‘Of course.’ Asha poured another. ‘Milk? Sugar?’
‘Just milk.’
She handed it to him and he carried it back upstairs to the bedroom, setting it on the bedside table before crossing to the window and lifting the curtain. The ever-brightening sunlight speared its way in as he snatched another quick look down the valley towards where his car had careered off the road. There was no sign of it, nor of any other vehicle on the broad plain of white. The road itself lay hidden under its blanket of snow, marked only by the red snow poles which had guided them to safety the night before.
Letting the curtain drop, he crossed to the bed and looked down at Bronte. Her long eyelashes cast deep shadows above her cheekbones. Sensing movement, she turned her head away from what passed for light with the slightest moan of protest.
A guardian angel, Asha had called her, but she was more, much more than that. For a moment he stood, sorting the events of the previous afternoon, trying to make sense of them. She’d saved his life, hauling him onwards long after his body and brain had given up, when it would have been easier for her to have left him out in the snow. It was what he’d urged her to do, thinking, in so far as he’d been capable of anything resembling thought, that it was the only way to save them both. And it would have saved her, but it would almost certainly have doomed him.
But she hadn’t left him. That was an astonishing act for a woman who, throughout their relationship, had resolutely and repeatedly refused to offer him any kind of commitment.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, listening to the soft sound of her breathing. He’d never met a woman like her, a woman whose company he craved so that without her he was a man lost. But in Bronte’s past, love and trust had become fused with fear and betrayal. If he hadn’t been a part of it, they might have got through it and spent the months of their relationship learning to love one another, instead of enduring a tortuous, tedious courtship, always drawn together only for her to push him away as they fenced their way around her damaged heart.
‘Bronte O’Hara.’ He kept his voice low, so low that he almost feared he didn’t want her to hear it. ‘I love you to hell and back, and you know it. Whatever you pretend, last night, you proved you love me, too. Why can’t you admit it?’
Unable to help himself, he reached out a hand to touch her hair, so gently as not to disturb her. ‘Whatever you pretend,’ he whispered down to her, ‘this is more than just an affair. We both know it.’ And then, reluctantly, he left her to what he could only hope were good dreams.
Back in the kitchen, Asha had turned the radio on and the announcer rattled through the headlines, reducing the night’s dramas to a series of staccato sentences. The A9 has now fully reopened north of Pitlochry…power has been restored across much of the region…
Asha was still standing by the kitchen unit, drinking her coffee and looking out of the window. ‘It’s beautiful out there now. How things change.’
‘I can’t thank you all enough for what you did last night.’ He picked up the mug of coffee she’d made for him, and sipped. From here on, he’d value warmth differently.
In other news…protest against the building of new housing estate on the outskirts of Perth… no new leads in the murder of pensioner Roberta McIlreath…
Now that the devastation from the storm had been summarily dealt with, there was no need for the radio. Asha turned it off.
‘We didn’t do anything out of the ordinary.’ She gave him an amused look. ‘You struck lucky, that was all. I’m a doctor and my husband’s a paramedic. We knew what to do. And to be honest, if you’re going to treat any severe medical condition in the kind of situation we had yesterday, hypothermia is the one I’d pick. Recovery’s quick, if you get there in time. When the road’s clear, one of us will run you down to A&E in Perth to get you checked over properly, but I’m clear in my mind that you’re fine.’
‘I still think you saved our lives.’ The youth, thin and ill-equipped in the snow, still haunted him, but Asha’s professional confidence was reassuring. Maybe that pair of good Samaritans had managed to get him the treatment he needed. ‘What’s the local news this morning?’
‘Everybody in the area got off lighter than they might have done, it seems. The power’s back on everywhere — hats off to the energy company for that — and the main roads are open, though I don’t suppose they’ll get to this one any time soon. Bronte said you’re staying down the road, is that right?’
‘Yes.’ He squinted out of the window, but the cottage they’d borrowed from friends was hidden behind too many folds in the land. Hindsight showed him the wisdom of their decision. They’d never have made it.
‘You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want, of course.’
