Penmort Castle (17 page)

Or maybe, Abby
thought, it was all that was her
life
that was
claustrophobic.

When Abby
settled into the couch between Mrs. Truman and Cash, she caught
Jenny’s eye. Cash had placed his arm along the couch behind her
and, as Abby looked at Jenny, Cash’s fingers curled in to stroke
her neck.

Jenny’s eyes
moved to his fingers then they widened.

Abby couldn’t
help it, it felt so nice she shivered.

Cash felt the
shiver. He must have misinterpreted it as her being cold and his
arm moved to rest around her shoulders, pulling her into the warmth
of his side.

Jenny’s eyes
bugged out.

Abby’s heart
skipped a beat.

Unaware of any
of this, Mrs. Truman asked, “Well? Isn’t anyone going to
speak?”

Surprisingly it
was Cash who entered the conversational void by asking Mrs. Truman,
“How long have you lived here?”

“Forty-five
years,” Mrs. Truman answered, “Morty moved me in on our wedding
day.”

“Morty?” Jenny
asked.

“My husband,
God rest him,” Mrs. Truman replied.

Abby looked at
her neighbour, who she’d known (and feared) for as long as she
could remember, “You’ve never mentioned him before.”

“You never
asked,” Mrs. Truman retorted smartly.

And Abby
realised she hadn’t. She’d never made any friendly overtures to
Mrs. Truman at all, not when she was young, not since she’d been
living next door. She’d just put up with her.

She knew her
mother, father and Ben thought she was hilariously cantankerous and
thus also never engaged her in simple conversation.

Abby’s
grandmother, however, often had Mrs. Truman over for tea or dinner
which was how Abby got to know her and Gram liked her very
much.

The rest of the
family never understood it.

Something about
Mrs. Truman’s reply made Abby feel uncomfortable.

“When did he
pass?” Kieran asked softly and Mrs. Truman’s eyes moved to him.

“Thirty-six
years ago. He married me when I was twenty-five and we were
together for nine happy years. Then one day, he was gone. Hit by a
bus,” Mrs. Truman answered matter-of-factly but her voice was far
less severe than normal.

Even though she
noticed this, Abby didn’t process it.

Mainly because
she’d been married to Ben when she was twenty-five and she’d had
nine happy years with him before he died.

“I’m sorry Mrs.
Truman,” Jenny said gently, her eyes shifting between the older
lady and Abby because this coincidence was definitely not lost on
her and Mrs. Truman’s back went up.

“I’m sorry too,
been sorry for thirty-six years. As I’m sure you could tell. Now,
let’s not talk about maudlin things, you,” she pointed at Kieran,
“why are you so tan? It’s January, no one should have a tan in
January. Don’t you work?”

At that, Kieran
explained his love of cycling and holidays with his wife while
Marco served their drinks. Conversation, shockingly, flowed easily
from there.

And this was
because of Kieran and also Cash.

Both men
politely asked questions of Mrs. Truman or politely answered her
nosy ones.

For her part,
Mrs. Truman remained crabby and curious but she was unexpectedly
forthright. Therefore Abby learned more about her neighbour in half
an hour than she’d known in thirty-eight years.

She also
learned about Cash.

Not that he
shared more than absolutely necessary when asked questions, more
that he was polite and solicitous to the older woman. It wasn’t
something she expected from the dynamic, imposing, impatient Cash
Fraser. She didn’t know what she expected, brooding silence maybe
or perhaps edgy tolerance. Not a man relaxed and at ease with his
company and surroundings.

At this, Abby
felt the tension ebb out of her body and she started to enjoy the
evening.

Mrs. Truman
wasn’t a gracious host but you couldn’t say she wasn’t an
interesting one. As the conversation flowed, Abby realised that the
old woman was enjoying herself and it was clear she was blossoming
under the men’s attention, especially Cash’s (as would anyone, Abby
had to admit). She was still grouchy but humorously so.

Abby also
realised that because of her reputation it was unlikely Mrs. Truman
had a lot of dinner parties. She mentally kicked herself for being
so lost in her own troubles she didn’t notice that, when Abby’s
grandmother died, her lonely neighbour had lost her old friend
who’d lived next to her for forty-five years.

By the time
Mrs. Truman announced it was time to eat and demanded they all go
to the dining room, Abby felt Cash deserved some gratitude for his
efforts.

