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A Mallorcan Affair: An enchanting summer read about family love and the secrets we keep. Read online




  A Mallorcan Affair

  A novel

  by

  ELISE DARCY

  Penny Lane Press

  Copyright © Elise Darcy 2019

  The moral right of Elise Darcy to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s prior written permission.

  Ebook ISBN 978-1-913147-01-3

  Print ISBN 978-1-913147-02-0

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, places, businesses and organisations are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Find out more about Elise Darcy’s books at:

  www.elisedarcy.com

  By the same author

  The Living Apart Together Series

  Living Apart Together

  It Takes 2 to Tango

  Dear John

  Love on the Rooftop

  Standalone Novels

  Lola & The Man

  If you’d like to receive my newsletter with special offers, book recommendations, and news on forthcoming book releases please sign up on my website: www.elisedarcy.com

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Epilogue

  “Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.” ― Kahlil Gibran

  Chapter 1

  Southwold, Suffolk, April

  Ralph had been putting off returning to England. Loneliness and despair crept over him as he approached the house. A grand property such as this deserved more than a bitter, tired old man with no idea how to move forward with his life thought Ralph. He stared at the house, devoid of life, of people and could not think of a worse homecoming.

  The Gables, a detached former Gentleman’s residence dating back to the eighteen-sixties, was rich in gothic revival detail. Ralph still had the agents’ sales details filed away somewhere from when he’d bought the property in Southwold on the Suffolk coast. In its own grounds with gardens to the front and rear, they advertised it as “ideal for a growing family.”

  Ralph remembered thinking at the time that it was a large place for two. But it was his wife’s dream to retire to Suffolk, and she’d fallen in love with the house the moment she set eyes on it. The previous owners renovated and restored it. When he bought it, Ralph put the finishing touches to the old detached coach house to create a triple garage and an apartment in the eaves as a studio.

  The garden was overgrown just as he expected. In his absence, he’d advertised for a house-sitter through the local estate agents, but he guessed they hadn’t filled the position; nobody had lived here these past few months. The house exuded an air of abandonment.

  It didn’t help that he’d arrived home in the dead of night. His flight was delayed coming into Heathrow so he hadn’t arrived in Southwold until midnight. The taxi brought him here straight from the airport. Standing there on the gravel drive with his suitcase, he could hear the car engine turning over behind him. The taxicab was costing him, but he’d asked the driver to wait. Thank god he had. Ralph looked up at the property, unoccupied for months, and couldn’t bring himself to step foot inside.

  The hotel in town, with a bar in which to have a late-night drink, friendly reception staff and hot water on tap, if he fancied a bath, was much more appealing. It was two minutes by car. Ralph hoped they had vacancies. But it wasn’t the friendly reception staff, the hot water, the food or the late-night drink in the bar that persuaded him to check into the hotel, it was that feeling of loneliness that would descend on him like a death shroud when he walked into the house. Ralph picked up his suitcase and returned to the waiting taxi.

  Chapter 2

  At breakfast, Ralph noticed a seminar being held in the hotel that afternoon called Reinventing Yourself. He inquired whether they had any spaces. Aimed at his generation it sounded an interesting way to kill a few hours; what to do with yourself post-retirement. Ralph knew his motivation for attending – he was putting off going home.

  Ralph reached for a sandwich from the afternoon tea he’d ordered at the bar after the seminar and spotted the ring on his finger glinting in the lamplight. He stared at it for a moment like he so often did when he thought about his wife.

  Several sandwiches and a scone later he gave up on being able to finish them. It was far too much, and his appetite wasn’t what it once was. Maybe some company wouldn’t have gone amiss but although there were plenty of single ladies of a certain generation at the seminar, he couldn’t find the courage to ask one to join him for af
ternoon tea.

  He pushed the tray aside and wiped his mouth with the serviette, reminding himself that he wasn’t here to meet somebody. Although he’d much rather not return home alone, it wasn’t his intention to have a fling. That would be the last thing he wanted. Besides, he couldn’t take another lady back with him; there were too many memories of his wife in that house. Perhaps that’s why he was having such a hard time at the prospect of returning without her.

