The Pleasures of Spring

by Evie Hunter

  ‘On your head be it. I’ll call you back when I have their report.’

  Andy disconnected the call. If Roz was on the way to Scotland, there was nothing he could do until she got there. The team would pick her up for her own protection. Damn it. Why had she run? Why had she disappeared in the middle of the night without talking to him?

  He replayed the events of the previous evening in his mind, analysing every word, every gesture. She had been angry about the photograph, jealous even, but they had made up. Hadn’t they? The physical connection between them was off the scale. He had never known anyone like her. Okay, she was the worst submissive in the world. She fought him every inch of the way, but, god, she was worth the battle.

  Andy glanced at his watch. He couldn’t hang around here waiting for news. It would drive him crazy. He made his way back to the house. Maybe he could go for a run about the estate.

  Ninety minutes later, he was out of breath and sweating. The run had turned into a search of the back roads and ditches. His imagination produced ever worsening scenarios. Was she alone or with Hall? Was she even on the damned ship at all?

  He took a quick shower and while he was changing a tap came on the bedroom door.

  ‘Andy?’ Poppy’s voice came from the corridor outside. ‘We have visitors. Can you come down?’

  He was stuck here. He could do nothing until the team from Scotland reported in. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. They were meant to be together. He would find her. This was no more than a bump in the road. They would look back on it and laugh at how foolish they had both been. Over the fireplace the ancient family crest mocked him. Non Oblitus. Not forgetful.

  He couldn’t forget her. Roz was emblazoned on his soul like a brand and he wouldn’t give up trying until he found her.

  ‘Andy.’ His mother called again.

  ‘Coming, Mum.’

  Downstairs in the library, the fire was already blazing and Maggie was serving coffee to his parents and their visitors, Claudine Blé and Anton Fox. In a pair of slim-fitting pants and a fine wool sweater, Claudine was sexy in an understated way that Frenchwomen did so well. Her companion was wearing pale pants and a loud tweed jacket which made him look like a well-dressed pimp.

  ‘Fox.’ Andy nodded a greeting before kissing Claudine on both cheeks.

  ‘Monsieur Campbell McTavish promised us a tour of the stables and some riding.’ Claudine smiled with delight at the prospect.

  ‘I’m not sure that I’ll accompany you on the ride,’ Fox drawled. ‘I was looking forward to becoming reacquainted with your lovely companion.’

  ‘Isn’t it a small world,’ Poppy said before taking another sip of her coffee. ‘Mr Fox knew Roz when she worked in Paris.’

  Worked in Paris? The knowing smirk on his face made Andy itch to punch him.

  ‘And New York,’ Fox added. ‘Our gal certainly gets around, doesn’t she?’

  His parents were oblivious to the undertone in Fox’s voice, but Andy wasn’t. Was this miserable excuse for a man the reason why Roz was upset last night? Had he been baiting her all evening? Andy fought back the urge to throttle the oily bastard.

  Dougal set down his cup. ‘If we’re all finished, why don’t we go to the stables?’

  ‘Tell Roz I’ll see her when she comes in from riding,’ Poppy said before she returned to her painting. Andy followed Claudine and his father to the yard without telling his mother anything different.

  The Frenchwoman had a keen eye for horses and was determined to take his father up on his offer. While she mounted a lively hunter, Fox hung back, clearly nervous.

  ‘Will you join us, Mr Fox?’ his father asked politely.

  ‘No, thanks, you go ahead.’

  They watched as the others left the yard and headed for the fields. ‘Claudine’s got a great ass,’ Fox remarked. ‘Speaking of which, where is Red?’

  Oblivious to the impending danger, he continued to stare at Claudine’s departing figure. ‘What kind of money does Red charge for a long term gig like this? Now that I’m based in Europe I might be interested in –’

  ‘Don’t call her Red.’

  Fox stilled at the curt tone. ‘There’s no need to be like that. Red is a hot little number. I’d be happy to take her on when you’ve finished with her.’

  The McTavishes weren’t generally known for killing their guests but Andy was willing to make an exception. If this was what Roz had to put up with all night, no wonder she had disappeared. Fox might not have driven her away from him, but his boorish behaviour had certainly encouraged her to run.

