‘But why? She’d never even met me. What did she care whether I ever came to St Martin? Nobody at this table actually wants me here, and they certainly don’t want me to come back…’
Celine opened her mouth to argue, but Isla continued across her. ‘Isn’t it enough that I came this once? I thought that was what Sarah had wanted. So here I am, and now I can go home and I never have to bother again. I thought that was the deal.’
‘Some questions will never be answered,’ Celine said simply. ‘But your grandmother left you this house. We may never know what was going through her mind when she wrote this will; all we can do is enact it now she is gone.’
Isla flicked her gaze over the McCoy family. The other McCoy family. ‘I can see this bequest is going to cause issues and I really don’t need anything that’s going to tie me to France in any way. No offence – I mean, it’s a lovely place and everything – but there’s just too much here that would have a negative impact on my life. I don’t understand why she’d give me this.’
‘It’s not an unconditional gift,’ Ian said, looking at her properly now.
‘Even more reason not to accept it.’
‘But the problem lies,’ he continued, ‘in that if your part of the stipulations are not met, then the other beneficiaries may not inherit their portions of the estate either. Every party must be in agreement to abide by the terms my mother has set.’
‘And what are those?’ Isla asked, holding back an impatient sigh. She wished she’d never come now. She wanted this to be over, and yet it seemed her grandmother had decided to make things as difficult and complicated as possible. Like she was goading her from the grave, as if she hadn’t been cruel enough to Isla during her lifetime.
‘That if either of us refuses to come to an arrangement regarding our future father–daughter relationship and the maintenance of that relationship, then neither of us will inherit the property she has bequeathed. Or more specifically, I have to make amends and you have to forgive me. We have to become father and daughter again.’
‘What’s your property then?’ Isla asked, skipping over the most pertinent part of his statement. How could she acknowledge their fractured relationship when she couldn’t even deal with the fact that he was sitting in front of her after all these years?
‘My mother’s house back in Scotland.’
‘Do you need it? I mean, you don’t want to live in Scotland, do you?’
‘But it is our right,’ Celine said. For the first time her voice had risen in something other than a friendly assured tone. ‘It is your father’s right to own it, whether he wants to live there or not.’
‘And if I don’t play ball you won’t get it?’
‘We could sell it,’ Celine said. ‘The money from the sale would help us to have better lives here in France. Our business—’
‘You want me to help you have a better life?’ Isla hissed. ‘When you already live in a mountain paradise with your perfectly manicured nails and your perfect hair while my mum has struggled to bring me up in a tiny house where she can’t even afford to go to a proper hairdressers?’
Ian turned to her and smiled tightly. ‘It’s not like that; this would help you too. We could make it work, couldn’t we?’
Isla stared at him. For a moment she couldn’t speak. But then it came from nowhere. ‘You’re joking?’ she asked haughtily. ‘You must be. I don’t want anything to do with you. I came here thinking maybe I wanted to know my family, but this has shown me everything I need to know about you. The only reason you want me back in your life is so you can get your hands on your mother’s money? And I get a shitty little shack in the middle of nowhere as a consolation prize? No dice.’
‘But nobody will get anything if you walk away!’ Celine squeaked as her two children watched in stunned silence.
‘I’d like to say I care, but I don’t.’ Isla snatched up her handbag, blood roaring in her ears. ‘I don’t want any part of this, so you can do what you like with my cabin!’
The next moments were a blur. She made her way through the restaurant, tears stinging her eyes. She recalled yanking her coat from a stand and bundling it under her arm as she rushed for the entrance, and then she was running, slipping and sliding down the icy pavements as snowflakes pelted her hair. It wasn’t until she realised how cold she was that she stopped to put her coat on. She spun to look back up the street but nobody had followed her. Ian McCoy didn’t even care that much.