Did they have any choice? He looked out of the window again. In the lane, the rest of the cottage’s residents were expending their energies in clearing the snow from the short track that led to the road. ‘Do they need a hand out there?’
‘No, they’re fine.’ She watched him with her clear-eyed doctor’s gaze. ‘I’ll be honest with you, Marcus. I really would advise you to take things very easy for a bit.’
He’d heard those words before, and they never sat easily with him. ‘I’ve picked up a few bruises, that’s all. A bit of a workout won’t hurt me.’
She raised a knowing eyebrow. ‘You’ll be more tired than you think. Besides, I couldn’t help noticing last night that you’ve suffered a fairly serious injury recently.’
‘I’m a policeman.’ He paused to savour the coffee. He was used to putting his life on the line and, for the first time, it occurred to him that it might not be worth it. It had taken an accident, not a crime, to show him that. ‘I made the mistake of trying to tackle a drunk who was armed with a shotgun. Not my wisest move.’
She nodded. ‘Close range?’
‘About five yards. Fortunately, he was too drunk to shoot straight. Or I wouldn’t be here.’
‘Not that long ago, I imagine?’
‘November. Five months. But it’s healed now. I’m ready to go back to work.’ He struggled with the memory, pushing it to the back of his brain. ‘I’m supposed to be starting back tomorrow, but I don’t imagine we’ll make it back to Edinburgh tonight.’
She allowed herself a half-smile. ‘We’re staying up here for the rest of the week, so we’ll make sure you get back there. I don’t imagine your car will be in much of a state to drive. Even so, I don’t think I’d advise you to go back to work for a couple more days. You’ll be guided by your own doctor, of course. But that’s a life-changing injury. Take care in future.’
He resented the advice. It was his job to put his life on the line, but he wouldn't be doing it quite as casually as he’d been wont to do in the past. In future, he’d only gamble with his life when the prize was worth it, just as Bronte had gambled hers for him in the blizzard of the night before. ‘I always do.’
They turned as the back door to the kitchen opened and admitted a muffled figure. Marcus’s brow creased at another memory of the night before, of this man bending over him, whispering reassurances into an enclosing shroud of darkness, and then smiling at him as he’d opened his eyes. His heart must have stopped. It had been even closer than he’d thought. ‘Alex, wasn’t it? I was just thanking…’
‘God, no need for that nonsense, pal. We’d have done it for anyone. Glad you made it.’ Alex unzipped his jacket, peeled it off, and tossed it over the back of a chair, then bent to unlace his boots. ‘Come on, Ash. A man needs a coffee when he’s been out there doing all the hard work.’ He winked at her.
She stretched out a lazy hand and flicked the switch on the kettle again. ‘I leave the unsophisticated stuff to you. Did you get much cleared?’
‘It’s melting fast. I imagine it’ll be clear even before they get a snow plough through.’
Still thinking of the young man from the storm, Marcus stretched out his hand for his phone. It was time to place the matter of the crash and the
injured stranger exactly where it belonged — in the hands of the local police.
Chapter 5
Turning over in my half-slumber, and desperate for the security of Marcus’s presence, I stretched out an arm into the bed beside me. It was empty.
I panicked. ‘Marcus?’ Black fear rolled over me. I’d slept as if we were safe. What had happened to him? With every muscle in my body groaning in agony, I pushed myself up into a sitting position and looked around. And I remembered. I was in a cottage in the middle of nowhere, and I was alive.
And so was he. From somewhere not too far away, voices broke the silence and his was the clearest among them. I’d barely finished sighing with relief before his laugh broke through into my heart, and I couldn’t suppress my smile. After all, the nightmare was over.
I looked down at my watch. Almost eleven o’clock. Still in a half-daze, I slid my legs out of bed and stood up. My clothes were nowhere in sight, but someone had left jeans and a jumper, neatly folded, on the bedside table.
‘This is a dream,’ I said aloud, as I pulled a baggy sweatshirt over my head, hoping the sound of my own voice would reassure me. ‘Or a fairytale.’ A fairytale would be better. Fairytales have happy endings.