  Andy glanced around him. There were too many lads around the yard. He needed a bit more privacy if he was going to tear him apart, limb from limb. An open stable door beckoned. ‘Why don’t we finish the tour?’

  He propelled an unwilling Fox through the doorway and into the dim space beyond. ‘Take off your jacket.’

  ‘Why?’ Fox asked, slowly realizing that he might be in trouble.

  ‘Because I’m going to beat the crap out of you and Claudine might notice that you’ve been playing in the dirt.’

  ‘You’re going to fight me? Because of some little –’

  Andy grabbed him by the jacket and slammed him up against the wall. ‘Do not finish that sentence,’ he warned Fox, then let him go.

  The other man sneered at him. ‘Don’t take on more than you can chew. I was on the college boxing team.’ Andy stood back while Fox removed his jacket and hung it on a hook. He assumed a boxing stance, knees bent, fists raised in front of him.

  Jesus wept. He wouldn’t last two seconds against a Ranger. Trying to rein in his rising temper, Andy kept his arms loosely at his sides. ‘What did you say to Roz last night? Did you insult her?’

  His opponent’s face creased in a frown and then he shook his head. ‘You can’t insult a whore.’

  Andy lunged, sending them both to the ground. Fox gasped as the air was driven from his lungs. Boxing champion, my ass. The idiot couldn’t defend himself against a five year old. Fox swung his fist wildly towards Andy’s head and Andy rolled off him, landing in a pile of straw.

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’ His opponent struggled to a sitting position and brushed the straw from his pants. ‘I wanted a bit of fun but Red ignored me. She was busy playing lady of the manor, chatting about buying horses with that airline guy.’

  O’Sullivan. Was he the reason that Roz had left? Andy climbed to his feet.

  ‘Then his mom joined in with some talk about weddings and Red got up and left.’

  ‘And that was it? You didn’t say anything to her.’

  Fox’s eyes narrowed. ‘I might have teased her a little, but she wasn’t up for it. Why don’t you go ask Red? She’ll tell you.’

  Andy reached down and pulled the other man to his feet by his shirt collar before slamming him against the wall. His face turned purple as the collar bit into his neck, and a choking sound emerged.

  Andy’s heart pounded. He wanted to kill him. Between the O’Sullivans and Fox, they had pushed her too far, convinced her that she couldn’t stay. He leaned forwards until they were face to face and he could see the nervous tic that fluttered beneath Fox’s right eye. Outside, the sound of horses whinnying brought him back to reality

  ‘Listen to me, and listen well. Don’t ever call her Red.’

  Fox raised his hands in surrender. Andy released him and brushed the dust from his hands. The man was a sleazebag and an idiot, but that was no reason to kill him.

  Fox coughed, leaning against the wall for support as he dragged several gasping breaths back into his lungs. ‘Okay, you’ve got something going on with her. I get it. I get it.’

  Andy took the jacket from the hook and tossed it at him. ‘And now that I have your complete attention, there’s one last thing. You can tell your friends and anyone else she’s played with that Red has retired. She’s mine and I won’t ever be finished with her.’

  Andy left Fox to catch his breath and hurried back
to the house. He had left his phone on the bed and Reilly had promised to call him.

  Two missed calls. One less than ten minutes ago. He punched in Reilly’s number.

  ‘Reilly, do you have news?’

  ‘Oh yeah, I have news. Niall is on the warpath because you lost a client and I sent a dozen operatives to search for a phone in a chicken truck.’

  ‘Roz?’ he asked hopefully.

  ‘Your bird flew the coop long before the driver boarded the ferry.’

  Andy closed his eyes. He’d been hoping that they would find her in Scotland. He should have known better.

  ‘Two of the guys spoke to the driver. They said he was a nice old man. He told them that he dropped her at the ring road near Belfast. The girl he gave a lift to was pretty upset. She was crying over some guy who had broken her heart. He offered to beat some sense into him.’

  She paused. ‘Want me to give him your address?’

  He was almost tempted to say yes. ‘Thanks, Reilly. I owe you one. Can you run the usual checks? Hotels, car hire, credit cards?’

