Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 105756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Immediately, Therese’s eyes softened with empathy as she took an instinctive step forward. “Oh, Jonathan. I’m so sorry.”
I snatched the pages I’d torn from Ada Rose’s notebook and stood, absentmindedly noting the feminine yet messy writing before I handed them to Therese. “She was in Thailand with her husband, and the bodies need to be brought home. There’s some information here. Spare no expense. If we need to pay the right people to make the process quicker, you have my permission to do so. Can you get Albert Reed on the phone? I’m not sure if she changed solicitors during the last ten years, but Mam was with him back before she got married.”
“Yes, I’ll call him now,” she replied then stepped forward to squeeze my arm. “I really am so sorry, sir. It’s just awful.”
She left, and I walked straight into my private bathroom, closed the door and then promptly punched my fist into the wall. Agony shattered through my knuckles, the skin splitting. The physical pain hushed my chaotic emotions, but only for a second or two. I needed something to drown out everything that was in my heart. Perhaps a bottle of whiskey might help.
My relationship with my mother had always been complicated. She’d made questionable choices with her life, choices that had affected me a lot when I was young. Eventually, it had gotten to the point where I could no longer stand by and let her continue picking men who would ruin her. It had happened over and over again, until she’d eventually met Conor Rose and determined he was different. That he wouldn’t destroy her emotionally just like my biological father and all the others who came after him had done.
Well, it turned out he had ruined her in the end, just not in the way I’d anticipated.
Who the hell went out on a boat during a storm?
My thoughts went to his daughter. She looked just like him, even had his eyes. Eyes as captivating as those were surely what had seduced my mother when she and Conor had first met. It had been difficult to look at Ada, not only due to her resemblance to her father, but also because she was strikingly beautiful. This was despite the fact that she dressed in drab, practical clothing. I much preferred women draped in expensive, luxury garments. Still, it didn’t help that she was exactly my type. Lots of thick, dark hair, big, sultry brown eyes and an ample chest.
My mind went to that moment just before she left my office, the strain in her expression like she was in some sort of physical pain. It had only been a brief flash, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
No. I refused to give her any more thought. If she were anything like her father, then I wanted nothing to do with her. As soon as the funeral was over, I never wanted to hear from her or any member of the Rose family ever again.
Filling the sink, I plunged my hand in and watched as the water turned pink while blood seeped from my cut knuckles. I hadn’t punched a wall since I was a teenager. It was odd that I hadn’t cried. Ada Rose had offered me those tissues after she’d shared the news, but I didn’t need one. My eyes were confusingly dry, but not because I wasn’t bereft. Perhaps some part of my mind knew there was no time yet for tears. Too much needed to be done.
Speaking of which, I really did need to talk to my mother’s solicitor and sort out her affairs. After a few more minutes of composing myself, I released the water from the sink, found some bandages in the cupboard to wrap my knuckles and then walked back out into my office.
***
The very next morning, I stood outside my childhood home.
Located on the outskirts of a small seaside town, it was a three-bedroom bungalow with a front drive and large garden. From the main bedroom, there was a distant view of the sea. Throttled by emotion, a brick sank in my stomach as memories flooded in. Even the smell in the air was as familiar as the back of my hand.
After speaking with Albert Reed—who, it turned out, still handled my mother’s affairs—I discovered that she hadn’t changed her will since I was a teenager. It was shocking because I would’ve bet my last penny that Conor Rose would’ve convinced her to make him, or perhaps his daughter, the main beneficiary after they were wed. But he hadn’t. Maybe he just wasn’t very bright. That meant the house and whatever small effects Mam left behind went to me. I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Didn’t know if I wanted to sell the house or keep hold of it. Some irrational part of me even considered moving in so I could absorb a small piece of her. Discover what I’d missed during our years apart.