and the cliffs and the darkness below—and the ruined chapel! Go and catch your own ghosts, Anne.”
“A walk would do you both good,” Jensen assured us.
“You can’t miss the track,” Fitch smiled. His wet eyes hypnotized me. “Go right up to the chapel, Anne. Take Richard.”
I looked at Richard. He swayed slightly in his tall-backed chair. I didn’t know what I wanted.
“Superb meal,” he said. “Like to walk in the moonlight, love?”
“If you like.”
“Excuse me,” Richard said, dropping his cigar into a bowl of trifle. He didn’t notice the way it hissed out, but I giggled as I saw the expression on the faces of Jensen, the Sievel woman and Fitch.
I basked in their approval.
“Wait until we’re out of the room before you talk about us,” I said. What an exit line. I felt like a Bogart heroine.
I could hear them chuckling and murmuring appreciatively at my parting joke as we walked through the small bar and out into the entrance hall of Monteine Castle.
With a drunken clarity, I knew the evening was a disaster, but what pained in a dull and bitter way was that I did not know why; I knew, however, with an iron certainty, that whatever the evening brought would affect me immediately and dreadfully, and would go on winding its way into the fabric of my life with Richard, always threatening to destroy us.
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