‘Not so fast. It’s just the garden tonight.’
She walked down the spiral stairs to the ground floor, to the door that led into a secluded part of the garden at the back of the castle. The evening air was warm and still and full of the sound of the crows that lived in the ruined part of the keep. Like Mr Luke Hansard, they seemed to be bedding down for the night.
Orla followed One Ear into the garden, taking in deep, settling breaths. She still couldn’t shake the feeling of anxiety that had taken up home inside her chest since this man – this stranger – had rung her bell. He might profess to be the husband of her online friend, but what did she really know about him? Anyone could say anything, couldn’t they? She had to remain vigilant.
Watching One Ear as he happily galumphed around the garden, she began to wonder if her home was as secure as she’d thought it was. She’d naively thought that living in a castle with a large dog was enough and yet here was this man outside her gate. Inside her gate! She’d have to get that sorted out for a start. It had been much too easy for him to walk right up to her front door and then to sit on her bench in the garden. If he could do that, then he could find his way around the side of the castle to the garden she was in right now. It would be a scramble over the wall she’d had erected, but it was probably very easy if somebody set their mind to doing it.
‘One Ear!’ she called softly. The dog looked up from a clump of grass he’d been sniffing and trotted towards her. They were going inside, she determined, closing the heavy ancient door behind them and bolting it. One large key and two metal bolts made her feel a little better but, when she walked towards the window and saw that the van was still parked outside, she could feel her guts churn with fear.
‘Please go,’ she whispered. ‘Please!’
Tears sparkled in her eyes and she could feel she was heading towards a full-blown panic attack if she wasn’t careful. One Ear seemed to pick up on his mistress’s fear and shoved his wet nose into the palm of her hand and gave a little whimper.
‘I’m okay,’ she told him, but the big soulful eyes that looked up into hers told her that he didn’t believe her.
Orla really wasn’t expecting him to be there the next morning. But he was. Had he really spent the whole night in that van of his, or had he gone to a local bed and breakfast and come back at first light? Did he realise that he was trespassing and that she could call the police? Or maybe he innately knew that she wouldn’t want that sort of a fuss.
Some of the anxiety of the day before had left her now, to be replaced by anger. Anger that this man was making her feel threatened and forcing her to hide away. Well, she wasn’t going to have it.
‘Come on, One Ear,’ she called to the dog. He pricked up his one ear and followed her out of the great hall, down the spiral stairs to the ground floor. Orla grabbed one of her hats and pulled it over her head and popped a pair of dark sunglasses on. This man – whoever he was – wasn’t going to stop her from enjoying her morning walk.
She let herself out of a side door and then sneaked out of her garden via a gate in the wall. It led out onto a narrow footpath that went through the allotments. They were usually quiet so early in the morning, although there was somebody there now. An old man with a shock of white hair. He looked up and nodded and Orla nodded back briefly, sure that her hair was covering her face.
Head down, she crossed into a quiet country lane and then took a footpath which led to the sea. The beach was her special place, her sanctuary, the only place she really embraced other than the castle. Nobody disturbed her there. Not that they disturbed her at the castle, but there was something extra special about the beach. People went there to walk rather than talk. There seemed to be some unwritten rule about that. Anyway, she rarely saw anybody there. The beach was long enough to happily accommodate plenty of walkers, should they be there at the same time. Walkers who seemed content to do nothing more than nod a head in acknowledgement of a fellow walker if you happened to glance their way.
One Ear loved the beach and knew exactly where they were going, his pace picking up as the footpath slowly became sandy and the first breath of salt air filled their lungs.
Orla never tired of the first glimpse of the sea and stood for a moment and inhaled deeply. It was the best cure-all – a doctor of salt water and wind – who could heal you with a wintry blast or summery caress. The sea had a voice that changed with the seasons and the weathers. Its colours and the shapes of its waves were never the same either. Sometimes, Orla walked, head bent into the wind, unable to see anything other than her boots and the sand. At other times, she’d sit on a shingle bank and let her fingers sift through the stones and shells, causing tinkling avalanches in search of more treasure for the deep windowsills of the castle. Today, she walked. She needed to stride out and exorcise some of the pent-up angst she’d been carrying inside her ever since Luke Hansard had arrived. And so she let the voice of the sea drown out all the negative thoughts from her mind, the unrelenting pounding of the waves helping to
