If he carried on heading down he would reach the seafront and the narrow road running alongside the ocean. Turn left and the old harbour curved out to sea, still filled with fishing boats. All the cruisers and yachts were moored further out. Above the harbour the old fishermen’s cottages were built up the cliff: a riotous mixture of colours and styles.
Turn right and several more shops faced on to the road before it stopped abruptly at the causeway leading to the wide beach where, despite or because of the weather, surfers were bobbing up and down in the waves, looking like small, sleek seals.
Give him an hour and he could join them. He could take a board out...hire a boat. Forget his cares in the cold tang of the ocean.
Max smiled wryly. If only he could. Pretend he was just another American tourist retracing his roots, shrugging off the responsibilities he carried. But, like Atlas, he was never going to be relieved of his heavy burden.
It was a pretty place. And weirdly familiar—although maybe not that weird. After all, his grandfather had had several watercolours of almost exactly this view hanging in his study. Yes, there were definitely worse places to work out a way forward.
Only to do that he needed to get into that large white house. And according to the solicitor he had emailed from the plane, Ellie Scott was holding the keys to that very house. Which meant he was going to have to eat some humble pie. Max was normally quite a fan of pie, but that was not a flavour he enjoyed.
‘Suck it up, Max,’ he muttered to a low-flying seagull, which was eyeing him hopefully. ‘Suck it up.’
He was going to have to go back to the bookshop and start the whole acquaintance again.
* * *
Ellie was doing her best to damp down the dismaying swirl in her stomach and get on with her day.
She hadn’t caved, had she? Hadn’t trembled or wept or tried to pacify him? She had stayed calm and collected and in control. On the outside, at least. Only she knew that right now she wanted nothing more than to sink into the old rocking chair in the corner of the childcare section and indulge in a pathetic bout of tears.
The sneering tone, the cold, scornful expression had triggered far more feelings than she cared to admit. She had spent three years trying to pacify that exact tone, that exact look—and the next three years trying to forget. In just five minutes Max Loveday had brought it all vividly back.
Darn him—and darn her shaky knees and trembling hands, giving away her inner turmoil. She’d thought she was further on than this. Stronger than this.
Ellie had never thought she would be quite so glad for Mrs Trelawney’s presence, but right now the woman was her safety net. While she sat there, busily typing away on her phone, no doubt ensuring that every single person in Trengarth was fully updated on the morning’s events, Ellie had no option but to hold things together.
Instead she switched on the coffee machine and unpacked the cakes she had picked up earlier from the Boat House café on the harbour.
Ellie had always dreamed of a huge bookshop, packed with hidden corners, secret nooks, and supplemented by a welcoming café full of tasty treats. What she had was a shop which, like all the shops in Trengarth, was daintily proportioned. Fitting in all the books she wanted to stock in the snug space was enough of a challenge. A café would be a definite step too far. She had compromised with a long counter by the till heaped with a tempting array of locally made scones and cakes and a state-of-the-art coffee machine. Buying in the cakes meant she didn’t have to sacrifice precious stock space for a kitchen.
It took just a few moments to arrange the flapjacks, Cornish fairing biscuits, brightly coloured cupcakes and scones onto vintage cake stands and cover them with the glass domes she used to keep them fresh.
‘We have walnut, orange and cheese scones.’ She deliberately spoke aloud as she began to chalk up the varieties onto the blackboard she kept propped on the table, hoping Mrs Trelawney would take the hint, stop texting and start working. ‘The cupcakes are vanilla and the big cake is...let me see...yep, carrot and orange.’
‘It’s a bit early for cake...’
The drawling accent made her stop and stiffen.
‘But I’ll take a walnut scone and a coffee. Please.’
The last word was so evidently an afterthought.
Ellie smiled sweetly as she swivelled round. No way was she going to give him the satisfaction of seeing how uncomfortable he’d made her.
‘It’s self-service and pay at the till. You, however, are barred. You’ll have to get your coffee somewhere else.’
‘Look...’ Max Loveday looked meaningfully over at Mrs Trelawney. ‘Can we talk? In private?’
Ellie’s heart began to pick up speed, her pulse hammering. No way was she going anywhere alone with this man. He might be smiling now, but she wasn’t fooled.
‘I don’t think so. You had no problem insulting me in front of my assistant. I’m sure she can’t wait to hear round two.’
He closed his eyes briefly. ‘Fair point.’
‘Oh, good.’ She hadn’t expected him to capitulate so easily. It was an unexpected and unwanted point in his favour. ‘Go on, then. Say whatever it is you have to say.’
‘I was out of line.’
Ellie folded her arms and raised her eyebrows. If Max Loveday thought he was getting away with anything short of a full-on grovel he could think again.
‘Yes...?’ she prompted.
‘And I’m sorry. It’s no excuse, but my family is going through some stuff right now and I’m a little het-up about it.’
‘Tell me, Mr Loveday...’ Ellie deliberately parroted his words back to him. ‘Which is worse? Seducing a family man for his money or conning an old lady out of her cash? And which are you accusing me of?’
As if she didn’t know. Well, if she’d conned the old lady he’d been right there with her; he was joint trustee after all.
‘I think they’re both pretty vile.’ There was a bleakness in his voice, and when his eyes rested on Ellie the hardness in them unnerved her. He hadn’t come back because he was stricken with remorse. He still thought her guilty.
‘So do I.’ The look of surprise on his face gave her courage. ‘I also think making slanderous accusations against strangers and proffering fake apologies in order to get the keys to a house and a cup of coffee is pretty out of order. What do you say to that, Mr Loveday?’
‘I’m prepared to pay for the coffee.’
It wasn’t much of a retort but it was the best he could do when he was firmly in the wrong—as far as manners were concerned—and so tired that the wooden floor was beginning to look more than a little inviting. Flying Sydney to Boston to Hartford and then on to England in just a few days had left him in a grey smog that even first-class sleep pods hadn’t quite been able to dispel.
‘Look, you have to admit my great-aunt’s will is pretty unusual. Leaving her entire fortune in the hands of a virtual stranger.’
The large brown eyes darkened with something that looked very much like scorn. It wasn’t an expression Max was used to seeing in anybody’s eyes and it stung more than he expected.
‘Yes, she said more than once that she wished she knew her great-nephew more. I thought this was her way of trying to include you.’
Damn her, he hadn’t meant himself—and he would bet a much needed good night’s sleep she knew that full well.
‘It