An Unexpected Affair (5 page)

Outside in the darkness, Clarice was reasonably certain she wouldn't be seen, at least not as long as the light was on indoors, but she didn't want to take any unnecessary risks.

After observing the man as he sat down at the rustic wooden table in the center of the room, and waiting for a moment to see if his wife would follow - she was nowhere to be seen - Clarice quietly traced her steps back to where she'd come from. Around the side of the house, crossing the lawn in front of the main facade back to the driveway that led to the gravel track. She took care to step only on the grass, not on the gravel so that her footsteps wouldn't make much noise.

It occurred to her that there was something odd about this farm, something missing. Not only was it weird that she'd never once seen the farmer's wife, that wasn't all that piqued her suspicion: they didn't have a dog. Didn't almost everyone in the country keep at least one watch dog?
Weird
.

How would they know if anyone intruded onto their land? Cameras? No, the farmer didn't seem like the techy kind. She shrugged to herself and tried to stop her imagination from running away with her again. Perhaps they just didn't like dogs...

Clarice took one last breath of the earthy, cool air outside her cottage, then stepped back indoors and undid her coat. Time to tackle that fish, for better or for worse. She didn't have anything else to eat besides bread and eggs, and those could get tedious after a while.

Day after day passed in largely the same fashion. She got up early to do her work, and her focus was never broken until hours later when she felt her body revolt to the crazy work ethic she'd developed.

Her novel was progressing nicely, and the story turned out to be much more captivating than that first outline she'd prepared months ago. She was certain her editor was going to love it. The drama was intense, the romance palpable, and the characters seemed so real to her that they could very well just walk off the page as actual people. It was magical, how she'd found joy in writing again, when previous attempts the last months had felt more like pulling teeth.

Life at Moss Cottage seemed easy otherwise also. Every day a new treat ended up on her welcome mat, which she gratefully accepted. Often it was something sweet, but occasionally it was a piece of meat or fish, as well as fresh vegetables that undoubtedly had been grown in the kitchen garden. In case of the latter, there was always a brief note attached with a recipe on the back.

She made it a point to thank Derek - and pass on the message to his wife - whenever she had the opportunity to speak with him, which wasn't often. He seemed to be a very industrious man, always busy, always working.

Although she'd tried to put a stop to her wandering thoughts, every time she saw him, whether close enough to talk to, or hard at work further away from her cottage, her desire for him grew.

Every time she actually saw Derek during the day, she couldn't shake the feeling that they'd formed some kind of connection, a magnetic bond of some sort. Of course she knew that it was all one-sided, that desperation and perhaps loneliness had colored her perception.

The more she yearned for Derek's attention, the better the progress on her novel.

He visited her in her dreams in the mornings, before she was properly awake. It was during those hours that he whispered the words into her ear that the hero of her novel - Lady Adlington's unexpected lover - would say to melt her heart.

Meanwhile, the man himself had shown no indication whatsoever that he felt any attraction towards her. His routine never wavered. Even when he was doing chores around the cottages, repairing a fence, or trimming the hedges, he showed no interest in what she was up to. He never came by for a chat, and the occasional exchanges between the two seemed to irritate him rather than give him enjoyment.

In the evenings, when Derek had retreated inside the main house, Clarice continued her short walks around the farm. Although she'd tried to be stealthy - though not in a creepy stalker sort of way - she did at times feel like she was being watched. Either way, her walks were the only thing keeping her back from locking up after largely sedentary days, so she wasn't going to give them up no matter what. And part of her kept hoping she could catch a glimpse of Derek's wife.

She wasn't sure what she was hoping to see. Worthy competition? A confirmation that she stood no chance at all? Perhaps she wished most of all to see Derek's wife as a kind person deserving of his loyalty so that finally she could stop obsessing about the man. But his wife never left the house as far as she could tell.

Clarice never once laid eyes on her.

One afternoon, a week after her first arrival at McMillan Farm, Clarice was already coming up to the final climax of the novel. It was crazy to think that she'd achieved so much in so little time, but she knew the work had taken its toll on her.

She decided to take a break while it was still light out. A chance to let her sore muscles relax, while drinking in the beautiful surroundings of her rural retreat. Once she put her head down and started to write, she might not be able to resurface until the resolution to her fictional couple's troubles had presented itself, and by then it would be too late to head out.

Plus, she'd run out of cookies and eggs, necessitating a trip to restock. The skies overhead were grey as ever when she stepped out of the cottage, and the wind rustled against the remaining leaves on the trees all round.

Fortunately, because Clarice had access to her rental car, the weather did not worry her. Walking might have been healthier, but the village with its tiny store was so far off, it would be less of a walk and more of a hike to get there and back.

She was slightly disappointed that she didn't see Derek anywhere on her way out the main gates, but then just focused on the drive ahead. Her car whirled up fallen leaves from the road. The trees had turned color completely during the short stay at McMillan Farm. Clarice took note of the shades of red and orange she saw, determined to embellish some of the descriptions in her novel with details of the same.