  It’s not as though they’d lived there for years. They had hardly lived there any time at all. She’d spent so much effort and thought on how she wanted to decorate and furnish the property for them both, he knew every corner of The Gables would remind him of her.

  He had taken on one more post – before coming home for good and retiring on the Suffolk coast where he grew up. She’d never insisted on joining him before, but that wasn’t surprising considering the destinations they often sent him to. They were often war-torn countries with poor infrastructure, ailing economies, starving people and frightening factions blowing each other to smithereens. It was no place for his wife. But this time was different. His last assignment before he consigned his camera to the darkroom, and completed the final chapter of his photojournalism career, was to Mallorca. For the first time she could go with him

  She was delighted at this development. Him not so much. Mallorca, a place he didn’t want to revisit for reasons he would rather not share with his wife. He would have turned down the assignment if it wasn’t for one thing: he’d have to explain to her why. There had been no secrets between them – but one. He’d never talked about it. He’d never talked about her. That was a part of his past he wanted to remain firmly in the past. There was no point dredging all that up. What good would it do? So, he had taken the assignment, and she accompanied him to the one place he thought he’d never return. And now his wife was gone.

  Sitting there staring out the window fingering his wedding ring, he edged it down his finger but couldn’t bring himself to take it off. It was absurd, but he still felt she would appear any moment and join him at the table as though she’d just nipped to the powder room – as she was so fond of calling it. Perhaps it wasn’t helping that the last time he visited this hotel they were together and had stayed here while they looked around for a property in which to retire.

  He stared into his empty coffee cup. Who knew they would travel abroad, and he would return without her. That wasn’t in fact true.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Oh,’ he looked up at the young waitress. ‘I’m sorry, I was miles away.’

  She was standing at his table holding a pot of coffee. ‘Would you like a refill?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ He got out his wallet and then had a thought. ‘Can you put this on my hotel bill?’

  ‘Of course, Sir.’

  He stopped at the bar. ‘May I leave a tip for the young waitress?’

  ‘Of course, Sir.’

  Ralph rolled his eyes. ‘How many times have I told you…?’ He replied in a friendly banter to the young man behind the bar who served him drinks in the evening and kept him entertained with stories. ‘It’s Ralph.’ He coughed.

  ‘Are you all right Sir?’

  Ralph waved away his concern with a flick of his hand and managed a, ‘I’m fine,’ between hacking coughs. He sat down on a stool at the bar. The coughing subsided. A tall glass of water appeared in front of him courtesy of the concerned young man.

  He sipped the water and stared at the empty bar stool beside him. Since losing his wife he had found himself adrift in a sea of indecision. What was he going to do without her? He’d put off any thoughts of retirement; what did he think he would do all day on his own? Instead, he had launched himself back into work with a frenzy. He worked freelance and was much in demand so nobody could make him retire. But the travel and arduous journeys over inhospitable terrain in war-torn countries had taken a toll on his health.

  He wasn’t that young man in his twenties or thirties anymore. Ralph no longer had the stamina and health to withstand the heat, exhaustion, fear, not to mention the emotional and psychological impact of witnessing the fall-out of war on the innocent people caught up in it. All this for a photograph printed in a daily rag in Blighty.

  He’d won awards for his photojournalism, but now his heart wasn’t in it. And neither was his health. That’s when he discovered there was somebody who could make him retire – his GP. He wasn’t taking care of himself, and the places he was travelling to abroad could be lethal. Dysentery, dengue fever, a bout of pneumonia, and to top it all forgetting to take his malaria tablets. His doctor told him he was lucky he didn’t come home in a box; an unfortunate choice of words considering his wife.

  With his immune system shot to pieces, for once he had no option but to heed his doctor’s advice. One more trip overseas like that might finish him off. An old-fashioned quack who Ralph reckoned should have retired twenty years ago – he’d known him since a boy – had prescribed a simple remedy: rest. His GP knew the perfect place; Ralph’s house he had bought to retire with his wife by the sea – The Gables.

  Ralph turned around and against his doctor’s advice, checked in for another night at the hotel. One step at a time, he told himself. He’d come back – hadn’t he? And he had resisted the urge to take on any more assignments. He smiled at the receptionist as she handed him back his room key.

