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She mutters something I can’t quite catch, then moves over onto her side, facing away from me.
I draw her into my arms. “Do you want me to go?” I ask her.
She takes her time answering. At last, “You should, I suppose.”
The stab of regret is far more painful than I expected, but I did ask, and I’ll respect her wishes.
Her next words stun me. “You really should, but I hope you won’t.”
Unusually for me,I wake late the next morning. Sunlight is streaming through the curtains when I open my eyes. My first reaction to the morning is pleasure, followed by a slap of horrified realisation. I came in here, fucked Ruth, then calmly went to sleep next to her.
The door locks from the outside. I never bolted it.
I roll over, then heave a sigh of blessed relief. She’s still here. I’m so fucking lucky. It was a rookie mistake, and I got away with it. She must have been as wrung out by the whole scene as I was and managed not to notice that here was her chance to escape.
Christ, I’m slipping.Ruth Lowison does the weirdest things to me. I need to get a grip.
I slide out of the bed with almost as much enthusiasm as when I got in. Enough, anyway, that I manage to wake her.
“Good morning,” she offers, then disappears behind a yawn. “What time is it?”
“Time I was off,” I reply, my tone sharper than it has any right to be. I bend to drag on my jeans, leaving the button undone and pulling the zipper up halfway. “I’ll have someone bring your breakfast up.”
I glance over at her and catch the expression of surprise followed by hurt that flits across her delicate features.
She frowns, clearly confused. “Did I do something wrong?”
I don’t answer that. I can’t. Instead, “Get some more sleep.”
“Will you be back?” she dares to press me.
“Later. Probably.” I’m being a prize bastard, I know I am. But still, I let myself out of the unlocked door, slam the bolt home, and march off down the hallway.
I have shit to do. Routine stuff, mainly, day-to-day jobs neglected because of the trip to Caraksay, then last night’s excursion. I stomp into my office, fire up my laptop, and get stuck in. Half an hour clears up the in-tray but does nothing for my mood. Whichever way I look at it, everything comes back to the same place.
Beth has to change her mind. End of.
I know Aaron’s tried and I suspect Ethan may have, too. And it hasn’t escaped me just how stubborn Beth Sampson can be. By the time she sees sense, it could be too late.
As though conjured up by my thoughts, my phone rings at that precise moment. I check the screen. It’s an English number. Willowfield Hospice.
I take the call.
“Is it possible to speak to Miss Ruth Lowison?” the disembodied voice asks.
“She’s not available right now,” I explain. “Can I pass on a message?”
Why don’t I just march back up there and hand her the fucking phone? I said I would.
“This is Staff Nurse Julie Fisher. I’m caring for Mrs Esther Lowison.”
“Ruth’s mother. Yes. How is she?”
“I’m afraid I can’t discuss the details of the case with a non-relative. But I would like to ask Miss Lowison to get in touch as soon as she can.”
“Okay.” My heart sinks. One way or another, time is fast running out.
“Does she have plans to visit her mother soon?”
