The Retreat(66)

I opened my phone and caught up on the news. Max got all the headlines, of course. Apparently his last book was now number one on Amazon.

It’s what he would have wanted.

My inbox was flooded with emails from my agent and publisher, both of them telling me if I needed more time to finish the book, that was understandable. Finally, a tiny silver lining – though I felt guilty thinking any positive thoughts. I had lots of emails from readers too, hoping this wouldn’t delay my next novel, and my Facebook page was abuzz with well-wishers. I left a message letting everyone know I was okay, with a link to a page Max’s family had set up for donations to a charity in his name.

I had a knot in my stomach the size of Hawaii. Half of me was afraid that whoever had tried to kill me – and I was sceptical about Glynn Collins’s alibi – would come back. The other half wanted him to appear so I could confront him. I would be prepared this time. I parted the curtains and looked out at the darkening landscape. It was silent out there; silent and still. The retreat was locked up and secure. No one could get in.

I made a list in my aching head of things I needed to do. Go and see Olly to talk more about his dad. Try to persuade the police that I wasn’t a fantasist. Persuade them to check if Zara’s passport had been used.

Persuade them, too, that I hadn’t murdered Max.

I was exhausted. I felt it deep in my muscles, and in my soul. I went along to the bathroom and ran a bath. The hot water soothed me, and by the time the water started to cool I was almost asleep. I dragged myself to the bedroom and, still damp, fell naked into bed. Into sleep.



The door clicked open. Someone was in my room. But, unlike before, I had left the curtains parted. By the light of the moon, I could see a silhouette standing by the bed as it appeared to slough off its skin. Something soft hit the floor.

The silhouette slipped under my covers.

‘What—’ I began.

A finger touched my lips. ‘Shush.’

It was Julia. Her mouth met mine and an arm slipped around me. She was naked, her skin cool and soft. I pulled her closer, feeling how her body trembled, breath quickening as she kissed me harder, silky hair falling over my face, tickling me as she pushed herself up, manoeuvring me onto my back. She lay flat upon me, legs stretched out along mine, breasts pressed against my chest, one hand gripping mine against the sheets. Skin against skin. Lips against lips.

Then she was sitting up, astride me, rocking slowly, palms flat on my chest, hair falling forward as her hips moved, back, forth, back, forth. I sat up, kissing her deeply and pulling her against me as she nipped at my lips, raked her fingernails down my back. She pushed herself harder against me and I could sense her frustration, the need for an orgasm, and I turned her over, withdrew and put my head between her legs. I glanced up at her, across the glorious landscape of her flesh, the flush around her collarbone, the increasing rise and fall of her chest, and with my fingers and tongue, I made her come.

A moment later, I was inside her again, and I tried to fight it, to hold back, but she murmured, ‘It’s okay’, and I surrendered, a climax like a series of explosions rippling across my entire body.

She lay with her head on my chest. We didn’t speak. A little while later we started kissing again. We kissed for what felt like hours. It felt like a dream, like being outside myself. I know at some point we made each other come again.

I remember hearing someone singing, very faintly in the distance. Un, dau, tri. Mam yn dal y pry. I think I tried to remark on it, but my mouth was too tired, my tongue too heavy.

The next thing I knew it was light.

And Julia was gone.



I found her in the cottage. She had her hair pinned up and was sorting through some paperwork on the kitchen table. She looked up, and smiled when she saw me.

‘Are you looking for breakfast? I’m afraid the schedule’s gone to hell.’

‘No. Of course not. I . . .’ Words failed me. I was as tongue-tied as a love-struck teenager. ‘Julia . . .’

She got up from the table and pulled me into a hug, quietening me. It felt very much like a platonic hug.

‘Julia . . .’ I began again.

‘Lucas. Let’s not talk about it, okay? It was something I needed, that’s all.’

‘Oh.’

She laughed. ‘Please don’t look so disappointed. I really don’t want to have a long, awkward conversation about it. It felt like something you needed too. No more than that, and no less. You don’t want more than that, surely. I’m a mess, and I get the impression you’re not ready to move on.’

Was she right? I didn’t know. It had been two years since I lost Priya. I missed her, of course I still missed her. But the pain, which used to be ever present, the overriding emotion that darkened every hour of every day, had dimmed. Now I could go for hours without thinking about her before being shocked out of forgetfulness by guilt.

But I didn’t feel guilty about sleeping with Julia. Because I was still here, wasn’t I? Still living. Still in need of human warmth and pleasure. Still trying to be happy. I was certain Priya, if she was watching me, wouldn’t begrudge me that. I was sure, in fact, she’d be cheering me on.

It was different for Julia, though. I understood that. It was more complex, because of Lily. I could move on, but Julia was in limbo.

She sat back down and I joined her at the table. She pulled the paperwork towards her, arranging it into a pile.