“That I’d surprise you? That you’d be pleased to see me?” He dropped his hands and laid them gently on her shoulders. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I thought you were in Oxford,” said Xanthe, the sound of her galloping heart still pounding in her ears, taking its time to settle.
“I was. The guy was thrilled skinny with the car. All done and dusted really early so I hurried on home to see you. Thought I could take you out to dinner to celebrate getting paid for the work on the car.” He smiled, his pale blue eyes catching the light from the street lamp, the warmth in his expression hard to resist.
She smiled back, allowing herself to be pulled into a hug, breathing in the familiar smell of his leather jacket, happy to feel close and safe. She looked up at him.
“Seeing as you nearly gave me a heart attack I’ll let you pay,” she said. “But first, come up and see Mum. You can tell her you’re taking me out.”
“Will she be fed up being left on her own?” he asked, pushing open the shop door, causing the battered brass bell to announce their arrival.
“Trust me,” Xanthe smiled, “she’ll be delighted.”
2
As she had predicted, Flora was pleased to see Liam and more than happy to forego having her company for dinner if it meant she was going on a date with him. Xanthe was still a little too shaken to be bothered by her mother’s shameless matchmaking. Shaken and perplexed. It wasn’t just the scare about being followed, or her irritation at Liam being thoughtless enough to creep up on a woman walking home alone in the dark. It wasn’t even her ever-present state of alert regarding Fairfax. What continued to rattle her was that moment when she had turned, seen Liam, known it was him, known she was safe, and yet still felt filled with dread. It was that glimpse of a darkness about him that she could not easily dismiss. Was it perhaps a premonition? Was he in danger? The thought that Fairfax might use her loved ones to get at her was not new. After all, was that not precisely what he had done with Samuel?
After a brief chat and a couple of phone calls, Liam booked them a table at the Italian restaurant down by the river. Half an hour later they were seated at a table in the window overlooking the early spring bulbs lit by fairy lights, the moon on the narrow water glinting in the background. Liam hungrily scanned the menu.
“I love Italian food. Proper portions. Bring on those carbs!”
“There’s a man immune to fashionable diets.” She was relieved to find that her own appetite was returning at the sound of all the tempting dishes on offer.
“I plow my own furrow,” he said.
“Happily, red wine is now thought to be essential for long life.”
“Is one bottle enough?” He signaled to the waiter and ordered some Chianti.
Xanthe wished she could just relax, forget about complicated, impossible things, forget even about Spinners, ignore the constant pull she felt from it, and simply enjoy the moment, putting all else from her mind. She became aware of Liam studying her. “What?” she asked, meeting his gaze.
“You look thoughtful.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“Depends what you’re thinking about.”
“Pasta.”
“And?”
“Garlic bread?”
He frowned at her. She made a point of closely examining the menu again but knew he was too perceptive to move on without questioning her further. He had noticed her demeanor and wouldn’t be so easily convinced that nothing was the matter.
“Hey, I’m sorry about earlier,” he said, “scaring you like that…”
“It’s fine, forget it.”
“I was an idiot.”
“Granted.”
“I aim to make it up to you with fabulous food, fine wine, and erudite conversation.”
“Good luck with that.”
He hesitated before reaching across the table and touching her arm. “Seriously, what’s up?”
She knew him well enough to be sure he wouldn’t let it go. What could she tell him? That she had been scared because she thought a ruthless, violent man from four centuries ago was stalking her? That she was worried because she had experienced a premonition of something bad happening to someone close to her, quite possibly Liam himself? She steered for safer ground.
“I saw Harley earlier. We were talking about booking the band for performances at The Feathers. Made me realize how … unavailable you’ve been lately, when it comes to Tin Lid.”
“The workshop has been hectic, you know that.”
“I do, but that doesn’t really matter to people who book us, does it? They want to feel we are serious, committed, you know…”
“Has anyone else said anything? Mike? Any of the others?”
“I haven’t discussed it with anyone else. Why would I do that?”
“You discussed it with Harley,” he said, sitting up a little straighter and withdrawing his hand.
“Because Annie asked him to see if we could fill a slot Friday week,” she explained, beginning to wish she hadn’t brought it up. There was a moment’s silence during which she allowed herself to be happy that Liam had accepted her reason for being distracted. At the same time she felt a niggling regret at somehow making him be the cause of it. “It doesn’t matter.” She tried a smile. “You’re right: It’s a temporary thing. Once you’re less busy with work we can pick up the pace a bit.”
“Actually, I’d been meaning to tell you I got a call from Sharon at The Bull, out at Laybrook. She’s interested in booking us some time over Easter.”
Xanthe experienced a jolt at hearing the name of the village. Laybrook was where so many things had happened. It was where she had first encountered Fairfax. It was where she had lost her locket and almost become stranded in the seventeenth century. It was where she had met Samuel’s fiancée and accepted that he and she could never be together. And, most poignantly of all, it was in the churchyard of St. Cyrian’s in Laybrook that Samuel had his grave. She silently chided herself for being so sensitive. In her own time Laybrook was one of the prettiest villages in the county and home to some extremely popular pubs which would be perfect venues for band performances. Even so … “Maybe we shouldn’t book any new gigs until we’re back in the swing of things again,” she suggested. “Once you’ve got more time we need to spend some sessions working on new material, don’t you think?”
He gave a shrug and a nod. “OK, if that’s what you reckon. I’ll have a chat with the lads on Sunday. Now, I refuse to talk business any more until I get some food!”
* * *
The following morning was a thoroughly convincing spring day. The garden behind the shop was filled with birdsong and sunshine fell through the long windows of the first-floor living room, shedding beams of light in which dust motes danced. Flora put down the phone as Xanthe came to stand in the doorway.
“Well,” she said, hands on hips, a surprised expression on her face, “a voice from the past.”
“Oh?”
“Do you remember Helga Graham?”
“Your old school friend? Hard to forget her.”