Then, as he’d got ready to leave for the horticultural club meeting the next day, she’d walked with him to the door.
‘After you come back, we can talk then,’ she’d said, her face pale and anxious.
‘Okay,’ he’d told her.
He’d left for the meeting feeling utterly frustrated. How was he meant to concentrate on herbs with Orla’s promised revelation hanging over him?
Now, as Bill talked about the medicinal and culinary uses of herbs, Luke’s gaze drifted over the assembly. These, he thought, were Orla’s neighbours. Good, kind people whom she didn’t know at all. He smiled as he glanced around Bill and Margy’s living room. It was a cosy space with two small sofas and a couple of armchairs. Their Jack Russell was asleep on Bill’s knee as he talked and Margy’s knitting needles hadn’t stopped since the meeting had begun, but Luke hadn’t taken very much in at all. At the end, everyone started rummaging in bags and pockets and Luke wondered if a collection was being taken, but he soon discovered that it was a seed swap. And then it was time to go. Luke was glad but didn’t want to seem in a rush to leave and so hung back.
‘So, what did you think?’ Bill asked once the last guest had left.
‘Good! I never knew there was so much to learn about herbs.’
Bill chuckled. ‘Tempted to grow some yourself?’
‘Well, I’ll do my best to recognise the few we’ve got in our garden at home,’ Luke said, and then flinched. Our garden. Only it wasn’t any more, was it? It was his garden. How suddenly such moments ambushed you. He wasn’t sure if Bill had caught the fleeting moment, but he laid his hand on Luke’s shoulder.
‘I’m glad you came. And I hope it goes well with Miss Kendrick.’
‘Thanks. Me too.’
They shook hands before Luke left Oyster Cottage for the short walk back through Lorford to the castle. The sky was an inky indigo now, studded with stars, and the uninterrupted view of it above the castle’s turrets was mesmeric. Luke took a moment to drink it all in and then he climbed the steps and rang the bell.
Orla had watched as Luke left the castle without her, a part of her crying out to go with him – that tiny part she’d tucked so deeply away from everybody because she was afraid, if she showed it, she would be hurt again. But it was there all the same; she’d just been so afraid to acknowledge it.
She felt terrible about having thrown him out and hoped she’d gone some way to regaining his trust. Then again, there was a part of her that was still upset at him having betrayed her trust. He’d been her guest for such a short space of time and was trying to implement major changes in her life. That, she believed, wasn’t fair. She’d let him into her home, but he had no right forcing such massive life changes upon her. He had no idea how she felt about being around people – any kind of people – let alone strangers. Well, perhaps he’d have a better understanding when she told him about what had happened to her.
But, as the clock slowly ticked around, Orla began to feel her courage slipping away from her. Was she really ready for this? She wasn’t at all sure. She’d never spoken about it to anyone other than her mother. Her friends and colleagues had only ever been informed; they’d never been contacted by Orla directly. She hadn’t been able to do it. She’d quietly withdrawn from her life, slipping deeper and deeper into herself.
Looking out of the window as the summer sky deepened from a pale turquoise to a deep indigo, she found her way towards a dark oak cabinet in the great hall, her hand hovering over the little latch that kept it closed. It had been closed for months now, but she needed to open it tonight. Taking a deep breath, she lifted the latch, opened the door and reached inside, her hand settling on the cool neck of a bottle of wine.
Just one glass, she promised herself. One glass to help ease her into things, to gently smooth the passage to her recent past. That would be all she’d need.
By the time she heard the bell ring at the front door, Orla was feeling softer, gentler. Luke seemed to notice straight away and watched her as they walked into the great hall together, One Ear between them.
‘Orla, have you been drinking?’
‘Just a couple of glasses of wine,’ she told him. At least, she thought it was two. But maybe it was three. Or four.
She noticed him clocking the wine bottle on the coffee table. Yes, Orla thought, it looked as if more than a couple of glasses had been drunk.
‘Can I get you a glass?’
‘Please.’ He watched as she poured him a glass and then she topped up her own. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Of course.’ She didn’t look up at him. She couldn’t bear to see those curious eyes gazing at her.
‘Because we don’t have to do this, you know.’
‘Yes, we do,’ she told him. ‘I feel I should. You’ve shared with me and now I should share with you, and . . . it’s time. I feel it’s time.’
She took a moment, aware that she was beginning to feel a little warm but, whether it was the wine or the knowledge of what she was about to reveal to Luke, she couldn’t be sure.
‘All right, then,’ Luke said.
Orla nodded. It was the strangest conviction, but she did – at last – feel ready to be rid of the burden of carrying this great hurt around.
They sat on the sofa together with One Ear lying down by his mistress’s feet as if in support