The sooner she could get a flight back to England the better.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The same phone number had shown up four times now. Unrecognised and unknown – it could only be Ian trying to call her. Ian, as he was to her now forever, because Isla now knew for certain that she would never call him Dad. She had no intention of picking up and he knew where the hotel was if he wanted to speak to her so desperately. Not that she’d have given him any more time if he’d arrived there in person, but surely he wasn’t so stupid to believe that she was going to answer the phone to him after what had happened in the restaurant?
Isla pushed the phone across the table and flipped it over so she wouldn’t have to look at the flashing screen. She was currently sitting in a quiet corner of the hotel bar – still as deserted as it had been that morning. Presumably it didn’t really come alive until later in the evening when all the winter sports enthusiasts returned with tales of adventure and bravery on the snowy slopes, alcohol making each tale bigger and bolder as the night stretched on.
For now, it was just her and a brandy. The first had been at Dahlia’s insistence as Isla flew through the hotel reception fighting back tears and Dahlia – sweet, apple-pie grandma Dahlia – had called her back and taken her gently through to the bar, observing that she looked like she’d seen a ghost and insisting she needed something medicinal to calm her nerves. Isla had been too distracted and too emotional to argue, and the first brandy had slipped down nicely, instantly warming and soothing her frayed emotions. So Isla had asked for another, and when Dahlia had to go to the reception to check in a new arrival (seriously, Isla thought, does anyone else actually work at this hotel?) Isla had nipped around the counter, at Dahlia’s behest, and helped herself to another, leaving a little IOU on the writing pad by the till.
As she swished the liquor around in the glass, staring into its depths, she suddenly became aware of Dahlia at the doorway, a dark-haired man in his mid-twenties standing alongside. Dahlia’s usual benevolent smile was gone, and she looked uncertain and confused.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, wringing her hands. ‘He says he’s family and it’s very important he speak to you.’
Isla frowned. She’d never seen this man before in her life.
‘I don’t know—’ she began, but he cut across her.
‘You don’t know me,’ he said, his French accent rich, softening the sharp edges of his words. ‘My uncle – your father – asked me to come. He thought it would be easier to talk to someone other than him.’
‘Your uncle?’ This just got better and better. How many other doting family members were going to come out of the woodwork to torture her? ‘So, you’re my cousin? What did you inherit – the outside toilet?’
The man looked confused. But he didn’t question any further and simply nodded towards the empty seat at her table. ‘May I sit with you?’
‘I can hardly stop you – it’s a free country.’
Dahlia hovered for a moment, then took herself behind the bar to give the old brass bell its second vigorous polish of the day. She was clearly listening and trying very hard to make it look like she wasn’t.
‘I am Justin,’ Isla’s cousin said, taking a seat and offering his hand. Isla looked at it, and then up into his face. She didn’t want to acknowledge the warmth and humour in his eyes, but it was there. She considered herself to have a good instinct when it came to reading people, and he might have thought he was doing good by coming, but that didn’t mean he was.
‘Why hasn’t
Ian come himself? I’m not that scary.’
‘He knew you wouldn’t talk to him.’
‘Right. So he’s not completely clueless then. What makes him think I’m more likely to talk to you?’
‘I will not inherit anything… no house, no outside toilet…’ A slight smile cocked the corner of his mouth. ‘So, if I’m here you know it is because we are family.’
‘Not exactly impartial family, though. You’re going to be on his side rather than mine, so anything you say or try to persuade me to do will be biased to benefit him.’
‘I’m not on anyone’s side, but I know he is unhappy about what happened today. In fact, I know he regrets deeply a lot of things over the years, including not trying harder to see you. He doesn’t say it, but I know it.’
‘Is he your uncle by blood or by marriage?’
‘I do not understand…’
‘How is Ian your uncle?’
‘My mother is Celine’s sister.’
‘Right. So you’re not my cousin at all then.’
‘Not exactly,’ he replied, shifting uneasily in his seat.
