True Colours Part 16

A log had slipped in the hearth, sending out shower of sparks that startled them both.

'Wood's very dry this year. Not much rain over the winter.' Sebastian shifted in his seat, uncomfortable, tense.

'Must be global warming.'

'Must be.'

Alex groaned inwardly. This was painful! She was a total idiot to come all this way without the spare tyre. She'd only taken it out of the boot because she wanted to see how the jack worked, to make sure everything was there if she did get a puncture, and then the phone had rung and she'd had to rush over to Senor Marquez's office. And then, like a complete fool, she'd forgotten about it completely.

And to turn the whole situation into a TOTAL farce, no matter how fast the shock of finding the puncture had sobered her up, as Sebastian had so helpfully pointed out, she was still way over the limit, couldn't even use his car to escape.

Thank goodness Dodo had provided something of a distraction. Completely overexcited by the pursuit of her rat, she had come charging back to the garden door barking her head off like there was an enemy army marching down the drive. Sebastian had hauled her into the kitchen, clinging onto her collar as she tried to drag him outside, struggling to close the door. And then, because she obviously wanted everyone joining in the chase instead of sitting around the fire, she had howled by the hall door like a banshee, and then, when that didn't work, had started pacing, grumbling, from the kitchen to the den and back again, her claws on the tiles setting Alex's nerves on edge. It was still early, but there was no way she could stand any more of this stilted conversation, of their hedging around each other when really they both wanted to scream. Alex had yawned again, pointedly, and put her gla.s.s down on the floor. It was time for bed.

Upstairs, Sebastian held the door of the guest room open for her, reaching for the light switch.

'Here we are. The bathroom's...'

'I know,' then, conscious that she sounded sharp, Alex flicked him a smile. 'Thanks, I'll be fine.'

He hovered for a second, unsure what to say, then sighing, turned to go to his own room, 'I'll get that t-shirt.'

Looking around, Alex could see he was right about the decor. The guest rooms had changed little since she had last seen them, and this one was definitely in need of redecorating. The white paint was beginning to chip on the doors, the picture and dado rails, and the floral paper, once cheerful daisies on a sunshine yellow background now looked tired and dated. But the room was welcoming, the white candlewick bedspread spotless on the double bed, pillows piled high against the heavy oak headboard, the scents of lavender and roses rising from bowls of potpourri in the unexpected heat from the battered iron radiators. As she closed the door firmly behind her, relieved to be alone at last, Alex caught a s.n.a.t.c.h of their fragrance, overlaying a hint of mustiness, the blend like an olfactory photograph, an old dusty picture of a summer past, the corner creased, the colours faded, but the memories still strong...

Pulling off her scarf, throwing her jacket onto the bed, Alex unzipped her boots, kicking them off, peeling off the silk thermal socks she had lived in since she had arrived in Ireland, padding barefoot to the window to close the heavy Laura Ashley curtains, interlined to keep out the draughts. But she didn't need to close them. No one could see in. This side of the house overlooked the lake. It had grown dark and the water reflected the sky like a mirror, the only movement created by fish occasionally breaking the surface, sending out gentle moonlit ripples in concentric circles that faded as they reached the edge. Beyond the lake the hills rose against the sky, trees cl.u.s.tered in lonely gossiping groups, black clouds rolling in above them.

Unb.u.t.toning her shirt, Alex went to investigate the bathroom, breathing a sigh of relief when she opened the mirrored cabinet above the basin. Cleanser, cotton wool, a comb, toothpaste and a toothbrush still in its cellophane wrapper. Better than a hotel. And behind the door hung a fluffy white robe. Exactly what she needed. Marjorie Wingfield always had been the perfect hostess. Alex smiled, she was sure there would be a book in the bedside cabinet, notepaper and pens.

Pulling the robe off its hook, retracing her steps, Alex switched off the main light, and reaching under the faded shade of the bedside lamp, turning it on, immediately more relaxed in its soft glow. She'd always liked these rooms, had often helped air them when guests were expected; she pulled off her shirt but she'd certainly never dreamed that she would be staying here.

Slipping out of her trousers, hanging them over the back of a chair, Alex caught sight of herself in the wardrobe mirror. She looked pale, dark shadows beginning to form under her eyes, her ivory silk cami and boy shorts draining her still further, the lace edges pale against her sallow skin. Perhaps an early night was wasn't such a bad idea.

