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He stepped closer. Her perfume drifted around him, giving him agonising flashbacks to the Christmas party and to Christmas night. ‘Maybe we should have a rethink? Maybe, now that we’re back, we could see each other when I’m back in London? I mean, I’m away a lot on business. But we could have drinks. Dinner.’ He was rambling. Words were spilling out.
Her face paled. ‘Tell me that you’re joking?’
Not quite the effect he was looking for. ‘Why?’
He could see the bottom edge of her jaw line tremble. It was something he’d never seen before in Grace Ellis. Rage.
‘Why?’ She shouted so loudly he winced. Guests in the bar next door would have heard.
She marched straight up under his chin, her eyes flashing madly. ‘I’ll tell you exactly why, Finlay Armstrong.’ She pushed her finger into his chest. ‘I am so much better than this.’ She shook her head fiercely. ‘I am not having a three-way relationship with a ghost. You can’t move on because you won’t let yourself. I don’t want to spend my life living in the shadow of another woman. I don’t deserve it and I don’t need this. Don’t come in here and offer me a tiny piece of yourself, Finlay. I don’t want that. It’s not enough. It will never be enough.’ The fury started to dissipate from her voice. She took a step backwards. Her hand was shaking.
He saw her suck in a breath and pull herself back up. The expression in her brown eyes just about ripped out his soul. He’d tried to conjure up some remedy, some patchwork arrangement that might work. But his misplaced idea had backfired spectacularly.
‘I want a change of shifts. I don’t want to be around when you’re here. I’m going to speak to Clio about a transfer. We work in the Corminster across town. I’ll ask if I can do my shifts there instead.’
‘What?’ Panic gripped him like a hand around his throat.
Her eyes focused on the door. She started walking straight towards it. Her shoulders seemed straighter, her head lift stronger. ‘You’ll have my resignation in the morning. I’ll make it official and keep everything above board.’
For the briefest of pauses her footsteps faltered. There was so much circulating in his head. This was exactly what he didn’t want. This was the absolute opposite of what he wanted.
Grace’s voice softened for a second. ‘Goodbye, Finlay,’ she said as she opened the door and left.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HE’D BEEN ON the roof most of the night. It was Frank who finally found him.
‘Mr Armstrong? What are you doing? Why—you’re freezing.’ Frank whipped off his jacket and put it around his shoulders.
He hadn’t meant to stay up here so long. But the frustration in him had built so much that he’d punched a wall in the penthouse and knew he had to get outside and away from anyone. The roof had been the ideal solution. Too bad he hadn’t thought to bring a coat.
One hand held the ceramic angel. He’d pushed it into his pocket when he’d closed up the house. The other hand held the silver heart from Mrs Archer. One symbolised a lost love, the other a new.
Looking out over the darkness of London, lit only by Christmas lights, had been haunting. Watching the sun start to rise behind Battersea Park and the Albert Bridge had been a whole new experience. It made him realise that the lights at Battersea Park should be purple instead of white and red. Purple seemed a much more festive colour.
Frank’s fierce grip pulled him to his feet and over to the stairs. The heat hit him as soon as he stepped inside again. He hadn’t realised he was quite so cold.
Frank walked him down to the penthouse and made a quick phone call. ‘I’ve ordered you some breakfast and some coffee.’ He paused. ‘No, scrub that. Give me a second.’ He picked up the phone again and spoke quietly before replacing it. ‘I’ve ordered something more appropriate.’ He walked over to the room thermostat and turned it up. He looked around the room, then left and scouted in the bathroom, coming back with a fleecy dressing gown that Finlay rarely wore. ‘Here, put that on too. I’m going to deal with something else. But I’ll be back up in ten minutes to check on you.’
Heat was slowly but surely starting to permeate his body. His fingers were entirely white with almost a tinge of blue. They were starting to tingle as they warmed up.
He was still staring at the Christmas decorations. He’d made so many mistakes. He just didn’t know where to start to try and put them right.
He closed his eyes for a second, trying to wish away some of the things that he’d said. When Anna had died, he’d truly believed the biggest part of him had died too. It wasn’t true. Of course it wasn’t true. He just hadn’t been able to face up to his grief.