  ‘I’m already on it.’

  Andy disconnected the call. He needed to think. Relief that she hadn’t been taken by Hall mingled with regret that she had chosen to walk away from him. He had spent the whole day blaming everyone else for her disappearance when it was his fault. Oh yeah, the others had helped, there was no doubt about that, but the blame was entirely his. He wanted to howl like a beast.

  What had made her run? Was it the thought of Paris and the trial? Had she been afraid of what Hall might do to her? Why hadn’t she confided in him?

  She didn’t get much of a chance, did she? A nagging voice inside his head taunted him.

  This was more than Roz being jealous about a stupid photograph. He had abandoned her to work on another job. His face had been plastered all over the media with Abbie Marshall and then he had used her own body against her, instead of talking to her and dealing with her uncertainties. How could he have been so blind? He had handled her all wrong. Roz had never been able to lean on any man. Why had he imagined that she could learn to trust someone like him?

  He should have talked to her, instead he had fucked her. Like every other deadbeat guy in her life. How could he make her believe that he was different? He didn’t care about her past. Roz wasn’t the only one who had done things that they were ashamed of. What mattered was the future. He was certain they belonged together, but he had to convince Roz.

  And first he had to find her.

  Andy grabbed the keys to the Jeep. The truck driver had dropped her off near Belfast. It was a logical place to start. Before he left, he carefully tore the page from the newspaper that contained her photograph. The first twenty-four hours after someone disappeared were critical. It was time to hit the streets.

  31

  Michael Brophy’s farm was a million miles away from Lough Darra. Roz bounced her motorbike along the rutted laneway that led to the old farmhouse. It had taken her three wrong turns to find the farm up the narrow, unmarked roads. After the motorways she had travelled getting to Tullamore, this was like a trip back in time.

  The farmhouse was grey and square, with a latch door and chickens scattering when she rode her bike into the yard in front of it. Three stables lined one side of the yard, and Nagsy stuck his head out of one, greeting her with a soft whinny. Two sheepdogs barked from a few feet away but made no effort to touch her. She stayed on her bike, not sure how well her leather pants would stand up to dog teeth.

  On the other side of the yard, a hayshed sheltered more chickens and in the field behind it, half a dozen horses grazed with cattle.

  The door of the house opened and the owner came out. He was grey-haired but wiry and waved as he walked towards her.

  She smiled at him, dismounting from her Kawasaki Ninja. ‘Hi, I believe Frankie told you I was coming?’

  He smiled back, revealing several missing teeth. ‘You’re the girl who wants to buy my horse?’

  She pulled off her gauntlets and patted Nagsy. ‘Yes, we became friends when he was working on the film.’

  Michael pushed a bucket under the tap and let the water run. He tossed a handful of grain to the chickens who rushed up to peck at it. The bucket wasn’t full yet, so Michael led the way into the shed and stuffed hay into a net. By the time he was done, the water was an inch below the rim of the bucket. He used an elbow to open Nagsy’s door and lifted the bucket in.

  Roz admired the smooth efficiency of his movements and understood how one man could run the farm.

  ‘Well, you see, there’s the thing,’ he said. ‘My father always told me not to sell him.’

  Roz looked at Michael, who had to be at least fifty, and wondered if he was joking. ‘This horse?’

  ‘Well, anything out of old Molly.’ He scooped some crushed oats into a basin and put it into the stable. In the next box, Roz saw two young calves licking a block of salt. ‘But you can have any of the others that you like. I’ll make you a good deal.’

  ‘No, I want Nagsy. What’s the problem?’

  ‘To be honest, I’m not exactly sure. When old Molly went in foal, he told me that I was never to sell anything out of her. Pity, because they’ve all been good and Da used to work with racers so he knew that. But a promise is a promise.’

  Damn. All this work and now this? Roz couldn’t believe it. He wasn’t going to sell. She had to try again. ‘How long ago was this? He might have changed his mind.’

  Michael pulled Nagsy’s ear thoughtfully. ‘True. He was a great believer in, “Better be sorry you sold than sorry you didn’t” but he refused all offers himself and made me promise to do the same.’ He screwed up his face in thought. ‘Must be a good thirty or more years ago.’

