‘Erm…’ Angus couldn’t find any real words. Up until now he’d felt quite proud that he’d never experienced the form ofmadness that so many novels and movies made such a fuss about. Who, in their right mind, wouldwantto be swept up in a tornado like the one Moira was floating in, anyway? He remembered it being quite traumatic for Dorothy. And it had turned his father’s life into rollercoaster loops of ecstasy and despair that had made Angus’s later childhood and adolescence disturbingly unpredictable.
‘You will.’ Moira was beaming at him.
Beaming.
Moira never beamed. She had a lovely smile but it had never looked quite like this.
Aye… she was in love all right. He recognised the glow that was a symptom of the madness. Even now, so far past his own upbringing, he could remember the feeling of something inside him dropping like the proverbial lead balloon. Because he knew that the dismal swoop into heartbreak was inevitable after reaching that pinnacle. It was a matter of when, not if. He could, in fact, actually feel an echo of it with the knot that was forming in his gut.
‘You just need to meet the right person.’ Moira was looking and sounding like some version of an overly sympathetic counsellor. ‘Someone that makes anywhere in the world suddenly feel like the most exciting place on earth – as if you could never get enough of it. Orthem…’ She pushed her chair back abruptly and stood up. ‘I have to go. I’m so sorry, Angus, but I can’t have dinner with you, any more than I can go on holiday with you.’
It was automatic for Angus to get to his feet as well. His father had trained him well in good manners around women.
‘No hard feelings?’ Moira’s face was a plea, as she stood on tiptoe to give him a kiss. On his cheek. ‘I still want to work for you. If you still want me to, that is.’
‘No hard feelings.’ But the echo of her words came out through gritted teeth. Was Moira really oblivious to the silence that had fallen around them? The hum of conversation and the clink of cutlery against fine bone china had vanished as everyone in the room stopped talking and eating to watch what was clearly an emotional drama unfolding in the far corner. Nobody behaved like this in the dining room of The Edinburgh Grand.
The sooner he escaped himself, the better. But he hadn’t even tried to get his head around the idea of still having Moira working for him by the time he got home a short time later, having paid for an unordered and uneaten dinner and tried to ignore the stares coming his way from every direction. This might have been Moira’s first experience of The Grand but it was most definitely going to be his last.
He pulled the boarding passes out of his pocket to dump them into the bowl on the hall table along with his car keys.
The stunned mullet feeling was wearing off. Bewilderment, embarrassment and hurt feelings were evolving into something that was easier to deal with.
Anger.
He was angry with himself first and foremost. How had he got things so completely wrong? Why had he assumed that Moira was just as happy to be with him as he was with her?
Why did the world not feel like an exciting place because she was withhim?
Okay. He knew the answer to that.
He was dull, wasn’t he? He played it safe, which was precisely why he was so good at his job and had accumulated not only an enviable reputation but a bank balance like a lottery win. He hadn’t won when it came to successful relationships with women, mind you, but nobody had been honest enough to let him know why.
Until now.
He wasn’t exciting.
He wasn’t even interesting enough, which could only mean that he wasboring.
So boring that it had only taken one date for the woman he was – almost – in love with to fall head over heels for someone else.
Someone exciting.
He wasn’t just angry with himself. He was angry with Moira. He was even angry with Mathilde Pascoe, which was hardly fair because he’d never met her in person. But she had, for a brief moment in time – possibly because of that enchanting French accent of hers – made him believe that romance was the most precious gift he could shower the woman he wanted to marry with and, more importantly, that it was the secret weapon for success in winning her as his wife.
His breath had been literally stolen when he’d listened to her explaining why it was worth paying for the most expensive table at a restaurant high in the mountains above Nice that would be the aftermath of the successful proposal. He’d forgotten the name of the restaurant – something to do with a golden goat – but he would never forget listening to her soft voice over the phone, a tiny quiver of real emotion kissing her final words.
‘This says it all. It says “I want you to have the most breathtaking view because I want to give you the world. This is how much I love you”. And it says “I want you to know that you are the person I want to be with. Only you. Now – and forever”.’
Aye. Somehow, in the course of all the conversations they’d had in the last few weeks, and that one about the restaurant in particular, she had made him start to believe that, instead of the attributes he had to offer – like loyalty and protection and a lifelong commitment – romantic love was something that truly mattered in life.
Angus found a growling sound escaping from deep in his throat. He’d known all along how false that premise was. How could he have forgotten those endless lessons his father had taught him by example?
He’d demand a refund for the thousands of pounds he’d spent on the romantic holiday of a lifetime that was already the biggest failure of his life.
He’d take the bloody ring back to the jewellers and get a refund on that, as well.
He’d…
