She glanced out from the balcony but the water in the pool was still. The bay in the distance was a pure landscape, no human or other animal giving movement to the picture-perfect landscape. She walked through to the kitchen but it was empty. It felt like the whole place was oddly untouched. A horrible premonition ate away her security. Had he left already? Without even saying goodbye?
Anxiety shot nausea to the back of her throat. Because she knew now—this wasn’t some light affair for her. Not some fun ‘experience’ that she might go on to have again with some other guy. There’d never be another guy. Not like Ash. What she felt for him? It was immense and overwhelming and so wonderful that it terrified her.
But he didn’t want it, did he? She fervently, desperately wished he did or would. She needed more time with him. They needed so much more time. So where was he now?
She checked the pool again. The study. For a moment she wondered about the bunker, but then she heard a sound in the distance. Walking around the side of the house, she saw one of the garage doors open.
‘Ash?’ She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the change from the bright morning sunlight to the dim interior. There were towers of boxes she’d yet to open and categorise. But Ash had ripped open several and was standing in the centre of a pile of stuff.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
He glanced up at her grimly. The emotion that he usually kept so deeply buried was now glinting sharply in his eyes. This place dredged it up. Increasingly over this last week memories had risen until he’d been so bothered, he’d been devastatingly honest with her. He’d revealed that wellspring of pain—the mistake he’d made that had unleashed the truth of his parents’ marriage and what he feared had hastened his mother’s death. Merle had hoped that, just by listening, she might’ve helped. But now? She didn’t think she had. A trouble shared wasn’t always a trouble halved. It was still just a trouble.
‘I’m sorry for making a mess and making your job worse than it already was,’ he said gruffly.
She didn’t care about the mess. She cared about him. But he was avoiding looking at her again.
‘Were you searching for something in particular?’ she asked.
He stood stiffly in the centre of that heap. Merle saw some of the paperwork was damaged. Water must’ve somehow gotten into those boxes.
‘I thought, maybe, in all the boxes, there might’ve been something worth keeping. You know, didn’t he want to keep my old swimming trophies?’ The bitterest smile barely curved his lips as he shrugged sarcastically. ‘I guess not. It’s all just his stuff. He expunged every last thing of us both. There’s nothing of her. None of her diaries. The garden journals.’
He’d wanted something of his mother’s to treasure. And he’d not found it. His desolation swept over her.
‘I guess he only kept her games because they were in good condition and valuable,’ he said. ‘Not because he wanted any real reminder of her. They’re an investment. Like everything he held on to.’
Had he once considered Ash an investment too? The heir groomed to take over the company? The one he was proud to have follow in his footsteps? Whom he’d wanted to corrupt? And the man had shipped his wife to a whole other country. Out of sight and out of mind for her final years. Merle hated him.
‘Why do you think he kept that one photo?’ she asked.
‘For show. He probably put it face down when he was here. Or,’ he added acidly, ‘maybe he used it as a reminder to his new lovers that he’d already had a wife and child and didn’t plan on making that same mistake again.’
‘Ash—’
‘It’s true. Apparently he vowed he’d never marry again after Mum died. But it wasn’t because he was heartbroken. He just didn’t want the expense of a divorce. He collected girlfriends—a new model every couple of years in the decade before he died. There would’ve been more, of course, those ones on the side he had in secret. So he could still look like the loyal, grieving widower.’ Still not meeting her gaze, he kicked at the pile at his feet. ‘I can’t believe you have to go through all of this.’
‘It’s my job to go through everything. It’s not personal for me the way it is for you. It’s not painful.’
His jaw clamped.
‘Why don’t you come inside and have breakfast?’ she suggested.
‘Food isn’t going to make this better, Merle. I’m not a hangry two-year-old.’
Ash couldn’t stand to see the disbelief he knew ought to instantly flash on Merle’s face. He couldn’t even manage a joke. The irritation scratching down his spinal cord like nails on a chalkboard was impossible to ignore. And his irascibility, his impatience, was all amplified because he was so irritated and he knew he shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t care at all. He’d thought he hadn’t for so long.
He was supposed to have come here briefly to see what had been done to it and to sever all ties. An acidic, isolated homage to all that had been and all that he couldn’t change. He should’ve been able to handle that. Then he’d discovered she was staying here. Merle. His own house nymph—all temptation and temporary effervescence. He should’ve been able to handle her too. Except she’d put possibilities into his head. And he’d stayed. He’d taken what he shouldn’t. He’d done so many things that he never allowed himself to do.
Now he couldn’t even hold eye contact with her.
He stared down at the piles he’d rummaged through in a furious frenzy this morning. They were now scattered in a haphazard mess at his feet. Any remnant ‘piles’ had tumbled into
