The Winter Sea (Slains, #1)(52)

‘No, it’s no use now, you’ve said it.’ Leaning back, he studied me with obvious amusement. ‘I’ll try not to take offence.’

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘You’ll only dig yourself in deeper,’ was his warning.

‘Anyway, I never finished university.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I finished my first novel first, and then it sold, and things just took off on their own after that. It bothers me sometimes that I didn’t get my degree, but on the other hand I really can’t complain,’ I said. ‘My writing has been good to me.’

‘Well, you’ve got talent.’

‘My reviews are mixed.’ Then I paused, because I realized what he’d said, and how he’d said it. ‘Why would you think I’ve got talent?’

I’d caught him. ‘I might have read one of your books this past week.’

‘Oh? Which one?’

He named the title. ‘I enjoyed it. You impressed me with the way you did your battle scenes.’

‘Well, thank you.’

‘And you obviously did a thorough job with all your research. Though I did think it was hard luck that the hero had to die.’

‘I know. I tried my best to make the ending happy, but that’s how it really happened, and I don’t like changing history.’ Fortunately, many of my readers had approved and had, according to their letters to me, wallowed in the tragic end, enjoying a good cry.

‘My mother would have loved your books,’ he said.

My hand still idle on the horse’s neck, I turned. ‘Has she been gone for long?’

‘She died when I was twenty-one.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Thank you. So am I. My dad’s been lost these fifteen years. He blames himself, I think.’

‘For what?’

‘She had a problem with her heart. He thinks he should have forced her to slow down.’ He smiled. ‘He might as well have tried to slow a whirlwind. She was always into everything, my mum.’

That must be where he got it from, his restlessness. He flipped the conversation back to me. ‘Are both your parents living?’

‘Yes. I have two sisters, too.’

‘They’re all still back in Canada?’

‘One sister’s in the States, and one’s in China, teaching English. My dad says it’s our Scottish blood that makes us want to travel.’

‘He may be right. Where’s home for you, then?’

‘I don’t really have one. I just go to where my books are set, and live there while I’m writing.’

‘Like a gypsy.’

‘Sort of.’

‘You must have some interesting adventures. Meet some interesting people.’

‘I do, sometimes.’ I could only hold his gaze a moment, then I turned away again to scratch round Tammie’s forelock. Tammie nudged me, flirting, and I said to Graham, ‘You were right, he is a ladies’ man.’

‘He is. He has a handsome face,’ he said, ‘and kens the way to use it.’ He was looking at the open door again, and at the rain that was still pelting down upon the hard-packed yard. ‘I think we’re out of luck the day, for touring.’

He was right, I knew, but I said nothing.

Truth be told, I wouldn’t have minded spending the rest of the day in this stable, with Graham and Angus for company. But he clearly wasn’t one to sit still for that long, so when he stood, I gave the horse a final pat and turned my collar up, and made the dash, reluctantly, back through the rain to where we’d parked the Vauxhall.

I did a better job, this time, of hiding how I felt. And it seemed hardly any time at all before we were surrounded by the houses and the shops of Cruden Bay, and then we’d reached the bottom of the path up to my cottage and he parked and came around to let me out. Shrugging off his coat, he held it overhead so that it shielded both of us, and said, ‘I’ll walk you up.’

He left Angus in the car, though, and I knew that meant that Graham didn’t plan on coming in. And that was fine, I thought, there was no reason for me to be disappointed. There’d be other times.

But still, I felt a little flat inside and had to force a smile to show him when we reached my front door and I turned to thank him.

Graham took the coat that he’d been holding overhead and put it on again. ‘We’ll try the tour another time,’ he said.

‘All right.’

‘See you tomorrow, then. At lunch.’

‘OK.’

He stood a moment longer, as though wanting to say something else, but in the end he only flipped his hood up, smiled, and started off again along the path while I turned round to fit my key into the cottage door.

My hands were cold and wet and couldn’t work the lock, and then I dropped the key and heard it ping on stone, so that I had to crouch and search for it, and by the time I’d found it I was well and truly soaked.

I straightened, to find Graham standing once again beside me. Thinking he’d come back to help, I told him, ‘It’s all right, I found it.’ And I raised the key to show him.

But when I began to try the lock again, his hand came up to catch my face, to stop me. I could feel the warmth of his strong fingers on my jawline, as his thumb traced very gently up my cheekbone.