the table too, flat paraffin tea-lights, and one stuck into the neck of a wine bottle that reminded me of our first dinner together, that night in Sicily. I watched the father and son, and listened to them, and after a while I almost forgot about the squirrel. I almost forgot about Genevieve too. Almost. But she was there, in the flickering shadows; she was in the pattern of the curtains and the weave of the rug, crouching behind the pile of books that cast strange shadows in the candlelight. I felt a draught on my face, and was convinced, for a moment, that it was Genevieve returned, but of course it wasn’t; it was just the door gently closing itself.
The candles burned down and, outside, the night dimmed and darkened. Alexander drew the curtains. Shadows flickered cosily on the walls. Jamie’s chatter slowed. Alexander wiped his plate with a piece of bread and put the bread in his mouth. He took a drink of his beer. I tried to relax, but my uneasiness was pervasive. I was aware of eyes in the walls; I heard whispers. The whispers were telling me that I did not belong at Avalon, that Alexander was right: I was not a country girl; it would be for the best if I left and went back to where I belonged.
I told myself not to be silly; I was homesick, that was all. It was bound to take a while for me to settle in. I wished I knew where I stood with Alexander. I had felt uneasy lyingto Claudia, but maybe it hadn’t been a lie. Maybe there was nothing between Alexander and me.
The best thing, I thought, would be if Genevieve sent a postcard, preferably from somewhere far away, saying she was blissfully happy. Then people wouldn’t mind if Alexander and I ended up together; they might even be pleased for us. They’d say: It turned out all right in the end.
I stacked the plates and took them into the kitchen. The cherry cheesecake I’d made earlier was in the fridge, its jelly and soft-fruit topping glistening. I tried not to notice the colour or the consistency. In the poor light it reminded me of congealing blood.
I took it out and was slicing it free of its tin with the blade of a knife when I saw, through the kitchen window, headlights drawing up on the drive. The white-yellow beams swept through the darkness and picked out the rambling stalks of unchecked brambles and failing nettles in the borders. The tyres made a soothing, crunching noise on the gravel and stone. I thought, at first, that it was Claudia returned – maybe she’d left something behind – but when the passenger door opened I distinctly heard the disembodied voices of people speaking over a radio. I’d heard that sound before. It was the police.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I HAD TIME to call a warning to Alexander and to rinse my hands under the hot tap. I checked my reflection in the window and opened the door with a tea towel in my hand.
There were two police officers – a man and a woman – and they were friendly enough, brisk and apologetic. They came inside wrapped in a cloud of colder air that was blanketed with moisture. I shivered. The man was in plain clothes; the woman held her black, banded hat in her hands like a schoolgirl. She had dark shiny hair and a round, pretty face. She must have seen the worry on mine because she was kindly and assured me that nothing was wrong; they hadn’t come with bad news, they just needed a quiet word with Alexander.
Jamie was fascinated by the police. He stood barefoot in front of them and gazed at them, awestruck.
‘Have you got a gun?’ he asked the woman.
She laughed. ‘No! But I have handcuffs.’
‘Handcuffs!’ he whispered. ‘Can I hold them?’
‘I can do better than that. If you’re a good chap and let us have a few words with your dad in private, I’ll let you put the lights on in the car.’
‘The police lights?’
‘Yes.’
This was good enough for Jamie. He stayed in the kitchen with me like a lamb while Alexander, ashen-faced and with a new bottle of beer in his hand, took the
The candles burned down and, outside, the night dimmed and darkened. Alexander drew the curtains. Shadows flickered cosily on the walls. Jamie’s chatter slowed. Alexander wiped his plate with a piece of bread and put the bread in his mouth. He took a drink of his beer. I tried to relax, but my uneasiness was pervasive. I was aware of eyes in the walls; I heard whispers. The whispers were telling me that I did not belong at Avalon, that Alexander was right: I was not a country girl; it would be for the best if I left and went back to where I belonged.
I told myself not to be silly; I was homesick, that was all. It was bound to take a while for me to settle in. I wished I knew where I stood with Alexander. I had felt uneasy lyingto Claudia, but maybe it hadn’t been a lie. Maybe there was nothing between Alexander and me.
The best thing, I thought, would be if Genevieve sent a postcard, preferably from somewhere far away, saying she was blissfully happy. Then people wouldn’t mind if Alexander and I ended up together; they might even be pleased for us. They’d say: It turned out all right in the end.
I stacked the plates and took them into the kitchen. The cherry cheesecake I’d made earlier was in the fridge, its jelly and soft-fruit topping glistening. I tried not to notice the colour or the consistency. In the poor light it reminded me of congealing blood.
I took it out and was slicing it free of its tin with the blade of a knife when I saw, through the kitchen window, headlights drawing up on the drive. The white-yellow beams swept through the darkness and picked out the rambling stalks of unchecked brambles and failing nettles in the borders. The tyres made a soothing, crunching noise on the gravel and stone. I thought, at first, that it was Claudia returned – maybe she’d left something behind – but when the passenger door opened I distinctly heard the disembodied voices of people speaking over a radio. I’d heard that sound before. It was the police.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I HAD TIME to call a warning to Alexander and to rinse my hands under the hot tap. I checked my reflection in the window and opened the door with a tea towel in my hand.
There were two police officers – a man and a woman – and they were friendly enough, brisk and apologetic. They came inside wrapped in a cloud of colder air that was blanketed with moisture. I shivered. The man was in plain clothes; the woman held her black, banded hat in her hands like a schoolgirl. She had dark shiny hair and a round, pretty face. She must have seen the worry on mine because she was kindly and assured me that nothing was wrong; they hadn’t come with bad news, they just needed a quiet word with Alexander.
Jamie was fascinated by the police. He stood barefoot in front of them and gazed at them, awestruck.
‘Have you got a gun?’ he asked the woman.
She laughed. ‘No! But I have handcuffs.’
‘Handcuffs!’ he whispered. ‘Can I hold them?’
‘I can do better than that. If you’re a good chap and let us have a few words with your dad in private, I’ll let you put the lights on in the car.’
‘The police lights?’
‘Yes.’
This was good enough for Jamie. He stayed in the kitchen with me like a lamb while Alexander, ashen-faced and with a new bottle of beer in his hand, took the
Similar Books
