The Angels' Share (10 page)

‘I’ve heard he’s away at the moment. Does he leave the estate often?’ Knowing Kinrade’s movements would be useful.

‘Then you’ve heard wrong. I saw him from a distance earlier today, walking across the courtyard with the dogs.’ Connor was becoming impatient. I don’t think he wanted to talk about his elusive employer.

I pondered what he had said. Could it be that Kinrade had already returned from his trip? That would be a major blow. I was hoping to begin my new position as maid without him being around, allowing me to snoop into his personal affairs and papers without interruption. I’d only need a day at the most. And with the prospect of being alone in the house with only Dominic to occasionally check up on me, I was already wondering how I could procure a naughty maid’s outfit instead of having to wear jeans and boots for my first day at work.

‘Ailey?’ I felt Connor’s hand brush my cheek. ‘You’re miles away.’

I blushed and shook my head, perhaps trying to dislodge the multiplying thoughts of Dominic. Connor would be shocked if he knew that I had slept with Creg-ny-Varn’s gardener. I’ve always thought that Connor wanted me for himself and even now, I suspected, he somehow believed that I would be his and his alone.

‘I was thinking.’ I perked up and smiled, trying to twist ever so gently away from his arm. He raised his eyebrows. ‘About my new job.’

‘Really?’ The hope in his voice confirmed my suspicion. Connor was desperate not to lose me again. ‘Where?’

‘You’ll never believe it.’ I swallowed. I was taking a risk but he would find out soon enough anyway and I was beginning to believe that Connor and I were on the same side. ‘At Creg-ny-Varn. I’m going to be a maid.’ I smiled as I introduced my new career and waited for a reaction. He stared blankly at me, unblinking, his face paling slightly as he took more tea.

‘You’re going to work for Ethan Kinrade? As a servant? In your own home?’

‘Yes.’ I glared at him, willing him not to ask more.

‘Why?’ Incredulity spread across his face.

‘Because I need to…’ I stopped myself. Trusting anyone, even Connor, would be a mistake. ‘Because I need the money. It’ll be strange but I’m big enough to cope with my emotions.’ My head dropped of its own accord, perhaps to hide the skim of tears that began to pool.

‘Are you big enough? Or are you on some kind of masochistic mission, determined to rub your own nose in what could, sorry,
should
have been yours?’ Connor stood and walked to the window, hands in pockets, elbows jutting from his slim hips. He stared out to sea and I wondered if he noticed the glimmer of light on the cliff top that was Lewis and Liz’s cottage.

‘It’s just a job, for heaven’s sake. I’ll do it for a few weeks and then use the money to go back to Spain.’

He turned abruptly, his full features accentuated by the flames. I reached out and prodded the blaze, sending a rain of orange sparks up the chimney. I knew what he was thinking.

‘You’d never consider settling on the island again.’ It wasn’t a question although it should have been. Connor should have taken me in his arms, pressed his body against mine, nursed my confused head against his shoulder and allowed his lips to seek a kiss. Instead, he stood with his back to the fire, shaking his head in disbelief that someone he had once thought of so highly could behave so recklessly.

‘I’ve lost everything I ever wanted anyway. My father’s gone, my home has been taken over by an impostor and…and…’ I wanted to mention the feelings that were stirring within me since seeing him again but they would have given a tense, unnecessary edge to the evening, an evening that I wanted to be filled with memories of us both as happy, irresponsible kids.

‘Where’s your fight gone? Do you honestly believe that Kinrade has any right to your family home? Have you heard about his gold-digging mother yet?’ Connor splashed large measures of whisky into our tea and continued with his rant. ‘The man obviously has no morals or shame. He kicked his mother out barely before the funeral was over.’

Then, as the extra whisky rushed through our veins, he kicked down a gear. He squatted beside the flames in the only truly warm spot in the cottage and blew out, laughing and shaking his head at the same time. I was tired of thinking about Creg-ny-Varn and almost wondered if it was worth the bother. Did I really have any right to undo my father’s wishes?

‘Will you really go back to Spain?’ He was virtually sitting at my feet, his expression earnest, his intentions all right.

