Borrowed Moonlight
Page 8
The trees here were slim and slender birches that frayed out from the edges of Havoc Wood. Winn halted, her heart racing, and watched as the horse crossed the boundary. She was not going to follow it there. She did not trust horses, and she had been too recently reminded, by her dreadful tenant, Mrs Fyfe, of what happened when you wandered into Havoc.
Winn took a step back and, as she did so, heard the groan. It was a light sound, disorientated, female. Winn took a cautious step forward. Where had it come from? There, the edge of Havoc. She took another stalking step and the groan rose again accompanied by a small, frightened sob.
“Hello?” Winn wondered who might be more frightened. “Where are you?” Just ahead, breath caught and snagged, and a distraught sob followed. Movement. There. Winn picked her way carefully. “Hello? Hello?” She saw the young woman lying on the ground, her clothes torn at and grubby. “You fell off your horse. Not to worry.” Winn sounded cheery, but, as the young woman sat up, face bleary, hair a nest of ivy and dead bracken, she felt anxious. “Anything broken?” Winn halted about a foot away. The young woman sobbed a little, her thin arms wiping at her face.
“Where the fuck am I?” she whined.
16
Brewing
It had become a rather horrible game of hide and seek between them today. Charlie entered the brewhouse, and Michael Chance, within the fewest number of seconds possible, exited, heading off to hide in the office.
Charlie popped into the office. Michael was up and out of his seat and half way to the delivery yard.
Charlie let a few minutes elapse before she walked down to the delivery yard to test her theory.
After proving it, she hid in the workroom, closing the door on herself because she needed space, a small, enclosed space filled with herbs and glass phials and flasks and a whiff of alcohol. She wanted to push Michael Chance out of her head, to occupy the space with the deer, both the physical one she’d nearly run over last night and the dream one Emz had talked of.
They had compared notes on the porch, but neither was sure what to make of this synchronicity of incident. Here in the workroom, Charlie was no better off, her head rattling with thoughts about Aron and his absence last night and their recent closeness which had an edge to it that she didn’t want to consider.
There was a dusty mental carpet in Charlie’s head, and she was adept at hiding awkward or troubling thoughts and emotions beneath it. Not today. Aron. His face flickered in her head. His smile had been wrong that night at The Ark. The whole mood of that evening had been off kilter. There was also last night’s mystery. Where had he been so late? The blanks and holes of her Aron thoughts were matched by the strands of her Michael thoughts. He was avoiding her at all costs. The memory of the kiss they had shared to cure him of Mrs Fyfe’s Slow Poison should have signified something, shouldn’t it? She didn’t know what she’d expected in the aftermath. Did he even remember? The answer to that question was plain in the fear he breathed out. Focus, Charlotte Way, focus, she chided herself.
Tonight, Charlie and her sisters had a plan to head out and look for the deer and see what further mystery Havoc Wood was going to throw at them. If only Emz had dreamt of the horse and its travels.
Charlie was so deep in her thoughts that she almost leapt out of her chair when Aron opened the workroom door, his grin wide and warm, but his eyes above it troubled.
“I knocked.” He smiled, too hard, and brought his hand from behind his back. A vast bunch of roses, nothing so dull as red, instead a rich mauve purple Charlie loved. They were crowded into a metallic wrapper and clearly hand tied, expensive. She saw the fancy sticker from the Woodcastle florist, Mimosa, as he offered them.
“Big apology.” His smile shifted to make way for his serious face, but, Charlie saw, it was the fake-serious version. He was operating all his charm. She could see his brain working so hard it almost ruffled his perfectly groomed hair.
“Big, big pile of sorry with some really sorry on top.”
She would not take the bouquet, so he pushed it a little nearer to her face.
“I don’t blame you for switching your phone off.” He was slickly contrite.
“What?” She took the bouquet at last, as it became embarrassing.
“Your phone. It’s been off all day.” Aron smiled once again. Charlie reached into her pocket.
“Oh. Yeah. Right.” She did not switch it back on. “So, what happened last night?”