  Nagsy was five, Frankie had told her. She wasn’t an expert on horses, in spite of hours spent listening to Dougal talking about them, but she knew horses didn’t live that long. ‘It can’t have been Nagsy he meant then.’

  ‘That’s true. Molly was his grand dam.’

  A flutter of hope was dashed when he shook his head. ‘Sorry, I can’t sell him.’

  ‘I’ll pay cash. Five thousand.’ From the state of the farm, she bet that was more than he usually got for his horses.

  Michael looked tempted but shook his head.

  ‘Six.’ She took out the money from her pocket. ‘Cash in hand.’

  His eyes rounded at the wad of five hundred euro notes, but his mouth firmed. ‘A promise is a promise, and he’s dead now, so I can’t ask him to change his mind.’

  He backed away, as if from the temptation of her money, and bumped into her motorbike. He examined it carefully and stroked it more gently than he had Nagsy. ‘That’s a beauty you have there. Is it fast?’

  ‘It’s a Kawasaki Ninja, top speed of 180kph, with acceleration that would knock you backwards.’

  ‘Come in for a cup of tea and you can tell me all about it.’

  The front door opened directly into the kitchen, a big room heated with an old-fashioned Aga. Michael pushed the kettle onto a hot spot and it hissed within seconds. He made tea in a heavy brown teapot and let it stew. She gazed around while he poured it out and added four spoonfuls of sugar. The kitchen looked like it was from the previous century, with a rickety wooden staircase, a television that was older than she was and a calendar featuring glossy photos of motorbikes.

  Roz sipped the over-sweetened tar while she chatted about the Kawasaki Ninja and an idea germinated in her head. Michael found an open packet of biscuits and gave her one. It was stale and soft and she dunked it into her tea. It was that sort of house.

  Roz put down her cup. ‘You know, I think we could make a deal, one that doesn’t involve selling Nagsy.’

  Michael tapped his spoon against his mug. ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘How about we swop? I give you my bike, and you give me the horse.’ She loved her Ninja, and this nearly killed her, but it was the only way she could see to get Nagsy.

  There was s
ilence while he considered her offer. The clock in the corner ticked away. Finally, he said, ‘Deal.’

  They spent a further ten minutes haggling over the details before they emerged into the sunlight. Roz handed over her keys, helmet, gauntlets and leathers but kept the boots, and Michael got out a saddle and bridle for Nagsy.

  At her request, he gave her a note saying she was now the owner of the horse and she promised to send on the logbook for the Ninja as soon as possible.

  She now owned Nagsy, and the logistics were suddenly impossible. ‘How am I going to get him home?’

  Michael looked at her as if she was an idiot. ‘Ride him.’

  ‘But I’m going to –’ She shut her mouth quickly. No point telling him any unnecessary details. ‘It’s a good twenty-five miles away.’

  ‘If you get on now, you’ll be there before dark.’ He tacked up Nagsy for her and gave her a leg up into the saddle. As she set off down the rutted driveway, she heard him gunning the motor of his new motorbike.

  Sunday morning and it was life minus Roz, plus twenty-four hours. He had toyed with the idea of telling his parents that she had been called back to work, but he couldn’t lie to them. Instead, he admitted that they’d had an argument. Poppy was full of sympathy. Even his dad was marginally less brusque than usual.

  Andy had slept in her bed, hoping that his subconscious would give him a clue to her whereabouts. Frantic about her missing sister, Sinead Moore had persuaded her husband to use every resource he had to find her. They had hit the bus station, the hire companies and every cheap hotel and B&B within a twenty-mile radius of Belfast, but their enquiries had turned up nothing.

  The photograph in the newspaper had been circulated to each of the men, but so far nothing. Her flatmate in London had been traced and although she hadn’t seen her, she was a mine of information about Roz’s life there.

  How come he didn’t know that she volunteered at the biggest food bank in London or that she aced parkour and taught it to disadvantaged kids on Saturday afternoons?

  The report from Pentonville prison revealed little – except that Peter Spring was due to be released shortly. He had been beaten up on several occasions and had spent time on the hospital wing. He refused to speak to them about his daughter.