Page 62 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure
But suddenly, her expression softened, and her eyes swivelled to meet his own. She reached out, and her warm fingers stroked his. ‘The happy ending?’ she repeated, a gentle smile playing on her lips. ‘That’s a story for another day.’
Helping Britta into the car and securing Ness in the back seat, Atticus began the drive back to Britta’s cottage.
‘It’s not too late,’ Britta said as Atticus parked carefully. ‘Would you like a nightcap before you return to the campsite?’
‘Well, if you’re sure…’ he hesitated. ‘That would be great.’
The evening air was warm as they walked toward the cottage. Britta removed her sandals as they stepped onto the beach, and Ness ran ahead. On the terrace, she lit thecandles in the lanterns, and their light reflected pretty patterns on the whitewashed walls.
‘Take a seat.’ Britta smiled and pointed to the swing.
As they nestled into the soft cushions, they watched the moon, low in the sky, shimmer over the calm sea.
‘I love sitting here, watching the beach at night,’ Britta said as she sipped brandy and gazed out at a fishing boat, its distant light twinkling like a star against the backdrop of the oncoming darkness.
‘It feels like time has stood still,’ Atticus whispered. He felt like he hadn’t a care in the world as he gently swayed with Britta beside him. Sated by excellent food and conversation, the effects of the brandy were mellowing.
‘I wish I could bottle this moment,’ he said, and as Britta lifted his arm and snuggled close, a tear welled in his eye and slid slowly down his cheek.
‘What’s wrong?’ Britta whispered, placing a finger on the tear. ‘Are you upset?’
Suddenly, feeling brave, Atticus kissed the top of her head.
‘I haven’t felt this happy for a very long time,’ he replied. ‘Perhaps I’m just a foolish old man.’
He turned to stare into her eyes, and when her lips touched his own, the kiss spoke volumes without a single word. Britta’s touch was a light caress – intimate yet tender. When their eyes locked, Atticus felt as if he’d discovered a hidden treasure.
Was this the beginning of something beautiful?he asked himself.
Was it possible for him to feel such emotionlater in life?
When they parted, Atticus stood up, reluctant to go but unwilling to outstay his welcome. His mind raced, but he smiled with relief when he felt Britta slip a note into his pocket.
‘Take this,’ she said. ‘Call me.’
Britta watched as the man and dog descended the steps, their figures swallowed by the night.
The evening had been easy in a way she hadn’t known in years. Being in the company of Atticus – talking and laughing – had been the most enjoyable few hours she could remember. For once, she hadn’t felt like she was always glancing over her shoulder, waiting for something to go wrong.
As she turned to gather the empty glasses and blow out the candles, her heart gave a little lurch.Could she really feel this way about someone she’d just met?And more importantly, could she allow herself to?She’d given Atticus her number, hoping he would call, but a familiar unease hung thick in the air, as though the devil was dancing in the shadows at her door.
‘Stop it!’ she admonished as she secured the bolts into place. ‘You’re safe now. Don’t let the past spoil the future.’
But as Britta climbed the stairs, the shadows stretched long across the whitewashed walls. No matter how much she told herself otherwise, she couldn’t shake the feeling that some doors, once opened, never truly closed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Life for Mary had become miserable. With the constant worry of Conor’s potential affair, each morning started with a heavy heart as she forced a smile for the kids and began her daily routine. With persistent doubt and suspicion, Mary felt insecure as she searched for clues of his infidelity. Ordinary tasks were no longer straightforward, and she was on a mission, checking pockets and examining every item of Conor’s clothing before tackling the mountain of washing and ironing produced by a family of six.
When Conor left for work, she stared as his car disappeared from the driveway, wondering where he was going and who he might be with. Was he phoning Lucinda to wish her good morning and whisper secret endearments?
The hours stretched endlessly, broken by occasional calls to Una, who told Mary to quell her anxiety and reassured her that she was probably just being silly. Una was convinced that Conor would never do anything to jeopardisehis family and business, despite Mary’s fears. But Mary knew that Una was wrapped up in her own life, with a husband who spent too much time in the pub and a household full of stroppy teenagers.
Mary’s only friend appeared to be the cake tin.
‘If I gorge any more, I’ll have to file for a restraining order,’ she told herself each time the tin lured her closer.
Other than Una, Mary’s circle of friends no longer felt close, and with the kids occupying most of her time, she’d drifted away over recent months. At the Ladies’ Lunch Club, any confidences she might share with the others, or requests for their emotional help, would go from classified to front-page news in a flash, and soon filter through to Lucinda. Mary felt low and didn’t want to discuss her feelings, knowing that juicy gossip among the ladies was an Olympic sport.
