ass off. He gravitated towards men like Argyll, Jack-the-lads with big personalities.
The entrance lobby was deserted when I made it there. I should have just left my bag in the van. I peeked around the staircase listening for signs of life. Nothing. Behind me, I heard the doors to the games room open and close again. I didn’t look, not even when heavy certain steps grew slowly closer.
Daintier taps of a woman’s feet came at me from the opposite side.
‘Did you find him?’ she asked. You had to love house staff, they were just so efficient.
‘Hi again, yes, thanks. Could I get my bag, please?’
‘Ah, of course. Just a minute, dear.’ And the friendly lady disappeared again.
Argyll junior had moved casually along the hallway and settled himself against one of the decorative pillars near the foot of the staircase. He was sharply dressed in a well-cut dark grey suit, his ice-white shirt unbuttoned at the neck. He was sharp all right, but less formally so than his father, and every bit as certain it seemed.
I tried not to fidget as I waited for my bag’s return.
‘Working late?’ He was being polite. I hadn’t expected it.
‘Yes.’ I smiled, knowing that it didn’t quite reach my eyes. I let them fall away to the intricate tile work of the floor.
‘I’m sorry if Fergal embarrassed you,’ he said in a smooth and certain voice holding only a fraction of his father’s Celtic lilt. I smiled again. I used to feel more awkward about uncomfortable silences, but I’d survived a lot of them and I didn’t feel the need to fill them the way others did.
‘He gets carried away with cake.’ His eyes narrowed with the quip.
‘He didn’t mean any harm,’ I offered, looking off to the doors the lady had disappeared through.
‘You’re right, he doesn’t,’ he said, pulling my eyes back to him again. His hair was a little longer on top than his father’s, but fell forward slightly in nearly the same place.
Out here, without the clouds of cigar smoke, there was nothing to compete with the scent of the rich wooden panelling, the preparation of savoury foods somewhere off in the house and, over that, the subtle sweetness of the more polite Argyll’s cologne. It wasn’t like the bottle I slipped under Charlie’s pillow every Christmas Eve, not quite so familiar. This had a sweeter edge to it, the difference between flowers and berries.
‘Nice cake, by the way,’ he said, trying again for polite exchange. ‘I haven’t seen one like that before.’ He smiled then, it was a good smile, but his didn’t reach the eyes either.
‘Ciaran, your father’s ready,’ the ice maiden purred, sashaying along the corridor to us. I hadn’t heard the doors that time. This close I could see she’d made her blue eyes colder with smoky makeup.
‘Here you go dear.’ The friendly lady smiled, approaching us again.
‘Thank you … Goodnight.’ I smiled, taking my bag from her.
‘Goodnight,’ Ciaran Argyll called as I reached the cool of the evening air outside.
I looked back over my shoulder to the perfect couple and gave him an acknowledging smile.
Moving into him, to mark her territory, the ice maiden gave me nothing.
CHAPTER 4
I couldn’t feel the bite of the freezing waters around me, only the urgency to swim further out into them. He was here, I knew that, waiting for me to find him. To bring him home.
Behind me on the jetty, the life ring hung idly against the timber post. Why hadn’t I brought it with me? A sensation of unease deep in my chest tried to dig a foothold.
‘Come on, Hol! Catch up, it’s warmer here!’ Charlie laughed, water sloshing against his face. The unease disappeared.
‘I’m coming! Hang on!’ I laughed, trying not to splutter. It wasn’t easy swimming and laughing at the same time, but Charlie managed.
Over the sounds of water, slipping in and out of my ears, another voice found its way to me.
‘Holly! Holly, come back!’ Martha and Dave were on the jetty. She’d thrown the ring into the reservoir but it bobbed around without validation. I threw my hands above myself and waved at her.
‘It’s OK, Martha! We’re just swimming! Look, I found him! I found Charlie!’ I turned back to see if Charlie had waited for me, but he was twice the distance away now. Still laughing.
‘Charlie! Wait!’ I called, the unease digging down again.
‘Holly!’ Martha called worriedly. Can’t she see? I’m with Charlie.
‘Charlie? Charlie?’ The unease became heavier, like lead in my chest. ‘I can’t see you. I can’t see you, Charlie!’
‘Holly?’ Martha called, but I was swimming away from her.
‘Come on, Hol,’ Charlie called, ‘catch me up!’ I’d found him but he was further away again.
‘Wait for me, Charlie, you’re too fast!’ I called, but still he swam. Why won’t he give me a chance?
Martha’s voice grew nearer.
‘Holly? Holly?’
Swim harder, Holly. You can get there.
‘Holly? Holly honey, wake up.’
Martha was gently rocking me, concern etched into her face. My heart was still thudding, not realising the trickery yet.
‘I’m awake,’ I whispered. Please go now. I could still get to him, he was still there, still within reach. I wasn’t ready to give him up yet, not ready to accept the day.
‘Are you OK, honey?’
Already I could feel him slipping. Now I’d never get him back.
I’d expected more dreams, it was coming up to that time. But not those ones. Not like the dreams that had plagued me last year.
That was when I’d stopped drinking with the girls. So that I wasn’t spending my weekends waking up after midday not only with a hangover but fewer hours to pull myself together again. It’s hard enough nursing an aching heart, an aching head helps nothing.
Don’t cry. You’ll upset Martha. Be grateful.
‘Hol? Were you having a nightmare?’ I didn’t think she would go, stationed eternally on the jetty.
In place of my self-imposed ban on girly nights, Martha instigated a non-negotiable scaled down version. For the two years since the accident, Saturday nights had been dedicated to the emotional
