can’t just drop everything, Miss Scott. I have a very busy job. A job in Connecticut. Across the ocean. I can’t walk away to spend weeks playing benefactor by the sea.’
But even as he spoke the words a chill shivered through him. What did the next few months hold? Could he find a way to make his father toe the line—or was he going to have to force a vote at the board?
He would win. He knew many of the board members shared his misgivings. But then what?
His already fragile relationship with his father would be irrevocably shattered.
It was a price he was willing to pay. And if his great-aunt’s house did hold the key to an easy win then the least he could do was help get her dream started while he was here. His mouth twisted. It wasn’t as easy to walk away from family obligations as he’d thought, even when the family member was a stranger and deceased.
‘I can give you two weeks. Although I’ll be in London some of that time. Take it or leave it.’
Ellie’s cool gaze was fixed on him. As if she could see straight into the heart of him—and see all that was missing.
‘Fine.’
‘So I can set up a meeting?’ asked Mrs Trelawney. ‘I have a lot of ideas and I know many other people do too.’ Ellie’s assistant had given up any pretence of working, her eyes bright as she leaned onto the counter. ‘We could have a theme. Or base it on a genre? A murder mystery with actors? Or should we have it food-related. There could be baking competitions—make your favourite literary cake.’
Your favourite what? Max tried to avoid catching Ellie’s eye but it was impossible to look away. The serious, slightly sad expression had disappeared, to be replaced by a mischievous smile lurking in the deep brown depths of her large eyes.
He could feel an answering gleam in his own eyes, and his mouth wanted to smile in response, to try and coax a grin out of her, but he kept his face as calm and sincere as he could, trying to keep all his focus on Mrs Trelawney.
But he couldn’t stop his gaze sliding across to watch Ellie’s reaction. She was leaning against a bookcase, her arms folded as her face sparkled in amusement.
‘They are excellent ideas,’ he managed, and was rewarded by the quick upturn of her full mouth and the intriguing hint of a dimple in one pale cheek. ‘But we are at a very early stage. I think we need to talk to the solicitors and look at funds before we...ah...appoint a committee. I do hope you can manage to hold on to those ideas for just a little longer?’
‘Well, yes.’ Mrs Trelawney’s cheeks were pink. ‘Of course. I can make a list. I have a lot of ideas.’
‘I for one can believe it.’ Ellie pushed away from the shelves in one graceful movement. ‘I’m expecting a delivery in an hour, Mrs Trelawney, so now would be a good time for you to take your break if that’s convenient?’
‘My break?’ Mrs Trelawney’s eyes moved from Max to Ellie and back again before she reluctantly nodded.
Ellie didn’t speak again until her assistant had collected her bag and left the shop. ‘Poor Mrs T. She’s torn between being the first to spread the gossip and fear of missing out on any more. Still, the arrival of Demelza Loveday’s mysterious American great-nephew should give her enough to be getting on with. And...’ there was a tart note in her voice ‘...you certainly managed to stir things up when you walked into my shop.’
This was his chance to apologise. Max still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of Ellie Scott, but what had his grandfather always said? It was much easier to judge from the inside rather than out in the cold. ‘I had my reasons. But they didn’t really have anything to do with you. I’m sorry.’
Ellie pushed back a piece of hair that had fallen out of the clip confining the long tresses. ‘I can’t say that’s okay, because it isn’t. But I’m willing to give you a second chance. It’s going to be hard enough for two incomers to win the support of a place like Trengarth as it is, without being at war ourselves.’
‘You’re an incomer?’ Max wasn’t exactly an expert on British accents and Ellie sounded just as he’d expected her to: like the heroine of one of those awful films where girls wore bonnets and the men tights, all speaking with clipped vowels and clear enunciation.
‘I spent most of my childhood summers here, and I’ve lived here for the last three years, but I’ll still be an incomer in thirty.’ She hesitated. ‘Look, I’ll be honest. I would be more than happy to see you off the premises and never have to deal with you again, but we have to work together for the next two weeks. You must be tired and jetlagged. Why don’t you go and rest now and come back tomorrow? We’ll start again.’
Her words were conciliatory, her voice confident, but there was a wariness in her posture. She was slightly turned away, the slim shoulders a little hunched, and her arms were protectively wrapped around her. She was afraid of something. Afraid of him? Of what he might discover? Maybe she wasn’t as innocent as she appeared.
He’d been putting this off long enough, distracted by his father’s extra-marital shenanigans and the all-consuming pressures of living up to the family legacy. It was time to talk to the solicitors, read the damn will properly and find out just what Ellie Scott was hiding.
‘That is a very generous offer. Thank you.’
Ellie exhaled on a visible sigh of relief.
‘Then I’ll see you back here tomorrow. I’ll telephone the solicitors and see if they can fit us in. Do you know how to get to the house?’
She walked around the counter, crouching down and disappearing from view before handing him a set of keys.
They were old-fashioned iron keys. Heavy and unwieldy. ‘I’ll find my way, thanks. See you later, honey.’
It was both a promise and a threat—and he was pretty sure she knew it.
THE SHOP HAD been busy. So busy Ellie hadn’t had a moment to dwell on the morning’s encounter. And even though she knew a fair few of her customers had come in to try and prise information about Max Loveday out of her—or out of the far more forthcoming Mrs Trelawney—they had all bought something, even if it was just a coffee.
Slowly Ellie began to tidy up, knowing that she was deliberately putting off the moment when she would head upstairs. She loved her flat, and normally she loved the silence, the space, the solitude. Knowing it was hers to do with as she pleased. But this evening she dreaded the time alone. She knew she would relive every cutting remark, every look, every moment of her bruising encounter with Max Loveday. And that inevitably her thoughts would turn to her ex-fiancé. It wasn’t a place she wanted to go.
And tomorrow she would have to deal with Max all over again.
As always, the ritual of shutting up shop soothed her. From the day she had opened it the shop had been a sanctuary. Her sanctuary. She had planned and designed every feature, every reading nook and display, had painted the walls, hung the pictures, shelved each and every book. Had even chosen the temperamental diva of a coffee machine, which needed twenty minutes of cleaning and wiping before she could
