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By the time Fleur remembered her shoes the porridge had been eaten and at last Sybella was able to step into a shower and wash all of her extraordinary night off her glowing skin.
As she stepped out of the bathroom Meg was examining the broken bedstead Nik had arrayed at the end of the hall.
‘How on earth did you do this?’
Fleur appeared with her new red shoes in either hand. ‘It must have been the giant.’
* * *
A week from the day Nik had climbed out of Sybella’s broken bed her name flashed up on his phone with a text.
For a moment he just rubbed his thumb lightly over the screen but purposely didn’t read her words, aware of all the times this week he had called up her number only for his thumb to hover and then pass off. Indecision was not his way. He’d let the week get away from him and now he had a choice to make. If he didn’t call her they could put a line under it.
He put his phone down to avoid temptation and picked up his drink.
‘Problem?’ His brother Sasha was watching him.
‘Nichevo.’
They were sitting on the deck of his one-hundred-metre yacht, Phantom. The great beast was moored in the Adriatic, as it always was at this time of year, off the coast of Montenegro.
The centuries-old ramparts of the town of Budva, with limestone hills rising up behind it, was a starry backdrop of lights as the velvety evening dropped around them. The muted sound of thumping dance music heaved from the other end of the boat.
His brother, although long having given away the drugs and alcohol that had derailed him as an adolescent, seemed to need noise and activity around him. His parties on this boat were legendary. Nik had dropped in via helicopter to spend the evening comparing notes and swapping stories before he headed on to some talks and a symposium in Moscow.
‘What are you doing with Deda?’ Sasha asked, leaning back in his deckchair, resting his glass of fizz against his jeans-clad thigh.
Bare feet, Nik noted, the scorpion tattoo on his left ankle. His own were clad in hand-tooled moccasins stretched out in front of him. Kind of conservative, but he was kind of a conservative guy.
He eyed his phone again, wondering if she had a problem and he was ignoring it.
‘When are you moving him out of that old pile?’
‘I’m not.’
Sasha looked out across the water, in profile a muscle clearly leaping in his jaw. His brother liked to pretend he was chilled about everything that went down with Deda, but Nik knew better. He had missed those early years with their grandparents, forced to live with his mother abroad, and it made him diffident about interfering in the old man’s life.
He saw himself as an outsider, the irony being Nik knew himself to be the one who didn’t belong.
‘He’s happy with the public prowling around the place. To be honest it appears to have given him a second lease of life.’
‘Looks like you’re stuck with Mouldy Towers for the interim.’
Nik glanced again at his phone.
‘What’s her name?’ Sasha asked, lifting his glass of fizz and ice to his lips. ‘The woman whose call you don’t know whether to take.’
Nik debated for a moment saying nothing. ‘Her name’s Sybella. She volunteers at the Hall.’
‘So put it through to your office in London.’
Nik shook his head slightly. ‘I slept with her.’
Sasha laughed out loud. ‘Does that qualify as droit de seigneur?’
‘Nyet, it means it’s complicated.’ Nik flashed his brother a quelling look.
‘It’s always complicated, man. Women as a species aren’t happy unless they’re raiding your head for what you’re thinking at any given moment and then using it to crucify you.’
‘Bad break-up with what’s-her-name?’
‘Just brotherly advice. I’ve never met a woman who didn’t want full access to both your bank account and your darkest secrets.’
‘Not Sybella.’ Nik settled back, still nursing his phone. ‘She mainly wants to keep the Hall open and for me to spend more time with Deda.’
‘Oh, man, that’s worse. She’s already managing you.’
Nik frowned. ‘It’s not like that. It’s complicated because she’s got a daughter.’