  He wasn’t surprised the room was still free. Every morning for the past week he’d packed his suitcase, intending to leave. However, by the time he’d had breakfast, and whiled away the morning until check out time, he’d changed his mind. Perhaps I’ll check out tomorrow. After a week, he guessed the hotel staff had reserved the room for him indefinitely.

  They handed him the morning paper, ordered the night before. Ralph handed it back. ‘Do you mind if I pick it up on my return? I’m popping out.’

  ‘You’re going out?’ the hotel receptionist blurted in surprise.

  Ralph didn’t bat an eyelid at that comment. They might have been wondering if the guest in room thirty-three was agoraphobic. He hadn’t left the hotel since he’d arrived by taxi at midnight a week ago. It was ridiculous that someone who had spent his working life travelling the world, roughing it in some of the most hazardous and inhospitable places imaginable, and yet here he was a week since his arrival, and he had only just plucked up the courage to step foot outside. He knew the reason: he was avoiding something or, more to the point, someone.

  Chapter 3

  Ralph handed over his room key and stepped outside the hotel. Although the sun had broken through, there was still enough cloud cover to suggest more April showers to come. It was Easter and children were on their school holidays. He stood for a moment on the pavement and let people pass by. The high street was busy. He looked up and down the street and then across the road.

  He’d almost forgotten how very English Southwold was with its colourful bunting strung across the road in red, white and blue; the colours of the Union Jack. Then there were the little shops and cafes; people were sitting at tables inside sipping tea and eating scones. The flower shop was there along with the greengrocers, the bakers, the butchers, numerous charity shops, gift shops and two small supermarkets.

  After years on the road, travelling and living abroad, he found it disconcerting, but comforting, that when he returned it felt like he had stepped into a time warp where in this little corner of England nothing had changed. What he hadn’t told his wife when she was busy preparing the house for their retirement was whether he could live here permanently. Perhaps his GP and good friend was right: over time he would settle down and call this place home once more. That’s what he promised his wife he would do. But she wasn’t here anymore – not strictly speaking.

  A family group holding cornets and licking ice cream as they sauntered by paused in front of a shop window. Ralph glanced at the family. If he and his wife had had children, things might have been different. Perhaps there would be grandchildren now and a r
eason to stay. As it was, there was nothing for him here but a vacant house full of memories.

  One child looked at him standing in the entrance to the hotel and caught him frowning at them. The boy poked his tongue out. Ralph returned the compliment by being very childish and poking his tongue out too. To his surprise the boy giggled, finding it funny. Ralph exchanged a smile with the boy before he disappeared into a shop.

  Ralph took a deep breath. He couldn’t put it off any longer. A part of him wanted to turn around and walk back into the hotel. Instead, he found himself at the flower shop across the road purchasing a bouquet.

  ‘Would you like to write a message on a card?’

  He wasn’t sure what she meant. ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘We have little message cards you can put in the bouquet.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Ralph declined. Where he was going no one would read their cards.

  ‘We can have it delivered.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary.’ He put his bank card back in his wallet and scooped up the large bouquet.

  The young lady ran ahead and opened the door for him.

  He stepped outside and turned to his left, carrying the huge bouquet down the high street wishing he’d chosen to do this later in the day when the crowds on the pavement had dissipated. Around tea time would have been better, just as the shops were closing, then he wouldn’t have had the problem of trying to manoeuvre around so many people.

  Ralph breathed a sigh when he turned down a quiet side street and spotted the church spire up ahead. This was the reason he hadn’t ventured outside the hotel. His health still wasn’t one hundred per cent and even walking a short distance left him out of breath. The large bunch of flowers and dodging passers-by was proving exhausting. But it wasn’t exerting himself too much that had caused him to hide in the hotel for the past week, but this – Ralph opened the gate and stepped inside the cemetery. He’d been putting off visiting his wife.

  It was the guilt more than anything. If only he hadn’t insisted on taking that one last assignment, then perhaps she’d still be here today. Then again, how could he have foreseen what would happen when they were abroad – and the result; she would return in a box? But the worst part was he knew at the time that he wasn’t being honest with her; he had taken her on his last assignment under false pretences.