Charlie had a bet with herself, which was ironic as the bet involved Aron and his gambling buddies.
“I got tied up with Mr Herald.” Aron’s face ran through a catalogue of pained expressions. “That project he wants me in on, there were some investors in town last minute and I couldn’t get away.”
“Couldn’t text me?” Charlie pushed it.
“No phones in the meeting.”
Poker game, she snarled in her head, but said nothing, her head nodding, not in agreement, but to shake away the thoughts. Charlie knew when someone was lying, but it was an inexact and frustrating skill. This lie was oddly gilded with truth so she couldn’t break it apart. He had, she therefore deduced, got into some gambling with the investors at Mr Herald’s behest. She hoped it was Mr Herald’s cash they’d been raising and seeing.
“Let me make it up to you?” Aron’s face held a glimmer that Charlie did not like.
“What’s going on?” The question fell out of her mouth, and she witnessed the brief flinch of the muscle in his jaw.
“No hiding from you.” He breathed in deep. “It’s Herald. This is… this is so big, Chaz.” Aron wiped a palm over his chin and took a deep breath. “Like, massive. This is like ‘the’ project. Ride or die stuff. If I get properly in on this, I can be on Herald’s permanent team. This is me, made.” His grin was too bright. “Us.” He changed the wording. “This is us, made.” He did not reach out for her, was still, she could sense, uncertain of her. “This is our future.”
Charlie held his gaze for a moment. It was a face she had looked into so often. Once it had seemed a mirror to her own, the face of home and heart. As he folded her into his arms she held on tight.
“I will make it up to you. I promise.” He kissed her hair, his hands reaching, one around her waist, the other to the nape of her neck, his mouth finding hers. “When do you get off for lunch?” he asked.
It was a short drive to Knightstone and the Tower House Gardens. The café terrace looked out over Woodcastle, and, as Charlie sat in the window, she was struck by how beautiful it appeared. Havoc Wood had turned through its autumn colours, the trees still holding leaves. It stretched out, and she saw, in the far distance, the bare ridge of Yarl Hill and thought of Ailith and her new career, riding out as a TaskMistress. They had helped her, in the end. It was not all bad, if Charlie looked back over what they had done. It was alright to be afraid, their grandmother Hettie had often said.
Charlie could see her earnest face reflected in the glass and smiled to herself. Trust Grandma Hettie to send the right thought for the right time.
“Hey.” Aron sat down opposite to her. He looked smart and sexy in his suit. This grey flannel one was his favourite, made bespoke when he had earned a spectacular bonus last year as top salesman. Usually, he kept it for only the most special occasions. He put down the tray of tea.
“She’s bringing the food over, all freshly prepared and all that.” He winked.
Tower House Gardens had always been their place. As teenagers they had biked up here, sometimes with a picnic of thrown together sandwiches and packets of crisps. At other times, birthdays for instance, they had eaten in the café. It had always seemed so high end back then.
“So what is this deal with Ivan Herald?” Charlie asked as she poured the tea. Aron was loath to disturb the pretty logo on his latte and spent some seconds tapping the sugar sachet, thoughtful.
“Not sure how much I can say.” He was cagey, not looking at her, looking instead at the view outside.
“What?” s
he laughed. “I’m not the competition.”
“No. True.” He tore the sugar packet, tipped the grains to stall further.
“Sorry I asked.” Charlie felt uncomfortable. Was that his bespoke linen shirt too?
“No. No, don’t be. I’m just trying to think of a way to explain.” He smiled and looked out of the window, not at her. “It’s just big. You know Herald, he’s…”
“I don’t know him,” Charlie said. “I’ve met him once. It didn’t go very well.”
Aron gave a tight laugh.
“Actually you’ve met him twice,” he said with a cheeky raise of his eyebrows. Charlie was flustered for a moment.
“When?”
“Halloween. Last year. At Pandemonium.” Aron threw down the facts.
“I did not,” Charlie resisted. She remembered every detail of that terrible night. “I think I’d remember.”
