in her haste she’d left her dressing gown on the back of the door at her sister’s—and tiptoed down the stairs, glancing along to Jake’s room as she reached the head of the lower flight.
She’d brought his luggage up earlier while he was sleeping and put it in there, because he couldn’t possibly manage to lug it up there himself, and she’d had her first look at his room.
It was over the formal drawing room, with an arched opening to the bathroom at the bay window end, and a great rolltop bath sat in the middle, with what must be the most spectacular view along the endless lawn to the woods in the distance. She couldn’t picture him in it at all, there was a huge double shower the size of the average wetroom that seemed much more likely, and a pair of gleaming washbasins, and in a separate little room with its own basin and marble-tiled walls was a loo.
And at the opposite end of the room was the bed. Old, solid, a vast and imposing four-poster, the head end and the top filled in with heavily carved panelling, it was perfect for the room. Perfect for the house. The sort of bed where love was made and children were born and people slipped quietly away at the end of their lives, safe in its arms.
It was a wonderful, wonderful bed. And not in the least monastic. She could picture him in it so easily.
Was he lying in it now? She didn’t know. Maybe, maybe not—and she was mad to think about it.
There was no light on, and the house was in silence, but it felt different, she thought. There was something about it which had changed with his arrival, a sort of—rightness, as if the house had relaxed now he was home.
Which didn’t explain what had woken her. And the door to his room was open a crack. She’d gone down to let the dog out and tidy up the kitchen after she’d settled the children and finished unpacking their things and he must have come upstairs by then, but she hadn’t noticed the door open. Perhaps he’d come out again to get something and hadn’t shut it, and that was what had woken her, but there was no sign of him now.
She went down to the breakfast room, guided only by the moonlight, and opened the door, and she heard the gentle thump of the dog’s tail on the floor and the clatter of his nails.
‘Hello, my lovely man,’ she crooned, crouching down and pulling gently on his ears. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I take it you’re talking to the dog.’
She gave a little shriek and pressed her hand to her chest, then started to laugh. ‘Good grief, Jake, you scared me to death!’ She straightened up and reached for the light, then hesitated, conscious of her tired old pyjamas. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I couldn’t sleep. You?’
‘I thought I heard a noise.’
He laughed softly. ‘In this house? Of course you heard a noise! It creaks like a ship.’
‘I know. It settles. I love it—it sounds as if it’s relaxing. No, there was something else. It must have been you.’
‘I stumbled over the dog—he came to see me and I hadn’t put the light on and I kicked him by accident and he yelped—and, before you ask, he’s fine. I nudged him, really, but he seemed a bit upset by it, so I sat with him.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry—he does get underfoot and—well, I think he was kicked as a puppy. Has he forgiven you?’
The soft sound of Jake’s laughter curled round her again, warming her. ‘I think so. He’s been on my lap.’
‘Ah. Sounds like it, then.’ She hesitated, wondering if she should leave him to it and go back to bed, but sensing that there was something wrong, something more than he was telling her. ‘How’s the fire?’
‘OK. I think it could do with more wood.’
‘I’ll get some.’
She went out of the back door and brought in an armful of logs, putting on the kitchen light as she went, and she left it on when she came back, enough to see by but hopefully not enough to see just how tired her pyjamas really were, and the spill of yellow light made the room seem cosy and intimate.
Which was absurd, considering its size, but everything was in scale and so it didn’t seem big, just—safe.
She put the logs in the basket and opened the fire, throwing some in, and as the flames leapt up she went to shut it but he stopped her.
‘Leave it open. It’s nice to sit and stare into the flames. It helps—’
Helps? Helps what? she wanted to ask, but she couldn’t, somehow, so she knelt there on the hearthrug in the warmth of the flames, with Rufus snuggled against her side, his skinny, feathery tail wafting against her, and waited.
But Jake didn’t say any more, just sighed and dropped his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. She could see that his fingers were curled around a glass, and on the table behind him was a bottle. The whisky?
‘What?’
She jumped guiltily. ‘Nothing.’
He snorted. ‘It’s never nothing with women. Yes, it’s the whisky. No, it doesn’t help.’
‘Jake—’
‘No. Leave it, Amelia. Please. If you want to do something useful, you could make us a cup of tea.’
‘How about a hot milky drink?’
‘I’m not five.’
‘No, but you’re tired, you’re hurt and you said you’d had enough caffeine today—it might help you sleep.’
‘Tea,’ he said implacably.
She shrugged and got to her feet, padded back through to the kitchen and put the kettle on, turning in time to see him drain his glass and set it down on the table. He glanced up and met her eyes, and sighed.
‘I’ve only had one. I’m not an alcoholic, Amelia.’
‘I never suggested you were!’ she said, appalled that he’d think she was criticising when actually she’d simply been concerned for his health and well-being.
‘So stop looking at me as if you’re the Archangel Gabriel and I’m going off the rails!’
She gave a soft chuckle and took two mugs out of the cupboard. ‘I’m the last person to criticise anyone for life choices. I’m homeless, for heavens’ sake! And I’ve got three children, only one of whom was planned, and I’m unemployed and my life’s a total mess, so pardon me if I pick you up on that one! I just wondered …’
‘Wondered what? Why I’m such a miserable bastard?’
‘Are you? Miserable, I mean? Kate thought—’ She broke off, not wanting him to think Kate had been discussing him, but it was too late, and one eyebrow climbed autocratically.
‘Kate thought—?’ he prompted.
‘You were just a loner. You are, I mean. A loner.’
‘And what do
