‘He’s just had his breakfast. You spoil that dog, you do.’
‘He deserves it. Don’t forget the state he was in when we first saw him.’
Instant tears sprang in Margy’s eyes. ‘How could anyone do that to an animal?’
Bill shook his head. It had been a year since they’d rehomed the terrier and Bill still felt the same raw rage he’d felt when he’d seen the little bag of bones and been told the story of the abusive owner. The dog hadn’t even been given a name. Bill had quickly come up with Bosun because the new arrival was soon running their home as if he were captaining a ship, and Bill and Margy were only too happy to be his obliging crew.
‘He’ll never know anything but love from now on,’ Bill promised.
As if he knew he was being talked about, Bosun rolled onto his back on Bill’s lap, his furry belly fully presented to his master.
‘Your trousers, Bill! Really – you shouldn’t let him roll all over you like that.’
Bill laughed. ‘What’s a bit of fur between friends?’
Margy picked up her knitting again. ‘So, tell me what it’s like, then.’
‘What’s what like?’
‘The castle, silly!’
Bill puffed out his cheeks. ‘I barely noticed.’
‘Oh, you’re such a man!’
‘What? I was trying to help that fella, wasn’t I?’
‘Yes, but a woman would have done that and been able to tell you what all the rooms looked like.’
‘No doubt,’ he said, giving Bosun’s tummy one final rub before popping him down on the floor and standing up.
‘You going out again?’
‘Just to the allotment.’
‘Take your mobile. I don’t want you late back for lunch like you always are when you go up there.’
Bill suddenly recalled something. ‘I gave Miss Kendrick our phone numbers. My mobile and the house.’
For the second time that morning, Margy’s knitting fell into her lap. ‘Did you?’
‘Seemed the right thing to do. You know – if there’s trouble with that fella.’ Bill shrugged. ‘Don’t worry. I don’t think she’s the sort to actually call. But I felt better offering her help in case she needed it.’
‘You’re a good man.’
Bill winked at her. ‘Fancy a couple of fat cabbages?’
Margy smiled. ‘You sure know how to spoil a girl.’
It was three in the afternoon when Luke finally surfaced. Orla put down her paperback and looked up as he entered the great hall.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Good,’ he told her. ‘I didn’t realise how tired I was. I guess I slept pretty badly in the van last night.’
‘You feel stronger now?’ she asked him.
‘I do, thanks.’
‘I thought you might want something to eat.’
‘Oh, well – I don’t want you to go to any trouble.’
‘It’s no trouble. It’s as easy to make two bowls of soup as it is one.’
She led him through to the kitchen and motioned to the square table in the middle and he pulled out a chair. Orla got to work, warming the soup up and fetching two bowls from a cupboard. She laid the table and toasted some bread. Then, when everything was ready, she served the soup and sat down next to Luke.
‘This is really good,’ Luke said a moment later.
‘Thank you. It’s mostly produce from the garden.’
‘You made it?’
‘Yes.’
‘You could go into business.’
She smiled at the compliment.
‘Do you mind me asking what you do – I mean, for a living?’
‘Yes.’
Luke frowned. ‘You do mind?’
Orla was gazing down into her soup. ‘I’m retired.’
‘Oh, right,’ Luke said. ‘I didn’t mean to pry. I’m just curious. I’m a builder. I repair old buildings.’
‘Like castles?’
‘Nothing so impressive, I’m afraid. Mostly regular homes. Quite a few historic ones. Some date back to the fourteenth or fifteenth centuries.’
‘And that’s in Kent?’
‘That’s right, but I work right across Sussex and Surrey too.’
‘I used to love Helen’s photos of the Kent countryside,’ Orla said, and then bit her lip, unsure if she should have mentioned his wife. ‘Luke? I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you before. I feel awful for not opening the door now. But – well – I don’t have any visitors.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘And the beach – I’m sorry I ran away like that.’
He shook his head. ‘You don’t need to apologise.’
‘Perhaps we can talk about Helen later.’
‘Yes. I’d like that,’ he said, as something strange started to happen. Luke’s spoon was knocking the side of his bowl as if it had a life of its own.
‘Luke?’
On it went, as if he were a manic drummer.
Orla reached out and put her hand on his.
‘Do you want to rest some more?’ she asked him gently.
He didn’t answer at first but, when he glanced up at her, he shook his head. ‘I’m fine,’ he said.
‘Okay.’ Orla removed her hand and Luke continued to eat his soup. His hand was no longer shaking.
They finished their meal in silence and then Luke got up and took the empty bowls from the table.
‘You don’t need to do that,’ Orla told him.
‘It’s the least I can do.’
Orla watched as he tidied up. His body looked tense, but his face was passive and unreadable. She wanted to help. It wasn’t natural for her to have somebody help her around the house; it made her feel uncomfortable. But he obviously felt uncomfortable not helping and so she left him to it.
She wasn’t used to having somebody sharing her home, but this situation had been forced upon both of them against their will and had come about so strangely that she had to overcome her fears and get on with things.
‘There,’ he said a little while later. ‘All done.’
‘Thank you. Can I get you a tea or coffee or something?’
Luke shook his head. ‘I’m off caffeine. It’s been wrecking my sleep.’
Orla wasn’t convinced that caffeine was to blame for Luke’s disturbed