Before she had time to dwell on it, there was a knock at the door.

'Just a minute.' Grabbing the robe, Alex pulled it on, the towelling fabric sliding over the slippery silk of her camisole, soft against her bare skin, and drew the belt tight.

'I've just brought you a...' Alex opened the door before Sebastian had quite finished the sentence. And found herself staring at his naked chest. A tanned and well-muscled chest that tapered to a neat waist with absolutely no hint of excess.

Hearing his knock, she had intended to shoot out her hand, to grab the t-shirt and thank him, close the door as fast as she decently could, resealing herself in the relative safety of her room. So much for plan A...

Alex opened the door a fraction wider, a blush creeping up her neck, her lips open to speak. But the words got tangled up in themselves, catching in her throat, her eyes feeding way too much information, way too fast, for her brain to focus on speech at all.

In the few moments it had taken Sebastian to find the t-shirt, he had changed out of his navy suit trousers and white shirt, stood before her now in a pair of tattered jeans and scuffed rodeo boots. And nothing else. Alex could feel her face warming, her eyes locked on his chest. She opened her mouth again in the hope she could say something sensible, but he got there first.

'I...' He stopped, searching for the right words, but Alex hardly noticed, suddenly felt terribly short without her heels. Sebastian seemed to be towering over her. He tried again.

'Look I'm sorry...'

'It's fine...honestly.' Alex didn't know what he was apologising for but knew, right now, she needed to get the door closed before she did something stupid. Unfortunately, her body didn't seem to be cooperating, and instead she felt the door open another inch.

'It's not.' Sebastian took a step towards her, the t-shirt still folded in his hands. 'I'm really sorry. Oh G.o.d, I really am.'

Taking the opening door as an invitation, Sebastian walked straight in, matter of factly handing her the t-shirt as he brushed past, his face screwed up, wrestling with the words.

'Look, I really didn't mean to shoot your dad, you must know that.' Alex watched in amazement as Sebastian headed into the middle of the room, continuing to speak with his back to her, shoulders hunched, thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans, 'He...I...well, we've worked so closely together for years.' Sebastian turned to look at her, his eyes beseeching. Alex hadn't expected that. 'I couldn't run this place without him. He knows every blade of gra.s.s on this estate, knows where every badger set is, every...well just everything...'

Alex had no idea what to say. This was one of those Oh My G.o.d moments, and she was standing here like a total idiot, like her hand was glued to the door handle, wearing nothing but a bathrobe. Clutching the t-shirt to her chest, her heart was beating like an anti-aircraft gun, spent bullet cases flying in every direction as they shot through the magazine, the enemy heading straight for her, the whites of pilot's eyes almost visible through the cross hairs.

But no amount of sandbags could protect her now. Alex felt exposed. More vulnerable that he could ever know. Thank G.o.d she'd shaved her legs.

About to pull the door open, to say something sensible like, 'I think you'd better go. We can talk about it in the morning...' Sebastian turned away from her again, walked over to the window, leant on the windowsill, the muscles in his back rigid with tension.

What was that film, Clear and Present Danger? This was it.

Alex fought for breath, it was like he was sucking all the oxygen out of the room again. Right now there was only one thing she knew for sure she couldn't stand here all night, she had to get to safer ground where she could dig in and gather her scattered thoughts.

Throwing the t-shirt onto the bed, pulling the belt on her robe tighter, Alex tucked the collar in to cover her chest and slipped over to the bed. She felt like a teenager whose towel had slipped in the changing rooms.

Pulling her knees up underneath her, tucking the robe in under them, Alex leaned back on the headboard, trying to look relaxed, then, still feeling horribly exposed, pulled a pillow from under the counterpane beside her, holding it protectively on her knee. Much safer here with everything covered.

'I just don't know...' Sebastian started to say something, but trailed off, transferred his gaze from the view of the lake to the floor. He played with the fringes of a rug with the toe of his boot. Rugged and strong.

It was time she spoke. He might look gorgeous standing there, but in that one second that he had pulled the trigger of his shotgun Sebastian had hurt her more than Alex could ever say. She had missed so many years with her dad while she had been in Spain, so many good years, and then, when it really mattered, she'd let him down again, hadn't been there for him when he needed her most. She bit her lip. After everything, she still hadn't been able to protect him from the Wingfields.

