The Mercer's House (Northern Gothic Book 1) by Antonia Frost Page B

tapping his foot and looking at his watch all the time, and it put me off.’
    ‘Never go shopping with a man,’ said Will with a smile.
    ‘No,’ she agreed. She wanted more than anything to let him know that she wasn’t sleeping with Garrett, but she couldn’t think of a way to say it without sounding obvious, and so she remained silent.
    ‘My mum’s threatening to come to lunch tomorrow,’ said Will after a moment. ‘She and Lou are good friends. They like to gang up on me and beat me into submission.’
    ‘Your mother’s a terrifying woman,’ said Corbin suddenly.
    ‘She is that,’ said Will. ‘She’s all right, though.’
    There was a note of affection in his voice, and Zanna again wondered how Will had felt when Helen had come to live at the Mercer’s House in his mother’s place.
    Corbin was looking at Zanna’s hands. She glanced at them involuntarily and saw that she had still not managed to get the paint out from under her fingernails.
    ‘You must show me some of your pictures,’ said Corbin. ‘I gather from Will they’re very good. Helen used to destroy most of her paintings. Said they were no use to her any more once she’d finished them.’
    Zanna regarded him sympathetically as Alison Maudsley’s words came back to her. Whether or not he and Helen had been having an affair, it was impossible not to feel sorry for him in his weakened state. His face was old and drooping, but it was still possible to see traces of what he had looked like before the ruin of the years had come upon him. He must have been tall and handsome once, like his brother. Had he given comfort to Helen during those times when Alexander was away from home, or so absorbed with his work that it must have seemed as if he were no longer interested in her? Had Corbin filled the empty place in Helen’s heart? Or had she found enough consolation in her son that she hadn’t needed anything else? Just then Zanna remembered what Will had told her that morning: Corbin had got rid of the correspondence from the private investigation agency. Why had he done that? It made no sense to throw away the only record of what steps had been taken to find Helen—unless he’d done it deliberately for that very reason. Perhaps Alison was right, then, and Corbin did know where she’d gone—and knew, too, that she didn’t want to be found. Was he still in touch with her? Despite her instructions to Garrett earlier, Zanna began to ponder the possibility of asking Corbin straight out whether he knew where Helen had gone. She was still trying to decide how to introduce the subject when Garrett came out of the shop and joined them, and the question was forgotten for the moment.
    ‘I got you a scratchcard,’ he said to her. ‘If you win a million I’ll settle for ten per cent.’
    ‘That’s what you think,’ she said. ‘If I win a million I’m taking the first flight out to the Bahamas. By myself ,’ she added emphatically, hoping that Will would get the hint.
    ‘No gratitude,’ said Garrett, and introduced himself to Corbin. While they talked, Zanna tried not to look at Will. She had every right to do as she liked, of course, but it would be disrespectful to Garrett, who had made his feelings for her perfectly plain, to display an obvious attraction to another man in front of his face. Her phone buzzed, and she took it out of her bag. It was an email, and she drew in her breath as she saw who it was from, but put the phone back without saying anything. At length Will and Corbin said goodbye and passed on, and Zanna and Garrett returned to the Coach and Horses. When they had sat down in the bar—he with a pint of beer and she with a glass of lemonade—he said:
    ‘What was that message you just got?’
    ‘You don’t miss anything, do you?’ she said, and brought the phone out again. ‘It’s another email from Helen. And now tell me I’m going mad.’
    He took the phone. This time there was no doubt.
    ‘Oh,’ he said in