Page 43 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure
Mary felt much better, and wiping her eyes, she felt the tension ease as she stared at the sea.
She’d told Atticus everything, beginning with Conor’s longing for Creek House, his frustration at losing the new housing sales, and his determination to join forces with Lucinda – both at work and play.
She spoke of her pain and anxiety as Conor agonisingly stalled on making up his mind about their future and waited instead for Lucinda to accept his proposal.
Mary even mentioned Ruari. She spoke about their friendship, his concern, and the reality check that Ruari had given her, which prompted the actions she was about to take.
‘But are your feelings for him more than just friendship?’ Atticus asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Mary replied. ‘I’m not emotionally equipped to think about that right now.’ But as Mary talked, she told him that the feeling was incredibly good when she’d stood on the beach and kissed Ruari.
Atticus listened patiently. When he spoke, he was like a solid rock in a turbulent sea. His comforting words were the much-needed calm after the storm, and he agreed with Mary’s decision, telling her he’d stand by and help with anything she needed.
How things had changed!
The reclusive man who’d grieved for so long was no longer. Taking her mother’s words to heart, Atticus hadn’t let the old man in and, despite Mungo’s misgivings, had set off on a great adventure, finding friends and love, and Mary needed to hear more.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘you’ve listened to me rant, and I want to know all your news. Will you tell me what’s happening with you and Britta and everything you’ve been up to?’
‘You may be surprised,’ Atticus laughed.
‘Go on, shock me. I could do with gossip other than my own.’
‘I’ve bought a cottage called Casita del Mar.’
‘The Cottage by the Sea…’ Mary breathed. Her eyes were wide as she listened to her dad explain.
‘I’ve gifted it to Britta, and it’s in her name. I want her to be secure and know that she will always have a roof over her head and a place she can call home.’
‘But that’s a wonderful thing to do.’
‘Aye, well, I don’t think your brother will think so.’
Mary heard Atticus sigh. ‘Can I tell him?’ she asked.
‘No, it’s my responsibility to let him know that his inheritance has just nose-dived by a considerable amount of euros.’
Mary began to chuckle and envisioned the scene in the farmhouse when Atticus broke the news.
She didn’t know the extent of Mungo’s borrowings on the business, but this news wouldn’t go down well.
But it was her dad’s own money to do with as he pleased, and if he chose not to leave it to his children, it was his affair.
‘I think it’s great, and you’re moving in too. A home by the Mediterranean Sea. Mum would be so proud of you. ’
‘Aye, I think she probably would.’
Atticus explained that Britta loved to paint. He’d enjoyed taking her portfolio to a gallery in Alicante, who’d agreed to take some of her paintings. ‘She’s a typical creative,’ Atticus said, ‘talented, but always with a monkey on her shoulder telling her that she’s not good enough.’
‘Imposter syndrome. What a great thing that she’s now got you to encourage her and promote her work,’ Mary said. ‘But tell me, what about the future? Do you think you might get married?’
‘It’s early days, and I am happy now that I know Britta has a permanent home, whatever happens to me.’
Mary turned the radio on as she ended the call and drove away from the beach.
The Brendan O'Conor Show reminded Mary that Christmas was just around the corner and the countdown to the big day had begun. ‘I’ve so much to do,’ Mary muttered as the countryside whizzed by.
Minutes later, she entered the gates of Belvedere House.
There was a festive atmosphere and Mary smiled as she noted the classic white fairy lights that she’d used to decorate the front of the building.
She’d worked so hard to make everything perfect for Christmas, both inside and out.
Evergreen garlands tied with tartan ribbons embellished the windows, a pretty wreath hung from the front door, and miniature Christmas trees stood on either side.
Mary parked in front of the house.
Knowing that Christmas was Conor’s favourite time of the year, she’d worked tirelessly to ensure that their home looked its best. As she opened the front door and stepped into the hallway, Mary smiled as she gazed at a vast tree, topped with a crystal star.
The tree was wrapped in twinkling lights, and delicate glass baubles hung from the branches.
At the foot of the tree, pretty parcels contained the children’s gifts to their father.
Mary hoped that Conor would appreciate how much care his family had taken in choosing his presents.
Removing her coat and reaching for a hanger, she also hoped that, for his sake, he’d come to a decision about life with Lucinda.
Conor was going through emotional turmoil too, and it wasn’t a good place to be.
Knowing that he’d promised Mary an answer by Christmas, she was thoughtful as her fingers adjusted a bauble on the tree.
In less than a week, Mary would find out.