Watching Sebastian, Alex could feel the emotion building, the tears hot in her eyes. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but Alex suddenly felt like she couldn't hold it together any longer. She just wanted to scream at him like she knew Marina would have done, her fiery Spanish temper overriding every reserve. Go away, leave me alone. But that wasn't her. Instead, Alex fought to keep her voice steady, caught the tears on her forefinger before they fell, hiding her grief; just like she'd hidden it in Barcelona.

'He loved working here.' Alex's voice caught, 'That's what's so awful. He needs to be busy, to be outside, but he won't be able to walk without a stick, might still end up in a wheelchair.'

Sebastian turned to face her. And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, came and sat down on the bed, the springs creaking under his weight. His back to her, his elbows resting on his knees, head hanging, his voice was hardly more than a whisper.

'I know, I know. G.o.d you don't understand. He's been like a father to me since, since...I almost died myself when I saw him lying there...'

Sebastian turned to look at her over his shoulder, the tears forming in his eyes. 'It's all such a mess. I'm so sorry.' He caught his breath, 'And I'm sorry about the picture for what it's worth. I did it years ago. I just...it's just...well I've taken it with me everywhere I've lived and...'

Alex met his eye, her voice weakened by emotion, by desperation, 'But why paint it? It's just so...big.'

Sebastian opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, the scar on his chin pale through day-old stubble. He seemed to be searching for an answer, unable to find it. Alex felt his eyes on her, not seeing her sitting here now, but glazed, unfocused, like they were looking back into the past. Back sixteen years. Absentmindedly, he reached over and tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his hand hovering beside her face. The movement startled her, startled them both, their eyes locking. And they were back in the Mill House again, the air hot and heavy, dust dancing in the shafts of sunlight penetrating the rotten thatch.

'You're just so...so beautiful' Alex hardly heard him, her heart thundering as he ran his thumb over her cheekbone, inclining her head to his, closing the gap between them in a movement that had reached its conclusion before it had begun.

His lips brushed hers, fine as a bee's wing, the line from the song came to her as she felt them settle, tentative, enquiring, his mouth parting. She was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wing. Alex knew she should be pushing him away, yelling at him to stop, but she could feel the heat radiating from his body, her senses overwhelmed with his smell, his closeness, with all those moments when she had lain awake wanting him. Opening her mouth, responding, welcoming, Sebastian took her breath away, stars shooting behind her closed eyes as she felt him guiding her back on the bed, his arm around her shoulders, taking her weight, the pillow slipping to the floor.

And then she was drowning, her mind numb, conscious only of the sensations that were ricocheting around her body, of his arms around her; he was pulling her robe open to slide his hand inside, his fingers teasing, running up her leg, under her camisole, unhooking her bra in one easy movement. It was like they'd never been apart, like their bodies recognised each other, fitted. The denim of his jeans was rough against her skin as she slid her hand down over his stomach to undo his belt, his skin reacting to her touch, contracting, shivering. Fumbling with the buckle she felt his mouth leave hers, heading for her breast. Instinctively, Alex threw her head back, arching her back against his chest, pulling at his belt, the thick leather giving way as the buckle flipped.

'Jesus what was that?' Sebastian pulled away from her. Jerked from her dreams, Alex gripped his shoulder. A crash had reverberated through the house like an explosion, like someone had driven a car through the front door. Maybe it was an explosion? A bomb? Did they have Basque terrorists here? And at the very moment the sound reached them, the bedside light died, plunging the room into darkness. Another crash, this time louder with a crescendo of gla.s.s shattering and the ear- splitting wail of an alarm.

THIRTY SEVEN.

In a quiet lane just off the main street in Kilfenora village, Garda Joe Griffin buzzed down the window of his patrol car, its fluorescent stripes glowing in the darkness, and blew a stream of smoke out the window. Across from him, Sean McCann, whose likeness to a certain Hollywood movie star had earned him the nickname of Butch Ca.s.sidy within minutes of crossing the threshold of Kilfenora's tiny Garda station, wrinkled his nose in disgust. But he was too new in the job to start complaining, knew Joe wasn't about to take any backchat from a lad not much older than his own son, even if he was a head taller and a d.a.m.n sight fitter. If the truth be told, he was a little bit in awe of the man he'd been partnered with, a man whose cropped dark hair was greying to badger, who had earned two commendations for bravery and who had enough war stories to write a book. The Griff had worked everywhere from drugs to surveillance over his twenty-five-year career, and now, with retirement beckoning and a slight limp caused by a tangle with a suspect's motorbike, he was more than happy to be serving out his final years in the sleepy backwater of Kilfenora.

