House of Shadows (27 page)

H
olly and Mark walked back to the mill together through the wood. Bonnie galloped through the leaves and between the trees, circling them, racing away and then coming back, waving her feathery tail, full of bounce and happiness. Holly thought how easy and uncomplicated it was to be a dog.

‘Do you have to get back to work?’ she asked Mark when they reached the gate. ‘I mean, I wondered—’ she hesitated, ‘if you would like to see my studio. If you’re interested.’

Mark looked surprised then so pleased that her heart missed a beat. ‘I’d like that very much,’ he said, and followed her in, stooping low beneath the old oaken lintel.

‘I’ve got a bit of work to finish off, if that’s OK,’ Holly said, ‘but please take as much time as you like.’

She went back to her desk and picked up the piece she had been working on earlier that day. Mark walked
over to the exhibition shelves and studied the fairy tale panels that were displayed there. When Holly had engraved a whole series of them for the children’s section of the library she had done copies of a few for herself. There was Little Red Riding Hood with the wolf peeking at her from behind a tree, Cinderella running away from the ball and Snow White reaching out to take a succulent apple.

Holly watched Mark out of the corner of her eye; watched the fall of dark hair across his forehead and the hard, shadowed line of his cheek in the glare of sunlight, and something strange happened to her insides.

‘These are really good.’ Mark’s voice was quiet.

Holly dropped her drill and bent down to retrieve it. ‘Thank you.’ Her voice was muffled.

Mark traced the curve of the engraving with one finger. Holly repressed a shiver and bent back over her work. She had never experienced such a strong physical reaction to anybody and it totally threw her. She felt edgy and disturbed. Mark looked up. ‘How long did it take you to engrave all of these?’

‘About two months,’ Holly said.

‘And what’s the going rate for a piece of engraving?’

Holly paused. ‘That depends on the commission. Those cost about a hundred pounds per panel.’

Mark looked at her. He was shaking his head. ‘That seems absurdly cheap.’

‘Market forces,’ Holly said quickly, unable to keep a shade of defensiveness from her voice. ‘Places like museums and libraries can’t afford to pay thousands for a piece of
engraving, but they give me some small commissions and free advertising. So do individuals who want just one paperweight or vase. The larger pieces for companies and big organisations are more lucrative.’

‘Some of your images are so powerful it’s disturbing,’ Mark said. ‘Very dark.’

Holly thought of how she had planned to engrave an image of the Winter Queen fleeing from Prague with the snow falling around her and the life she had known tumbling away with it.

‘There’s a nice flower paperweight over there that’s very pretty and not remotely dark, if that’s what you prefer,’ she said.

‘I don’t,’ Mark said. ‘But I’m interested in what draws you to the dark side.’

Holly shrugged. ‘It’s more inspiring somehow,’ she said. ‘Poignancy and loss and danger interest me, at least in terms of my work.’

Mark was looking at her. ‘You lost someone important to you,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Ben and I lost our parents before we were in our teens,’ Holly said. ‘It was …’ She hesitated to find the right word. ‘Terrifying.’

Mark nodded. ‘And now with Ben gone …’ He let the sentence hang.

Holly nodded. There was a lump in her throat. For a second her vision swam with tears. She still did not want to talk about it but she could feel those barriers weakening. Mark had asked. He had cared. She wasn’t sure if that made her glad or nervous.

Mark had obviously seen her reaction and wasn’t going to push her. He turned and picked up a paperweight. It was engraved with the image of a running hare.

‘This is beautiful, Holly.’ There was something close to awe in Mark’s voice that made Holly feel a prickle of pleasure. ‘I love the clean lines of it.’

‘Thank you,’ Holly said. ‘One benefit of living in the country – I’ve ample time to study the wildlife. I’ve done foxes and those beautiful birds of prey you see over the Downs.’

‘Red kites,’ Mark said. ‘Yes, they are stunning.’

Holly switched the drill back on and picked up the glass she was working on. Steady hand, she told herself. Mark was walking slowly about the workshop. Despite the fact that her back was turned to him, his presence still disturbed her, breaking her concentration, distracting her.

‘Damn!’

The glass fractured all the way around the top and broke off cleanly in a band half and inch wide.

