The Pleasures of Spring

by Evie Hunter

  Maybe when she got settled, she could get a dog of her own. And a horse. And – she cut off that line of thought. First, she had to get away.

  This was the last time she would be here. She was never coming back. Closing the door behind her had a terrible finality and her breath caught in her throat.

  No, she would not cry. She was tougher than this. Squaring her shoulders, she tiptoed across the path onto the grass, in case her footsteps on the gravel would alert anyone in the house, and headed down the drive.

  Dawn was a blazing line across the horizon when she reached the road. She hitched her bag more securely over her shoulder and started walking. It was at least a mile further on when she heard a lorry behind her.

  On impulse, she stuck out her thumb.

  She had hitched before when she lived in England, but the web of motorways that crisscrossed the country had made it difficult and she had got out of the habit. To her astonishment, the lorry pulled up beside her and the passenger door opened.

  This driver was a stout man wearing mud splattered wellies and a tweed cap pulled over greying hair. ‘I’m going to Larne, is that any use to you?’

  His accent was so thick she could barely understand him, but she nodded and pulled herself up.

  The lorry was old and rickety and smelled of the hundreds of live chickens in the back, but the driver was grandfatherly and friendly. He chatted about the state of the economy, idiots who thought they could drive after they’d been drinking, the gobshites running the government, grandchildren who did all their letter writing via Facebook, and how rough the passage to Cairnryan was likely to be.

  He asked her about herself, but not in a nosy way. She always lied when people questioned her, but this time, she told the partial truth. ‘I had a fight with my boyfriend. I couldn’t bear staying there with his mother thinking we were getting married, when I knew we weren’t.’

  ‘Could you not give him another chance?’ he asked. ‘Couples fight all the time. You have to care about someone to fight with them.’

  She shook her head. ‘Too many things are against us. We have nothing in common. He’s rich and, as you can see,’ she gestured to her position in the cab of his lorry, ‘I’m not.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like a deal-breaker to me. Most women want to marry a man with a bit of money.’

  She laughed and even she could hear the bitterness in her voice. ‘Didn’t you ever hear the saying, “Anyone who marries for money earns every penny of it”? I don’t want to be Cinderella, always being reminded how poor I am.’

  ‘But Cinderella got the prince in the end, even when he knew she was penniless. Money isn’t the only thing that counts. Seems to me you’ve got looks and brains and courage. Does he?’

  Roz thought of Andy, his sculpted cheekbones and long, lean body, his razor-sharp intellect and the dark eyes that noticed everything. His readiness to throw himself into the line of fire to protect not just the people he loved, but also perfect strangers.

  ‘Yes, he does.’

  Andy was everything she had ever wanted. He was her knight in shining armour. Okay, the armour was slightly tarnished, but he was the man she wanted to have for her own. The man she loved.

  The man she was leaving forever.

  Despite her resolve, she sniffed and her eyes leaked. She grabbed a crumpled tissue from her pocket and scrubbed her cheeks fiercely. She was not going to cry. She was not.

  Wisely, the driver didn’t comment on her blotched, tear-stained face. Instead, he told her to look under the passenger seat.

  Gingerly she did, the state of the cab making her grateful for her gloves. In a brown paper bag was a small bottle of Bushmills whiskey. ‘It’s a single malt that I was keeping for after a visit to the mother-in-law, but I think you might need it more. Have a swig.’

  Roz wasn’t a drinker, and it wasn’t even noon, but to hell with it. She broke the seal and took a sip. The heat caught the back of her throat, and she coughed, before the honeyed tone soothed and warmed her.

  ‘Thanks, that helped a lot.’

  She re-corked the bottle and put it back under the seat. Today was going to be long and hard. She couldn’t afford to be drunk.

  They chatted as they drove. She didn’t offer her name, and he never told her his, but when he heard she was heading for Belfast, he changed direction so he could drop her at the ring road. ‘Young girls like you shouldn’t be hitching, you know. It’s dangerous,’ he told her sternly.