While Mrs.
Truman headed out to see to the meal, Abby grabbed Cash’s hand,
delaying him as Kieran and Jenny moved from the room.

He stopped and
his chin tipped down in order that he could look at her
enquiringly.

She smiled up
at him and told him in a whisper, “You… are… the…
master
.”

His eyes lit
with humour at her words but he asked, “I’m sorry?”

“Mrs. Truman.
You’re handling her like a master. I know you can’t tell, because,
well, she’s Mrs. Truman but I think she’s half in love with you,”
Abby informed him.

The light in
his eyes stayed there but it grew warmer just as his head descended
and his face disappeared in the hair by her ear.

“I hope, when
we’re alone later, you’ll still think I’m a master,” he murmured
teasingly and Abby’s body gave a delicious tremble right before all
the tension that had ebbed out of her came slamming right back.

What did
that
mean?

She decided
instantly that she did
not
want to know.

Cash felt her
body go solid and apparently her reaction amused him. She knew this
because he chuckled before he led her into the dining room.

The minute they
entered Mrs. Truman bossily informed them they were switching
partners and as the men made their way to their assigned seats,
Jenny grabbed Abby’s forearm and tugged.

When she had
Abby’s ear close to her mouth, she hissed, “What on earth is going
on?”

Abby knew what
her friend was referring to but she decided to play dumb.

“What do you
mean?” Abby whispered.

“I mean you and
Hunky International Spy Chaser, that’s what I mean,” Jenny
whispered back.

“I don’t know
what you’re talking about,” Abby was still playing dumb and still
whispering, not wanting anyone to hear.

Jenny’s fingers
tightened on Abby’s arm. “Bickering on the front step like an old
married couple. The finger action on the couch.
Snuggling,
”
she hissed, “
in company,
” she went on. “You’re supposed to
be his girlfriend but this is…” she hesitated. “I don’t know what
it is!” she finished.

“Jenny –” Abby
started but Mrs. Truman was getting cross at the delay.

“What are you
two ninnies whispering about? Come on, share with the group,” she
called.

Abby turned
toward the table, thankful for once at Mrs. Truman’s interference,
and answered, “Nothing, Mrs. Truman.”

“Women
problems,” Jenny, for some momentarily-possessed-by-Satan reason,
explained.

“Oh dear, you
aren’t pregnant are you?” Mrs. Truman asked Jenny as Abby took her
seat next to Kieran and Jenny slid into hers next to Cash.

“Um, no,” Jenny
answered and her eyes moved to Kieran.

It was an
insensitive question even though Mrs. Truman didn’t know that (and
probably wouldn’t care). They’d been trying now for three years
with no luck.

Mrs. Truman
speared Abby with her eyes, “Please tell me
you
aren’t.”

Abby was taking
a sip of her wine when the question was asked and she choked in
horror and disbelief before saying, “Me? Pregnant?”

Mrs. Truman
rolled her eyes to the ceiling and for some ungodly reason started
talking to Abby’s grandmother, “I tell you, Meg, children these
days. There’s no controlling them.” Mrs. Truman looked back to Abby
but jutted a thumb at Cash. “I don’t care how handsome and charming
he is; don’t let him get you into trouble.”

Kieran burst
out laughing, Cash turned a devastating smile in Abby’s direction
and Jenny stared at her speculatively.

Abby hoped the
floor would form a mouth, open up and swallow her whole.

“Mrs. Truman,
why don’t you stab me with your butter knife?” Abby requested.

“And why would
I do a fool thing like that?” Mrs. Truman shot back but even as she
did so her lips were twitching.

“Because it’d
be less painful,” Abby returned blandly and for the first time ever
Abby saw Mrs. Truman laugh.

Although she
was trying to be funny, and she was weirdly pleased with herself
for making Mrs. Truman laugh, Abby didn’t think anything was
amusing.

Instead, she
thought, with everything that had happened over the past six years,
and everything that had happened recently, and everything that was
going
to happen, it was high time to get drunk.

* * * * *

“Abigail,
you’re inebriated,” Mrs. Truman remarked jovially – yes,
jovially!

“Am not,” Abby
returned cheerfully, but this was a lie, because she was.

It was after
their delicious, four-course meal (not including the cheese tray),
served by the silent Marco, they were having after dinner drinks in
the living room.

Jenny had
gotten over her freak out at Abby and Cash’s behaviour and also
conquered her fear of Mrs. Truman. Once she entered the
conversation, drawing Cash out more, familiarly teasing Kieran and
amusingly going head-to-head with Mrs. Truman, the evening became
fun.

