Page 122 of Mistaken Impression

“Have you heard anything from the studio?”

“What about?”

“A—About Ella taking over from me, or the legal action they were threatening.”

I don’t care about the legal action, but I’m wondering if she might have heard anything on the grapevine about Ella.

“Are you still pining for her?”

“Yes.” There’s no point in lying.

She sighs. “They were never gonna tell me anything about her, Blake. I don’t represent her, so why would they? As for the legal action, that was just a line they fed the press. They didn’t have a case against you, so stop worrying. And stop pining, too. It’s over, and you need to look forward.” If only it was that easy. “Just think… in a few months’ time, your book will be published, and all your dreams will come true.”

That’s not the case at all. My dream would be to have Ella back in my life, but getting my book published is now muchmore realistic than ever seeing her again, and I smile, unable to help myself.

“Yeah… you’re right.”

“Of course I am. Now keep writing. I’ll be in touch.”

She hangs up, and I put my phone down on the table, staring at the words on the screen in front of me, and letting the smile on my lips widen to a grin. I can’t help feeling happy about this. It’s what I always wanted. I just wish Ella could be here to share it with me… I wish someone could be here…

I rush to the front door, grabbing my keys from the hook, and hurry out and up the steps to Henry’s door. I hadn’t realised how late it was, or that it’s dark out here now, but I ring the bell anyway, and I wait… and wait, and then I remember, he said he was going to work.

“Damn,” I mutter under my breath. I feel like celebrating, and I turn around, spying the pub on the corner of the road. “Why not?”

I’m wearing a thick sweater, and although it’s cold, I don’t feel the need for a coat. My wallet is in my back pocket, and I can live without my phone for the next half an hour or so. I cross the road, hurrying to the pub.

I’m hit by a blast of warm air as I enter, and I wander to the bar and order myself a large glass of red wine, taking it to an empty table, close to the roaring fire, where I sit and look around.

I never used to have a ‘local’ when I lived in London before, but I’ve been in here on many occasions when I’ve visited Henry, and I don’t think it’s changed since Queen Victoria’s day. The wood panelling is dark, the floor worn and pitted, and the chairs and tables have seen better days, but there’s a warm welcome, full of festive cheer. A tree decked with far too much tinsel fills one corner, and old Christmas songs play in the background.

I’m still smiling, taking my second sip from the glass, when I feel a pair of hands come around my face, clamping over my eyes, and I jump, trying to turn around, although there’s a body right behind me, preventing me from moving. The body is definitely female, and all my muscles tighten against it.

“What the…” I reach up, grabbing the hands, and pull them away, twisting my head, so I can look up into a very familiar face. “Moira?”

She’s changed her hair. It’s shorter than it was, although it’s still longer than Ella’s, and is a shade or two lighter, but other than that, she looks exactly the same as she did when I left here… just as pretty… just as shapely.

She steps back slightly, her head tilted to one side as I stand and turn to face her.

“Hello, Mac,” she says, like she’s in a dream, her blue eyes sparkling and a smile tugging at her lips.

“Hi.”

She leans in, planting a kiss on my cheek, and I feel obliged to return the gesture.

“When did you get back?” she asks.

“About a month ago.”

“And how are you?”

“I’m fine.” It’s the answer I give to everyone… even though I’m not.

“Are you meeting someone?” She glances at the vacant chair opposite my own.

“No. I just came in to celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?”

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