McGillivray's Mistress - By Anne McAllister Page 0,62

she made it a point to go out on the occasional date with Vittorio, one of Giulia’s cousins.

Vittorio was lively, intense and the stereotypical “Italian lover.” He was perennially ready to sweep her off her feet. Fiona found him fun and charming and had no intention of getting serious about him. But if she went out with him, at least she could write home about it.

She spent a lot of time writing home. She sent e-mails several times a week, telling her brothers and sisters-in-law and Carin and Molly all about the places she went and the people she met.

She wrote about her classes and her teachers, about her classmates and her friends, about going shopping in the markets and getting her hair cut by the old lady who lived around the corner, and the sculptures she saw in the museums she went to, and what fun riding a motorbike was.

And because she wanted them to know she wasn’t pining, because she wanted them to believe that she really was happy and glad that she’d gone—even though some nights she ached with longing for home and for Lachlan—she made her life sound even fuller—especially of Vittorio—than it was.

LACHLAN TRIED TO BE HAPPY for her. And most of the time he honest-to-God was. He knew she needed to have a chance to spread her wings, to see the big wide world.

He could wait, he told himself. It wouldn’t be that long until she came back to Pelican Cay. Two years wasn’t forever. She was doing what she wanted to do. Having the life she wanted to have. At last.

And him?

He got by. He threw himself into renovations. He spent a lot of time at the Sandpiper because it was easier than being lonely on Pelican Cay. He bought another inn in the Caicos and began work down there. When he was home he helped Hugh finish the shop and put a new roof on the Mirabelle, his other local inn.

When he wasn’t working, he spent his time with the kids on the soccer team. They were still practicing three times a week and playing in tournaments on other islands. He loved working with them. They kept him sharp, they kept him honest. Most of the time they kept him smiling.

He was okay as long as he had occasional fixes—news of what Fiona was doing.

Of course she wasn’t writing to him. But he got his fixes anyway. He stopped by now and then to admire Julie and Paul’s twins, and Julie always eagerly volunteered information on how Fiona was doing.

“She’s learning so much,” Julie told him. “And she sent me a scan of a sketch she did of her media professor. Want to see?”

“Sure.” He tried not to look as avid as he felt.

The sketch had obviously been dashed off in a few minutes. But it captured the man—his beaky nose and slouchy beret, his sweater with the holes in the elbows, his slightly stooped posture, but the intent look in his eyes said he knew what he was talking about. Fiona got at the heart of people.

“It’s very good.” It was wonderful.

“Want it?” Julie asked. “I can print another for us.”

“Well.” God, he wanted it so badly his hand was shaking. “I guess.” He went away, carrying it, aching with loneliness, missing her more than he thought possible.

She wrote to Claire and Mike and the boys, too. He had less reason to stop by their place. But Tom sometimes told him what she was doing.

“She went to a soccer game with Vittorio,” he reported eagerly. “She said she saw where you used to play.”

“Did she?” He felt a twisting in his midsection as he wished he could have shown the city to her. When he thought back on the time he was there, he came up with a lot of places he would have liked to have taken her there. He wondered if this Vittorio guy knew the places he did. He hoped not.

Carin told him Fiona was learning a lot about art history. “Going to museums every weekend,” she said.

He hadn’t spent a lot of time in museums when he’d lived there. “I wouldn’t mind doing that,” he said to Carin. “I never had anyone to go with either.”

“Oh, she’s not alone,” Carin said blithely. “She always goes with Vittorio.”

“Does she?” Lachlan’s jaw got tight.

He dropped by Hugh’s every day when he was on the island. He saw Molly every afternoon.

Molly told him when Fiona had moved into her flat