Bella nodded, so swept up in the moment and relieved that he was taking her seriously. She didn’t even stop to think about what he had actually agreed to. She just nodded and took a deep breath. ‘If you are sure?’
‘I am,’ he said. ‘I’m happy to come and talk to your mum . . . and I believe there are some great golf courses there . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Although I am seriously considering quitting,’ he said as a bit of an afterthought. But Luke knew this was the opportunity he had been secretly wishing for. If he was being entirely selfish then this would give him the chance to escape the press, and his manager, and hide out and get the book written. He smiled at Bella. ‘I’m up for it if you are?’
‘Sure,’ said Bella in disbelief, not quite wanting to believe that he wasn’t winding her up.
‘I’m game for an adventure and it sure beats going back to London.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘How long do you reckon it will take us to get there?’
Bella quickly did some mental calculations. ‘It will take us half an hour to get to Ardrossan. But the last ferry is at six.’ Bellalooked at her watch. ‘So, we’d better get a bend on. We might not even get on it. Especially as we haven’t booked.’
He glanced over at the door. ‘If you’re game, then let’s just get on the road and hope for the best. Do you have a car?’
Bella nodded, glad that they could be inconspicuous in her mum’s small Peugeot.
‘I just need to work out how to get into the hotel to get my stuff without anyone seeing me. It’s all packed and ready to go.’ He frowned. ‘Apart from my toothbrush.’
‘You can leave that to me,’ said Bella firmly. ‘Give me your room key and I’ll go and collect it. Nobody will recognise me.’
He grinned. ‘You’re on. Let’s go, Bella. Let’s do this.’
Hope bubbled up in Bella. Maybe things would work out okay. Her mum might be angry to begin with but she would understand. Bella tried to ignore the niggling voice in her head that said,will she though?Bella had always wanted to know who her father was and now she hadhopefullyfound him, she felt a sense of relief. At least the journey to Arran meant they would have time to get to know each other a bit more. It would be quality father and daughter time.
Chapter Eleven
When they arrived at Creel Cottage, Rosie wasn’t quite expecting Isobel to wax lyrical as much as she was currently doing.
‘This place is magical,’ said Isobel, her eyes wide in wonder, as Rosie showed her around. ‘I feel at home already. I mean, I know I’ve seen photos of it and everything. But wow, Rosie, this is such a special place! No wonder you love being here. It’s worth the drive to get away from the busier spots. I’m just sorry it’s taken me so long to actually get over and see you.’
‘Life is so busy though. It’s not always the easiest place to get to. Anyway, the main thing is that you’re here now.’
Rosie was just grateful she could show off Creel Cottage to her friend. There was something about these four walls that had always felt like home to Rosie. Even though her parents were no longer here, she still felt connected to them in this house. It felt weird to say but it still smelt of them. A familiar and welcoming scent, a bit like the smell of sweet and buttery shortbread baking in the oven, mixed with laundry powder, which made her feel so at home. Although she had cleared lots of things out since her parents had passed, there were plenty of reminders that it was once their home. There were a variety of hand-painted flowers on plates, by her late grandmother, hanging on the wall: paintings of Kildonan beach which her dad had done during his retirement when he had started going to art classes; her mum’s faded old recipe book, held together by two elastic bands which secured the additional pages; magazine cuttings that had been added to the collection. Seeing her mum’s spidery handwriting on the book, additions of her own cooks’ notes, made her sad with a pang of longing for her mum. But then she realised she was grateful that her mum had left that legacy for her to enjoy. She had every intention to work her way through the recipe book over the summer. Even more so now that she had another bodyin the house who loved to eat. Since Dermot had left, she had lost all desire in cooking and eating and had just picked at things that were easy. Like crackers and cheese and eggs on toast.
Coisty had sprung to life and was happily trotting around after Isobel, delighted that he had someone else to dote on him and rub his tummy on demand.
‘You are just so cute,’ said Isobel, when he bounded into the bedroom that Rosie had just shown her to and jumped up on the bed.
‘Oi!’ said Rosie firmly. ‘Off the bed.’
Coisty looked at her defiantly, before turning to lie on his back with his legs in the air. Isobel burst out laughing. ‘You’re a disobedient wee sausage,’ she said, sitting next to him and rubbing his belly before looking at her friend thoughtfully. ‘Was it hard moving here after your parents died?’
‘To be honest, not as hard as I thought it might be,’ said Rosie, sitting on the other side of the bed across from Isobel. ‘I think it has actually helped. I feel they’re here with me. I don’t mean that in a weird and creepy way,’ she added hastily. ‘I just feel their presence in the house, if that makes sense?’
‘I get that,’ said Isobel. ‘And that must be a wee bit of comfort to you.’
‘Yes, it is,’ said Rosie.
‘I’m sure my mum willdefinitelymake her presence known in more ways than one when she’s on the other side,’ she said drily. ‘You know what she’s like.’
Rosie chuckled. ‘I’m sure she will.’
‘Tell me what you’ve done so far then,’ said Isobel. ‘The photos that you sent me don’t do the place justice.’
‘Well, I’ve made good progress with the garden and gone through most of the cupboards and drawers, sorting out stuff.’ She had promised herself that she would use her time wisely and not mope around thinking about Dermot. A couple of times,the feelings of sadness about her broken marriage did catch her unaware and she felt a wave of grief wash over her. But she was trying her best to let it go. Fortunately, he hadn’t tried to call her again to talk about the sale of the house. That was one conversation she wasn’t ready to have again right now. She was glad it was in the hands of the lawyers. She would tell Isobel about that later. She didn’t want to do a total information dump on her when she had just arrived. ‘I’ve painted all the bedrooms and the bathroom. Next up is the kitchen and the lounge. Though I might get someone in to do that. I’ll see how it goes.’
‘Look at that view,’ said Isobel, standing up and walking to the window with its splendid views of the sea.
‘I know. It’s not something I will ever tire of. And it’s always changing.’ Rosie thought of the windows like ever-changing photo frames which captured the sky and the sea in different phases and stages. Sometimes the sky could be milky grey, black and several shades of blue and the ocean could be black, turquoise and sparkling blue as though it had been scattered with diamonds. She loved lying in bed and watching the scene frequently change. It was magical. ‘Right, how about a cuppa outside? I’ll go and put the kettle on. We need to enjoy the sun while we can.’
‘Or,’ said Isobel wickedly, glancing at her watch, how about a wee glass of fizz. ‘It is surely wine o’clock time somewhere in the world?’
