Page 39 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape

His lips twitched. ‘My life up until I met your grandmother had been somewhat directionless. I kind of drifted around, not really knowing what my purpose was. My parents were snobs.’ He let out a wry laugh. ‘Och, don’t get me wrong. I loved them but they came from very comfortable families and had very set ideas about things.’

‘What kind of art do you paint?’ I asked, intrigued.

‘Did paint,’ corrected Reece with a small, sad smile. ‘I was more of an abstract artist. Cubism. Pushing the boundaries a bit or so I thought. But I lost my passion for it after what happened between me and your grandmother.’

I eyed him. ‘So, you didn’t pursue it? Your art career, I mean?’

‘No. Not after losing Tilda. I ended up in the bespoke furniture business after that and made quite a success of it.’

‘I see. Sorry to interrupt. Please do go on.’

Reece hunched over and patted Bronte on the top of her head. ‘No need to apologise, young lady.’ There was a light in his blue eyes as he continued to talk. ‘On the day I met your grandma for the first time, I’d noticed there were a few exhibitions on, but there was one in particular at The Royal Art Gallery that appealed to me. It was the works of John Duncan Fergusson, so I decided to check that out.’ He gave his head a shake. ‘I still can’t believe that it’s been sixty-two years since I first saw her. It only seems like yesterday.’ He paused. ‘I can still see it now. It was February and bloody cold. It was a relief to get back into the warm and wander around, marvelling at all the stunning paintings of Paris in gilt frames.’

Reece paused and then continued, ‘I’d only been in there about ten minutes when a blur of red caught my eye.’

Reece cradled his mug in his hands and nodded over at me. ‘Like I said before, she had those wild, red curls just like you and she was wearing a bright pink beret.’ Reece let out an embarrassed laugh. ‘I should’ve been admiring the artwork, not your grandmother, but goodness me, she was beautiful.’

My heart shifted at Reece’s words. I found myself shuffling forward in my chair. Even Bronte appeared to be listening. She’d stopped squeaking her toy apple and was gazing up at Reece, bewitched.

‘I was as nervous as hell, but I managed to pluck up enough courage to go over and talk to her.’ He reddened. ‘Well, that’s not exactly true. I deliberately dropped some loose change to get her attention.’

I let out a laugh. ‘And then what?’

‘Tilda scrambled around the art gallery floor to help me pick up the pennies. Then I insisted on taking her for a coffee to say thank you. She said yes.’

I raised my brows, encouraging Reece to continue with his story.

‘We fell in love so quickly. It was as if I could see myself reflected in her. Does that make sense?’

I gulped back a tide of emotion. I’d thought the same thing about Joe at one time. I pushed out my chin to reset myself. I nodded. ‘Yes. It makes perfect sense.’

Reece spoke again. ‘Your grandmother was everything I wasn’t. She had so much promise and ability and wanted to become a successful artist. I did too, but…’ His voice faltered. ‘I wanted to be as brave as Tilda. But I was nowhere near. Compared to her, I was a coward, and because of that, I lost her.’

There was a heavy silence. Reece took his time before continuing. His attention swam to the scenery outside the cottage’s sitting room window and the cold ripple of the sky. ‘I took a part-time job at a legal firm not long after Tilda and I got engaged on that Christmas Eve. It was a friend of my parents who got me in. Mum and Dad thought that getting legal work experience would stand me in good stead after graduation.’ He flashed me a look. ‘Once again, I did it just to keep the old folks off my back.’

‘And how did they react to your engagement?’

‘They were furious. They couldn’t accept Tilda. They didn’t even try to get to know her. They just saw this young, struggling artist and decided she wasn’t good enough for me.’

Reece grimaced. ‘I kept insisting to Tilda that everything would settle down and that they just had to get to know her. Then they’d realise how wonderful she was, how much in love we were, and then everything would be fine.’

‘But?’

Reece eyed a seagull swooping around outside. ‘But I underestimated what they were capable of.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘They said if I went ahead and married your grandmother, they’d disown me.’ He exhaled. ‘It meant I wouldn’t get a penny from their publishing business. I’m embarrassed to say I capitulated.’ His eyes took on a haunted expression. ‘I regretted it for the rest of my life. I still do.’

My sympathy gathered for Reece and for my grandmother. ‘And how did Tilda take it when you broke off the engagement?’

‘She was heartbroken, but she did what she always did. She tried to act like she could deal with anything, if she set her shoulders and smiled.’ Reece’s mouth flatlined. ‘I never saw her or heard from her again, until I came across her Facebook profile last year.’

I gripped my mug of tea. ‘Did you end up marrying someone else?’

Reece nodded. ‘The daughter of a business acquaintance of my father’s. Five years after Tilda and I broke up. Nice girl. Her name was Lilian. I was fond of her, but I wasn’t in love with her.’ He considered what to say next. ‘I think she knew it too, that my heart belonged to someone else and always would, but we both tried to make the best of it.’

‘Are you still married?’

‘No. I’m a widower. Lilian passed away ten years ago from dementia.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. Any children?’