Page 40 of One Last Gift

Sam just rolled his eyes and sipped the coffee—black, slightly bitter—and thankfully, Toby said nothing else about it. He clocked Sophia at the end of the breakfast bar, leaning against it rather than sitting, in some sort of intense conversation with Zoe—Sophia doing most of the talking. Both of them were wearing matching black silk dressing gowns, like they’d coordinated or something. The other people from last night—Sam couldn’t remember most of their names—seemed to have disappeared, though the house was big enough for triple that number. It had eight bedrooms, a gigantic sitting room, a separate “movie room” with a screen so big it could definitely pass for a private cinema, and two hot tubs, not to mention the pool. The kitchen was actually the least impressive room in the house. Stylish, modern, and bright, yes, but relatively small, with none of the grandeur of the rest of the place. Maybe you weren’t supposed to spend much time there. Maybe other people were supposed to cook.

Sam tapped his fingers against his mug. “So, Toby, would you happen to know anything about getting a job out here?”

Toby came to lean against the other side of the breakfast bar, opening his mouth to speak, but it was Zoe, down the end of the breakfast bar, who piped up, apparently tuned in to the conversations around her, even if she didn’t usually contribute. “What do you need a job for?” she asked with a frown, as if the idea of someone getting a job was scandalous.

“Yeah, aren’t you just here on holiday?” Sophia added, flicking her dark hair over her shoulder.

“I…” Was he? He supposed so, because he couldn’t move out here permanently, could he? But he hadn’t yet given much thought as to what happened next. He was just trying to get by, day by day, week by week.

“Leave the guy alone, will you?” Toby said with a jokey headshake at the girls. He turned back to Sam. “Not really sure of the logistics, my man, but I could speak to a few people, put out a few feelers, if you like? Don’t sweat the money too much, though, if that’s your worry? You know I’m happy for you to crash with me.”

“Thanks, mate, but I just want to…you know, pull my weight.”

“Sure, sure,” Toby said easily. “I get that.” He grinned—such an easy, instant grin. “You don’t fancy journalism, do you?”

Sam laughed a little. “I’ll leave that to you, I think.”

“Didn’t your friend die in a climbing accident?” Zoe asked. Sam winced at the casual way it was tossed out there, at the same time as Toby said “Zoe,” in a warning tone.

Zoe swished her hair back. “I thought he could do a first-person piece for one of the papers, that’s all. I’m trying to be helpful.” She looked at Toby accusingly. “It was you who mentioned journalism.”

“Sorry,” Toby said soothingly. “I know you are.” When Zoe and Sophia went back to their own private conversation, Toby mouthed “Sorry” at Sam, who tried to shrug it off, though his shoulders felt brittle.

In the pocket of his jeans—he was the only one dressed, he noticed belatedly—Sam’s phone buzzed, and he slipped it out. It was a GoFundMe alert. Cassie Rivers had sent him a message.

His heart jumped. He had done it anonymously, hadn’t he? He was sure he had.

Whoever you are, thank you. This is so incredibly generous and there are no words to say what this means to me and Linda. Your donation has made all the difference and got us over the line.

There. It had made all the difference. He’d done something positive, for Tom, for Cassie.

He typed back. You’re welcome.

He got a reply immediately. If you don’t mind me asking, why did you decide to donate?

It was carefully phrased—she clearly wanted to ask who the hell he was but was too polite to be as blunt as that. Why did he decide to donate…? How to respond to that? I’m a friend of Tom’s, he wrote, then deleted it. It might be too obvious and, besides, it would lead to a conversation about Tom, and he wasn’t ready for that.

I’m just someone who appreciates the value of local businesses. I’ve worked in law, helping the other side too much. I decided it was time to give something back.

It was true, sort of—through working in corporate law he had often ended up helping the people with the most money and had been part of the legal team to kill a small business at least twice. It was a bit of a gray area for him, and not something he’d loved, but he’d managed to put it aside—people could only come to them if they had a legal case, after all, so then it was just about doing his job. This was a different thing—Linda was selling because her business was failing, presumably, not because she was being sued, but still, here was a chance to help something, rather than tear it down. So if he twisted things a little, it wasn’t a complete lie to Cassie.

“You all right, Sam?” Toby was watching him, like he’d been speaking to him, was expecting some sort of response.

“Yeah. Sorry, yeah.”

“I was just saying, maybe you could…”

But he couldn’t concentrate on what Toby was saying, thinking instead of Cassie. Maybe she’d be smiling now, some of that brilliant light in her eyes as she realized that she’d done it. He missed seeing it, that light. Not just since Tom died, but before that. Once, he’d been a part of it—he’d been a cause of it. He used to be able to make her laugh, and he’d caught her looking at him in that warm way of hers when she did so. That quiet, steady way that had such certainty that he’d been almost unable to bear it. It had felt like the only option was to destroy it, so that he couldn’t make things worse—because if he’d given in, if he’d gone down that line with Cassie, he’d just known he’d fuck it up, sooner or later—and that would have been so much worse for both of them. He’d known that he’d lose her in the end, if they went there.

But he’d lost her anyway, hadn’t he? Lost her by betraying her trust back then, and lost her by betraying Tom now. And there was a tiny, selfish part of him that knew—the way his heart had jumped when he’d seen her name wasn’t all about his fear of her finding out it was him, or even the thought of Tom. It was the fact that by doing this, by helping her to save the pub, he was keeping her in his life in some small way—even if she could never know about it.

Chapter Nineteen

Cassie tapped her fingertips next to her keyboard as she scrolled through the list Google had brought up. Each tap felt like the ticking of a clock. Counting down until the end of spring—counting down the seconds she still hadn’t figured out Tom’s clue.

No. Stop it, she told herself. Panic was helping no one. She had to focus, think about it. But right now, she also needed to work. So she switched tabs in Google, away from the list of “spring events” and to a list of foods instead.

“What do you think of passion fruit?”