Page 99 of Atticus Arnott's Great Adventure
Conor shook his head. He was dumbstruck by his wife’s actions.
But he wasn’t her husband anymore, was he? He’d forsaken that honour, and as much as he’dgive anything to have her back, Conor knew that their relationship was over.How he’d underestimated Mary!Conor should have known that his bright, intelligent wife wouldn’t be a walkover. And let’s face it, he thought, Mary believes he has a new life with Lucinda.
A deep, aching sadness engulfed him and a pain in his chest felt as though a vital part of him had been ripped away. The letter was in his hand, now crumpled – like his life.
He tossed it to the counter, a silent testament to the end of a chapter he hadn’t been ready to close.
‘Oh, Mary,’ Conor cried. ‘What have I done?’
Chapter Forty
Atticus and Britta hosted Christmas Day at their home, Casita del Mar. The children helped Britta add more decorations to the Christmas tree and collected seashells from the shore. Britta added colourful items from her assortment of flotsam and jetsam, and Declan’s face beamed as he added a starfish to the top.
With the lunchtime sun casting a glow across the sandy beach, Mary helped Atticus arrange a barbecue, beach chairs, and blankets. The café was open for drinks, and a local band set up on a small stage, entertaining with a mix of carols and upbeat tunes. People gathered with picnics, some dancing barefoot in the sand while others swayed to the music and children played games.
‘I think you’ve found a little piece of heaven here,’ Mary said to Atticus as she watched Jake and Finn play football with a group of Spanish boys.
‘It’s not a bad life, is it?’ Atticus agreed as he stared at the shore where Arthur, trousers rolled up, was paddling. ‘I’m going to start fishing on the boat Erik owns,’ Atticus announced. ‘Erik says the local man who rents it would appreciate a hand during the season, and I rather fancy trying my hand at harvesting the sea instead of herding the land.’
‘That’s a great idea, you’ll enjoy keeping busy.’
‘Aye, while we’re here, we’ll be spending time between Spain and Cumbria.’
‘Britta is lovely. I’m so happy for you both,’ Mary said as she watched the barbecue begin to flame. ‘Thank goodness you were here when Daan tracked her down.’
‘I wish I’d been with her when he broke in.’
Mary stared at her dad, relieved that he hadn’t been at the cottage. A fight with Daan could have been fatal. ‘But if Britta is still married to Daan,’ she asked, ‘won’t he make a claim on the cottage if it’s in her name?’
‘She’s applying for a quick divorce in Holland, and when both parties agree, it’s only a matter of weeks,’ Atticus explained, ‘and it will take that long for the sale of the cottage to go through.’
‘But why would Daan agree to a divorce?’ Mary was puzzled.
‘He’ll agree,’ Atticus said with certainty.
Atticus thought about Erik and the power of Erik’s chat with Daan following his arrest. If Daan wanted to return to Utrecht upon his ultimate release from his forthcoming custodial sentence for the attack on Britta, avoiding any contact with her would ensure that he stayed alive to enjoy his remaining years.
Behind Erik’s affable appearance was a man of iron will.
At Solma Vacaciones, there were rumours of Erik’s involvement in the underworld, but given his laid-back attitude and kindness to all, no one dug too deep. Atticus knew that Erik could easily navigate both the social and the sinister sides of his life and felt grateful to have the Dutchman on his side.
Mary instinctively knew by Atticus’s reply that Daan wouldn’t resurface. ‘But Daan found Britta through the photos on your Instagram account,’ she said.
‘Aye, well, that’s the danger of social media.’ Atticus frowned.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s been fun being The Travelling Grandad, but I’m closing the account,’ he replied.
‘Why? You’ve encouraged a host of the later-life generation to set off on a great adventure, and your followers love your posts.’
‘And that’s where it ends.’ Atticus was firm. ‘I cannot put Britta or my family in jeopardy. Social media can have a dark side.’ Atticus reached for a beer from a cooler and offered it to Mary before taking one for himself. ‘There’s trolls too, you know. Not everyone is happy about my travels.’
‘How do you deal with that?’
‘I don’t reply to the comments, block the sender, and delete the posts.’
‘I see your point.’
