Chapters (33)
- Cover
- BERKLEY TITLES BY LEXIE ELLIOTT
- Dedication
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- Readers Guide
- QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
I know it will be the bathroom door. I know that even if I go and close it, even if I test that it’s so tightly shut that I can’t force it open, only minutes later it will be thudding again. I sit and listen to it. Thud. Thud. Thud-thud. If Carrie was here, the Manse wouldn’t be clamoring for my attention in this way.
It’s a day for bold decisions. When Carrie comes back, I will tell her we should leave.
The phone in my hand suddenly rings again.
“Ailsa, I need to talk to you.”
“Ben?” I know it’s Ben—it says so on the screen—but it’s not the usual Ben. He sounds ragged and flustered, a far cry from his usual laid-back demeanor. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, but I need to talk to you.”
“Fire away.” Thud.
“No, I mean in person. I can’t do it now,” Ben says. “Fiona too. Will you be home tonight?”
“Uh, sure.” I pause. Thud. “Are you sure everything is okay?”
“Fine, of course, nothing to worry about. I just need to chat something through with you. I’ll come round later.”
Nothing to worry about? Really? “Wait—can we meet at the pub? It would be good to get out of the house.” The house I just got back into. The house I’ve just discovered I can’t stay in alone. I thought I could, but I was wrong.
“The Quaich? Yes, okay, fine. Six o’clock?”
“See you then.”
Six o’clock. I just have to survive the Manse until six o’clock.
• • •
The Quaich.
I dither over whether I should walk there or take the car—it’s not at all far, but the car would restrict me to one drink, and in my current far-from-balanced state, perhaps even one drink is too many. But in the end I leave early and decide to walk without analyzing the reason for that decision, admiring the play of the light on the heather, searching out the winking river at the bottom of the glen and feeling the chill breeze gradually win out over the diminishing strength of the evening sunlight. If I go back to London, I think, I should make sure I don’t work with Jonathan. And then I think, what is there for me in London now that I’ve cleaved myself from Jonathan? What is there for me here once Carrie’s play is over? What is there to tie me to any place at all?