‘Look, Justin, I appreciate the sentiment and it’s very noble that you’ve come, but I’m even less inclined to talk to you now that I know you’re Celine’s family. I’m sure you’re all very nice, but essentially Celine is sitting where my mum should be and no matter how nice you are, that’s how I will always see it. You can be the sweetest and kindest family member on earth and I won’t like you. I’m programmed not to like you. Sorry, but I might as well get that out there now.’
‘You don’t need to like me – or my family.’ Though his words were spoken with a casual air, Isla could tell that he was a little taken aback by her tone. ‘I came because my uncle asked me to and I agreed that it was a good idea. My aunt Celine is sad for what happened too. They understand your anger and pain but they want to put the past behind them and build some bridges with you, if you’ll let them.’
‘The only reason they want to build bridges is so they can get their mitts on Granny’s gold,’ Isla said. She tipped the brandy glass to her lips and took a slug – probably bigger than was sensible – and it burned satisfyingly as it slipped down her throat and took the edge off her rage. ‘I don’t mean to take this out on you, but you’re the only person here right now. I’m sorry Ian sent you in his place, but I think it’s best you go.’
‘Won’t you listen? Can’t you just give me one more minute?’
She folded her arms tight across her chest. ‘Fine.’
‘Meet them again. Go to dinner with them and do not talk about the inheritance. Get to know them as people, as your family, and you may find you have more in common with them than you thought.’
‘I don’t see the point.’
‘The point is you’ve come a long way to be disappointed. At least if you’ve tried you can say it was worth coming to St Martin. As it is now, you may fly home with regrets.’
‘I doubt that,’ she replied, but somewhere in the back of her mind, Isla already knew he was right. ‘But I suppose my flight back is days away and I don’t have anything else to do. I may as well make sure Ian’s an arse before I write him off as one. And I don’t think I could stand the look of satisfaction on my mum’s face if I went home early.’
‘She didn’t want you to come here?’ Justin gave a brief glimpse of a smile again, but this time it was more assured. They were moving onto sturdier ground, and they both sensed it.
‘You could say that.’
‘Isla, I do not pretend to know much about what happened in your past, and I think my uncle must have caused you great pain. But it doesn’t have to make things bad between you and me. I think we could be friends, if you’d let me try?’
‘I’m not sure you do. I can be a little… um… spiky, I’ve been told.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Spiky?’
‘Difficult,’ she clarified, taking another sip of her brandy. ‘I’m not really a people person.’
‘Everyone is a people person.’ He smiled. ‘Some of us only need to find the right people.’
Isla couldn’t stop the smile that stole across her face.
‘Let me go back and talk to my uncle and aunt. If you want me to set up the meeting I can do that, but it might be more sensible for you to talk it through and fix something up.’
‘I’m not sure I can trust myself to be civil just yet. Maybe it’s better if you act as go-between – for now.’
He gave a brief nod and stood up. ‘Bon. And by the way, could you please answer your phone next time I call?’
‘That was you?’ she asked. ‘All the missed calls today?’
‘Ian gave me the number. But it’s not much use if you don’t pick up.’
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ll store it as a contact so I know it’s you. And yes, I will pick up.’
He turned to go with another brief nod, but then he spun back to face her. ‘Have you ever seen Serendipity Sound?’ he asked.
‘No. The first I knew about it was this afternoon. Why?’
‘Maybe you should see it. Maybe you should see what you want to throw away to be sure you’re making the right decision. I’m sure Ian would take you there if you wanted to go.’
Without another word he left, and Isla was left wondering whether he might have a point.
A brief phone call from her mother had found Isla shamefully lying about the meeting at the restaurant, reassuring her mum that it had all gone to plan and doing her best to fend off further interrogation about her inheritance by saying she wasn’t exactly sure what it was yet, and that Ian was busy sorting things. She would let her know as soon as she could. It was more than Isla could deal with right now to admit to her mum how badly things had gone. Her mother had been right to warn her off. She was always right, and it was bloody infuriating.