Tiptoeing from the room and down a narrow flight of stairs, I followed the siren lure of Marcus’s now-silent laughter into the kitchen. Warmth filled the room and the scent of coffee and bacon hung in the air. Asha, Alex, and his parents were laughing around the table as if there had never been anything to worry about, as if I’d imagined the frantic scenes of the night before, when they’d hauled us into safety from certain death.
Their faces took their places in my consciousness and I matched each to a name, to a role in the crisis. Penny, Alex’s mother, serious and silver-haired, wrapping a duvet around me as she stood in my line of sight, sparing me a role as bystander in the battle for Marcus’s life. Ruari, the broader, older template for his son, placing a cup of hot chocolate in my hand. Alex and Asha, working together over Marcus’s unconscious form, exchanging the terse commentary of accident and emergency. Overwhelmed by the presence of so much human goodness, I paused, abashed, in the doorway, even as I searched the room for Marcus.
Penny saw me first, and smiled towards me. ‘Did you sleep well, Bronte?’
‘Like a log,’ I lied, as was expected of me, because to do otherwise would have seemed ungracious.
‘Are you feeling okay?’ Asha, this time, leaning forward with the keen eye of the doctor looking for any after-effects from the chaotic night before.
‘Yes. Absolutely fine.’ I quavered a little under their examining eyes until my curiosity got the better of me. ‘Is Marcus okay?’
Penny nodded towards a door to my left. ‘He’s in the living room. Phoning the police to report the accident, I think. We finally got the signal back.’
I couldn’t help myself. I needed to be sure he was all right. ‘I’ll just—’
They turned back to their conversation and I pushed open the door to the living room. Marcus stood in the bay window that looked out onto the valley, his phone clamped to his ear. Someone had rearranged the sofas and chairs so that they no longer crowded together, as if for warmth, and had pulled back the heavy curtains to let sunlight stream in to the room. The fire which had sustained us was dead in the grate, and the scene of last night’s drama looked placid and unthreatening. Only a pile of pillows and blankets, folded over the back of the sofa, gave away the fact that two of our hosts had given up their bed for us and slept in the living room.
He turned towards me, and his expression, which had been serious, broke into a smile. ‘Terrific. Well, thanks anyway. No, you can get me on this number any time. I don’t imagine we’ll be going anywhere much for a day or so. Thanks again. Goodbye.’
He closed out the call, tossed the phone down onto the arm of the sofa, and held out his arms. Without speaking, I crossed the room towards him and committed myself to the intensity of his embrace. For a moment we stood, arms locked around one another, in a silence punctuated only by the sound of us breathing, two as one, and the barely perceptible beating of our hearts.
‘Lazy toad,’ he teased, releasing me at last and stepping back to look at me as if he wanted to be sure I was still alive, just as I wanted to be sure of him. ‘What time do you call this to be up?’
I’d spent too much of that night lying awake with my hand resting on his chest to make sure his heart didn’t fail him, or that if it did I’d be there to call for help, but I didn’t grudge him the sacrifice. I gave him a little shove. ‘At least I’m half smart. None of those clothes fit you. And look at you. You need a wash and a shave.’ His face still bore smears of dark, peat-coloured mud that he’d picked up somewhere in the course of our adventure.
‘There was no hot water,’ he said, with that easy laugh. ‘I’ll scrub up nicely enough when we get back to the cottage. Assuming the power’s on there, of course, but I can’t think why it wouldn’t be. Let’s go and be sociable.’ He reached out to pick up his phone.
‘Are you okay?’
‘I will be, if you’re gentle with me. Don’t hug me quite so hard for a few days. You might break me.’
If anything were to happen to Marcus, it would break me, too. ‘We were lucky,’ I said, pausing just a second before turning back towards the kitchen. ‘Weren’t we?’
‘Very.’ His expression sobered. ‘Luckier than perhaps we realise, under the circumstances.’
I didn’t have the chance to pick up on the raised eyebrow that accompanied that remark, because he went ahead of me into the kitchen, as if to end the conversation. ‘That’s it all sorted. Police, insurance. The lot.’
