Her face was devoid of color. Either she’d received a terrible shock or was about to deliver one. “Jack. Where have you been? Goodness, the pair of you are soaked! I’d suggest you go and dry off, but we need to talk.”

“Later.” Jack was already striding past her toward the Lodge. “I need to find Izzy.”

Clare reached out and caught his arm, her grip so tight her fingers whitened. “It’s important, Jack.”

“If it’s about Izzy then I already—”

“It’s about Becca.”

The air left Flora’s lungs in a rush. Clare wanted to talk about Becca?

Now what?

20

Clare

This was the conversation she’d been dreading. The conversation she’d decided not to have. But it seemed she was having it anyway. The last hour with Izzy had convinced her of that, although deep down she’d known for a while that this moment would come.

They went to the boathouse, scene of so many intimate and private conversations.

She grabbed a towel from the bathroom and threw it at Jack, wondering what he and Flora had been talking about that was too important for them to seek shelter.

He rubbed his hair, draped the towel around his shoulders to absorb some of the water in his shirt and then surprised her by pulling two glasses out of the cupboard along with a bottle of malt whiskey.

He set it on the table outside on the deck and for a moment she wondered if he’d misunderstood. Did he think this was social? Two old friends catching up?

“I had no idea we had whisky here. Where did that come from?” She sat down, hands in her lap to hide her nerves, wishing she’d taken the time to change and apply some makeup. She didn’t feel together and for a conversation as important as this one she needed to feel together.

“It was left by your previous occupants. Todd and I discovered it a few days ago.”

“James and Alysson McGuivan.” They’d booked a few days on their way from Scotland to London. They’d paid the going rate without a whimper of protest and left the place as pristine as it had been when they’d first moved in. She wished all the people who rented it were as thoughtful.

“Well the McGuivans had excellent taste in malt whiskey and were generous enough to share the love. Perfect for emergencies.”

“What makes you think this is an emergency?”

“The look on your face.” He sloshed whiskey into both glasses. “Drink, Clare.”

Without even bothering to sit down, he knocked it back.