It was easy for time to pass when she was photographing and, although Orla didn’t completely forget about the fear she’d felt in the night, her pretty china collection at least helped to alleviate those fears.
A couple of hours slipped by and Orla went through to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. One Ear looked up from his basket.
‘You want outside?’ she asked him, and he got up, stretching his long front legs and yawning. ‘Come on, then.’
Orla took him down to the back door and unlocked it. The morning air was cooler than she’d thought and her limbs felt suddenly chilled. If she remembered rightly, she’d left a jumper in the great chamber. She looked at where One Ear was sniffing and, not wanting to rush him, she returned inside for her jumper. It always amazed her how cold a summer morning could be, only for the mists to lift and the sun to rise and the day to be a scorcher later on. It was one of the magical things about summer, she was thinking, as she found her jumper and pulled it on.
And that’s when she became aware that something wasn’t quite right. There was a strange sort of tension in the air and the faintest scent of something she didn’t recognise. It smelled like – what was it? Something fresh and spicy. Orla inhaled, looking around the room as if she might spot something alien there. Perhaps Luke had picked some flowers from the garden she didn’t recognise the scent of. She couldn’t see any.
Something told her it wasn’t flowers. Her skin had broken out in gooseflesh.
She wasn’t alone, was she?
Some kind of primitive instinct told her that he was there – right with her – in the castle. She’d only left the door open for the briefest time and One Ear was patrolling the gardens. But that hadn’t made any difference. He’d found his way inside, hadn’t he?
Knowing he was there before turning around to face the door once more, Orla could feel her heart begin to race.
‘I had to see you,’ he said.
Her mouth went dry.
‘Orla? Look at me! Please look at me! I’ve missed you so much.’
Slowly, very slowly, she turned around to face him.
‘Why do you hide away like this when you’re still so beautiful?’ he asked, moving forward an inch.
Orla backed away, noticing that his hair looked unwashed and his clothes looked dirty, as if he’d been roughing it. Roughing it in her garden, she thought. She’d been right to be paranoid; there really had been someone watching her home all night, hadn’t there? And when she’d left the door open for One Ear, he’d taken his chance to invade her privacy, leaving One Ear out in the garden and her trapped inside with him.
‘I didn’t know what to do, Orla. There were rumours of you leaving London and I tried to find you.’
His thin face was pale and his eyes had a brightness to them which Orla found disturbing. Perhaps because they were fixed on her so resolutely. She thought of screaming to Luke for help, but she couldn’t utter a single sound at that moment. Instead, she watched as he moved towards her in some dreadful kind of slow-motion effect.
‘How are you? You look well. I mean, considering what happened to you. That was horrible, Orla.’
She flinched at the way he used her name so familiarly – as if they were friends and he had a right to be there in the middle of her home.
‘Don’t!’ she said at last, finding her voice, even though it was more of a squeak.
‘What?’ Brandon asked, holding his hands up. ‘Don’t be scared. I don’t mean to scare you. I never meant to scare you. I don’t know why you thought I might. Or was it the people around you telling lies about me?’ He shook his head, suddenly looking angry. ‘I only ever wanted to be with you. I’d never hurt you. Not like the person who did that to you.’ He motioned to her face and Orla felt tears of rage surging. She couldn’t bear to be in the same room as this man. This man who kept coming towards her, and kept using her name in that silky, slimy way.
‘I’d have killed that person, Orla. I’d have killed them for you.’
Orla looked behind her in desperation and saw something on one of the deep windowsills – something heavy and close by that she could use. She grabbed it. It was a large Victorian wash jug in a pink lustre. She loved it, but she didn’t mind using it as a weapon if it kept Brandon away from her.
‘Stand back!’ she cried at him now.
‘What? Or you’ll throw that jug at me?’ He laughed. ‘Let’s not fight any more. I just want to talk. To be with you.’
She frowned in horror at his intimacy.
‘I want you to leave.’
‘No, you don’t – not really. You just need to give us a chance, that’s all. You need to get to know me. I’m a good person and I’ll protect you from anyone who really wants to hurt you. I’ll be good for you.’
Orla stared at him in disbelief. How could he not see that he was scaring her and that she perceived him to be one of the very people who did hurt her?
‘Get out!’ she shouted, finding a mote of inner strength at last. ‘Or I’ll call the police.’
He shook his head. ‘You called the police last time, didn’t you? I thought you might. That’s why I didn’t hang around. But I’ll always come back. I’ll always be there for you, Orla.’
It was more than she could take and, screaming as loudly as she could, she launched the large china jug at him, hitting him squarely in the chest. He fell
