Chapter Thirty-Two

‘Denmark? What for?’

‘He wants to scatter his father’s ashes on the beach on the family farm.’ Kirsty arched her eyebrows. ‘I never thought Marc was the sentimental type. His father’s death must have shaken him more than I realised.’

Rosalie bit her lip, and tears welled in her eyes. She’d been so busy trying to avoid a conversation with Marc the night before that she hadn’t even told him she was sorry for his loss, or asked about his father’s funeral in Hong Kong. How heartless of her.

Kirsty was still talking and Rosalie tried to concentrate on what she was saying. ‘Anyway, he won’t be coming back – not for a while at least. He said he would go straight to Paris from Denmark, and would liaise by phone and email about the brewery and the bus company.’

A fist crushed Rosalie’s heart, tighter and tighter, as Kirsty’s words rang in her ears, and she leant against the table for support.

Kirsty looped her handbag around her shoulder. ‘There’s one last thing. It was my fault you couldn’t talk to Marc when you phoned the London offices.’

‘What?’

Kirsty looked sheepish. ‘I had instructed his secretary to screen his calls and discard any coming from you. I told her you were stalking him.’

‘I wasn’t!’ Rosalie cried out, indignant.

‘Look, I said I was sorry, all right? I had no idea he’d get so mad when he found out. I have never seen him look so angry before – except perhaps when he learnt how his father and I had handled a very unfortunate case a few months ago.’

‘Are you talking about Van Bernd by any chance?’

Kirsty looked surprised. ‘You know about that? Marc was most annoyed to read what a journalist wrote about him. Personally, I can’t understand what all the fuss was about – I mean when you’re in business, you have to learn to take the bad with the good – but Marc changed after that. He had countless arguments with his father, and now he behaves as if he wants to turn the company into some kind of charity.’ She shook her head. ‘He is also trying to save other companies against all business sense.’

Rosalie’s spirits sank even lower. ‘Fitzpatrick …’

‘That’s one of them. Marc has invested vast sums of money to help the man save his company, and it caused a massive rift between him and his father. He is even talking about selling up parts of the company. He’s changed so much, he seems to have lost his drive and become … soft.’ Kirsty pulled a face, as if she couldn’t think of a worse insult.

Rosalie lifted a shaky hand to her throat. What had she done? Marc was doing everything, and more, she’d ever dreamed of, and she had accused him of being cold and callous. If only she could take her harsh words back. He had called her kind and loyal, but she’d been anything but kind and loyal towards him.

In fact she’d always been prepared to think the worst about him. It had never crossed her mind that Kirsty could be lying about his plans or their relationship, or that the article in the magazine could misrepresent the truth. How could she have been so stubborn, so obtuse, so prejudiced?

Outside, the taxi beeped, and Kirsty glanced at the window. ‘I have to go or I’ll miss my plane.’ Kirsty picked up her bag and with a toss of her hair, walked out of the kitchen.

‘You have to go to him, lass,’ Marion said.

Rosalie nodded. Marion was right. She had to apologise for saying all those mean and hurtful things the night before. She had to tell him how wrong she’d been about him being cold and heartless, and how grateful she was that he was helping Geoff, Lorna and all her friends.

But above all, she couldn’t stand the idea of him being on his own when he was scattering his father’s ashes on his grandfather’s farm at Hantsholm. With tears burning her eyes, she hurried to the library, fired up the computer and searched travel sites.

Fifteen minutes later, she was forced to accept that her only option was to fly, since direct ferry services between the UK and Denmark had been discontinued, and driving through Holland and Germany would take too long.

What should she do? She hated the idea of flying, and had vowed as a child never to set foot on a plane. As far as she was concerned, no exotic holiday, no urgent business had ever been worth the risk. Until now.

Her finger hovered over the keyboard. A warning flashed on the screen that there were only a few seats left on a flight from Edinburgh to Aalborg the following day. She swallowed hard, pushed back the fear, and clicked. After entering her credit card details, she hired a car to travel from Aalborg airport to Hanstholm where the Petersen farm was located, then went back to her flat to pack.

Packing didn’t take long. She threw a T-shirt, a jumper, a pair of black corduroy jeans and some underwear into a holdall, squeezed in a few toiletries, and retrieved her passport. She then called the hospital to talk to Geoff. She explained briefly about Marc, he gave her directions to the farm from the airport, and told her the exact address was in a file in the library. A quick glance at her watch told her it was time to leave for the station or she’d miss the Edinburgh train.

Marion gave her a lift to Aviemore.

‘Bring him back, lass,’ Marion said, a smile creasing her face. ‘Tell him to come home.’

The train was packed. Everybody it seemed was going to Edinburgh to do some Christmas shopping. It was several years since she’d been there with Geoff. Her mother was supposed to come with them but she had changed her mind at the last minute, claiming a migraine. Rosalie had been annoyed with her for spoiling their weekend away. Now of course, she understood why her mother rarely left Irlwick and why she shied away from busy places. She must have been terrified of bumping into anyone who might recognise her.

Zipping her anorak up against the cold, she left Waverley Station and stood on the railway bridge to gaze at the giant Ferris wheel and the Christmas market overlooked by the ominous castle perching on a craggy rock.

Twinkling lights may have turned Edinburgh into a fairy-tale town, but there was no joy in her heart as she walked past an old-fashioned carousel, listened to the children’s laughter and shrieks of joy rising above the nostalgic organ music, and watched as their parents smiled and waved, and when it started snowing she wasn’t sure if it was melted flakes or tears that ran down her face.

She found a chemist shop still open and bought a box of extra strong travel sickness pills then left the festive crowds behind to walk to the B&B she had booked online. Once in her small bedroom, she made a cup of tea, nibbled at the shortbread biscuits from the hospitality tray, and switched the television on. None of the programmes could hold her attention and she soon walked to the bow window, drew the curtain open and stared at Edinburgh’s night sky. All she could see however was Marc – the line of his mouth when he smiled, the shadows dancing in his grey eyes.

She loved him. She loved him so much it hurt, and she yearned to rest her cheek against his chest and listen to his heartbeat.

She only hoped it wasn’t too late to tell him.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, welcome on board this Lufthansa flight. We hope you will have a pleasant flight and ask that you now switch off all electronic devices for take-off.’

Rosalie’s sweaty fingers gripped the armrests more tightly and she closed her eyes. Please let it be fast, and let everything be okay, she repeated over and over again. She had dutifully swallowed the travel sickness pill as soon as she’d got up and now hoped for a miracle. If only she could fall asleep now and wake up in Aalborg – having missed the whole ordeal.

She may not have fallen asleep but the flight was mercifully short, and after a moment of heart-stopping panic when the plane took off, she spent most of the time with her eyes tightly shut, taking deep breaths and trying to not to think about being stuck in what was little more than a metal tin high up in the sky. She even managed to drink a cup of tea and munch on a couple of biscuits.

It was early afternoon when she landed at Aalborg. The staff at the car hire counter gave her a road map and directions for the address Geoff had given her. Negotiating the traffic and finding her way whilst driving on the wrong side of the road demanded all her attention, but she soon left the town towards the coast. And towards Marc.