Page 109 of Mistaken Impression

“It’s too late for talking.”

“Ella… please.”

“I—I thought I’d found the right man. But I was wrong about that, too, wasn’t I?”

“No. I am the right man.”

“Not for me. Not anymore.”

I get to the door, yanking it open, and he stops. “Please, don’t do this. Don’t leave me.”

“What choice do I have when you don’t trust me?” A sob escapes my lips, tears falling onto my cheeks. “Damn you, Blake MacKenzie.”

I run down the stairs.

Despite everything he’s just said, he doesn’t call after me, and I don’t look back.

But I guess that’s what happens when you both know it’s over.

***

Mac

I stand outside the terminal building, looking up at the grey sky and wonder if I’ve done the right thing.

Should I turn around and go back?

What would I say to her if I did?

Would she even talk to me?

Do I want to talk to her?

I shake my head and pull my phone from my back pocket, turning it on and going to my contacts list. It only takes me amoment to scroll, although I pause at Ella’s name, sucking in a sharp breath before I move on to Henry’s, connecting the call. I have no choice. I’ve got no-one else to turn to.

“Mac? How are you?” he says, sounding as cheerful as ever. “And why are you calling me in the middle of the night?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. It must be four-thirty in the morning over there.”

“I’m not over there, Henry. I’m here… at Heathrow.”

There’s just a moment’s silence. “You’re here?”

“Yes. I’ve come home.”

“For a visit?”

“No, for good.”

Another silence…

“Do you need somewhere to stay?”

I smile, even though it’s an effort. I knew I could rely on Henry. “Would that be okay?”

“Of course,” he says. “You know my basement flat is always yours whenever you need it. You jump in a taxi, and I’ll make up the bed and put the kettle on.”

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