Page 54 of Deep Waters

“Do you really need to ask that question? After today?”

“I suppose not.”

After clearing up, they carried the whisky bottle and their knives into the living room. Harry turned on the gas fire and they settled on the sofa. He lay full stretch with his head resting on Christian’s thigh. Christian trailed his fingertips through his hair, softly curling it around.

“Do you want to tell me what happened this morning?” Christian asked. “You don’t have to if you’ve had enough. I’ll understand. I was able to fill in the pieces from what the police said.”

Harry gazed up at his face. The flames from the fire illuminated him in casts of amber and gold. “I’ve gone over it so many times today that once more won’t hurt.”

He told it all again, sticking to facts in a plain, almost mechanical manner. Returning to the boat with breakfast, calling out for Tom, finding him in the cabin. He had recounted the story so often that it felt like just that, a story. It played more like a movie in his head than reality, everything but the final shot—that awful discovery of his cousin’s body. The sight of Tom slumped in the wheelhouse, lifeless and mutilated, would stay seared in his mind for the rest of his life.

“Darling, I’m so sorry.” Christian ran his fingers down the side of his face and over his neck to his chest. He rested his hand gently above Harry’s heart. Harry lifted his own hand, put it on top of his and neither of them spoke again for a long time.

They finally went to bed around three-thirty. Christian checked the flat from front to back, ensuring that all the doors and windows were locked. Harry was exhausted, but when he climbed beneath the covers, he had no expectation of sleep. There was too much going on in his mind. Harry slid in next to him and Christian curled onto his side, spooned in Christian’s protective embrace.

The sharpened knives were on the tables on either side of the bed.

Harry closed his eyes and was asleep in less than a minute.

Chapter Nineteen

Christian woke to the sound of wind gusting along the side of the house. As his senses stirred, he perceived the roar of the sea close by, waves crashing against the harbour walls. Harry had rolled onto his stomach during the night, facing away from him. His breath was deep and even. Christian turned slowly, careful not to disturb him, and picked up his watch from the bedside table. It was eight-forty-two.

His head was heavy from last night’s whisky, and his mouth was dry and bitter.

With even greater care, he slipped out of bed and walked on the balls of his feet to the bathroom down the hall. He’d discovered during his visits here that the noisy floorboards declared every step and movement. Christian relieved himself, then ran the cold tap and gulped from his cupped hand until his booze-induced thirst was quenched.

When he returned to the bedroom, Harry lay on his back, propped on one arm behind his head.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Never mind that,” Christian told him. “Go back to sleep. You need it.” He slipped under the covers.

“I’m awake now.”

“How do you feel?”

He sighed. “Okay. Still numb but rested. I didn’t expect to sleep at all, but I must have. I don’t remember waking during the night.”

“You needed it.” Christian edged closer to his warm body and slid an arm across his chest.

“I half-hoped as I started to pull around that yesterday was nothing more than a nightmare, a delirious cheese-dream. It didn’t last long before reality kicked in hard.”

“You’ve had a massive shock on top of all the other stress you’ve been under. It will take time for you to adjust. Try not to force it.”

“So, what time is it?”

“Almost nine.”

“Christ. I haven’t slept that late in years, not since I was a teenager.”

“It was a late night.”

“I need to get moving.”

“Stay here a little longer. The rest will do you good.”

“I’d love to, but I’ve already made plans to meet my family this morning. If I’m late, they’ll send a search party down here looking for me, if not the entire Nyemouth police force.”

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