Love Islands…The Collection. Jane PorterЧитать онлайн книгу.
Max was hers.
But what was the point of such longings? What would be the point, now, in standing here in the cold wind, in this alien land, and dreading a future on her own, without Haughton, without Max? What would be the point of admitting that what she had tried to pass off as merely a predictable reaction to the first man in her life was so much more?
What would be the point in admitting she’d fallen in love with him?
Max turned the powerful car on to the long curve of the gravelled drive, flanked at either side by a crimson blaze of rhododendrons, misted with bluebells along its verges, until the vista opened up to reveal the lawns and gardens beyond, and then the house itself, with the pale mauve of wisteria coming into bloom tumbling over the porch.
Haughton was, indeed, looking its best in the late spring sunshine. Satisfaction overflowed in him.
He had achieved exactly what he wanted, and as he parked his car in the kitchen courtyard his mind went back to the first time he had done so.
I fell in love with this place the moment I saw it and nothing has changed.
Except that Haughton was now his.
Satisfaction curved his mouth into a smile, putting a gleam into his dark eyes as he strode up to the back door. Haughton was his. His to do exactly as he wanted! With no more blocks or obstacles or impediments.
His keys were at the ready—after the completion of his purchase they were in his possession—and he unlocked the back door, glancing briefly into the kitchen where Ellen had hurled at his head her refusal to sell her share of the property unless it was forced from her by a court of law. Yet again satisfaction filled him. Well, that had not proved necessary.
He walked down the stone-flagged corridor to push open the green baize door and walk out into the front hall. It was chilly there, with no heating on yet, but that would be easily remedied. He paused, and gazed around, feeling the silence of the old house lap at him.
It’s waiting. Waiting for its new owner to take possession. To live here and make a home here. To love it as it wants to be loved, to cherish it and value it.
Into his head came the memory of how he’d stood on this very spot, recognising his self-discovery, his sudden determination that he should make a home here for himself—recalling the moment he’d first felt that overpowering urge so strongly.
For a fleeting moment regret showed in his eyes for what he had done. Then it was gone. He had done what he had done, and it was what he had wanted to do. He would allow himself to feel nothing but satisfaction at having accomplished it. Nothing but that. He would have no regrets at how he had achieved it—at the price that had been paid for it. None.
He strode to the front door, throwing back the bolts and locks and opening it wide. Only one more signature was required to fulfil his purpose, to achieve what he wanted to do. And that would be supplied soon—very soon. He stood and watched over the gardens. Waiting...
Ellen sat in the back of the taxi taking her from the station to Haughton. A grief so profound she could not name its depth filled her. This was to be her very last time walking into the house that had been her home—that was hers no longer. Now, after landing that morning from Toronto, her charges having been safely bestowed upon their waiting parents, she was coming here only to remove her own personal possessions and the few keepsakes she still had from her parents before returning to Canada.
Everything else was included in the sale. A sale that had been conducted at breakneck speed the moment she’d made that fatal phone call to her solicitor to yield victory to Pauline and Chloe.
Now all that remained was for her to put her signature to the contract. She’d be calling in at the family solicitor on her way back to the station. Where Pauline and Chloe were she did not know and did not care. They’d signed the contract and taken themselves off—presumably to await the transfer of their share of the sale price into their accounts and then spend it as lavishly on themselves as they had spent all the rest of her father’s money.
She closed her eyes. She must not let bitterness and anger fill her again. She must not! Max had been right—those harsh emotions had eaten away at her for too long. Now she had to make a new life for herself. A life without Haughton. A life without Max.
She felt her throat constrict, felt pain lance at her.
I’ve lost my home and I’ve lost my heart as well. I can bear neither of them, and yet I must.
‘Stop! Please!’
The words broke from her as the taxi driver turned between the stone pillars on to the drive. Startled, he braked, and Ellen fumbled for money, pressing it into his hand and scrambling from the vehicle.
Dragging her pull-along suitcase behind her, she started along the drive. Emotion poured through her, agonising and unbearable, a storm of feelings clutched at her heart. Soon...oh, so soon...all that would be left to her of her beloved home would be memories.
I was happy here once. And no one can take those memories from me. Wherever I go in the world I will take them with me.
She took a searing breath. Just as she would take the memories of her time with Max—that brief, precious time with him.
I had Haughton for a quarter of a century and I had Max for only weeks. But the memories of both must last my lifetime.
An ache started in her so profound it suffused her whole being with a longing and a desire for all that she had lost—the home she had lost, the man she had lost.
As the massed rhododendrons in their crimson glory gave way to lawn she plunged across the grass, cutting up towards the house, her eyes going immediately to its frontage.
This is the last time I shall see it! The last time...the very last time! The last time—
She stopped dead. There, standing on the porch, was a figure—tall and dominating and already in full possession.
It was Max.
Max watched her approach. He’d timed his own arrival perfectly, having obtained from her school details of the flight she’d be on, and calculating how long it would take her to reach here. He had the paperwork all ready.
As she reached the porch he could see her face was white, the skin stretched tight over her features. He felt emotion pierce him, but suppressed it. No time for that now. He must complete this business as swiftly as possible.
‘What are you doing here?’ The question broke from Ellen even though the moment it was out she knew how stupid it was. What was he doing here? He was taking possession—as he had every right to do.
His long lashes dipped down over his eyes. ‘Waiting for you,’ he said.
He stood aside, gesturing for her to step into the house.
His house. That’s what it is now. Not mine—not once I’ve completed the final step that I must take and put my signature on the contract for my share. That’s all he is waiting for now.
She swallowed. Anguish seared her. Dear God, why did he have to be here? Why must she endure this final ordeal?
How can I bear it?
How could she bear to see him again? How could she bear to feel that terrifying leap in her pulse, which had soared the moment her eyes had lit on him? How could she bear to have her gaze latch on to him, to drink him in like a quenching fountain after a parched desert?
He was