I nodded. ‘It’s my home now.’

‘Tell me about your life there. Why Spain?’ Connor pulled himself up to sit next to me, this time not risking any contact.

I sighed. ‘Why indeed. It wasn’t like I had any choice in the matter. My mother and father, well, they split up.’ I wasn’t going to regale him with the story of how my mother had been kicked off the island in an explosion of shame and debauchery and that by association I wasn’t welcome either. No doubt he would have heard his own version of events anyway. ‘And my mother eventually met the love of her life.’ I smiled, trying to sweeten the story. ‘He’s a much younger man, a Spanish man who took us back to his home village in the mountains of Southern Spain.’

‘What an adventure.’ Connor was a good listener.

‘I hated it at first. I didn’t understand a word that anyone was saying. I just wanted to come back to my dad and you and Creg-ny-Varn.’ I shrugged, to indicate that things were OK now, that life was good and I was happy. Despite the strong link that I now felt with Connor, the link that had probably been there all along and been stretched to infinity by distance and time, I also had a link to my Spanish home. I was suddenly overcome by a feeling of ingratitude and betrayal. My mother had struggled to do everything right for me and, under impossible circumstances, had given me a good life.

‘Is there a man back home?’

The question made me jump, as if I had jolted from a dream, and Connor misread the half-smile that made up for my lack of a simple answer. His eyes lost their shine and he stared at his feet.

I didn’t know what to say so filled my mouth with the remains of my tea. Yes, there was a man and yes, he was waiting for me back in my village and yes, I missed him but no, he wasn’t
the one
. Marco was my anchor and my friend and my lover and the person I shouted at when things went wrong. He was there when I needed to be with someone but equally adept at keeping out of my way when I craved solitude.

‘No one as special,’ I said.

That one word, the insertion of a single syllable, caused Connor to look up and believe that we had a future together. I don’t know how it slipped in; I don’t even know what I meant by it. I only know that it was true. There hadn’t ever been anyone
as
special as Connor. And there probably wouldn’t ever be.

‘You look cold,’ he said and dragged the chair, with me on it, closer to the fire. He invited himself into the dusty nest of cushions, squashing up close to me and hauling my legs over his. He unfurled the sleeping bag and draped it over us and I immediately began to feel my body warmth mingling with his. It felt as natural as the waves outside as the tide crept up the shingle. It felt as if we could have been nestled together for the last fourteen years.

‘Now tell me all about him. I want to know how he got to you, like I would have done if you hadn’t disappeared.’ Connor made no attempt to touch me. What with the feeling of his thighs beneath my legs, the strength in his shoulder as our bodies were pressed together and the sweet whiff of whisky on his breath, it was almost as if his lips were exploring every part of me. I was torn between two worlds: the place that I had called home for the last fourteen years and the magical island that was recorded deep within my heart, however faded the etching had become. To translate my feelings I would need to show him the very core of my mind. Connor deserved this much.

‘I’ve kept a journal for as long as I can remember,’ I began. ‘From the day my mother and I left the island, as my home floated into a misty line on the horizon, I wrote down my thoughts and feelings. Much of it’s childish ranting.’ I snorted, briefly recalling detailed yet improbable Christmas lists and gripes about my mother’s new lover. I drew pictures and glued in photographs and cuttings in the early editions. Even at that age, my diary was a part of my existence. I twisted sideways to face Connor. ‘It’s funny. When I was about fifteen, I became fiercely protective of my journals and locked them away.’

‘Ahh,’ Connor said slowly. ‘You began writing about boys.’ He grinned.

‘Would it shock you if I confessed that now my entries are mostly about sex?’

‘Not at all. It’s natural.’ I noticed the quick swallow, the brief clench of his jaw.

‘It’s not so much about, well…’ It was my turn to swallow. ‘Not about the act so much as the thought of the act and who with and why and what if –’

‘Your deepest, darkest fantasies, you mean.’

‘Yes.’ I fiddled with the sleeping bag’s zipper.

‘You know, by writing down your desires you’re taking the first step to making them happen.’ Connor reached for the Glen Broath and held the bottle fondly between his palms.

‘I am?’

