A year with the billionaire

Chapter 8

Amanda

‘ She was sick for a while.’ He sinks back into his seat, his eyes going to the window, lost in the past. ‘Like you say, she didn’t want to make a fuss. It was only when she couldn’t hide the pain that I forced her to admit something was wrong.’

His voice cracks but he doesn’t stop.

‘She refused treatment. Said it would only prolong the discomfort, make her feel worse, and she’d prefer to spend her last few months on this earth pretending it wasn’t happening...’

He takes a ragged breath and I fight the impulse to reach out for him, to offer comfort that I know he won’t welcome.

He turns to look at me. ‘You know, I don’t think she would have told me either if she could’ve avoided it.’

He looks so broken, so defeated, and I know what the admission has cost him. Gone is the cold executive. In his place is a glimpse of the man I knew and my heart aches for him.

‘She was too independent for her own good,’ I say.

‘She was too stubborn, you mean.’

‘Stubborn, independent—same difference...’ I attempt a nonchalant shrug, a sad smile, and I surrender to the need to touch him, to comfort him, to share this moment...especially when I can only guess at how rare it might be. I cover his hand with my own, feel him flinch. But he doesn’t break away and I tell him with all the feeling I can muster, ‘She loved you, though.’

His eyes reach inside mine, and a thousand shadows chase across his face. ‘It appears she loved us both.’

Did she?‘I guess...’

‘You guess?’

I look away from his surprise. Of course he won’t understand. How can he when I haven’t explained myself? I think back to that God-awful phone call a few weeks ago, when Mr McAllister rang me and informed me of her death. Out of the blue. No warning. Nothing.

‘I was so angry, Donald. Not when I learned of her death—not then. I was shocked, grief-stricken... But when I learned that she’d been sick, that she’d known she was going to—to—’ I swallow down the tears. ‘That she didn’t have much time left. How could she take away my chance to say goodbye? Why didn’t she want me to come back? Why didn’t she want me here? I would have come—I would have. She should’ve known that.’

He covers my hand on his. ‘Maybe she didn’t want your last words to be filled with pain.’

I drag my eyes back to his. ‘Like yours were?’

He nods, and in that moment the bond, the connection, is undeniable. The years fall away without the hurt, the distance, and the defensive walls we’ve erected since.

‘How—how was she?’

‘Towards the end?’

I nod, and he surprises me with the smallest of smiles. ‘Fierce.’

‘Fierce?’ I mirror his smile and he nods again.

‘Like you wouldn’t believe. Mind over matter, they say, and she was that through and through, refusing to bend to the illness. But that last fortnight she shrank. She grew tired. She wanted—she wanted it over.’

‘And you were with her?’

‘As much as possible. It’s the reason for the helipad.’

I frown, and he gestures around us. ‘I invested in all this when I found out she was sick. I could get to her quicker...more often.’

And I’d been thinking it was just a way of splashing his cash. I feel a stab of guilt and squeeze his fingers. ‘I’m so glad she had you.’

Not just your mother, I want to say, but I don’t. I can’t imagine she will have changed much in all the years I’ve been away.

‘Me too.’

We fall silent, our eyes connected, the mood in the cabin heavy with our grief, our newfound understanding...

There’s so much I want to say. So much I want to do. I want to wrap my arms around him, hold him close, absorb his pain like my own.

‘Sir?’

I start as the pilot’s voice breaks through the headset.

‘We’re coming in to land.’

Donald looks at me—a look I can’t decipher.

‘Thank you, Angus.’

He withdraws from my touch.

‘You should check out the view. You’ve never seen Glenrobin from this angle.’

Slowly, I do as he suggests, my head and heart slow to shift focus. I should be grateful for the timely interruption. Should be, but I’m not.

I look at the ground beneath us and press a palm to my chest, comfort my unsteady heart as I take in the sheer beauty below...

‘Something else, isn’t she?’

I nod as I take in all that has changed and all that remains the same.

The far-reaching loch with its wooden jetty where I first met Donald. The new addition of what looks to be a boat house. The dense woods that punctuate the skyline and run along one edge, up into the mountains, and the rolling fields where the estate’s game roam free. And nestled in the heart of its wild surroundings the majestic house itself.

Glenrobin Castle, in all its austere beauty.

‘It’s even more breathtaking than I remember.’

‘And it’s half yours now.’

I can hear the continued disbelief in his tone, his discontentment too, and I feel it through and through. This can’t be mine.

I gaze along the lawn at the vast baronial building with its château-inspired pepper-pot turrets, all granite and slate and irregular in shape. It has a gothic fairy tale vibe, and if I hadn’t lived here once upon a time I’d have a hard time believing such mythical beauty exists. Let alone accepting I own any part of it.

I’m mesmerised as the pilot touches down with a gentle bump, the carefully groomed lawn kicking up dirt and grass as it settles into position.

‘It hasn’t changed a bit,’ I whisper to myself as Donald speaks to the pilot, and I’m surprised to hear him respond.

‘Not from the outside, but you should see some improvements to the amenities inside, and there are a few holiday rentals dotted about the land now. It needs renovating in parts, but we’re getting there.’

If I’m not mistaken, it’s the sound of pride in his voice. Is Donald responsible for it all? Has he been helping to take care of Glenrobin for a while now?

Even more reason for him to resent me and my share.

Not for the first time, I wonder at his parents’ lack of involvement, their small by comparison inheritance. Now isn’t the time to ask him about it, though. I’m exhausted. It’s early evening here, but it’s the middle of the night in Kuala Lumpur and I’m still on Malaysian time.

How easily sleep will come is another matter. Being back here...with all the memories I’ve tried hard to forget, all the feelings I’ve tried to suppress. Last night was impossible enough, but tonight...in a new bed in a new room in a house I know of old...

Where will I sleep? Do I get to choose? Has Donald chosen for me?

‘You ready?’ Donald looks to me expectantly, his seatbelt already undone as he gestures to the door that has been opened without my noticing.

I release my belt and clamber forward. My legs feel weak. I want to blame the vibrations of the helicopter, but I know it has more to do with him and the castle I’m walking into—the dawning responsibility of it too.

I grip the handrail as I carefully step down to the ground, my eyes fixed on the house and the staff I can see waiting, though I can’t make out their faces. Will I know anyone? Will they remember me? Do they know we’re now...? What are we, exactly? Their new employers?

Donald’s palm presses into my lower back and I inhale sharply, heat rushing to greet his touch.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!’ he shouts over the helicopter blades. ‘But unless you want your ears ringing all night we should move!’

‘Oh, right...of course!’ I scrape my whipped-up hair back from my face but can’t find my legs.

‘What is it?’ He leans into my immobile form.

‘Do they—do they know?’

‘About us?’

My eyes shoot to his—us? Oh, how I once wished that we could have been just that—an us.

‘Amanda?’

‘About the new ownership!’ I blurt. ‘The conditions—all of it?’

‘Yes, they know enough!’