Page 134

“Yeah.” His lips quirked up in a half smile as if he were reminiscing.

“To you?”

“No. I don’t smoke. It’s bad for you.” He suppressed his smile.

“Did any girls live here?”

Tristan turned and looked at me, green eyes clear, focused on mine.

“Sometimes,” he said.

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

I shrugged and decided to change the subject back to Pete. The thought of Tristan with any other girls was surprisingly painful.

Why? It’s not like he’s my boyfriend or anything.

Hell, Emily. He’s a ghost.

Stop this. Stop it now.

“What was Pete’s surname?”

Tristan frowned, and I didn’t know if it was because I’d changed the subject or he was thinking about Pete. “No idea. I can’t remember. Let me think.”

“Hey, I know!” I leaped off the bed. “Wait here.”

I left the room and ran downstairs to the kitchen. Tristan was standing with an expectant expression behind Dylan, who sat reading The Observer. Dylan was startled when I charged in.

“Please can I use the laptop?” I asked a little breathlessly, glancing for a nanosecond at Tristan.

“Of course, it’s yours.”

“Does it have internet access?”

“Yes. It’s all set up.” He rose, and I followed him into his study.

Tristan was leaning against Dylan’s desk, where the laptop had been left.

“You’ve used a Mac before?” Dylan asked.

“Yes. I have an old MacBook. A very old MacBook!” I picked up the laptop and, as an afterthought, kissed Dylan quickly on his cheek.

“Thank you,” I said.

“What’s the urgency?” he asked as he reddened, his brow puckering in surprise.

Tristan scowled at me, but I ignored him.

“I just need to check something on the internet.”

I fled back up the stairs.

Tristan was standing by the fireplace, his face grim and sullen.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.