He wanted to say something – something to ease the pain she must be feeling. But he couldn’t think of anything. So, resorting to something practical – as he always did in an emotional crisis – he said, “When I call Tyler, I’ll ask him to order you a new phone. The guy in the shop said we could get a small box, like a USB, that connects to the internet the same way a phone does. Ty can get you one of those too and you can use it to hook up your laptop. Not ideal, but...”
Rachel smiled. Her eyes looked watery and she blinked a few times in quick succession. Looking away from him, she said, “All right. Thank you, that sounds like a good plan.”
“I don’t know how long delivery will take.”
Rachel shrugged. “It’ll take as long as it takes, I suppose.”
Frowning, Max shifted so that he was leaning against the countertop beside the fridge. “What will you do until then?”
“Just keep making notes, I guess.”
He nodded. “Right. Well, I’ll let you know what Tyler says.”
“Okay. I’ll see you later then.”
19
Rachel
Rachel walked towards the door but before she reached it, Max called her name.
She stopped and turned to look at him. He was wearing a dark grey sweater that brought out the light dusting of stubble on his chin. Usually, his posture was like an army major’s but today it had been different; just a tiny bit more relaxed.
“If there’s anything I can help with... any questions?” He offered her a lop-sided smile and waved his hand as if he was struggling to find the right words. “I mean, I don’t know what kind of information you need. I might not be able to offer anything useful–”
Rachel felt her lips stretch into a grin. A wave of relief washed over her. “Max, that would be wonderful.” She walked quickly back to him and put her hand on his forearm. She’d never felt like a particularly short person before but, in front of Max, she did. Looking up to meet his eyes, she said, “Thank you. So much.”
Max blinked slowly then looked down at Rachel’s hand on his arm. Was he blushing? “It’s really no problem.”
“I would have asked, but I thought you’d say no...” She still hadn’t moved her hand and was fighting the urge to put down her coffee cup and slip the other one around his waist.
Coming to her senses, she stepped backwards and laughed nervously. Last night, she’d blamed the wine for the fact that she wanted to beckon him over to the couch and curl up beside him. Today, she had no excuse. Straightening her sweater, she tried to arrange her features into something more serious and professional.
“All right. I’ll get my notes. Wait there…”
In the study, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Her head was swimming, but not with thoughts of her book. Living in such close quarters, Max seemed to be getting more attractive as the days wore on and it was a strange feeling.
When they first met, she was certain that he disliked her… a lot. Now, she felt the opposite; that he liked her, but was trying desperately not to show it. Coupled with the stirred-up emotions that had wriggled to the surface when they were driving in the rain, it was all making her feel woozy and tired.
Shaking her head, she tried to steer her focus towards which questions an ex-detective could help her with. Trying to block out the whirlpool of Max, and her mother, and London, and Scotland, and what it all meant, she gathered her notes and returned to the kitchen.
Max had made a pot of his fancy Peruvian coffee and put it in the middle of the table beside a packet of chocolate digestive biscuits. Rachel smiled and sat down. This felt familiar – sitting down and asking a detective questions about her book was something she’d done for each novel she’d written and, slowly, she felt her equilibrium returning.
“I was thinking,” Max said, leaning forwards and resting his elbows on the table. “I should ask Tyler to contact your family and friends – tell them your phone’s out of action. We don’t want them worrying.”
Rachel hadn’t even thought about that; she’d been so busy worrying about her research, it hadn’t occurred to her that her father and sister would be worried if they couldn’t reach her.
“Of course.” She tore a page from the back of her notebook and scribbled down her father’s and Emma’s numbers. “Thank you,” she said, pushing the piece of paper towards Max.
Max read the numbers, then cleared his throat. “And what about your neighbour? Pete?”
Rachel frowned. Pete? Then gasped and pressed her hand over her mouth. A small, guilty laugh escaped her lips. “Oh gosh, Pete. I forgot about him.”
Max raised his eyebrows at her, and she was certain he was trying not to smile. “You forgot him?”
Rachel shrugged and pressed the end of her pen up and down on the cover of her notebook. “We haven’t been texting much the last few days. It seems, now I’m here and we’re not bumping into each other in the hallway and chatting about building maintenance or recycling, that we don’t actually have much to say to one another.” She lowered her voice, as if Pete might magically hear her if she spoke too loudly. “I think Pete might be a little… dull.”
Max couldn’t stop himself from smiling this time, but quickly straightened his lips and shook his head. “Well, Dull Pete probably still deserves to know that you’re okay. So, I’ll get Tyler to drop him a note or something.”
“Okay. Yes. Thank you.” Rachel looked up and allowed her eyes to settle on Max’s. They were in danger of slipping back into conversation about things that weren’t even remotely book-related, so she straightened her shoulders, tapped firmly on her notebook, and said, “Right, Detective. Now that’s sorted. Let’s get started…”
20
Max
THREE WEEKS LATER
The lake in front of the cottage was completely still. Over the last few days, the temperature had remained cold but the sun had managed to break through the clouds. Now, Max sat at the end of the jetty watching it come up over the trees in the distance. Beside him, Brandi sat upright with her ears pricked. Max looked at her and smiled; she was happier in Scotland. He could see it in the way she moved.
