I take a breath. ‘Anyway, she saidheloves discussing the Brontës. He seems to be a wealth of information about them, so I thought it might be a good idea to follow up. I got his number.’
OK, that’s a teensy, tiny tweak of the truth; the number was given to me yesterday by Dain himself.
Klint presses a finger into a dusting of icing sugar on the bedspread and licks it. ‘I guess it makes sense for you to meet with him and see if he can spark any interest in you. Saves time as well since we’re only here for a couple more days.’
I nod. ‘Yes, that’s what I thought. I might suggest lunchtime tomorrow at the Black Bull, if he’s free.’
For a moment, I think Klint’s going to invite himself along, but he drains the rest of his tea and says, ‘That works. I’ve got an appointment with the station manager tomorrow at noon, so you might as well meet with your Brontë expert then.’
‘Great. I’ll message him.’
Cake—it works every time.
***
Before bed, I sort out my arm in the minuscule bathroom, applying cream, pressing on a couple of sticking plasters, and winding the bandage around it for good measure. I probably should see a doctor, but I don’t want to get Klint in trouble. It’s not domestic abuse; it’s a nervous habit from his childhood that has flared up because of something that happened a few months ago at a party we went to. There was alcohol involved, and it was messy all round. I had to tell him because he would’ve found out anyway as there were multiple eyewitnesses. But even though I wasn’t completely to blame, now he doesn’t trust me, even to go out with the few friends I have. Because I’ve been making excuses and saying I want to stay in, they’ve started not inviting me to things. And on top of that, he’s sleep biting again. I guess it’s his subconscious dealing with it. But how can I say all that to a doctor?
I hook the metal bandage fastener into place and look at my mummified arm. At least if it happens again, he won’t be able to get at the skin—unless he manages to get my neck this time. I start brushing my teeth, and there’s a light rap on the door.
‘Are you nearly finished, Liz?’
‘Yes, just a sec,’ I mumble with a mouth full of toothpaste foam.
I rinse and spit, avoiding the mirror in case a ghostly handprint appears. I’m not looking forward to another sleepless fear-fuelled night keeping one eye open for ghosts. While Klint uses the bathroom, I read some more ofVilletteto distract myself. The wind has picked up again, strong and insistent, rattling the windowpanes. Small gaps in the frame let in air, so the curtains billow at intervals. But thankfully, they don’t open and close of their own accord.
My phone is silent as the grave on the nightstand. I sent Dain a carefully worded message before dinner, asking if he wanted to meet for lunch at the Black Bull tomorrow. But there hasn’t been a reply. I glance at it again for the millionth time, my stomach twisting into a figure eight knot. After the effort I’ve made to arrange this, it would be a shame if he didn’t want to meet me after all.
I resume reading. A short while later, my phone buzzes, and I know it’s him. Dreading that it’s going be a ‘No, I’m busy’, I check the message.
Hi Lizzy, of course I can meet you for lunch. I can do 12 at the Black Bull? Looking forward to our discussion. Dain.
A grin spreads across my face as nervous anticipation leaves my body, and a Zen-like calm takes over. It’s the perfect response—friendly, yet professional. I send a quick message back confirming the time and put my phone in sleep mode just as Klint comes out of the bathroom. I switch out my light and scooch down under the covers.
‘You OK?’ he asks, getting into bed.
‘Yes, why wouldn’t I be?’
‘This time last night, you were a nervous wreck and wanted to keep the light on.’
‘Oh. Well, nothing happened, did it? Maybe it’s all a bunch of bullshit,’ I reply, trying not to think about what’s out in the hallway.
‘Exactly. I’m glad you’ve come round to my way of thinking.’ Klint hooks a finger under the strap of my mauve satin camisole. ‘Is this new?’
‘No, just haven’t worn it before.’
‘Pretty colour.’
‘Doesn’t go with the bandage,’ I joke.
‘We can keep the light on if you like,’ he says, pulling the strap down and kissing my shoulder. ‘You know, for a bit longer ...’
I nod, feeling surprised.Reader, it’s the first time he’s wanted to have sex in quite a while.
Chapter 6
His presence in a room was more cheering
than the brightest fire.
