overhead, Isla couldn’t help but make an educated guess.

  “We’re going to Portobello, aren’t we?”

  “Maybe,” Ethan said.

  “You’d better not be dragging me to a planning meeting.”

  She caught Ethan’s smile in the wing mirror. “Wouldnae dream of it. No business today, only pleasure, I promise.”

  Ryder turned off the main street through the little town and navigated the Range Rover between the rows of parked cars that lined the narrow streets leading towards the seafront. Eventually, he found a space and brought the car to a standstill. Through the windscreen, Isla could see the winter sun glinting off the sea.

  The minute she stepped from the car the wind whipped her hair into a frenzy, and she tasted salt in the air.

  “Why here?” she asked, as Ethan climbed from the car.

  “I thought you’d like it.” He sounded unsure.

  “I do.”

  Ethan turned away to speak to Ryder but Isla caught the curve of his smile. To her surprise, a moment later Ryder pulled the car away from the kerb and drove off down the street.

  “He’s not staying?”

  Ethan raised one eyebrow. “Why- do you think we need a chaperone?” He held his arm out to her, and Isla took it.

  “I guess not.”

  “You don’t sound so sure.”

  She wasn’t. It had been two weeks since she and Ethan had done anything other than hold hands or exchange chaste kisses in public, and with every passing day, Isla grew more restless.

  Still, this was a date, she reminded herself. So she’d have to be satisfied with the feel of Ethan’s hand in hers, as they walked towards the seafront, his cane tapping lightly against the sand-strewn pavement.

  “Have you been here before?” Ethan asked.

  “A couple of times, with Zoe. One summer we swam in the sea.”

  “And how did you find it?”

  “Bloody freezing.”

  Ethan’s mouth twitched.

  “What about you?” Isla asked. “Do you come here often?”

  Ethan’s eyebrows shot up, and Isla rolled her eyes. “That wasn’t a chat-up line.”

  “How disappointing,” Ethan said. “But aye. I grew up around here.”

  Isla felt her own eyebrows raise. “I had no idea.”

  Ethan shrugged. “Why would you?”

  The street gave way to the promenade, stretching in either direction and separated from the beach by a low, concrete wall. A solitary seagull the size of a small dog regarded them from it, before cawing, and taking flight.

  The sand was empty aside from one solitary, neon jogger, making their way along the shoreline.

  “You’re wearing heels, aren’t you?” Ethan asked.

  Isla looked down at her boots. “Small ones.”

  “Think you can manage on the sand?”

  “Absolutely.”

  It was Ethan’s pace that slowed, his steps becoming more hesitant as the ground shifted beneath them, his cane marking patterns in the sand. Isla cou
ld see the concentration on his face as he tried to keep his footing.

  “I used to race Connor along here,” he said with a frown. “I dinnae remember it being so bloody difficult to stay upright.”

  “Everything seems easier when you’re a kid,” Isla said, but the image of a laughing, running, carefree Ethan sprinting along the water’s edge did something to her chest that made it hard for Isla to catch her breath.

  “Aye,” Ethan said. “And being able to see helps, I imagine.”

  They walked a little further in silence.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that your cousin is a baron?” Isla blurted.

  Ethan turned his head in surprise. “Arty?”

  “I met him at the ball,” Isla explained.

  Ethan nodded. “I didn’t know he’d be there, but it makes sense. He and Connor were close when we were growing up.”

  “It sounds like you all were,” Isla said.

  “For a time. But Arty had his own troubles, long before mine.” A frown rippled across Ethan’s features.

  What kind of troubles could a baron have? Isla wondered. She considered asking, but they’d lapsed into silence once more, their feet slipping in the shifting sand.

  Eventually, Ethan spoke. “Aye, Arty is a baron, officially, but it’s only a title, Isla. It doesnae come with anything but problems, and maybe a house in a worse state than Rosehill, if it’s even still standing.”

  “Poor guy,” Isla murmured.

  Ethan raised one eyebrow. “You seem to care a lot about someone you met once at a ball. Can I ask what it is about my cousin that has you feeling so sympathetic?”

  “He’s your cousin! Besides, he rescued me from an unpleasant conversation.”

  “Hmm, well remind me to thank him next time we’re in the same room,” Ethan muttered.

  Isla smacked his arm. “Ethan MacRae, are you jealous?”

  “Jealous? Why would I be jealous?”

  Isla hummed. “I have no idea.” She spotted something large, and unmoving, between the shingle at their feet. “There’s a crab just here,” she said, coming to a standstill.

  “Dead or alive?”

  She peered down at it. “Dead...I think…”