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The letter arrived the following Monday morning, after the loneliest weekend Dare could remember in a long time. He’d been screening his calls, refusing to listen to the messages from Grant. And he didn’t want to see him either, so he’d taken a trip to the supermarket on Tuesday, stocking up enough food to last him for a couple of weeks so he didn’t need to leave the yard for any reason. He didn’t even venture out in sight of the front gate, just in case Grant happened to be waiting there for him.
Stupid, really, to flatter himself into thinking Grant even cared that much. No, he wouldn’t be there wanting to make things up to Dare. He’d just be wanting to make excuses and weasel his way out of feeling guilty. Dare hardened his heart and did his best to forget about Grant “Posh Suit” Matravers. They’d never had a future anyway. Dare had known that. And any stupid remnants of hope otherwise needed be squashed down, and eventually they’d die.
So he’d set out to harden his heart, but throwing himself into his work during the days and long evenings playing patience and petting Solly had a strangely therapeutic effect.
By Monday morning, he’d gained a bit of perspective. He woke in a meditative mood and took Solly for an early walk down to the river. It was a clear day, and the sky shone like mother-of-pearl, reflected back from the water’s surface. The whole world seemed bursting with possibilities, and he could almost breathe in spring on the cool air. Solly was going bananas, sniffing everything and generally scampering around like a puppy.
Dare crossed the Plimsoll Bridge, wanting a longer walk that wouldn’t take him past Grant’s house. He wasn’t quite up to dealing with the man just yet, but at least the thought of running into Grant didn’t make him angry anymore. It just made him sad.
He wandered along the old docks, past the grand bulk of the SS Great Britain. He hadn’t been on the old steamship for about a decade, and he’d heard the whole experience had been really tarted up. It was the kind of thing he’d love to do with Grant. If Grant was willing to be seen in public with Dare.
He sighed and carried on down the docks until the scent of bacon stopped him in his tracks. He’d forgotten Brunel’s Buttery opened so early in the morning. He ordered himself a bacon and egg butty, along with a mug of milky tea, and sat down at one of the tables on the water’s edge. The April air might have been chilly, but his walk had warmed him up, and he stripped off his jacket and turned his face to the sun.
Bright orange lit up the underside of his eyelids, and he found himself smiling for the first time since his bust up with Grant.
Okay, so Grant wasn’t perfect—Dare had always known that. Grant wasn’t even perfect for him what with the whole living in the closet and not allowing Dare access to any other parts of his life.
But maybe Dare had been doing the same thing. After all, it wasn’t like he’d introduced Grant to any of his friends, had he? And he’d been keeping his family situation a secret too.
Maybe they were just as bad as each other. And maybe they both deserved one last chance to put things right.
That was the way Dare was thinking when his breakfast arrived, and as he ate it—occasionally slipping a morsel to Solly under the table—he slowly came up with a short list of things they both needed to do to make a relationship work. He’d have no problem keeping up his side of it—depending on whether Grant demanded more, of course.
The question was, would Grant ever be willing to make any changes?
There was only one way to find out, really, and avoiding Grant wasn’t the way to go about fixing things.
Dare walked back to the yard with more purpose, hope blossoming inside him as surely as the trees were blossoming on the riverside. Yes, he could very well be setting himself up for a whole load more heartache, but if there was a chance of saving things, he had to at least try. Faint heart never won sexy bastard.
The postman had been while Dare was out, and he collected the bunch of letters from the box on the gate. He flicked through them as he walked back to Matilda. One made him stop in his tracks. The rich paper stock. He’d seen this before.
What was Grant doing sending him letters on his official work stationary?
Dare ripped it open, and had to read the first paragraph several times before he realised it wasn’t from Grant at all.
No, it was from Grant’s boss. And it was “respectfully” informing him that the council would be supplied with incontrovertible proof that Dare had been living on his land, unless Dare agreed to sell to him. For four-hundred and fifty thousand pounds. That was less than Grant’s initial offer.
There was also a thinly veiled threat about having to take additional action if Dare wasn’t willing to sell. Grant’s warning about his boss’s underworld connections clanged inside Dare’s head.
Dare’s calm evaporated as rage bubbled up. But not at Grant this time. At his dirty, scheming excuse for a boss. Fuck it. This Cecil arsehole wasn’t the only one with connections. Dare knew people. You didn’t get far in the used-car trade without knowing people, and although Dare had let most of his dad’s old contacts drop out of his life, he was fairly sure “Uncle” Tony would be happy to hear from him again.
He wasn’t about to take this lying down, that was for sure.