  Roz swallowed a laugh at the irony of that, and agreed meekly.

  When she jumped down and waved him on his way, she was sorry to part from him.

  Murray’s pawn shop in High Street was small but well positioned, and the guy manning the counter was polite. His eyes assessed her, noting the quality of her jacket and the cut of her jeans. ‘Good morning, what can I do for you today?’

  It was an effort to take the ring out of her pocket. She had known she would have to use it to get the sort of money she needed, but handing it over was a wrench that shook her.

  The pawn-broker whistled when he saw it. ‘You can barely see where the Titanic hit it.’

  Behind him on the wall was a poster advertising the Titanic Experience. Oh yes, she had forgotten the doomed liner had been built in Belfast. Clearly the city had not.

  ‘Do you have proof of ownership?’ he asked briskly. ‘I don’t handle anything stolen.’

  Roz pulled out the receipt she had taken from the desk in Andy’s room. It clearly described the ring, as well as showing how much it had cost.

  ‘You could sell this back to them, you know,’ he said.

  She shook her head. She had considered it, but was certain that the jewellers would have been on to Andy before she was out of the shop. ‘I don’t want to sell it. I’ll be redeeming it soon.’

  No, she wouldn’t, but she wasn’t going to admit it, or she would cry again. And she’d already cried more in the last week than in the previous ten years.

  ‘I can give you eight grand for it.’

  ‘Fifteen.’

  He shook his head. ‘Ten is my best offer.’

  She took it and headed for the train station. There was an Enterprise to Dublin leaving in twenty minutes and she intended to be on it.

  She exchanged her sterling notes for euros in a bank across the street from Connolly station and asked for directions to the bus depot. Busáras, an elderly woman corrected her as she pointed to a glass building near the station.

  By the time she got off the coach in Tullamore, Roz was stiff and lethargic. The journey had taken forever. She couldn’t wait to get back to her Ninja. She had never appreciated how easily she had got around on a motorbike until she had to depend on chicken lorries and trains.

  The film location machine was still there at the castle, and extras and crew milled around, but without Jack Winter on site the energy seemed to have gone out of it. The noise was less and the voices more subdued.

  Roz ducked back into the shelter of the dark forest near the castle as the wardrobe mistress and one of the catering staff walked past. She didn’t want to be recognized by anyone who might remember her.

  Frankie’s caravan was in the same position, far enough away from the others to make it easy to slip inside without being seen.

  ‘Hi, Frankie.’ The interior was dim and for a few moments, she couldn’t see him.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ His familiar voice warmed her, and she smiled until her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she was able to see him clearly.

  Frankie was stretched out on his narrow bed, on top of the covers. He was wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, usually a sight to gladden a female heart. But not now. His chest was covered with white bandages, and a sling supported his arm. One leg of his jeans had been ripped up to allow for the cast that covered his left foot.

  Almost worse was his face, which was cut and bruised beyond recognition. His normally neat beard was growing out, as it was impossible to keep it trimmed. But
he managed a smile for her.

  ‘Wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. How are you, pet?’

  She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but was terrified to touch him in case she injured him more. ‘Better than you, obviously.’

  She leaned over, balancing herself on the tiny table, and kissed him gently on the forehead. ‘You belong in hospital, you idiot.’

  He shook his head. ‘Hate the places. Full of sick people.’

  ‘And doctors who could fix you up.’ She kept her voice brisk, even though she was shocked at the sight of him.

  ‘There’s a doctor on location here, he looks in once a day,’ Frankie said.

  ‘Hospitals have pretty nurses too.’

  He grinned. ‘Nah, the ones in the local hospital weren’t worth staying in for. Besides, there are pretty girls here.’

  As he spoke, the door opened and Cheyenne put her head in. ‘Hi Frankie, I’ve got –’ She waved a bottle of beer at him, and broke off at the sight of Roz.

  ‘Don’t wave that, you’ll unsettle it.’ His words were laconic, but the light in his eyes at the sight of the actress gave Roz a clue about what was going on.

