dropped it back into his jacket pocket. Smiling at Amelia he said, ‘That was Dominic.’
‘I’d guessed.’
Yale shook his head, still grinning in spite of her curt response. ‘He met the senior critic from Art last night. He’s just tried to get in touch with her again.’
Amelia continued to regard him with a speculative gaze. He was so excited and triumphant his body trembled. Intrigued, she urged him to continue.
‘She’s away from the office at the moment, but he suggested I go and introduce myself to her anyway.’
‘How can you do that if she’s away from the office?’ Amelia asked. ‘That doesn’t make sense.’
Yale laughed. ‘That’s the best part,’ he told her happily. He shook his head, causing waves of long dark hair to fly around his face. ‘She’s spending a week at Holbert Manor. Dominic thinks I should go up there and show her some of my canvases.’
‘Holbert Manor? Seriously?’
Amelia drew a startled breath. This was beyond coincidence. There were so many questions, she didn’t know which to ask first.
Yale treated Holbert Manor as his own personal Mecca. The likelihood of the art critic sloping off to that particular location was so incredible Amelia thought it was more like a sign from the gods than a mere coincidence. She tried to find the words to express the sentiment but could only smile with dizzied delight.
Yale nodded, unable to suppress the idiotic grin that twisted his lips. His excitement was immense and she saw he was resisting the urge to dance with glee.
‘Get back to work,’ he instructed sharply. ‘I want this piece finished before we leave, and we leave as soon as the last brushstroke is in place.’
Without hesitating, Amelia resumed her position. She raised her cat-o’-nine-tails high and struck Bernice smartly across the rear.
* * *
Robyn watched the silhouette of the Highlands etched against the dark-blue velvet of a star-speckled sky. The peaks and troughs on the horizon shifted and fell away as she drove further north. The unlit countryside outside the car sped past her in an unseen blur as each long mile passed. Her CD player ploughed through Les Misérables for the third time and she sang along with those lyrics that she knew whenever the mood touched her. The sombre meaning behind the words wasn’t helping her introspective misery but it did distract her from the chore of driving.
The morning had begun badly with another row.
She had wanted to talk to Harold and try to resolve whatever problem was troubling their marriage. Harold hadn’t wanted to talk. He had reiterated his ultimatum from the night before and then stormed out of the house.
Climb into bed with another man, and that’s it. Our marriage will be over. I’ll cut you off without a single penny.
His words had still rung in her ears long after the last echo of the slammed front door subsided.
It seemed incredible that he could say such a thing. They had been enjoying an open marriage since the night their honeymoon ended. Harold had sloped off with a pair of waitresses that evening and she’d ended up in bed with the hotel manager. They had laughed about it and shared the dirty talk of the experience with one another as they made love together later the following day.
The honeymoon had set a delicious precedent for the relationship.
And Robyn had thought the situation would go on for ever in a catalogue of swinging, swapping and sharing experiences. Miserably, she realised she was wrong. Their honeymoon was now well and truly over.
She had seen Harold again in the office that morning but he had ignored her. His cool rejection of her conciliatory smile was more than Robyn could bear. Hurt by the impassive assessment of his dark eyes, she had been left with only one possible course of action: she had to go away and get her thoughts in order. With that decision made, she hurled a sheaf of papers into her briefcase, spoke to Gayle and then jumped into the car.
Ten hours later, with her backside weary from driving and her arms aching from holding the steering wheel, she wondered if she had made the right decision. Regardless of whether it was right or wrong, she knew she had to get away from the city. Being there only made things worse.
On the way into the office that morning a young man with long hair had caught her attention. He stood at reception, talking animatedly with a group of colleagues. His gaze had met hers and he had offered her a crooked smile.
Instinctively, Robyn had smiled back.
She knew her expression was too alluring for the morning. She knew her eyes were appraising him too lewdly but she couldn’t help herself. The familiar pulse of longing tickled between her legs and she had found herself swept up with a need for him.
Ardently fighting the desire, she had stepped into the lift and taken herself away from the temptation. At least if she were out of the city there wouldn’t be any more distractions like that. She needed the remoteness and the isolation of Holbert Manor.
From the tape-player, Madame Thénardier began singing her chorus of ‘Master of the House’. Robyn joined in cheerfully with a raucous rendition, emphasising every line and mentally directing the scathing lyrics towards Harold. When her mobile rang, she jumped in her seat, startled by the shrill, intrusive ring.
‘Robyn?’ Gayle’s familiar voice came from the speaker of the hands-free set. ‘Christ. I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Is your mobile playing up again?’
Robyn glanced at the dull green glow of the dashboard clock and saw the figures 21.47. ‘Gayle?’ she said incredulously. ‘Tell me you’re not in the office. Even if it’s a lie, tell me you do occasionally go home and try to have some sort of social life.’
‘I am at home,’ Gayle said shrewishly. ‘And I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Where have you been?’
‘Out of range, I guess,’ Robyn said, not giving the matter a great deal of thought. ‘What’s so important you’re still trying to reach me at this time of night? Honest to God, Gayle, this is above and beyond the call of –’
‘First of all,’ Gayle began, ‘did you give my office number to that arsehole Wayne from sales?’
Robyn smiled sourly to herself. ‘Of course I did. You need a man in your life, Gayle. You’re turning into spinster material. I was looking after your interests.’
‘I’ll take issue with each of those comments when we’re face to face and I can claw your eyes out of their sockets. But, for the moment, that news doesn’t make me feel so bad. It actually makes me feel as though I was justified for what I’ve done.’
A crackle of static punctuated her sentence.
‘What have you done?’ Robyn asked. There was a long pause and she repeated the question, a querulous note rising in her voice. ‘What have you done, Gayle?’
‘Sorry,’ Gayle began. ‘You were breaking up then. I’m calling to tell you that a guy called Dominic was looking for you. He said he met you at the party. I told him where you’d gone.’
Robyn