Clarice even wound down the window to allow the brisk, damp autumn air into the car. It smelled earthy, rich, and it was cold enough to prickle against her skin. By all accounts, it was a beautiful day in its own right, despite the sun not being anywhere in sight.

As she came up to the turn that headed out of the wooded patch around the farm, she remembered how about a week ago, this was where she had come to send that message to Lily. She ought to phone her from the village just to give her an update on what was going on. Should she mention Derek? Why the hell not? Perhaps Lily could talk some sense into her.

The road wound on through the heather covered landscape. Over smaller as well as bigger hillocks, over the occasional cattle grill dividing up the asphalt. She passed by fields with grazing sheep, which were one of the few reminders that this place was actually inhabited.

Clarice told herself that as soon as she'd finish her book, she would take a day or so to explore the island some more. Perhaps with the help of her satellite navigation, she would be able to find a road leading directly to the coast. If the distant views were anything to go by, a close-up of the shoreline should be breathtaking.

Darker clouds rolled in over the taller hills in the distance, but before the weather turned for the worse, Clarice could see the first houses at the edge of the village up ahead. She was almost there.

Minutes later, she parked up beside the house with the daily needs shop. The door was open just like last time. She set off an automatic bell as she entered.

"Afternoon," the old man's voice greeted Clarice from across the room, where he sat at his table with a newspaper.

"Hello!" She smiled widely at him, glad for the interaction, however short. "Just hoping to restock on a few things."

"Of course. Please help yourself."

Clarice walked through the aisles, picking up mostly the same items she'd bought only a week earlier. Cookies, eggs, bread, as well as the only bottle of red wine she could find in the entire store. She would use the latter as a reward for when she finished the book.

Coming up closer to the table where the old man waited, she spied a rack of greeting cards, where she paused for a moment. A souvenir of this place would be nice indeed. She picked out a particularly scenic shot of the rugged cliffs that rose up from the center of the Isle of Skye. Once she got her hands on a first copy of this novel she'd been working on, she planned to keep the card inside it, as a reminder of her time here.

A better reminder, of course, would be a picture of Derek, her main inspiration, but she didn't think she could muster the courage to ask him if she could take one.

"Are you able to find everything you need?" asked the old man while looking up from his newspaper.

"Yes. All done." Clarice wandered over towards him, placing her various purchases on the table. She waited while he added everything up on his little notepad, just like he'd done the last time she was here. If she didn't start a conversation soon, she would lose the opportunity. Yet she wasn't sure how to begin, nervous that he would see right through her and guess her intentions.

"So... The weather seems to be taking a turn for the worse today," Clarice began.

The old man nodded. "A storm's coming in from the East; looks to be a bad'un." He handed her the note after finishing his calculations. "So how have you been enjoying your stay at the cottage?"

"It's very nice. A real quiet getaway. Just what the doctor ordered," Clarice said. This was her chance.

"And what lovely people. Baking cakes, and whatnot leaving it outside my door.

The old man cocked his head to the side, his grayish-blue eyes fixed on Clarice's face.

"Derek McMillan does take pride in his produce," he remarked.

"Mhmm," Clarice agreed.

"What
people
do you refer to? Has his brother, Aidan turned up? I haven't seen him about in a while," the man remarked.

"You mean, it's just him living there? I assumed..." Clarice couldn't hide her shock. "The cakes and everything..."

There was an awkward silence between the two.

"You thought he was married," he said finally.

"Well... Yes!"

The old man let out a laugh. "He doesn't seem like the baking type, true, but I've been lucky enough to taste some of his creations at the annual village fete. McMillan has hidden talents."

Clarice remained quiet. What a strange man, to never correct her once when she mentioned his non-existent wife. It hurt because it clearly signaled that he'd preferred keep up with her mistaken assumption, if it made him seem unavailable. He must really dislike her.

She picked up the paper bag of groceries and forced a smile while avoiding eye contact.

"Well, I'd better be off then, before the storm hits."

"That would be wise," the shopkeeper said. "Bye now. Drive safe."

"Bye." She turned, just a little too eagerly, her eyes glazing over slightly despite her best efforts to keep her emotions in check.

Shit
. She knew most guys wouldn't consider her a catch. She wasn't skinny, glamorous, or even particularly exciting company due to her introverted nature. But to find out that someone found her so repulsive that he wouldn't even correct her about the whole wife assumption, in an attempt to keep his distance from her? That was a new low.

It was the icing on the poisoned cake. A new blow to her self-worth that almost stung worse than Alan's unfaithfulness. She had been mostly indifferent about Alan up to that point. She was far from indifferent when it came to Derek.

She carelessly dumped the groceries onto the passenger seat of the car and took her place behind the wheel. What a mess. She had to get away from here, to get out of the village, and far away from potentially prying eyes before the waterworks began.

Still shocked, she turned the car around and slammed her foot down, speeding back up the road where she had just come from. Tears clouded her vision as she navigated largely on autopilot. Around the blind bends, over the cattle grill, which made a hell of a noise underneath her tires. The only thing louder was the rumble of thunder overhead.