‘Neat,’ Mark said, picking up the glass bracelet, ‘but probably not what you intended to do.’

‘No.’ Holly gritted her teeth. The drill had hit a weak point in the glass on the annealing line, where the top edge had been sealed. It was entirely her fault that she had lost a piece of stock she could not afford to waste, because her hand had not been steady enough and her concentration had been flawed.

‘Sorry,’ Mark said. ‘I guess I made you nervous.’

‘I’m not nervous,’ Holly said.

Mark’s gaze collided with hers and suddenly it was
difficult to breathe. Holly stood up, pushing her goggles on to the top of her head. She couldn’t work like this.

‘Fetching,’ Mark said, eyeing the goggles with amusement. ‘It reminds me of
Flashdance.
Are you going to get a blowtorch out next?’

‘You’re showing your age now,’ Holly said. ‘The paperweight is thirty-five quid, as it’s you. Would you like to take it away now or shall I put it on one side for you?’

‘I’ll take it,’ Mark said, reaching for his wallet. ‘Thanks.’

Holly opened a drawer and took out some deep blue tissue paper, expertly wrapping the glass and sticking it down with tape.

‘I’m going to finish now,’ she said. ‘Would you like a drink? Tea, I mean, or a cold drink.’

Mark smiled. ‘Sure. Thank you.’

He waited while she locked the studio and followed her down the path to the mill door where Bonnie gave them a rapturous welcome as though it had been years since she had last seen them.

‘Sometimes she comes into the studio with me,’ Holly said, ‘mostly when I’m doing hand etching. She doesn’t like the noise of the drill much.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ Mark said. ‘If dogs can hear a sound several miles away a drill at close quarters would probably drive them insane.’

He stroked Bonnie’s golden head and she tilted up her chin, closing her eyes in the most flirtatious gesture Holly had ever seen. Judging by Mark’s grin he thought so too.

‘What a hussy.’ He stroked Bonnie under the chin.

‘She’ll be rolling over for you soon,’ Holly said acidly. ‘You’re irresistible.’

Mark looked at her, raising his brows. She blushed. ‘Is cafetiere coffee OK?’ She was stammering now. ‘Or tea?’

‘Actually, I’ll have a cold drink if you have one, thanks.’ Mark had straightened and was looking around the room with professional approval. ‘It looks good in here. What have you done to it?’

‘Cleaned it,’ Holly said. ‘I made some new curtains too. And waxed the table. That’s about all.’

‘It looks a lot better than when Ben was here,’ Mark said. ‘It had a sort of unlived-in feel to it then. Sorry—’ He added, catching her expression. ‘I seem to be channelling Fran’s tactlessness.’

Holly was surprised to find herself repressing a giggle. ‘That’s OK. And I love Fran.’

‘I know,’ Mark said. ‘You don’t have any trouble loving your friends and family, do you?’ He looked at her.

‘It’s too late to help that,’ Holly said honestly.

‘So it’s just in romantic relationships that you want to keep aloof?’

The silence buzzed. Holly turned away and opened the fridge door. ‘Is lemonade OK for you? Homemade, though not by me.’

Mark grinned. ‘Your grandmother?’

‘She’s famous for it,’ Holly said, handing him a glass. Their fingers touched. She tried not to jump.

‘There’s an evening reception at the new development in a week or two,’ Mark said. ‘It’s mostly for the marketing guys, VIP stuff to gain publicity, and I wondered
if you’d like to contribute a few pieces to dress the new cottages? A couple of vases, a paperweight or two, whatever you think would look good. It might get you some commissions and your work would look stunning in that setting.’

He sounded nervous. He sounded as though he thought she might refuse. Holly’s heart flipped. ‘I’d love to,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’ll have to come in early on the day to set up.’ Mark ran a hand through his hair. ‘We’re running very tight on schedule and after the reception the houses will be up for sale – in fact most are already sold so I hope to hell we get it all done on time.’ He caught himself. ‘You’re invited to the reception as well, of course.’

‘Gosh,’ Holly said. ‘Wow. Yes, that would be great.’

