‘And he came to us on Sunday, and not even pickled herring made him smile.’ Jonas sounded injured.
Mats sighed. ‘I hope they’re going to be OK at Christmas. We haven’t all been together in one place for years and I really want Astrid and Alvin to have a fantastic time, especially as they won’t see Inger except on video calls.’
Jonas sniffed. ‘You’ll have had weeks roaming the wilds of Skye on your own by then. You ought to be relaxed enough to cope with anything.’
Behind Mats, the lady who ran the café emerged, locking the door with a friendly wave goodbye. The blue was leaching from the sky, and gold and apricot streaks appeared, the temperature already dropping. Mats began to wander towards the hall past the play park and the shrubbery as the conversation fell to their various children.
By the time they ended the call, he was almost at the hall’s rear courtyard. He put away his phone, still thinking of Grete acting out of character. On his previous visits to Rothach, the family had shared the cooking and housekeeper Gwen had been asked to prepare the evening meal only once or twice a week. But this time, Grete hadshown no interest in cooking, and Mats and Gwen were sharing preparation of dinner between them. This evening it was his turn, and he’d planned kalops, a mildly spicy Swedish beef stew.
He was just wondering whether he ought to ring Erik again and try and get a better feel for whether there was real cause for concern over his parents’ marriage when he heard tense voices. Set into the wall of one of the stone outbuildings was a utilitarian door, and the voices seemed to be floating out of the ventilation holes along the bottom. First came Ezzie’s voice. ‘Are you still rattled?’
‘Worried, I’d say,’ declared a voice he swiftly identified as Thea’s. ‘Since theGarden Gladiatorspeople got in touch, I’m scared they’ll lie in wait to jump out at me. I know it’s unlikely because Skye’s too remote for them to travel here without contracts and a schedule, but I’m having nightmares about visitors pouncing for selfies to post on social media.’ She pronouncedsocial mediaas if tasted bad in her mouth. ‘And what if Fredek comes crawling out of the woodwork?’
Mats should have hurried past. The conversation being held in a chilly, uncomfortable venue told him Ezz and Thea thought themselves safe from listening ears. But who was Fredek? As their conversation concerned Rothach Hall and Mats had been the one to make the mistake of talking to the TV production company, he felt justified in lingering.
Ezz’s voice came again. ‘I supposeGarden Gladiatorsthought that after the crap on social media in the summer, they could use the buzz to reignite interest in the show. But Grete’s told them there’s no chance,’ she added soothingly. ‘I’m sure you can rely on her.’
‘Her, yes. But what about Mats?’ Thea demanded, andMats’ stomach shrank at her dubious tone. ‘What if Grete returns to Sweden? Would he green-light the show after all?’ She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Dev and I are wondering whether to move on now, while we can control things.’
Something cold squirmed in Mats’ stomach. Thea was thinking of leaving despite Grete’s best efforts? And because of him?
Ezz gasped. ‘But your home’s Thistledome, and Valentina’s just bought a second home in Rothach—’
‘Thing is,’ Thea ploughed on doggedly. ‘Dev can mostly work remotely, but he’s getting engagements to lecture to sports business students, and work with Under-21 football teams. Brand awareness is important to young athletes and he’s proving a great coach. It would benefit him to live near an airport or a high-speed rail link. Leaving the island would be awful, but it might be for the best to start again.’ The words were brave, yet her voice was tight with wretched dismay.
‘But that’s starting againagain.It’s not fair.’ Ezz’s voice trembled. ‘We got away without criminal records.’
Mats suddenly had trouble breathing.Got away with?
Then Ezz’s voice sounded much closer to the door, as if she were preparing to exit the uncomfortable rendezvous. ‘I’d love to think I’d weather it if the story came out but, realistically, people love to gossip. On Sunday, I could hardly shut Josefin up about Mats and his divorce.’
Mats suffered another jolt to his system. Josefin gossiped about him? He’d never actually asked her to sign a non-disclosure agreement, but not gossiping about employers came with a nanny’s territory. Then the door rattled and he woke up to the fact that he was about to be caught eavesdropping, so he back-pedalled smartly around thecorner of the stone outbuilding to a nook formed between it and the greenhouse.
He heard the sound of a door opening and Ezz saying, ‘See you later,’ in a sad, flat voice. To his relief, the brisk tapping of her heels headed in the other direction, back towards the hall, and then faded.
Troubled, Mats eased himself from his cobwebby nook and followed slowly. As he passed the ventilated door again, he heard someone blowing their nose – presumably Thea – but hesitated to intrude. Then he heaved a sigh, realising that as his mother was so low right now, his conscience wouldn’t allow him to dump a conversation about criminal records in her lap without first making certain that she had to be involved. Thea didn’t feel like his natural starting point, though. Ezzie Wynter was Rothach’s manager.
And, apparently, personally involved … Heavily, he crossed to the back door of the hall, and then into the lobby.
Orla glanced up from behind the polished wood of the reception desk. ‘Good afternoon.’ Her smile was wide and bright, freckles decorating her pale skin.
‘Good afternoon,’ he returned cordially, and took another couple of steps to check through the open office door whether Ezz was seated at her desk. And there she was, neat and composed as if the emotional conversation he’d just heard had never happened, poker-straight hair falling in a natural frame around her face. After a smile in Orla’s direction, he strode into Ezz’s office, closing the heavy wooden door behind him.
She glanced up and offered him a courteous if puzzled smile.
He waved her back to her seat as she prepared to riseand slowly took the chair opposite, searching for a way into what could only be a tricky conversation. His dad would have just asked the questions to which he wanted answers. His mum would have tried instead to draw Ezzie gently along the conversational corridor that led to the same destination. Mats was more like his mother.
‘Everything OK?’ he asked.
‘Of course.’ The corners of her mouth tilted up, but her eyes didn’t smile.
His mind flicked back to that erotic dream, and he had to make an effort to keep his gaze from her lips. ‘I just want to assure you,’ he began carefully, ‘that all thoughts of working with theGarden Gladiatorsare over. I was impulsive when they called – a failing of mine, my parents often tell me – but after Mum explained the backstory, I realised I hadn’t thought things through.’
Ezzie’s eyes flickered, as if she was unsure of where this conversation was going. ‘You were kind enough to say so at the time,’ she murmured.
Annoyance prickled up his spine that, like some exaggerated butler character from a period drama, she daren’t say the word ‘apologise’ to him. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m some entitled asshole.’ He made a face. ‘Uh, that’s US English, isn’t it? Should I say entitled arsehole in UK English?’
For an instant she compressed her lips as if trying not to smile. It sparked off a flash of something inside him, brief but powerful, but he no longer followed his lust. That’s how he’d ended up married to Inger. Gravely, Ezzie confirmed, ‘Arsehole.’