‘Sit down,’ offered Alex, sacrificing his seat. ‘Asha’s doing a fry-up, if you can bear to eat anything she cooks.’
‘These guys had no supper,’ she rejoined. ‘They’ll eat anything. Even anything you cooked. But I’m too kind to unleash that on anyone unless it’s an emergency.’
He went to help her nevertheless, leaving the rest of us to sit round the table and drink coffee.
‘Did you get sorted out?’ Penny asked Marcus.
‘It’s always the admin that’s the hassle,’ Ruari chipped in when Marcus didn’t reply, too busy stirring a mug of coffee without drinking it, as if he’d already had several that morning. ‘Did you get the police?’
‘Yes.’ Marcus looked down at his coffee again, deep in thought, then sat back to accept the plate of bacon and egg that Alex slid in front of him.
‘And were they any use?’
Marcus lifted an eyebrow at the implied criticism of his profession. ‘Not especially, but I don’t imagine it was their fault. Bronte, I’ll swap you that bacon for a piece of toast.’
‘Oh?’ As if she were trying hard not to be too interrogative, Penny turned her wedding ring round on her finger.
‘Are you veggie? I should have asked. I’m veggie, too.’ Asha delivered another egg onto my plate to make up for the bacon that Marcus had swiped.
‘Yes.’ Munching away on a mouthful of bacon, Marcus took a while to answer, as if there was a right or a wrong answer to so simple a question. ‘I’m more glad than ever that we interrupted your evening. We’d have had no chance otherwise. No-one was looking for us.’
I drew in a sharp breath. An alternative vision opened up, of Marcus and myself, straying in the snow. ‘But what about those men—?’
‘They didn’t report you?’ Ruari's voice betrayed his incredulity.
‘Who knows?’ Marcus was struggling to keep his voice neutral so that even I, knowing him so well, couldn’t work out what really lay beneath. He carried on eating, though the rest of us sat waiting for his next comment.
‘But surely,’ Penny ventured, when it became clear that no-one else would, ‘surely someone must have—’
‘Sounds like utter incompetence to me.’ Alex placed a fresh pot of coffee on the table.
‘It gets busy in the control centre on nights like last
night.’ Marcus’s defence of his colleagues was spirited, if somehow incomplete. ‘Maybe the report never got through. Maybe it did, but the person I spoke to hadn’t heard of it. Maybe they assumed we’d found somewhere safe to take shelter.’ He nodded, gratefully, towards Penny. ‘As, of course, we did. I don’t blame anyone for a breakdown in communications on a night like last night. There wouldn’t have been anything they could have done, anyway. By the time they got the message, it would have been suicidal to venture out.’
‘It’s outrageous. I can’t believe the force would allow anyone to stay lost and at risk. even on a night like last night.’ Ruairi, at least, expected more from the police than they’d delivered.
‘It’s not very professional, I’ll allow.’ Marcus looked down at his plate again. ‘But it’s fine. I’ve reported the accident and they’ll come up as soon as the road’s open. I don’t imagine they’ll be able to get the car out just yet, even if it’s their priority. Which it won’t be.’
‘How will we get home?’ I asked Marcus. We might be having breakfast, but it was approaching lunchtime on Sunday with limited prospects of getting back that day. And I had a job to go to in the morning, a new job that I’d only been in a week. So much for my hopes of making a good impression with my commitment and industriousness.
‘Stuck here till we get a courtesy car, I imagine,’ he said, with a sigh.
‘We’ll get you back,’ offered Alex. ‘I fancy a day out in Edinburgh. But you won’t be back there today. The road won’t be open until tonight. Phone up and tell them you won’t be in until later in the week.’
Chapter 6
The woman, emerging from the cottage into the gloaming just when anyone with any sense would have shut up shop for the evening, forced Cas to a stop. He’d been driving the couple of miles of bleak road between the crashed car and the cottage for the past half hour — not for any particular reason or with any particular intent, but because it meant he could tell Dougie he’d tried but hadn’t had the chance to get anywhere near the two of them.
Storm Child (Dangerous Friends Book 3) Page 3