“You weren’t introduced, as such. He saw you. At a distance.” Aron’s cheeky demeanour wavered. Charlie was feeling out of sorts. Anger burbled and poisoned her.
“You made an impression on him,” Aron laughed, growly and genuine. “I think it was those black wings you were wearing.” He grinned. “And then, of course, the other night when you jumped overboard.” He grinned wider. “He’s never met anyone like you.” His grin failed at last, too wide and stretched to be sustained. As it faltered, the waitress arrived with the food to rescue him.
They ate in silence for a few moments before Aron opened up.
“Herald wants to buy the old bonded warehouse on Tobacco Dock. Got massive, massive regeneration plans. Hotel. Casino. The fucking bollocks.” He paused to wipe at his mouth. “He’s got the Council in his wallet, pretty much. Just one or two that need persuading and, of course, price has to be right.”
Charlie understood his edge now. Aron had always had ambition.
“If it goes, Chaz…” He paused. “I don’t want to jinx stuff.” He laughed once more, and Charlie nodded.
“I get it. Say no more.”
They ate and chatted about nothing.
“Remember when we used to come up here all the time?” he asked. Charlie nodded. It had been on her mind during the whole conversation. “We should do that again, come up here more.” He was lighter now, the burdensome secrets of his business dealings lifted. “Why’d we stop?” He was puzzled, his face creasing with the question.
“We forgot it,” Charlie said. There was a beat between them. For a second Aron caught his breath and Charlie thought he might cry. It shook her.
“Don’t forget,” he said and reached for her hand.
17
Gold Digger
Aurora Foundling was not the most popular of residents in Woodcastle. Her business, the florists, Mimosa, on Church Lane, kept going for two reasons. The first was that people remembered her mother, Daisy Foundling, who had been a bit ditsy and now lived in a yurt in Wild Warton on the other side of Yarl Hill. The second was that Aurora had a natural talent for floristry. There was not a wreath for grief better woven than by Aurora. Many were the bouquets hand tied by her that had stolen or mended hearts or sparked romances. Her wedding flowers took people’s breath away. She could turn a venue from a bare and bleak marquee into a fairytale grotto with one snip of her secateurs.
But, by God, she was a diva.
The conservatory at the rear of the Castle Inn was undergoing something of a temporary event makeover. Lella had given instructions for a deep clean, though had not actually wielded brush, mop, or power washer herself.
Aurora Foundling had rolled up in her van and brought half a jungle with her. A very elegant jungle, that is.
“I’m not taking it in through here,” she snarled. “You’ll have to open the conservatory doors. I’ll go via the garden,” she ordered, surveying the low-slung interior of the Castle Inn, and so Anna had opened the conservatory doors and the beer garden gate.
“I need water. Fill that for me,” Aurora commanded, handing Anna a watering can with the Mimosa logo on it. Anna was reminded of Aurora at primary school in Charlie’s class. Her red hair had been plaited into a rope long enough for Rapunzel. Now that hair was a weapon to be swished and flounced and not argued with. It fizzed from her head with Pre-Raphaelite abundance and was, Anna thought, quite mesmerising.
“Did you hear me?” Aurora yapped. Anna took the can into the kitchen.
“How hot is it going to be in here?” Aurora asked with the tone of a general.
“Toasty,” Casey said as she finished putting out the glassware.
“Are you being sarcastic?” Aurora pinned Casey with a glare, or at least attempted to.
“Yes,” said Casey without blinking.
Aurora snapped and barked and organised the best ecosystem possible for the three arrangements of flowers and then left. Casey and Anna could not agree if her exit was a flounce or a huff.
“What is going on?” Casey asked.
“Business lunch.” Anna shared the tiny amount of information Lella had given when they had been discussing the menu.
Lella arrived back from her errands shortly afterwards, entering the kitchen as Casey and Anna prepped for the ‘business lunch’ and the general lunch for those people parched and starved by the tourist delights of Woodcastle.
They were shocked by her hair.