‘Every thought you have can become reality if you give it a place in the world.’

I mulled this over as Connor tipped a little more whisky into my mug. I reflected on my encounter with Dominic and the unnatural role I had taken by tying him to the bed. Lewis and Liz’s desire to include me in their sexual games haunted my mind as I began to consider that Connor might be right. Had my desire for sexual risk, having been given a place in the world in my diary, reached critical mass and finally become a reality? Was my life to unfold similarly from now on?

I sighed. ‘But I’ve lost it.’ And I wondered if this was why. ‘My diary,’ I added to allay Connor’s look of puzzlement. ‘Or it was stolen. I think it might have been taken by someone I met on the ferry.’

A grin to match any I had seen when we ran through the gorse with a couple of stolen cigarettes or netted a lobster the size of two house bricks peeled across Connor’s face. He wiped a hand over his chin as if to extinguish his amusement. I noticed the stubble, a day or two’s growth of copper blonde hair that had transformed my best friend into a man.

‘I’m glad you think it’s funny. If you knew just how deep this book went, how I had stripped myself bare, then you might even consider helping me get it back.’ My clipped tone deleted his remaining smile.

‘And what would my reward be if I located your journal?’

‘That’s simple,’ I said rather too recklessly. ‘I’ll love you forever.’

The pause between us, the empty space devoid of words, breath or any thought that wasn’t about loving each other, could have spanned a thousand years. It was Connor who regained consciousness first.

‘Well, let’s get searching then.’ He pretended to stand up but I placed a hand on his arm. ‘Just kidding, although seriously, I know someone who works for the Steam Packet. I can find out if your diary’s been handed in and make sure it’s safe.’

‘Thanks. It’s very important to me.’ I placed my head on his shoulder and again wondered if he was right. Had the unusual events of the last couple of days been brought about by the loss of my diary? Were my innermost thoughts out there, manifesting, shaping my life?

*   *   *

During the next few hours Connor barely said a word. He moved only to fetch another log or open a can of soup that we heated on the fire. He arranged the faded cushions behind my head and rubbed my cold feet and hands, while all the time listening greedily to every word I said. I had returned to the island as a pencil drawing and he was attempting to colour me in by fathoming every minute of my fourteen-year absence.

‘When I returned from my first year at Granada University, Marco was still living in our little village. I thought that he would have wanted to travel or study too but he seemed content working on his father’s farm. It never occurred to me that he would find someone else while I was away.’

As I recounted the story, I stared into the flames that were as hot as the summer when I had arrived home on the bus from university. My body had buzzed with anticipation as if it was filled with the cicadas that speckled the mountainsides. Seeing Marco after nine months apart was going to be like iced water in a drought. Of course, we had spoken on the telephone and written, especially early in the academic year when our parting was still raw. I’d decided to stay in Granada for Christmas to save money travelling but also to sample the elaborate celebrations that I’d heard of. My new friends had told me of the spectacular
Hogueras
on the shortest day of the year and I was keen to witness the madness of young men jumping through bonfires in order to ward off illness. After so many years of country living, I was enjoying the thrill of such a beautiful, vibrant city.

It appeared that Marco had made new friends as well. Once I had dumped my belongings in my room and greeted my mother and reminded myself why I loved my home so much by taking stock of the stunning mountain views from the cool veranda, I went in search of Marco. My plan to surprise him by arriving home a day early certainly achieved a level of shock I had never anticipated. When I couldn’t locate him in the olive groves or in the tapas bar, I walked to the casita that he rented on the outskirts of the village. As expected, the flaking wooden shutters were closed against the white-hot sun although the wrought-iron grille that secured the front door was open. Smiling to myself and with my heart pattering as if a butterfly chrysalis had burst open in my chest, I stepped into the cool, dark hall and padded silently through the tiny house looking for Marco.

I smelled it first. The undeniable tang, although I tried to convince myself it was something cooking or a scent from a rare flower that had blown in on the breeze. The pungent flavour of sex-marinated bodies hung in the air like a dirty morning mist. I should have stopped. I should have forced my legs to turn and carry me back home so that I would never know the source of the smell but it drew me on like a starving person seeking food.