“Hm.” He cannot bring himself to admit he hasn’t even thought to search the tower—or even found a door to enter it.
He scoops Kitten out of the satchel and places it on the back of his neck, where the tiny being sets to work cleaning William’s wiry, unkempt hair and rumbling its appreciation.
“Oh!” That redOagain, much smaller than he remembers. “You’ve a flatmate.”
“Houseguest. It’s temporary.”
Back to thereason,please. How long does courtesy dictate he wait before bringing it up?
Unhurried, she reaches for the kitten, holding it close and turning it this way and that. “She,” the woman announces.
He turns, blinking. “Pardon?”
“It’s a she, not anit. I do hope you haven’t named her yet.”
Name. That would make it—her—permanent.
“Oooooh lookie at this whiddle nose.”
William grimaces. He sneaks a glance at her and she’s sitting in his chair.Hischair. It’s the best one. She must take it, of course. That’s what one does for guests—gives them the finest.
“Aww, the tiny feet. How adorable can yoube?”
The kitten looks toward William and offers another directive with pleading eyes. “Wroooowr.”
William sighs and retrieves his pitiful new shadow. “I suppose it’s—she’sstill a bit frightened. Came from the bomb site. Penzance.”
The unwelcome visitor tucks her stockinged legs beneath her and studies him. “It’s the war, isn’t it? That’s what’s made you so waspish.”
He stares down into the metal washbasin by the door.
“I recognized that haunted look the moment you walked into the studio. Thought perhaps I could win you over anyway. I’ve always loved the story of Beauty and the—well, no matter. That is, I thought you might do with some company. You seemed…lonely.”
“Lonely is for people whowishto be around people but aren’t.” He wrenches open a jar of fish scraps and arranges them on a plate for Kitten, who happily pounces onhergood fortune. Then he crouches to light a fire, watching the intruder in his peripheral vision.
“Right.” She chews the inside of her cheek. “Well, then. I suppose I’ll be on my way.”
“Good day, then.”
But she doesn’t stand, doesn’t move her invasive presence from his table. Is she awaiting an escort back up to the footpath? The route to this hidden place certainly isn’t for the faint of heart. He turns, one arm sweeping out. “May I—”
“Oh yes, tea would be lovely.” She blows out a breath, sweeping hair off her wet face. “It’s beastly cold out there.”
Heisa beast, sending her back out in the rain, on an exposed cliffside. This wind’ll blow over soon. Very soon, with any luck. He fumbles with the kettle and water, hanging it over the fire.After he digs his tea tin out of the larder and sets out mugs, it dawns on him that she hasn’t spoken in at least thirty seconds.
He turns and she’s staring at the painting of Merryn, transfixed. “Goodnight! Is that—”
“I don’t know.” His muscles bunch again. “I found it.”
She walks over and reaches for the painting without quite touching it. A breathless awe settles over the cottage as they study the mysterious woman with her challenging gaze that always pinpoints William. “It’s stunning.”
“I thought you found Covington tedious.”
“Pictures of docks and the horses I can do without. Butthis…it speaks. It lives somehow, with a story aching to be released.”
The next question quivers in his chest before he finally lets it out. “Have you heard of a woman called Merryn?”
She’s still staring at the portrait. “Merryn? Yes, I believe so. Is that her?”
