Page 14 of The Trouble With Love

‘What, you mean Bronze Age?’

Kai laughed. ‘Despite appearances, the place was built in the seventies. Or, should I say, rebuilt. Apparently, there was something even more gothic on the site originally, but that fell into disrepair.’

‘Fell into Hell, more like,’ I muttered. Some of the panelling was so deeply carved that it was a wonder it was still in one piece. It looked like wooden lace.

‘Here.’ He opened a door. I walked in behind him, then stopped dead.

‘It’s your bedroom.’

‘Yeah, so? Oh, come on, if I was going to seduce you, I’d hardly be discussing architectural niceties would I?’

‘I don’t know. What does your seduction technique normally consist of?’

It was too dark to see his face, but his voice was as unnaturally smooth as a starlet’s forehead as he said, ‘Pretty much the same as yours, I’d say, Holly.’ He turned on a lamp. ‘This is what I wanted to show you, over here.’ His voice was back to its normal tone now, I was glad to hear.

The room was almost as big as the kitchen. A double bed carved out of dark oak took up a large proportion of floor space, an equally ugly carved wardrobe squatted in one corner, and most of one wall was full-length windows, outside which I could see a wrought-iron balcony. Kai was pointing at the wardrobe. ‘The furniture came with the place. I’ve spent every night I’ve slept in here staring at it. Look.’ He ran a finger over the wardrobe door.

‘It’s absolutely horrible.’

‘Yep. But look, here . . .’ He bent closer and I bent in too, until our heads were almost touching and I could smell his smoky, heavy aftershave. ‘See? Demons.’

‘Gothic furniture? That was one serious obsession.’ We had lowered our voices as our bodies had got closer, and now we were almost whispering.

‘And what’s holding the panel to the wardrobe?’ He turned his head and his hair brushed my cheek but his voice was pure practicality and I didn’t even feel the tiniest flare of any kind of attraction now.

‘It’s . . . it’s nailed on.’ I started to laugh, straightening away, from the demons, from him. ‘The nail from a demon! You’re bloody brilliant.’

‘Oh yes.’ The grin was wicked. ‘All we have to do is pull one out, and you’re good to go.’ There was a drawer at the base of the wardrobe. He dragged it open with a shriek of tortured oak and drew out a pair of long-nose pliers. ‘Right.’

‘You have pliers in your bedroom.’

Again the wicked grin. ‘And that isn’t even my secret drawer. Oh, come on, we’ve just moved in, there’s stuff all over the place. Now, you hold the door and I’ll — there, that’s got one.’ He grabbed my hand, unfolded it, and closed it again around the stubby little tack. ‘I’m enjoying this. What’s next?’

‘Frog’s head. Oh, but that’s not so hard, there’s loads of dead frogs out on the track. I’ll pick one up on the way home.’

We left his bedroom and crept back downstairs, where we shared another triumphant glass of wine each, and Kai looked at the list again. ‘Rich man’s hidden treasure? Wow, don’t envy you that one.’

I looked at him. There was a prickle in the air between us, like a static charge. It wasn’t lust, that particular firework was well extinguished, even though I had the feeling that the blue touchpaper was quietly burning in another universe, but something else. Something with a depth to it that made me almost feel shy. ‘Kai, would you say you were well off?’

He stopped, half way through refilling his glass. ‘I’m not rolling in it like some people. But then I’m not grubbing down the back of the sofa for fifty pence either. This place is bought and paid for, my bank balance is in the black so . . . yeah, guess I’m okay. Comfortable, anyway. Why?’

‘Have you got a picture of Cerys anywhere? Doesn’t have to be recent or anything.’

‘Yep, there’s one in my wallet . . . no, Holly, you’re not thinking . . .’

‘Come on, admit it, she’s the most precious thing you’ve got, isn’t she?’ Triumphant, I swigged my wine. ‘Your treasure. And fairly well hidden, since she doesn’t even call you Dad. Rich man’s hidden treasure. QED. I thank you.’ And I sat down, rather more heavily than I’d intended. Damn, but that wine he kept giving me was good stuff; I was amazed I could still think, let alone tangentially.

Now Kai’s eyes were positively glowing. ‘That, may I say, is bloody cool thinking. I knew I was right about you.’ He reached into a drawer and pulled out a sheaf of photos, spread them on the table between us and started riffling through. I couldn’t help but notice . . . oh, all right, I could, but I didn’t try, in fact I stared blatantly . . . there were quite a few of Kai himself, with a very pretty dark-haired woman. Who looked fantastic in a bikini. He picked out one of Cerys, pre-pregnancy, sitting on a gate looking cute, and handed it to me. ‘Is there anything else?’

I looked at the list. ‘Only a couple. Eye from an owl. That’s disgusting.’

‘No, no, I can do this one. Wait here.’ He shoved what was left of the wine, and his glass, into my hand and dashed out of the door, returning a minute later with a tatty cardboard box.

‘Please tell me you didn’t go out and murder an owl.’

‘Take a look.’ While he held the box I cautiously tore off the tape which sealed it. Inside was the scruffiest, most moth-eaten stuffed owl I’d ever seen. ‘It was here when I moved in, but it gave Cerys the creeps so I shoved it in the garage.’ A moment’s probing and he dropped something into my hand. ‘There.’

‘It’s glass.’

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