Sean adjusted the volume on the car stereo and sat back to listen to the opening bars of Bizet's Carmen. It was a trade-off Joe smoked, and Sean got to wear his favourite aftershave and listen to his choice of music.

'Christ I need a pint.' Joe checked his watch, 'Fifteen minutes to shut down.'

Sean nodded silently, rubbing his hand hard over his military buzz cut. It had been a quiet shift. Too quiet. Since they came on at two they'd had several stray sheep and a breach of the peace to deal with. The lads hanging around outside Foley's might have been noisy but they weren't exactly a threat to national security; they had hopped on the bus to Newbridge at 8.30 p.m., taking their fast talk and high jinks to the local night club as soon as the patrol car had cruised down the main street. The minute it hit 10 p.m. the two guards would be inside the door of Foley's faster than Joe could light up another f.a.g.

'Woah, what the f....' Sean bolted forward in his seat as a small red car shot past like Lightning McQueen on E, its tail lights blazing in a two-finger salute.

'f.e.c.k. 9.45. Wouldn't you f.e.c.king know it?' Joe threw his cigarette out the window and pushed the car into first gear, spinning it around in a shower of dust and gravel, 'What do you think? Ready for a bit of real policing young Sean?'

Joe glanced at his observer, a wry smile on his face. But Sean wasn't looking at him, had his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his fingers locked through the overhead hand-grip, the adrenalin already pumping.

'Okay lad, use the blues.' Pulling out into the main street, Joe pushed into second as Sean reached for the lights.

Ahead of them, the car kept moving, crossing the solid white line as it took the bend on the way out of the village way too fast. It was just as well Kilfenora was quiet at this time of night. Just as well there wasn't a tractor coming the other way. Or a herd of cows. Or the school bus.

'What speed's he doing?'

Joe flipped into third, pushing the rev counter into the red, 'well we're doing sixty' he pushed his foot to the floor, 'little f.e.c.ker...' he pushed into fourth, the engine screaming, 'Call it in, see if he's previous...'

Sean grabbed the radio, relaying the BMW's registration plate to Control. In seconds they were back to him.

'It's a woman, registered to an apartment in b.a.l.l.sbridge.'

Joe glanced at the speedometer. 'f.e.c.k. I'm not doing this speed all the way to Dublin.'

They were heading out of the narrow winding lanes now, would be meeting the N7 pretty soon. More traffic, more chance of this eejit killing someone. 100km an hour.

'Okay boyo, hit the sounds, we're finishing this now.'

Sean hit the top level on the sirens, the sound blasting them both, reverberating inside the car, lifting the hairs on the backs of their necks.

Ahead the BMW finally braked. Too hard.

'Jesus, typical b.l.o.o.d.y...' before Joe had got the words out, the car ahead of them slewed to a stop, its pa.s.senger side putting a thirty-foot dent in the hedge. Joe pulled in behind, knocking off the sirens, leaving the lights flashing in the darkness, strobes bouncing off the chrome and gla.s.s of the low-slung sports car.

'Right lad. Let's see what her story is.'

Joe threw open his door, pulling his hat on. Sean was half way out of the car before he realised he'd forgotten his own hat, doubled back to dive into the back seat for it. It irritated the h.e.l.l out of Joe to see anyone on duty sloppily dressed. He was always saying the uniform gave them authority, respect, gave them the edge when the s.h.i.t hit the fan. And in a country where uniformed guards were unarmed, it formed a vital thin blue line. Literally.

Joe glanced at his co-driver as their steel-toed boots crunched on the rough tarmac. Approaching the rear of a stop was always one of those hold-your-breath moments, a wait-and-see, fingers-f.e.c.king-crossed moment. It was probably a forty-five-year-old housewife on a bender, but they both knew it could be a pup with a grievance who'd nicked the car and had a sawn-off under the pa.s.senger seat, or some little s.h.i.t doped up to the eyeb.a.l.l.s who had seen the car stop at a red light and had drawn his blade on the owner.

