‘The process was so detailed, like Charlotte was recounting it rather than making it up. It makes me wonder if she did actually hide something.’
Dain holds out his hand for the empty hot chocolate cup, which I’ve inadvertently finished. He fills it, takes a sip, and leans back against the bench again before answering, ‘What would she be hiding?’
‘I don’t know. Her own letters she didn’t want anyone to see?’
‘It’s not unfeasible. Charlotte did draw on real life a lot for her books.Shirley, for instance, had the locals chortling because they recognised themselves in it.’
‘I’ll have to read that one.’
‘The main character is also meant to be a study of Emily.’
‘The mysterious Emily. There’s so much hearsay about her floating around. Do you think she had an affair with William Weightman?’
Dain screws up his nose. ‘I suppose you’re referring to theEmilymovie. There was an opportunity according to the dates for something like that to occur, but there isn’t a shred of proof.’
‘None that we know of,’ I say.
‘To be honest, I think he was too namby-pamby for her. She had quite a strong character. Anyway, how are things at the hotel?’
‘Oh, fine,’ I say, a little surprised at the swift change of subject.Did he get bored talking about Emily’s non-affair?
‘But we did have to change rooms because things got a little spooky last night. I’ve got the bruises to prove it.’ I hike up my jeans leg to show him the rather nasty-looking bruises on my shin.
‘Ouch,’ he says, inspecting my leg closely. ‘What happened?’
‘A foot-tickling ghost.’
Dain raises an eyebrow. ‘Do I want to know about this?’
‘It’s a long story ...’ I’m about to give him the shortened version, but I notice he’s still staring at my shin—and not in a concerned brotherly fashion. I pull my jeans leg down hurriedly. ‘But I’ll live.’
‘No more dreams about me?’ he says teasingly.
‘Hah, no.’But I’m kind of hoping there will be.
He starts gathering up the lunch detritus. ‘I need to get back,but we could meet up again for another chat before you go.’
I hesitate.
‘Only if you want to.’
I take a breath. ‘We’re here for another week due toKlint’s schedule, so yes, I’d like that. Thanks for the sandwich and hot chocolate.’
Dain rests his hand on mine briefly, and a warm feeling floods my chest. ‘Stay and enjoy the sun. Talk soon,’ he says.
I watch him lope off down the hill back to the parsonage, swinging his thermos.
Pleasantly full and wired from the sugary hot chocolate, I sit there in the sunshine, mulling over what we talked about. It was another good conversation. Apart from him staring at my leg for an overly long moment and the tingles radiating from my fingertips, I could almost say we’re becoming friends.
***
Of course, my inner cosiness doesn’t last. It can’t. Walking back to the hotel, I check my phone and am alarmed to see several missed calls from Klint and a message:Where the hell are you?
Hastily, I ping him:I went for a walk. I’m on my way back.
He replies straightaway:OK. I was worried.
Sorry, I was longer than I thought I’d be. I should’ve messaged.See you in five.