Back in London, she had been slowing down, reluctant to go for walks, not very interested in playing the way she used to. Max had assumed it was because she was growing older, but now he thought that maybe it was because she’d been sad. Being in London, in the tiny rental apartment Max had moved to after he sold the house, had been no fun for her. She probably missed Frank, and the girls. And without the stimulation of her work, she must have found her days incredibly boring.
Here, in Scotland, Brandi had access to an entire world of incredible smells, long walks, and cosy nights by the fire. She also had Rachel, whom she seemed to gravitate towards more and more every day.
And she wasn’t the only one; since they’d started working together, Max found that he woke each morning looking forward to seeing her face. He was always up before her – he went to bed late and rose early – and would sit out by the lake until she joined him with coffee.
They had developed a routine. Coffee by the lake – even if it was freezing cold and they needed to huddle under blankets with their coats on – then breakfast, a long walk, and an afternoon working on Rachel’s book.
Her new phone had arrived two weeks ago, but she seemed to prefer asking Max rather than Google to help her. It had surprised him when she suggested that he sit with her in the study; he’d assumed that she would want to work alone. But she said it made things easier. If he was there, she could look up, fact-check something, then continue to write. So far, she was still outlining and making notes. Max hadn’t really ever thought about all the effort that went into writing a novel and, now that he was seeing it first hand, he was amazed that anyone ever went to the trouble of doing it.
It was later than usual when Rachel appeared holding two mugs of freshly brewed coffee. She was smiling, as always, but today her hair was tied into a braid that fell down the cen
tre of her back.
“Morning,” she said, offering him the larger of the two mugs. “Been up long?”
Max glanced at his watch but didn’t tell her that he’d never really gone to sleep. “A while.”
“Sorry. I slept in. I was up late finishing some notes.”
“I didn’t hear you…” Max had been reading in the study until three a.m. and had then relocated to the kitchen to drink tea. At some point, he’d dozed with his head resting on the table. And then he’d woken around five-thirty and headed outside.
Rachel sipped her coffee and smiled. She took a deep breath, as if she was about to make a very important announcement, then sat down beside him and said, “I’m ready to start writing.”
“Really?” Max felt a twinge of excitement in his chest. Since offering his small amount of knowledge to help craft the intricacies of her storyline, he’d begun to feel surprisingly invested in the book and it occurred to him that he’d actually been enjoying himself.
Rachel nodded and bit her lower lip. “Yep. Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Max smiled thinly as his excitement turned to something else. Was it disappointment?
“You okay?” Rachel dipped her head to catch his eyes.
“Did anyone ever tell you that you should have been a detective?”
“No. Never.” Rachel laughed. “But you’re avoiding the question.”
Max shrugged. “I was just wondering what I’ll do now.” He paused and deliberately looked out at the lake instead of at Rachel. “I enjoyed helping you.”
When he looked at her, Rachel was smiling. “Wow. Max Bernstein, did you just verbalise your feelings?” She nudged him playfully with her elbow and Max nudged her back.
In the beginning, he’d found her tactile nature jarring. Now, he didn’t mind it. Perhaps even liked it.
“Well,” she said, gesticulating with her left hand the way she did when she was trying to make a very important point, “you know what the solution is?”
“Enlighten me…”
“You need to write a book of your own.”
A short burst of laughter escaped Max’s lips, but Rachel looked deadly serious. “A book?”
“You have years of experience to draw on. You love reading, and the first step towards being a good writer is being a good reader.”
“Yes, but I can’t think up storylines to save my life. That’s your forte. And the key to being a writer, if I’m not wrong.”
Rachel narrowed her eyes at him then swayed her head from side to side. “Okay, you’re right. But…” She wrinkled her nose. “Okay then, after I’ve finished this, why don’t we co-write something?”
Max laughed but she was still looking at him, her eyes wide and serious.
“I mean it, Max. We’ve made a great team the last few weeks. I’ve never worked with someone like this and it’s been… good. Really good. In fact…” She got to her feet and reached for his hand to help him up. “I think book number twelve is going to be the best one yet.”
Rachel started walking back towards the cottage, but Max couldn’t seem to move away from the end of the jetty. He felt as if he was dreaming, as if it couldn’t possibly be him standing there talking about co-writing a book with Rachel French.
Their surroundings, and the cottage, and Rachel’s infectious warmth were all so far removed from what he’d known in London, with his grey apartment and cereal-bowl dinners, that it felt a million miles away. He was teetering on the edge of everything he’d ever secretly wanted for himself and, the more time that passed, the more he was allowing himself to enjoy it.
But it was a dream, wasn’t it? A little slice of fantasy. In a few weeks, or maybe even a few days, he’d get a call from Tyler saying that it was safe for Rachel to return home. They’d pack their bags, wave goodbye to Scotland, and that would be it… she’d go back to her fancy apartment, and Dull Pete who she’d almost gone on a date with, and she’d forget all about Max.