  Damn, it looked like nobody was going to have a happy ending. She was never going to see Andy again, and she couldn’t imagine any way that Frankie could have a long-term relationship with a Hollywood star.

  ‘What are you doing here, Roz?’ Cheyenne asked. ‘When you disappeared, they gave the job to someone else. But Frankie did collect your wages for you.’

  ‘I’m not back for my job, but the wages will be good,’ Roz said.

  She turned to Frankie. ‘You remember that idea you had? I’m in and good to go.’

  He nodded. ‘Cheyenne, could you get a bottle for Roz?’

  The actress looked from one to the other. ‘Why do I feel like the child being sent on an errand while the adults discuss something important?’ The hurt in her voice was obvious and made Roz feel wretched. But it was essential that as few people as possible knew what she planned.

  ‘Oh, never mind, I can see you’re not going to tell me.’ There was a distinct flounce in her step as she opened the door and got out. ‘I’ll leave you to talk about me.’

  ‘I swear, this has nothing to do with you, and I’ll tell you as soon as I can,’ Roz said, but she knew Cheyenne didn’t believe her.

  ‘Making friends all around then,’ Frankie said, sardonically. He scribbled something in a notebook and ripped out the sheet with the one beneath it. ‘That’s the farmer who owns Nagsy. I’ll give him a ring and tell him to expect you. The horse has gone back to him and you can pick him up as soon as you pay for him.’

  She nodded. ‘Thanks. I need to go off-grid for a while, but I’ll contact you as soon as I can. Don’t tell anyone, not even Cheyenne, anything about this.’

  ‘I won’t. Where were you staying since you went off with Andy?’

  Roz put the pages into her pocket. Front pocket, because it was harder to pick. She knew exactly how easy it was to take something out of a back pocket. ‘It’s safer if I don’t tell you. Remember, if you see Andy, you know nothing about where I am. I’ve ditched my phone but I have your number and I’ll text you when I have a new one.’

  She had tossed the phone into the back of the lorry full of chickens. Anyone tracking her that way would think she was in Scotland by now. ‘Until then, you can honestly say you know nothing.’

  ‘So who cares about honest?’

  She shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I’m getting tired of lying. It’s too much of an effort. I’ll be glad when this is over.’ She spotted the keys to her bike hanging on a hook and took them down. She kissed Frankie again. ‘Look after yourself. I need you in my life.’

  She was long gone before Cheyenne returned.

  30

  The dull ache in Andy’s leg woke him. Fuck it. He was too young to be getting old. But being shot did that to a guy, even if it was almost five years ago. Thank god the pain hadn’t affected his cock. He cupped the stiffening organ in his hand and opened his eyes. In the dim half-light of the bedroom he came fully awake. Something was wrong.

  There was no one else in the room.

  He rolled over. The empty pillow beside him confirmed his suspicions. He was missing a redhead. Idly, he stretched out his hand, but the cold sheet beside him made him sit up in the bed. Roz had been gone for a while.

  He sat up and reached for his watch. Almost 9am. Shit. Bounding out of bed, he pulled on a pair of sweat pants. Without bothering to hunt for a T-shirt or shoes, he hurried down the corridor, checking the bathroom on the way. No water in the tub, no residual scent of the lotions and potions that women were so fond of.

  The first hint of alarm pumped through his veins. He quickened his pace and, without bothering to knock, he entered her room. The bed was neatly made as if it hadn’t been slept in. That didn’t mean anything. Roz was almost compulsively tidy. She would have made her bed. Pulling open the wardrobe doors he scanned the contents. It contained the clothes he had bought for her in Belfast. She hadn’t packed for Paris yet. Maybe she wanted to go for a last ride before they left? If he hurried, he might be able to catch her.

  He returned to his room and dressed quickly. Grabbing his phone from the chipped antique dish on the dresser, Andy hurried downstairs.

  Maggie was already busy in the kitchen.

  ‘Have you seen Roz this morning?’ Andy hated that even as he strived for casual, he sounded anxious. Maggie wasn’t fooled for an instant.

