Instead, he focused on something else.
He pulled on the rest of his clothes and found her handbag. Digging through it, he located her passport in a travel purse, pulled it out, shoved the travel purse back into her bag and slid the passport in the back pocket of his jeans.
Then he walked to the wardrobe and found her two pieces of empty luggage neatly stowed. He grabbed them both and took them out to his Range Rover, tossing them in the back.
Then he went back inside and made coffee.
He went to his rooms and took a shower, dressed and woke the children with a word of warning that Elle was still sleeping and they needed to be quiet so as not to wake her.
Even Sally complied with his command.
As he made his children porridge, he thought of the three days since they had their scene in his study.
He’d seen her frequently. At breakfast. During dinner. In the evenings.
He’d spoken to her infrequently.
Their picture in a gossip magazine had whetted the villagers’ appetites. The house was treated to the constant comings and goings of friends and acquaintances who said they wanted to see how Sally was doing (and they likely did). Mostly, however, they wanted to see what was going on with Prentice and Isabella after their very quick, very public and very short reconciliation ended in an unexplained three week absence that put Prentice (and Jason) in very bad moods.
They were disappointed. Elle was a gracious hostess but her focus was the children, Sally’s health, Jason’s studies, their dinner, their scheduled bedtimes.
So focused was she, she had no time to focus on Prentice.
As for Prentice, he had a deadline to make and the doorbell going every fifteen minutes didn’t help.
Yesterday, he’d called Isabella and left a voicemail on her mobile telling her that he needed to work late.
She’d called him back but he’d missed the call. When he checked his voicemail, he heard her voice.
Something about hearing her voice leaving a message made him lose concentration. He didn’t hear a f**king word she said.
He just listened to the sound of her voice leaving him a voicemail like she did it every day.
That warmth hit his gut and this time it was far stronger, nearly enough to knock him to his knees.
After he got over acting like a fifteen year old boy with a f**king crush, he replayed the message and listened to her speak.
“Prentice? It’s Isabella. I got your message. Listen, I’m sorry but there was a photographer in the village today. He took photos of me and Sally. I got away as quickly as I could. I…” She hesitated then rushed on, “I just thought you’d want to know. See you later.”
Unfortunately, if he wanted to feed his children that “later” needed to be much later for, as much as he wanted to be home and not only eat her food but see her in his kitchen cooking it, he had to work.
He’d come home to a light outside, a light in the vestibule and a lamp lit in the great room, all indicating that Elle had again illuminated his way.
When he had them all off and the house secured for the night (something he never did, until he saw his son’s photograph in a gossip magazine, they lived remote at the end of a winding one lane road you’d have to really want to drive up), he’d seen the dim light and heard the hushed sounds of the television in Elle’s rooms.
He thought she was awake, watching television.
And he knew he shouldn’t go to her.
He was f**king overjoyed he went.
“Why’s Miss Bella asleep?” Sally asked on a loud whisper as Prentice put her bowl of porridge in front of her.
“Because she’s tired?” Jason replied to his sister sarcastically.
“Jason,” Prentice warned.
“But she’s always awake,” Sally countered, ignoring Prentice and unaffected as ever by her brother’s sarcasm.