‘Of course. I was fibbing when I said I was running low, there’s still an enormous box of things at Mum and Dad’s.’
‘Is there?’ said Tamar, waggling her eyebrows.
‘Which Mum has put a lock on,’ said Tabitha. ‘She’s extremely possessive of the free samples. Do you want to sit outside? There’s a patio heater if we’re cold.’
For the past week, there had been an Indian summer, with days as warm and sunny as summer, before plunging into cool evenings.
‘Yes, let’s enjoy the sun while we can,’ said Tamar and Tabitha led the way outside.
A bistro-style table and chairs sat to one side of the small patio. Tabitha placed the ice bucket containing the Prosecco on the table and sat down. Tamar made herself comfortable in a pool of autumn sunshine, holding her face up to the golden rays.
‘This is a beautiful place,’ said Tamar. ‘I understand why you decided to take the job.’
‘I needed somewhere with no memories,’ said Tabitha, sipping her drink and gazing at the dog rose which clung to the back wall of the garden.
‘I know, love,’ her sister replied, squeezing her hand. ‘Time to make new ones.’
‘I hate that expression,’ said Tabitha. ‘It’s very passive, surely, “Having new adventures” is better.’
‘And are you? Having new adventures?’
‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘It’s too soon. After what happened, it may be a while before I trust anyone again. How’s Eve?’ Tabitha deliberately changed the subject, asking after their youngestsister. She had no desire to discuss the past, the events that had driven her to Cerensthorpe Abbey, her husband’s decisions and what she saw as his betrayal of their love.
Tamar gave her a sympathetic smile and said, ‘Eve’s really good.’
They both crossed their fingers.
‘She’s seven months now, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, and being closely monitored,’ said Tamar. ‘When I went into research, I never imagined my knowledge and connections within the world of fertility would be of help to one of my sisters. It feels as though it was fate.’
The youngest Mundy sister, Eve Darnell, and her childhood sweetheart, Robbie, had tried to have children for several years before turning to IVF but when this failed, Tamar had stepped in and offered to help.
‘Perhaps you’re another natural-born witch,’ suggested Tabitha. ‘You’ve always claimed fate gave you the name that led you to your true love.’
‘Maybe,’ Tamar replied with a grin. ‘On that one occasion, being named after a large piece of engineering had its advantage.’
Tamar had met her husband Billy at a mutual friend’s wedding. Born and raised in Cornwall, Billy was intrigued to know whether Tamar was named after the bridge and river that connected Devon and Cornwall or the biblical character who was victim of no end of violent assaults.
‘Definitely the bridge,’ she had assured him before explaining. ‘When they were younger, Mum and Dad used to go on lots of adventures and Mum always liked the name Tamar. It wasn’t until I was three that she discovered the connection to the dodgy Bible stories, but it was too late to change it by then.’
They had married a year later and now had two children, Carenza and Gawain, named to mark Billy’s Cornish heritage.Tamar and Billy moved to Pembrokeshire after Carenza was born and lived in a rambling farmhouse near the Mundy family hotel in St Ishmaels. Tamar worked in Swansea at a research laboratory specialising in fertility and Billy, an engineer, worked for a charity that sent experts all around the world to help rebuild infrastructure in areas ravaged by war or natural disasters.
Tamar and Tabitha had always been close, sharing a love of theEther Heraclesnovels, expensive cosmetics and surfing.
‘How’s Gulliver?’ asked Tamar, placing her glass on the table.
‘Not great,’ Tabitha replied. ‘After his episode on the roof, Molly insisted he move into Frog Cottage with her. She was worried he might have taken something which caused his meltdown on the roof.’
‘Had he?’
‘He claims not,’ said Tabitha. ‘Edith told me Gulliver has always loved storms and used to rush outside whenever there was thunder and lightning, even if it was the middle of the night.’
‘It sounded very pagan,’ said Tamar, taking the bottle out of the ice bucket and topping up their glasses. ‘All that water streaming over his naked torso?—’
‘Hardly,’ interrupted Tabitha, feeling possessive of Gulliver. ‘It was painful to watch, as though he was baring his soul to the storm, allowing its energy to heal his grief. Yet, there was a beauty to it, too.’
The image of Gulliver, arms outstretched, backlit by the raging storm, had remained with Tabitha, even after his strange outburst when he had seen her. The moment had been elemental, transformational in his release of his despair, butTamar’s comment had touched a nerve. The image of Gulliver in his state of undress had returned to Tabitha at unexpected times ever since, often in her dreams when the outcome of the scenario was far more sensuous than the reality and never ended with Gulliver shouting at her in fury.
