Quinn’s hand slid over his. ‘And that hurts you all over again, doesn’t it? Because it’s not who you are inside, not the person you want to be with her.’
He felt a warm wet swell starting behind his lids. How could she know, articulate so easily what he had never been able to?
He drew in a breath to push it all back, to steady himself. ‘Something like that.’
Her hand squeezed his, and then she was taking it back, picking up her glass. ‘If you want to move on, you know the only way is to forgive her, don’t you?’
Soft gaze. Hopeful light. She made it sound so simple, so doable.
He lifted his own glass, knocking back a mouthful. ‘Is that your recommendation?’
Her lips quirked slightly. ‘Well, speaking as a motherless child, with obviously zero experience of mothers, I’d say it’s worth a shot, worth thinking about at least.’
Telling him she didn’t miss what she’d never had, but there was a chink in her gaze saying precisely the opposite—telling him that if she’d been lucky enough to have a mum she would never have let things go stale without a fight.
He felt his heart pinching. Was he an ingrate, too trapped inside his own grudge to see the wider view? Who knew?
He reconnected with her gaze. ‘Maybe I’ll do that then. Think about it, I mean.’
She smiled. ‘You’ve got nothing to lose, everything to gain.’ And then she was setting her glass down, flattening her hands on the table. ‘Right... Didn’t your esteemed guidebook say that taking in a Fado show was a must?’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘OH, LOOK—! VINYL!’ Will was stopping, taking in the array of tightly packed boxes. ‘Do you mind if I have a gander? I love looking at this stuff.’
She felt warmth burling. Every moment something new—something delightful. Gorgeous Lisbon—gorgeous sunshine! And Will, beyond gorgeous in his faded jeans and light orange shirt—seemingly a vinyl addict. Best weekend ever!
She smiled. ‘Knock yourself out. I’ll go on though. There’s a stall up there with some interesting bric-a-brac. Catch me up?’
‘Okay.’ But then his hand was coming out, staying her. ‘No wandering off, mind.’
Her heart dipped. Referencing last night’s little misunderstanding in Alfama. To be fair, the protective gleam in his eyes was adorable, a little bit dizzying, but still...
‘For the umpteenth time, I did not wander off last night.’
‘You disappeared.’
‘Only into the tile place we were standing right next to!’
‘You didn’t say you were going in.’
‘I thought you saw me. Besides, where else would I have gone?’
His hands went up. ‘Who knows? It was dark. There were crowds. My senses were dulled by the Fado singing and you do have a talent for vanishing into thin air.’
Setting his lips but his eyes were crinkling, twinkling blue.
Impossible not to smile, not to capitulate.
She pressed her hands to her chest. ‘Okay, Scout’s Honour! I promise not to leave the market.’
He grinned. ‘Okay, see you in a bit.’ And then he was turning, getting stuck in, hunting for jazz, no doubt, which he apparently loved, Miles Davis especially.
She let her gaze linger on his back for a few tantalising seconds then set off.
Feira da Ladra Market—flea market, or perhaps ‘thieves’ market, Will’s guidebook had tendered both. Whatever! Strolling round was the perfect lazy Saturday morning activity, a bit of a rest after yesterday and, concerns about her wandering off aside, Will seemed happy—relaxed—which was such a weight off after the Judy conversation last night.
She stopped by a rail of vintage dresses, half looking. She wouldn’t have gone anywhere near Topic Judy if she hadn’t had two glasses of wine and a golden opportunity. Still, even with licence to talk about Anthony, for some reason actually doing it still felt tricky. Too tricky to risk touching on anything Anthony had put in his letter anyway. But in his letter, Anthony had described Judy’s leaving as a ‘painful time’ and, given that he had never talked much about Judy, and given that she wanted to know Will to his bones, know how he felt about things, she couldn’t stop herself from giving him a nudge...
She felt her lungs tightening. And then it had all come out—pain that was more like devastation, trotting out the facts in his man’s bitter voice, but the facts didn’t make sense to the boy who was still so obviously bleeding inside. And not to her either. After everything they’d been through as a family, couldn’t Judy have at least stayed in London until Will finished school? To be around for him, to be a fricking mother! If he couldn’t find any love inside for Judy now, then no wonder.
She swiped at the dresses and walked on. But two sides to every story and all that. Forgiveness would be a start if Will could manage it. Not easy. But if he didn’t, he would be dragging this stuff around for ever, miserable on some level, just as his father had been, and that was no way to live and, especially, it was no way to die!
She came to the bric-a-brac stall and stopped. There were piles of everything, including a somewhat cool porthole mirror. She leaned over to inspect it. Maybe things wouldn’t work out for Will with Judy, but at least he had said he would think about trying to reach out...
‘You like, senhora?’
It took a second to locate the small, beady-eyed old woman who was smiling at her from across the mountain of lamps and pictures and vases.
‘Yes, I do.’ She smiled back. ‘Can I pick it up?’
‘Sim, senhora...’ The woman’s hands lifted. ‘Yes, of course.’
Antique gold...deep frame...filling suddenly with Will’s smiling face.
‘I’m impressed, Quinn—you’re right where you said you be!’
She looked into his eyes in the mirror. ‘Of course I am! I did promise. Also, you weren’t very long so, you know, not enough time to escape your clutches.’
