‘Let me try.’
Ross put the port on a shelf on the wall beside them and stepped in front of her, taking the handle and tugging. He rattled the door for a few seconds before pulling his phone out of his pocket and shining the torch at the door frame. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ he said. ‘It’s not stuck, it’s bloody locked.’
‘It can’t be. Who would lock us in? Everyone knew we were down here.’
He gave her a searching look. ‘Who do you think?’
‘What? You think someone did it on purpose?’ asked Izzy in disbelief.
‘Well, hello. Two matchmaking mamas, giggling away together. I’m no detective, but I got the distinct impression that the two of them were keen for us to spend time together. It’s just the sort of thing they would do.’
‘What are we going to do?’
‘Call them.’ He tapped at the phone screen. ‘Damn, I can’t get a signal. Can you?’
She had one bar on her phone but it wasn’t sufficient for the call to her mother to connect. ‘No, I’m not getting anything. Now what?’
‘Wait until they decide to let us out, I suppose.’
Izzy hammered on the door again and yelled. ‘Hello! Is anyone there? Xanthe!’ She waited and listened. Nothing. No give-away giggles or footsteps. She banged again and called even louder.
‘You’re wasting your time,’ said Ross as he began to go back down the stairs.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To get a bottle of wine.’
‘What, now?’
‘Yes. I guess they’ll let us out in their own good time – let’s hope they come to their senses before tomorrow morning because I really don’t want to spend a whole night down here. In the meantime, I’m going to have a drink and at least we get a break from their comments.’
‘We haven’t got any glasses.’
He glared up at her. ‘Straight from the bottle will do.’
‘God, what are they like?’ She stomped down the steps after him. Today might just be the day she finally strangled her mother. This had one of her harebrained ideas written all over it.
Ross didn’t wait for her and walked through the cellar rooms back to the wine rack where, using the torch on his phone, he selected a bottle and grabbed the handy corkscrew hanging from a hook. Then he marched back through to the middle room, which had a couple of old chesterfield armchairs in one corner. She followed him and sank into the chair beside him as he deftly opened the bottle and took a swig from it. He didn’t offer it to her and she almost didn’t ask. His granite-faced expression wasn’t exactly encouraging.
‘Are you going to share that?’
With a twist to his mouth, he offered it to her but she decided she didn’t want any.
‘You’re all right. Hopefully they’ll let us out before long. At least we’ve got seats and wine.’ She gave him an encouraging smile. ‘It could be a lot worse.’
He stared at her for a minute, his eyebrows drawn tight below his furrowed brow.
‘Could it?’
‘Yes,’ said Izzy. ‘We know it’s not for ever, they’ll come and let us out eventually. We’re not going to die of hypothermia or anything. The hot water pipes run along the ceiling so this part is okay.’ She was trying to be practical and positive, but while it wasn’t frigid, it was hardly warm. She reached over and patted his hand. ‘We can always keep each other warm.’
He withdrew his hand. God, he was more pissed off than she’d realised. Their predicament was annoying but it was temporary.
‘We’ll be okay.’
His look was quizzical and he didn’t say anything for a moment before shaking his head. ‘Sorry, Izzy. This isn’t okay. It feels like we’re being manipulated, having our hands forced. You know, making more of something before we even know what it is ourselves. We don’t know each other that well and already they’re talking about marriage. You’ve seen what they’re like.’
‘I know it isn’t okay, but we’ll get out soon and then we’ll give them a severe talking to.’
