Christmas at the Island Hotel - Jenny Colgan Page 0,93
softer in the clear white light. Fintan looked at it for a moment . . . then thought of his day ahead, and his heart sank.
No. He did not want to walk the halls of Colton’s great dream. Did not want to oversee the kitchen that had been Colton’s pride and joy, look around the ridiculously over-tartaned dining room and remember Colton’s absurd tartan outfits (he had liked nothing better than dressing up as monarch of the glen, stag feather in his cap and all).
He hated the Rock, hated everything about it. It was a millstone, nothing else. He got up crossly to get ready to head to the farmhouse first and see his family before pulling himself up to play the jolly host at their grand opening lunch. He assumed everything was ready; Flora had been sticking her nose in all over the place. And Gaspard had told him not to worry, although that was also when Gaspard was trying to get him into bed, so he may or may not be able to take that as gospel. There were almost certainly issues involved in guiltily sleeping with your chef, but Fintan pushed those onto the huge pile of problems he had that couldn’t get any higher and slinked off to Gaspard’s en suite shower, the weight of the world on his shoulders.
Gaspard sat up. “You are sad!” he shouted, but it wasn’t really a question.
Fintan turned back. “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he said.
“Nobody know what going to ’appen.”
“I hate the hotel.”
“So walk away. Whenever I am sad, I walk away.”
“Are you sad now?”
Gaspard eyed him up seriously. “Non.”
JOEL WATCHED FLORA carefully when Fintan came in, trying to smile as he handed over another huge gift for Douglas. “You’d better try to dress him,” she said. “I’m crap at it.”
Joel went over to her. “You’re not,” he said, surprised. “Of course you aren’t.”
Douglas was already waking up from his morning nap and preparing to make a wail. Joel looked at Flora’s face—she was almost flinching—and suddenly something dawned on him.
“Darling,” he said. “Can I take you next door for a second?”
IN FLORA’S OLD bedroom, beside a snoring Agot, Joel took Flora’s hands in his.
“All this time,” he said quietly. “All this time. I didn’t realize.”
“What?” said Flora, anxious to get on to the Rock.
“Darling,” said Joel. “Have you had trouble staying at home with the baby?”
“No!” whispered Flora loudly. “I love him!”
“I know you love him,” said Joel with infinite patience. “I mean, have you found it difficult?”
Flora froze. He knew. He had seen it. She had tried so hard to make it look like she could do everything, when it was obvious that she couldn’t. That she was failing Douglas. Pam was right. She barely saw him. It was awful.
She burst into tears.
“He doesn’t love me!” she whispered. “He prefers you! I’m shit at it! I get bored and frustrated and distracted, and he cries all the time with me! All the time!! He loves you and I’m shit at it!”
Joel wanted to laugh, although sensed, correctly, that this perhaps wasn’t the time. “He cries all the time with me too,” he said soothingly. “He’s a baby.”
“But you’re so patient with him.”
Joel looked at her. “But this is all new to me,” he said, astonished it wasn’t as clear to her as it was to him. “I’ve never had a family before. You’ve been surrounded by brothers and children and relations and so many people your whole life you don’t even realize it! I’ve had nobody. Nobody ever. And then I had you and now I have Douglas, and oh my God, Flora. Oh my God.”
They were both crying now.
“But . . . you don’t think I’m a terrible mother? For doing other things?”
“God no,” said Joel. “You’re great. And wanting to run the Rock . . . it’s okay. I’m not sure, between you and me, and I’m sure absolutely nobody else has noticed . . . I’m not sure Fintan is quite cut out for it.”
Flora swallowed a half-gulping half laugh. “You mean that?”
“I take absolutely no responsibility for interfering in MacKenzie business,” said Joel. “But I am happy, Douglas is happy, everything is well. Fintan is miserable, and as for you . . . you’ll be fine, my darling.”
He hadn’t been planning to do it quite at that moment, but suddenly, it seemed fitting.
“I’m not sure if this is the time, because you are very, very tear-stained, but . . . I