Abby joined in
and through it all she had more wine than was prudent.

But she didn’t
give a good God damn.

She didn’t like
what had happened to her life but she weirdly
did
like what
was currently happening to it, even though she knew shouldn’t, it
wasn’t sensible.

Further, she
was scared silly at what was
about
to happen at the same
time she couldn’t wait.

If all that
didn’t make you want to get drunk indeed
deserve
to get
drunk, Abby didn’t know what did.

“I hope you can
handle sick. Men, it’s my experience, can’t handle sick. Or poo.”
Mrs. Truman, who likely was also a little intoxicated if her new
conversational gambit was anything to go by, said to Cash. “Sick
and poo and men do not mix,” she declared. “If you need me later,
call me. I can handle sick. My dogs get sick all the time.” She
paused and added as an informational afterthought, “They also
poo.”

“Where
are
your dogs?” Jenny asked, leaning toward Mrs. Truman as
if her answer would cure world hunger, proving it was highly likely
she too was less than sober.

“They’re locked
in my room. Probably
pooing
on my bed,” Mrs. Truman answered
then cackled loudly as if this comment was the height of
comedy.

Abby and Jenny
apparently agreed because they giggled right along with her.

“Why are we
talking about poo?” Kieran muttered to Cash and Cash’s response was
to shake his head. This caused more gales of laughter from the
women.

At that Cash
got to his feet. He did so with his hands on Abby’s waist, pushing
her up in front of him.

Once she was
standing, Abby gazed up at him and asked, “Are we leaving?”

“Yes, darling,
before you get any more wine in you and pass out on Mrs. Truman’s
floor, we’re leaving,” Cash replied.

“Ooo, he called
you ‘darling’,” Jenny burst out, drunkenly forgetting that Abby’s
place in Cash’s life didn’t exactly garner endearments then in a
colossal mood swing she turned a glare at Kieran. “Why don’t you
call me ‘darling’, darling?”

“Because you’re
not my darling,” Kieran replied on a grin, “you’re my pumpkin.”

Jenny’s glare
darkened ominously. “I don’t want to be a pumpkin. A pumpkin is a
vegetable. A darling is…” she faltered then declared, “a
darling!”

“How about
‘sweetheart’?” Kieran suggested.

Jenny appeared
to be considering this then she grumbled, “Darling’s better.”

Kieran’s grin
didn’t waver as he explained, “I’m not a darling type of guy,
pumpkin.”

“Well, I’m not
a pumpkin type of girl,
darling,
” Jenny shot back.

“Time to call
it a night,” Mrs. Truman decreed, slowly getting to her feet,
“marital tiffs always herald time to call it a night.”

At this Abby
burst out laughing.

Cash started to
manoeuvre her laughing form from the room but Mrs. Truman
interceded.

“You men, get
the coats. We’ll wait here where it’s comfortable,” she ordered
bossily.

Kieran got to
his feet muttering, “Your wish…” and he bent to kiss the top of his
still-irritable wife’s head.

With a smile on
her lips, Abby watched this but her attention was diverted when
Cash’s hand came up, curled around her neck and he gave her an
affectionate squeeze before he left the room.

She had to
admit, she really liked it when Cash did that.

Abby watched
him leave then forgetting her audience, she sighed.

“He’s
luscious,
” Jenny proclaimed, her eyes on the door Cash just
went through.

For one
beautiful moment, forgetting herself and her circumstances, in the
direction of her friend Abby breathed a very girlie, “I
know
.”

Mrs. Truman
broke into this exchange by starting, “When Morty died,” and Abby
and Jenny’s eyes turned to her, their drunken glow slipping at the
older woman’s words, “I promised myself never again. Never again.”
Abby and Jenny kept watching as her face changed to an expression
neither of them had ever seen, not just from Mrs. Truman, but on
anyone. It was forlorn, full of regret and difficult to witness.
Abby watched as Mrs. Truman’s attention focused on her. “After your
man died, Meg and I talked about you. We talked about you all the
time. She worried so much. She told me how grief-stricken you were.
She thought you’d never recover. Meg worried you’d end up just like
me,” Abby’s throat closed and Mrs. Truman’s voice got soft when she
went on. “I like him, this new one. Your grandmother would be
pleased, Abigail,” her voice dipped to a whisper, “so very
pleased.”