Len rolled his eyes. “This is like the bloody Love Boat, with Alastair as our fearless captain and Lisa the cruise director.”
“Who am I?” Brittany asked as she walked in, bringing two more bottles of wine.
“You are the underage siren who can lure a man to his doom,” Len replied without missing a beat.
Brittany seemed to like that answer and poured him way more wine than she should have. Len was halfway drunk already, and his behavior was beginning to grate on me. Yvonne held out her glass, downing half the wine as soon as it was poured.
I was relieved when Lisa came in to clear away the dishes. “Well, goodnight everyone,” I said, deciding I’d had enough.
“Won’t you stay for dessert?” Lisa asked. “Alastair made vanilla crème brûlée with raspberry coulis.”
“Thank you, but I think I’ll pass,” I replied apologetically. I didn’t really care for crème brûlée and was exceedingly grateful Alastair hadn’t made sticky toffee pudding or chocolate mousse. Then I would have had to stay.
Back in my room, I put a match to the fire that had been laid in the grate and curled up in an armchair. I needed some quiet time to process what I’d learned at the Green Man. I found it odd that Jack and Hugh couldn’t agree on several important points. Generally, stories evolved over time until a much-embellished version became what people believed to be the true sequence of events. Hugh and Jack did agree on the accusation of witchcraft and the sentence, though, which I supposed was what mattered, as well as the belief that Alys Bailey still haunted Lockwood Hall. There would have to have been numerous sightings over the centuries for the story to keep circulating after all this time. I turned my head and peered into the shadowy corner behind the wardrobe, almost expecting to see Alys standing by, summoned forth by my curiosity.
Turning back to the mesmerizing glow of the leaping flames, I contemplated the next step. I looked forward to speaking with Jonah Hargreaves. Surely he’d have something more concrete to share with me if he’d dedicated his life to local lore, as Hugh and Jack had promised. I’d call St. Paul’s tomorrow morning and see if I could make an appointment. Kyle had said he’d make himself available to drive me, and I looked forward to our outing, despite the obnoxious comments we’d had to endure during dinner. Even if Kyle and I had decided to pull over in some secluded spot and shag each other’s brains out, it was no one’s business but our own, I decided, still feeling defensive. My cheeks suddenly felt warm, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t from the heat of the blaze.
Kyle’s eagerness to come along actually gave me pause. As a writer, I always had to ask myself what my character’s motivation was, and I couldn’t quite understand Kyle’s. Was he helping me because he fancied me, or was he looking for an excuse to get away from the house? I sensed veiled tension between him and Len and wondered why they’d decided to come on the retreat together, not that it was any of my business. People remained friends with their schoolmates for odd reasons. Sometimes the relationship was based on shared history, other times a genuine bond and common interests. But more often, I found that deep undercurrents flowed beneath the still waters of long friendships, and they often came close to drowning those who waded in too deep.
I stared into the fire, my face still warm, the image of Kyle and me not quite expunged from my brain. Did Kyle fancy me? I did find him attractive and fun to be with, but my ability to trust had been undermined, and at this point, I’d be looking for ulterior motives in any man I met. I supposed most people who’d been disillusioned would. I had been with Drew for nearly seven years. We had been introduced by a mutual friend and hit it off immediately, moving in together a mere two months after our first date. I’d thought I’d won the lottery. Drew was everything I’d wanted in a man. He was handsome, charming, successful, but most of all, comfortable in his own skin. He wasn’t the type who needed to be the alpha male. He wasn’t an attention seeker, nor did he feel threatened by my successes. He was supportive and kind, always lifting me up when I gave in to self-doubt.
The years had gone by, and I’d begun to wonder if our relationship would ever move to the next level. I was past thirty and beginning to think about starting a family. My mum had tried to be tactful, but she did ask about our future plans every time she came down to London and we spent the day together and then treated ourselves to posh tea. That was tradition. Mum never used phrases like “You’re not getting any younger” or “Why should he buy the cow when he’s getting free milk?” as my grandmother would have said had she still been alive, but I could see she was growing concerned.
“Do you not like Drew?” I’d asked the last time we went out before she got sick.
“I do, but I fear he’s grown too comfortable,” Mum said.
“How so?”
“Does he contribute to the mortgage payments?” she asked. We’d never really discussed my financial situation before, but it was a legitimate question, although not one I really wanted to answer.
“No. It’s my flat, so I pay the mortgage.”
“But he’s lived there for more than five years,” Mum pointed out.
“I know, but he contributes in other ways. He pays the utilities, and we split other expenses.”
“Like flatmates,” Mum said.
“We are flatmates, Mum.”
“No, you’re a couple, darling. There’s a difference.”
“What are you saying?” I asked, my unease