Isla had spent an hour exploring the town again, just for the want of something to take her mind off things. However, not in the mood for shopping, and with the grandeur of the peaks lost beneath heavy snow clouds, there hadn’t been much to see.
Her thoughts wandered frequently to the meeting at the restaurant and the subsequent visit from her cousin, Justin. And the more she thought about it, the more she wondered whether she was letting her emotions get the better of her. She had never seen this house, but it had to be worth a decent amount of money. Perhaps enough to make a real difference to her life. There was a clause in the will that said she had to make good the relationship with her dad, but if she’d stayed to listen to the whole reading, would there have been another one that said she wasn’t allowed to sell the property she’d been gifted? Could she be denying herself a golden opportunity?
By early evening she was ravenous, suddenly realising that she hadn’t actually eaten anything since breakfast, which was very unlike her. So her afternoon walk had taken her into an unexpected Italian restaurant for the best spaghetti and meatballs she’d had for many years, and she returned to Residence Alpenrose fuller, happier, and ready for a drink before she retired to her room to assess what the day’s events really meant for her.
As she walked into the cosy lobby of the hotel she passed the entrance to the bar and saw that Dahlia was behind it, pouring a drink for Sebastian.
‘Isla!’ Dahlia called. ‘Come on over! Tell me how your afternoon has been!’
Isla gave her a small smile and peeled off her coat as she made her way over. Seb watched her with a broad, welcoming smile of his own; his nose wrinkled, his freckles barely visible now against the flushing of his cheeks. It looked as though he’d only just returned from a day out in the cold winter air himself. He still had walking boots on and a heavy coat was slung across a neighbouring barstool, but even though he’d clearly been mountaineering or something equally rugged and outdoorsy, today he sported a blue shirt and a red bow tie, which peeked out from beneath an argyle tank top. Isla wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. Dodie would have called him delightfully eccentric, but Isla was more
inclined to use the word bonkers. But he was harmless enough and pleasant company now that they’d got past the suite-stealing, peeping-Tom, suitcase-jeopardy phase of their relationship.
‘I guess you were up and out early,’ she said as she took a seat next to him.
‘Oh, yes, with the cockerel,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I had a long drive and I wanted to get started in plenty of time.’
‘Oh.’ Isla wanted to ask where he’d been but she didn’t want to appear nosey so she refrained. Instead she answered Dahlia’s questioning look with a request for a beer. ‘And I’m fine now, before you ask. I’m so sorry about before,’ she added, and Dahlia broke into a broad grin.
‘I’m glad to hear it. Then I won’t pry any further on that matter. Just bear in mind that I’m always here if you ever need to get anything off your chest.’
Isla nodded, and as she turned back to Seb, she could see that it was now his turn to burn with a question that he was just too polite to ask.
‘So you’ve enjoyed exploring the town this afternoon?’ Dahlia asked as she placed a beer on the bar in front of Isla. ‘We’re not exactly New York but I wouldn’t live anywhere else.’
‘It’s very pretty,’ Isla replied. ‘Though it’s a shame the weather has moved in and made everything so murky. I was going to take some photos of the mountains to send to my mum, but it was just grey skies by the time I got around to it. The town itself is lovely. I can see why you like it here.’
‘Been here thirty years now running this place and never regretted moving one single day.’
‘Where are you from?’
‘Chicago.’
‘That’s quite a move.’
‘Sure is. But we wanted mountains and peace, not sidewalks and noise, and we’d always been in love with Europe so the minute we could get enough money together we bought this place and gave up our old jobs to run it.’
‘You and your husband?’ Isla asked.
‘Yes, me and Jerry.’
Isla wanted to ask about this mysterious Jerry. She hadn’t seen a single other person working in the hotel apart from Dahlia but she was convinced there must be someone else.
A Cosy Candlelit Christmas: A wonderfully festive feel good romance (An Unforgettable Christmas Book 2) Page 7
