might be divorced and nearly broke, and you’ve left me a house that needs money spent on it, but I’m richer than either of those two will ever be.” Kathy truly believed that. “Thank you for this lovely house, Daddy,” she murmured. “I’ll look after it, I promise. I’ll get it done up and make it my home.” With a sense of abandonment, she threw out her arms. “I’ll probably stay here for the rest of my life.”
Overwhelmed, she gave vent to her emotions, the tears rolling down her face. “I feel close to you here, but, oh, I do miss you so. I don’t suppose you’ll ever know how much.”
From a distance, Tom heard the tail end of her words. Listening to her emotional, one-way conversation he recognized a kindred spirit. “She’s just a lost soul … much like yourself,” he muttered.
Quietly, not wishing to be seen, he went away, back to his cottage and his own company.
That was the way he preferred it.
Not yet ready to return to the caravan, Kathy took a leisurely stroll around the harbor. Leaning on the railings, she finished off her fish and chips and watched the boats in the water. There was something incredibly soothing about watching the water, and here it was like she had never seen before. Where the harbor outlet tapered down to a narrow funnel, the trapped water thrashed against the high walls, moaning and fighting as if trying to escape.
Just now, one of the late fishermen started his boat’s engine and headed it toward this turbulent funnel of water. As it traveled the short distance before it came out into open sea at the other end, the little boat was swayed and pushed dangerously close to the high walls. In the end, though, the fisherman skillfully negotiated the waters, and a few minutes later he was headed for the fishing sites, his lights low and his engine running softly.
Having a fear of deep water, Kathy was filled with admiration.
When the boat was out of sight she screwed up her fish-and-chip paper and tossed it into the nearest bin. After a long, lingering glance at the house, she returned, slightly reluctantly, to the caravan.
Less than an hour later, after a quick wash, she was undressed and in her newly made bed. Moments later, she was fast asleep, wearied by the long journey, and the emotional turmoil of seeing the house, in what she believed was a private moment. If she had realized someone had overheard, albeit innocently, she would have been mortified.
Not far away, in his cottage on the hilltop, Tom was pacing the floor. He couldn’t sleep. His mind was too full of thoughts, too active. Kathy had somehow brought back memories of his wife, and now he could not rid himself of everything else that went with it: the guilt, the belief that he should have tried harder to save them, the agony of knowing he would never see them again. Yet even while he tortured himself, he knew he had done everything humanly possible on that day. Thinking about it now merely hardened the rage inside him. He wanted revenge. He could taste it.
But he wasn’t ready yet. Now, just when he thought he was almost on top of it, when he was beginning to feel the time was almost right, his thinking had been thrown into turmoil. By this troubled woman, a pretty stranger who had intruded in his life as though for a purpose.
This evening, after he had inadvertently caught the end of her heartfelt outpourings, he had known her presence here had nothing to do with him. He felt foolish for ever having thought it might be.
All the same, she had unearthed something deep inside him, something he had tried hard not to acknowledge. Feelings of loneliness and need. The normal, manly feelings that were stirred by the sight of a warm, beautiful woman. For a long time now he had felt like half a man. Kathy’s touching words, her open, infectious laughter had only made him realize how lonely he really was.
But what a strange coincidence, he thought, to have seen her three times; twice in his native
Overwhelmed, she gave vent to her emotions, the tears rolling down her face. “I feel close to you here, but, oh, I do miss you so. I don’t suppose you’ll ever know how much.”
From a distance, Tom heard the tail end of her words. Listening to her emotional, one-way conversation he recognized a kindred spirit. “She’s just a lost soul … much like yourself,” he muttered.
Quietly, not wishing to be seen, he went away, back to his cottage and his own company.
That was the way he preferred it.
Not yet ready to return to the caravan, Kathy took a leisurely stroll around the harbor. Leaning on the railings, she finished off her fish and chips and watched the boats in the water. There was something incredibly soothing about watching the water, and here it was like she had never seen before. Where the harbor outlet tapered down to a narrow funnel, the trapped water thrashed against the high walls, moaning and fighting as if trying to escape.
Just now, one of the late fishermen started his boat’s engine and headed it toward this turbulent funnel of water. As it traveled the short distance before it came out into open sea at the other end, the little boat was swayed and pushed dangerously close to the high walls. In the end, though, the fisherman skillfully negotiated the waters, and a few minutes later he was headed for the fishing sites, his lights low and his engine running softly.
Having a fear of deep water, Kathy was filled with admiration.
When the boat was out of sight she screwed up her fish-and-chip paper and tossed it into the nearest bin. After a long, lingering glance at the house, she returned, slightly reluctantly, to the caravan.
Less than an hour later, after a quick wash, she was undressed and in her newly made bed. Moments later, she was fast asleep, wearied by the long journey, and the emotional turmoil of seeing the house, in what she believed was a private moment. If she had realized someone had overheard, albeit innocently, she would have been mortified.
Not far away, in his cottage on the hilltop, Tom was pacing the floor. He couldn’t sleep. His mind was too full of thoughts, too active. Kathy had somehow brought back memories of his wife, and now he could not rid himself of everything else that went with it: the guilt, the belief that he should have tried harder to save them, the agony of knowing he would never see them again. Yet even while he tortured himself, he knew he had done everything humanly possible on that day. Thinking about it now merely hardened the rage inside him. He wanted revenge. He could taste it.
But he wasn’t ready yet. Now, just when he thought he was almost on top of it, when he was beginning to feel the time was almost right, his thinking had been thrown into turmoil. By this troubled woman, a pretty stranger who had intruded in his life as though for a purpose.
This evening, after he had inadvertently caught the end of her heartfelt outpourings, he had known her presence here had nothing to do with him. He felt foolish for ever having thought it might be.
All the same, she had unearthed something deep inside him, something he had tried hard not to acknowledge. Feelings of loneliness and need. The normal, manly feelings that were stirred by the sight of a warm, beautiful woman. For a long time now he had felt like half a man. Kathy’s touching words, her open, infectious laughter had only made him realize how lonely he really was.
But what a strange coincidence, he thought, to have seen her three times; twice in his native
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