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A stupid excitement makes my heart beat faster. “I didn’t think he was looking at me at all.”
“Oh.” Her tone becomes uncertain. “Erm, I can’t remember now, but at least you kept looking at him.”
What little confidence I have drains out of me. I try not to show it as I go to the fridge for butter.
“Do you think he noticed?”
“I doubt it.” Pierre’s tone is full of understanding. “Boys never notice anything. I always catch these nuances, though, because I’m a bit of a romantic.”
Everything we need is on the tray, and we really ought to go back to the others. “Sorry to disappoint your romantic heart.” I can’t help confiding. “But he doesn’t like me. When I went to visit him a couple of weeks ago, he told me in no uncertain terms he didn’t want me to visit again.” This still upsets me even now, in fact, it upsets me even more after today. It was easier not to care when he was the cold bastard from next door. This afternoon, he’s shown himself to be clever, funny, and very generous. But it wasn’t me who brought it out in him, no. I only steal his stones and make him angry.
Pierre comes up behind me and puts her arms around me. “Then he’s a fool.”
By the time we walk back to the front rooms, my nerves have settled a bit and my hands don’t shake as I carry the tray in.
Pierre gives me a hand cutting the bread and spreads a little butter. “Everyone we have sausages with mustard, followed by bread and honey for dessert.”
I drizzle buckwheat honey over the sliced walnut bread and add three sausages to each plate and hand them around. We sit on the floor that hasn’t been painted yet. Hal lowers himself to sit on the floor opposite me, but a little back. The ice between us hasn’t quite melted yet despite the dancing earlier. His warmth is all for the other two; it’s only because of them that he’s stayed. Because there’s something they want to discuss with us.
Even when I offer him a plate – having taken extra care buttering the bread and drizzling a generous amount of honey – he only accepts it out of politeness. He drinks the tea, but his plate remains on the floor by his side.
It shouldn’t matter; so what if he’s not hungry? Or doesn’t like this meal? Let’s face it, this isn’t a great supper. Yet, I’ve never lied to myself. He might be a stranger, but after the conversation with Pierre, what had been an invisible attraction has now moved front and centre.
Stop it, Elodie.
I focus on the floor between my knees. You’re a thirty-year-old businesswoman for goodness’ sake. You’ve had a few relationships behind you already. Don’t act like a schoolgirl crushing on a boy who’s never asked you out. I gulp some hot tea and try to lecture my tender pride and my feelings back into order.
“Oh my word,” Gabriel suddenly says around a mouthful. With obvious enjoyment, he slices a sausage lengthways and folds it into the bread and honey to make a sandwich. “This shouldn’t really work.” He takes another bite. “But why hasn’t anyone discovered this already and put it on MasterChef?”
Pierre copies him and makes a sandwich which she eats with lots more yummy noises.
Hal must feel the awkwardness of being the only one not eating, so he takes a tentative bite of the bread followed by a big gulp of tea. I can’t help watching him, and a moment later the honey works its magic because he takes another bite. Then another bite, this time of both the pork and the honeyed bread together, and his eyes close in enjoyment.
When he opens his eyes, he catches me looking at him. And he smiles at me. Actually smiles, not just with his mouth but with his eyes and his whole face. “You’re right. This shouldn’t work but it’s delicious.”
I manage to stop myself from raising my fist to pump the air. But nothing can stop the wide, wide, widest grin from breaking on my face.
He turns to Pierre. “You wanted to speak to us about something?”
Pierre has just bitten into a chunk of sandwich, so Gabriel answers, instead. “First of all, have either of you discovered anything strange, or…unexplained?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Elodie
“Do either of you have a basement?” Gabriel explains. “A cellar? An attic?”
Hal and I glance at each other, and we both shake our heads.
Pierre licks a drop of honey from her fingers and wipes her hands on a sheet of kitchen roll. “You do know about the history of this house, dont you?”
“That it belonged to our ancient ancestor?” I ask.
“Sir James Montague, yes,” Gabriel answers. “You can read his biography, it’s in the library. He introduced several anti-smuggling laws and was famous for capturing and executing pirates and smugglers, sometimes without evidence. They even named himGibbet Montaguebecause he advocated hanging suspects on clifftops so sailors could see them and be warned.”
“George Du Montfort told us there was a tragic tale.” I glance towards Hal, but he doesn’t notice.
“Tragic and…” Pierre pauses. “Curious. We’ve been researching him for a while and collected a lot of information until we hit a wall. I think the two of you might be able to help.”