  ‘No. The lads were here earlier but they didn’t mention seeing her. Had a row, did ye?’ Her knowing smile taunted him.

  Fuck, he didn’t have time for this. If Roz hadn’t gone riding, where was she?

  Something softened in Maggie’s face at his expression. ‘Better snap that one up while you can. She’s well able for you.’

  She was right. Roz was well able for him. She suited him more than any woman he had ever known. Despite the differences in their upbringing, she matched him in ways he had never expected.

  Andy made a quick trip to the stables. She wasn’t there, none of the lads had seen her and the horses were all accounted for, so she hadn’t gone out riding. Maybe she was with his mother.

  Unlike Dougal, Poppy survived on four or five hours’ sleep. Loath to disturb his father after a late night, he made his way to Poppy’s favourite haunts. The conservatory was empty. So was her studio. Her brushes and tools were cleaned and laid out for another day of work.

  On the way to his parents’ room, he breathed a sigh of relief when he met his mother in the hall, still wearing her dressing gown.

  ‘Wasn’t it a wonderful evening?’ she said. ‘And there’s a lovely photograph of Roz in the Belfast Telegraph.’

  Andy snatched the paper from her hands. On the front page, a smiling Roz was framed by the O’Sullivans. Fuck. He had warned her not to go to the ball. Niall would have a fit when he saw it.

  ‘Yes, Mum. But have you seen her this morning?’ He didn’t realize how desperate he sounded until he heard the words out loud.

  ‘No. I presumed she was sleeping. Are you two still arguing?’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he said, but his words sounded hollow.

  He had tied her up in the back of a car. Used sensual torture as a weapon and had never gotten around to talking to her and telling her the important things. That he loved her. That he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

  ‘You bloody asshole,’ he muttered under his breath as he turned and hurried down the stairs. He pulled his phone from his pocket and rang her.

  The number you have dialled is out of service. The user may be out of range or have the unit powered off.

  He shouldn’t have let her out of his sight. Could she have taken one of the cars?

  ‘Andrew,’ his mother called after him. ‘If you’ve upset that girl …’

  ‘It’s okay, Mum.’

  The garage contained its full complement of cars. No one had seen her.
She hadn’t eaten, gone riding or left the estate unless it was on foot. Or someone took her.

  Could Hall have tracked her to Lough Darra? The prospect was too awful to contemplate. The only thing he was sure of was that Roz was gone. He was willing to bet his favourite Glock on it.

  He was behind the wheel of the Jeep before he realized that he had no plan and that he had to file a report that he had lost his client. ‘Fuck fuck fuckety fuck.’

  He thumped his fist on the steering wheel. He had to talk to Niall and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

  Andy punched the number into his phone and a sleepy-voiced Reilly answered. ‘Bloody boggers,’ she snapped when she realized who was calling. ‘I didn’t get to bed ’til after four. Don’t you ever sleep?’

  ‘Roz is gone,’ he said starkly.

  ‘What do you need?’ Fully alert now, Reilly was already on the job.

  ‘A phone trace.’ He rattled off her number.

  For a few minutes, the sound of Reilly’s keyboard clicked over the phone. Andy tapped the steering wheel impatiently.

  Reilly yawned. ‘If this is right, she’s in the middle of the Irish Sea, somewhere between Ireland and Scotland.’

  Roz had taken the ferry? The devious wee bitch. Of course she would. She had no passport and she could have hopped a ferry easily. ‘Which one?’

  ‘Do I sound like a magician?’

  ‘Sorry, Reilly. Please. Pretty please.’

  Another yawn. ‘Hold on ’til I check.’

  More clicking on the keyboard. ‘Looks like the Larne to Cairnryan ferry. It’s not due in port for another two hours.’

  ‘Get someone up there. I want her picked up when she gets off that ship.’

  ‘Andy, there could be a hundred people on board, to say nothing of freight. Do you know what the big guy will do to me if I send a dozen guys up there?’

  Andy was beyond caring. ‘Send them. I’ll take the blame.’