“Max? What do you want for breakfast?” Rachel had stopped and was waiting for him to catch her up.
“Anything, I don’t mind.”
“Okay. Anything it is.”
21
Rachel
“So…” Rachel was waving a forkful of poached egg in the air as she spoke. “I’m going to disappear for a few days.”
“Disappear?” Max wiped a piece of toast around his plate to mop up the remains of the hollandaise sauce.
She nodded solemnly. “When I write, I usually do a first draft in three or four days. I have to just go for it, non-stop.”
“You write an entire book in three days?”
“Well, no. I write the first draft in three days. That’s very different. A first draft is always rubbish.”
“Then why…?”
“To get it all out. Everything that’s been percolating in my brain through all the research and the plotting.” Rachel finished her poached egg and put her fork down. “Then I go back and make it pretty.”
“So, do you want me to just come feed and water you every now and then?” Max was smiling at her and it made her stomach flutter. In the first few weeks of their stay, she could have counted on one hand the amount of times he smiled. But recently it seemed he was remembering how to do it.
“Nope.” She shook her head vehemently. “DO NOT DISTURB.”
Max sat back in his chair and pushed his plate away from him. “All right.”
“Right then…” Rachel wanted to stay and talk to him, but she was also itching to get going. Once she was in the right mindset, it was almost impossible to think of anything but putting pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard. “See you when I see you.”
In the study, she closed the door and set a jug of water and a small blue glass on the desk. She pulled the blinds down, because if Max and Brandi walked in front of the window it would distract her, made sure her chair was the perfect height and grabbed the small rectangular cushion that she used to ease her lower back. Then she sat down, opened up a blank document, and began her story.
For three days, Rachel barely left the study. Every now and then, she filled up her water jug. But she didn’t drink tea or coffee because they dehydrated her and made her need to pee too often. She picked at toast, fruit, and chocolate bars. But didn’t eat anything substantial.
Briefly, she wondered what Max was eating. He’d grown accustomed to her cooking for them both and she hated to think of him going back to cheese and crackers or peanut butter sandwiches.
Whenever she stepped out into the main body of the cottage, Max would be either sitting in the lounge reading one of her books or outside with Brandi. He’d look up, smile, and purposefully not ask her how it was going or if she needed anything. In fact, he was the only person she’d ever met who seemed to understand that she needed to do what she needed to do… no interruptions. And, more than that, he respected it. He watched her as if she was the most interesting person he’d ever encountered and, if she hadn’t been utterly absorbed in the world she was creating in her head, the way he looked at her would have made her skin flutter.
At the end of the third day, just before four p.m., Rachel finally finished. The last chapter was done. And exhaustion hit her like a brick wall.
After saving the document three times, backing it up, and emailing it to herself, she walked stiffly down the hall into the kitchen. Max was sifting through the fridge and turned when he heard her. He looked up at the clock. “It’s early,” he said. “Everything okay?”
“Great,” she replied wearily. “I finished.”
“You did?” Max’s eyes widened in surprise. “That’s incredible.”
“Well, it’s not.” Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose. Her head was swimming with fatigue. “But it will be when I go back and revise it.”
“Do you need food?”
Rachel smiled and shook her head. “Right now, I could use a walk. My back is killing me.” She braced her lower back with her hands, jutting out her elbows.
“Okay. Walk. Great.” Max looked strangely animated, almost as if he was pleased that she’d come out of hibernation.
As they walked slowly away from the cottage, into the woods that led to the castle, she looked at him and said quietly, “So, did you miss me?”
Max didn’t look at her, just put his hands into his pockets and said, “It was a little lonely. Yes.”
“I thought you’d enjoy the peace and quiet… no incessant chatter, dinner alone. Back to the good old days.”
Max reached down, picked up a stick and threw it for Brandi. “There was nothing good about the old days, Rachel. Nothing at all.”
Rachel was about to nudge closer to him – now that she was out of the writing zone, she realised that she’d missed his presence beside her – when her foot caught on something and she stumbled forwards. Max reached to catch her but her back jarred and she cried out.
“Ah. My back. Ow, ow, ow.” Rachel reached out and steadied herself on Max’s outstretched arms.
Up ahead, Brandi had stopped and was watching them. As Max ducked his head to ask Rachel if she was okay, Brandi charged back to them and nuzzled Rachel’s legs.
“I’m all right. It’ll wear off if we walk.”
Max frowned at her. “Will it?”
Through gritted teeth, Rachel tried to laugh. “I have no idea.”
They turned back towards the cottage and Max allowed Rachel to hold on to his arm. After a few paces, though, the pain was too much; each step sent a jarring bolt of pain from her lower back to her neck. “Ah. I’m sorry. I can’t…” She was panting and felt nauseous.
“Okay. It’ll be okay. Here we go.” Before she could stop him, Max had scooped her up into his arms and was carrying her back to the cottage.
“Max…”
“It’s fine. You’re fine.”
The True Love Travels Series Box Set Page 8