‘I’ll introduce you to a few people.’ Mark smiled. ‘It would be lovely to show you the buildings, anyway.’ His shoulders relaxed. ‘I thought you might like them – from a historical perspective, I mean.’

‘And to take a look at your work,’ Holly said. ‘Fran says your barn conversion is fabulous so I’m expecting something sensational.’

Mark almost looked as though he was going to blush. ‘You’ll see the house properly if you can drop in to the barbecue at the weekend.’ He shifted. ‘I’d invite you back anyway, anytime, but I sense you’re running scared.’ He tilted the glass of lemonade to his lips. Holly watched the muscles in his throat move as he swallowed. It felt very hot in the kitchen.

She realised she was staring and spoke hastily. ‘Won’t you
be too busy schmoozing all the VIPs at the reception to keep an eye on me?’

‘I’d rather show you round,’ Mark said. He grimaced. ‘I don’t much enjoy the schmoozing. I’ve done enough of that to last a lifetime. It’s a necessary evil.’

‘And you do it so well,’ Holly said.

Mark grinned. ‘Don’t believe everything you read in the papers.’

‘All right,’ Holly said. ‘I won’t.’ She flipped open the cover of her phone. ‘What’s the date of the party?’

‘Two weeks’ time,’ Mark said. ‘The 28th. Sorry it’s such short notice. I’ll drop off a formal invitation for you.’ He nodded to a big black and white photograph of a ruined ivy-clad tower that dominated the wall opposite the window.

‘I’ve been meaning to ask. Did you take that?’

‘I did,’ Holly said.

Mark stood considering it, cradling his glass in both hands. ‘It’s great, very moody and atmospheric.’ He put his empty glass down on the worktop, still looking at the photograph. ‘Where is that taken? It looks familiar.’

‘It’s the tower up on the Downs beyond Weathercock Hill,’ Holly said. ‘I took it a few years ago. It’s almost entirely covered in ivy now. I’m not sure if people even know it’s there.’

‘I know where you mean,’ Mark said. ‘It’s on the OS maps. Did you know it’s called Verity’s Folly? I never thought of it before but I guess it was named for Robert Verity.’ He shifted. ‘Perhaps we should look at it. Any time you fancy a walk …’

Bonnie’s ear pricked up at the word and she looked very hopeful.

‘Now look what you’ve done,’ Holly said. ‘Sorry Bon Bon. You’ve been out already today. A walk would be nice though,’ she added. ‘One evening, maybe, since it still stays light so late. I rather like that the folly is named for him,’ she added. ‘At least some trace of Robert Verity remains in the landscape even if he did disappear.’

‘I’m working on that,’ Mark said. ‘I’ve got a genealogist friend who might be able to help.’

‘I did find out a bit more about him,’ Holly said. ‘He was descended from the First Earl of Craven, down the wrong side of the blanket, allegedly. One of his ancestors had an affair with the Earl when they were in The Hague.’

Her phone rang. She fumbled for it, feeling the familiar sense of hope and apprehension. She saw the caller ID was the bank and let it go to voicemail.

‘Were you hoping for it to be Ben?’ Mark’s voice was soft.

‘Always,’ Holly said, with a sigh. ‘I guess I should have got past that by now but …’ She shrugged. ‘It’s the not knowing that’s particularly hard. The police keep Tasha informed as next of kin, but there’s no news anyway.’

She felt a huge rush of grief and misery, so sudden and shocking that it made her shake. She braced both hands on the worktop, breathing deeply to try to get it to pass.

‘Sorry,’ she said, with difficulty.

‘Don’t,’ Mark said. His tone was fierce. ‘Don’t apologise.’ He put his arms around her. For a moment Holly resisted the comfort, trying to draw away, but she was too tired and it was too tempting. She leaned into him and breathed in
the scent of his skin and the smell of fresh air and sun, and felt the layers of protection she had wrapped herself in long ago unfurl a little more.

Mark smoothed the hair away from her cheeks and cupped her face. It was only then that Holly realised she had been crying.

‘I did warn you,’ she said, trying to smile. It came out a bit wobbly. ‘I’m an emotional mess. I thought you would have walked away by now.’

‘I guess I have reserves of fortitude I didn’t realise,’ Mark said.