Drawing level with the BMW, Joe waited for the driver's window to buzz down. It didn't. He rapped on the gla.s.s with his knuckles; waited, looking at his reflection in the window. Joe was just about to haul the door open when it began to slide down, stopping half way, the distinct odour of alcohol seeping out like a poison cloud.

'Yes?' The woman inside, her face pale against her dark hair, looked out at him, eyes a potent blend of innocence and irritation. Like she really didn't know what the problem was. Like he had no business wasting her time stopping her.

'How many have you had?'

'I beg your pardon?'

Joe repeated the question. Slowly. Just in case she hadn't heard it.

But obviously it wasn't her hearing that was the problem.

'I'm in a hurry do you mind?'

Joe looked at her, taking in the evening dress, the rock on her finger, the stink of booze that was beginning to turn his stomach. But his face was a mask. He'd been here before.

'Switch off the engine and get out of the car.' It was a bald statement, not dressed up with pleasantries. Customer service wasn't high on his list of priorities.

Caroline's mouth dropped open, her eyes widening in anger, 'I really don't have time for this, have you nothing better to do? Criminals to catch?'

Joe wasn't about to get into the definition of criminal law or law-breaking right now. She could find out all about that at the station.

Yanking the door open, Joe reached in to pull the keys out of the ignition. The alcohol was stronger now, blended with cigarette smoke. Joe pursed his lips, she smelt like the inside of a pub before the smoking ban. On the other side of the car Sean was checking the vehicle's tax and insurance details, speaking into the radio clipped to his lapel, confirming the stop with Control.

'Get out of the car now please.'

Caroline looked at Joe aghast. Conscious that he was towering over her, he took a step back.

'Don't be ridiculous, I'm...'

'Out now please.' Her irritation sending out sparks that lit the night, Caroline swung her legs out of the car, and tried to get up. Unsuccessfully. She tried again, one hand inelegantly on the back of the driver's seat, the other on the open car door, her skirt falling open, one emerald green suede high-heeled foot finding its way onto the tarmac like a claw. It was the other one that presented the problem.

Pulling herself upright, her eyes locked furiously on Joe's, he watched as she tried to stand, instead falling sideways, grabbing for the open door and as much of her dignity as she could manage.

'I seem to have lost a heel...' Looking down, she appeared to forget the presence of the two guards as she surveyed her Jimmy Choos in dismay, picking up her skirt, no longer virginal white but marked with mud and gra.s.s stains, rocking the damaged shoe backwards and forwards, checking to see if the heel really had vanished.

Now standing behind the open driver's door, Sean peered through the windscreen, checking out the inside of the car. From the reek of spirits, he had fully expected to see a half bottle of whisky on the pa.s.senger seat, was surprised instead to see a bottle of champagne. His eyes flicked to Joe's. There was a first time for everything.

'Were you planning to drink that madam?' Drawn from the contemplation of her shoes, Caroline looked up, surprised to hear another voice, the smile on her face hitting her eyes as she looked Sean up and down.

'Do you know you look like a very young and rather gorgeous Paul Newman?'

Sean ignored her. If she had been sober, and in a bar, with two shoes with heels maybe...but now? Sad and pathetic sprang to mind. And toxic. There was something about her that spelled trouble. In capital letters. He nodded at the front seat, 'the bottle of champagne, were you planning to drink it?'

'A girl always needs to be prepared.' Her p.r.o.nunciation of the letter S was distinctly slurred.

'Are you planning a party?'

Joe cleared his throat. The clock was ticking and he wanted to be in Foley's before closing time.

'Only if you'll promise you'll come...' Joe's radio crackled, interrupting her: 'Foxtrot Alpha Base to Foxtrot Alpha One.' He raised his eyes to heaven. After eight hours of nothing, it was all going to happen at ten o'clock. The dispatcher continued oblivious to his reaction, 'We're getting reports of a fire at Kilfenora House, fire brigade are on the way.'

Joe's eyes met Sean's as he spoke into his lapel, 'Roger that, we're tied up. Bringing a prisoner in.' He turned back to Caroline. 'Come on la.s.s, let's see if you can make it to the car.' He gestured to the patrol car behind them, 'We need to have a chat.'

Caroline was still looking at Sean, at the cut of his uniform, at the American-style bomber jacket that made him look like a body builder, at the heavy leather belt gripping his hips and his sleek leather baton cover. A smile lit her face.

'Sorry?'