“It’s short.” Casey had no edit function on her thoughts. “Looks lush though,” she added as Lella fussed at the spikier edges.
“I needed a change.” Lella did not seem confident of this change.
“It’s a good change,” Anna assured her. “I might do the same.” Lella’s face looked lighter, lifted. Anna reached up to where her own scraggy bun was working loose.
“I need to look professional,” Lella justified the shearing.
“You do,” Casey reassured her.
“Right. So. We’re on schedule for lunch? No last minute hiccups?”
“Only if you drink the champagne too fast,” Casey joked.
“That’s not for pouring. That’s on standby. In case.” Lella looked flustered. “You didn’t put the flutes out, did you?”
“Yes I…”
“Well, go and fetch them back. The champagne is just in case.”
Casey headed to the conservatory to retrieve the glassware.
“What’s going on?” Anna asked. Lella fussed with her hair some more. She was looking out of the window to the car park beyond.
“Is that his car? Shit.” And, without another word, she was gone.
Anna did not take much notice of anything beyond her hob and worktop. Pans sizzled, herbs were chopped, and she lost herself in the business of feeding a party of aromatherapists, who had walked up from a conference at the Moot Hall, alongside the usual tourists from the castle.
Anna was humming to herself. Her heart felt, in spite of recent Gamekeeper uncertainties, lighter. It was the first time since the loss of her husband and son that she had felt not unhappy. She took in a deep breath and accepted the small step. She accepted the stress and anxiety of their new roles as Gamekeepers, too.
The kitchen door swung open. Anna turned, expecting Casey, but it was Lella accompanied by a dark-haired man in his mid-thirties and wearing an expensive looking suit.
“Oh. Sorry. I was expecting Casey. Hello.” Anna smiled and looked to Lella for introduction or explanation.
“This is the kitchen, obviously. This is Anna’s domain.” Lella made a sweeping hostess gesture.
“My compliments to the chef.” The man stepped forward with a warm smile and an offered hand. Anna shook it. At once her mind flickered with crowded images of black birds in flight, a rookery of feathers and beaks at once uplifting and distracting, before he let go of her hand. Anna’s composure did not alter one eyeblink.
“Lunch was delicious. You have skill.” His smile warmed further, like butter slicking over a hot pan. Anna nodded, grateful.
“Thank you.”
Lella opened her mouth to introduce the
m, but the man stepped in.
“I’m Ivan Herald. And you are… Emma, did you say?” His brow furrowed.
“Anna,” Anna corrected him. “Anna Way.”
“Anna Way? You’re not by chance one of Charlotte’s sisters?”
Anna, unused to thinking of Charlie with her full and formal first name, had to think for a moment.
“Charlotte? Oh. Yes. Yes.” She wondered how Charlie knew him. Brewery connection, possibly?
“I’ve met her through Aron Thorne,” Ivan Herald clarified. “One of my business associates. She was at a dinner recently at The Ark.” He gave what Anna could only read as an amused smirk. “She’s an interesting young woman.”
“Yes.” It was Anna’s only comeback. The rooks from his head clattered once more around her own and cloaked all thought.
“Right. So shall we head upstairs?” Lella brightened her smile by several kilowatts.
Anna brewed tea, and her thoughts drifted to Charlie returning home having jumped ship the other night. It must have been quite an occasion, not just, Anna reasoned, because of the venue, but also the guest list. She had no idea who Ivan Herald was, but his suit and demeanour suggested power, and he was linked to Aron. Ambitious, greedy Aron.
“Lella’s selling up.” Casey’s doom-laden voice broke in on Anna’s thoughts.
“What?” Anna was bewildered. What had Casey just said?
“Obvious.”
“To you maybe. What is so obvious?”
Casey rolled her eyes.
“All this… This swanky business lunch.” Casey swept her arm round. “The Grand Tour of the premises. Lella’s showing him around, viewing the property.” Casey reached for the cake tin and took out a consolatory wedge of yesterday’s coffee and walnut cake. “Plus, he is Ivan bloody Herald.”