and furnished with dark oak and leather. Pale textured walls contrasted with the beams that arched above his head, long windows overlooking the coastline and the blue-grey waters of the North Sea.
There was a leather rocking chair set in the window embrasure and Jack seated himself in it and propped his booted feet on the sill. It was early yet, barely nine o’clock, and the day stretched ahead of him, silent and unstructured.
Which was also the way he liked it.
As he drank his coffee he pondered the prospect of taking the Osprey out for a sail. He knew from previous experience that manning the forty-two-foot ketch demanded all his energies. The North Sea, even at the end of May, didn’t take any prisoners.
He frowned. He wasn’t sure he wanted that kind of action. He might spend some time on the boat. There were one or two jobs requiring his attention. And he enjoyed exchanging the time of day with the fishermen who also used the small harbour.
Not that he really needed the company. Although he’d suffered in the aftermath of the accident that had killed his wife, he wasn’t suicidal. Besides, it was nearly two years since Lisa had died, for heaven’s sake. He should be over his grief by now.
And he was. Mostly. Except when Lisa herself turned up to torment him.
When had she first appeared? It must have been about a month after her funeral. Jack had been visiting her grave in the churchyard at Kilpheny when he’d realised that Lisa was standing beside him.
God, she’d certainly shaken him out of his apathy that day, he remembered ruefully. He’d half believed they must have buried some other young woman by mistake.
But no. Lisa had quickly disabused him of that notion. In any case, despite the fact that her little sports car had burst into flames on impact with the petrol tanker, dental records and DNA evidence found at the scene had proved conclusively that the remains they’d found were those of his wife.
The only thing that had survived the crash unscathed had been one of her designer sandals. Which, he assumed, was why Lisa only ever appeared wearing one sandal these days.
He used to ponder that anomaly. Why, if Lisa herself could appear apparently unscathed by the experience, couldn’t she have been supplied with another sandal?
It wasn’t important. After that first shocking encounter, Jack had learned not to question such prosaic irregularities with her. Lisa had her own agenda and she never deviated from it.
She enjoyed provoking him. Much as she’d done during the three short years of their marriage. Anything else was apparently beyond her remit.
He scowled, finishing his coffee in a single gulp and getting to his feet. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life analysing what might have been. Or, as Debra had said, ‘bumming around’.
Or talking to a ghost, he appended drily. Perhaps he ought to be wondering if he was losing his mind.
Eight hours later, he was feeling considerably less gloomy. He’d spent the morning doing some minor repairs to the ketch. And then, because it had been a beautiful afternoon, with only a mild wind flowing from the south-west, he’d taken the Osprey out on the water.
By the time he drove back to Lindisfarne House, he’d forgotten how introspective he’d been that morning. He had a bucket of fresh shellfish he’d bought from one of the fishermen and some fresh greens in the back of the Lexus. He was looking forward to making a lobster salad for his supper.
He was propped against the fridge, drinking an ice-cool can of beer, when he heard tyres crunching on his drive. Dammit, he thought, slamming the can down and heading for the front door. The last thing he needed tonight was company...
He scowled. He didn’t get visitors. Not visitors who parked in his driveway, anyway. No one, except his immediate family, knew where he was living. And they had strict orders not to give his address to anyone.
When the doorbell chimed, he knew he had to answer it.
‘Why don’t you open the door?’
Jack swung round abruptly to find Lisa perched on a half-moon console table.
‘Say what?’
‘Open the door,’ she said again, and for the first time she looked almost animated.
‘I’m going to,’ he said, speaking in a low voice, hoping that whoever was outside wouldn’t hear him. ‘What’s it to you? I’m the one who’s going to have to entertain an uninvited guest.’
‘Two uninvited guests,’ amended Lisa, evidently implying that he had more than one visitor, and Jack’s brows drew together.
‘So who are they?’
‘You’ll find out,’ she said lightly, her image fading even as her words were dying away.
Jack shook his head, not sure what he ought to make of that. Lisa rarely if ever appeared twice in one day. Did something about the visitor—visitors—disturb her? Perhaps he ought to be on his guard. He was alone in the house, after all.
Well, as good as.
Pushing such negative thoughts aside, he released the latch and opened the door.
A man was standing outside. A man he hadn’t seen in God knew how long. He and Sean Nesbitt had grown up together. They’d even attended university together, sharing a flat in their final year.
They’d graduated from Trinity College, Dublin, and had been eager to gain advanced degrees, Jack in architecture and Sean in computer science. After leaving Trinity, however, they’d both gone their separate ways, only meeting occasionally when they’d been visiting their parents in Kilpheny.
Since Jack’s marriage to Lisa, he’d virtually lost touch with the other man. And he had to say, Sean was the last person he’d expected to see here.
‘You open for visitors?’
Sean was grinning at him and for the life of him Jack couldn’t have turned him away.
‘Hell, yes,’ he said, taking the hand Sean held out and then stepping back automatically. ‘But, my God, what are you doing here? And how the devil did you find me?’
Sean’s grin widened. ‘I’m a computer expert, remember?’ he said smugly, glancing back at the silver Mercedes he’d parked on Jack’s drive. ‘But I’m not on my own. I’ve brought my girlfriend with me.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘Is it okay if we both come in?’
So... Jack lifted a thoughtful shoulder. Lisa had been right. He did have more than one visitor. But...
‘Sure,’ he said, not without some reluctance, casting a swift glance over his shoulder as he did so. But the table was unoccupied. Lisa had definitely gone.
‘Great!’
It was only as Sean turned to go back to the car that Jack realised he hadn’t changed since he got back from the marina. His cargo pants were smudged with paint and his black sweatshirt had seen better days.
Ah, well, they would have to take him as they found him, he thought resignedly.
