Page 22 of The Start of the Story
I shook my head to try to clear the feeling that I’d been woken from a dream. ‘Um. Yes, I suppose I ought to… yes.’
‘You look tired,’ Connor observed, and it was a good job he was across the room because it meant I could glare at him. ‘Bad week?’
Guilt poked me in the ribs. I should have told him that I was going to Aberystwyth. ‘A literary festival,’ I said shortly, wondering if I’d secretly wanted him to suffer alone, withouttransport, in my cottage miles from anywhere. But he was an adult. I was his landlady, not his taxi service…
‘There was me thinking you’d been swept off your feet and taken to a luxury hotel for a week of passion and debauchery,’ he said.
I couldnotwork out whether he was joking, teasing or had seriously assumed I’d gone off on holiday with my lover, so I ‘hmm’phed at him, then added, ‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ in case he reallyhadthought I’d been whisked off for sex and spa baths. ‘Anyway, you’re just lodging with me. I don’t have to account for my movements.’
‘Of course you don’t,’ he replied, robustly. ‘I texted Chess, to make sure you weren’t dead in a ditch, and she told me you’d gone to Wales.’
So hehadbeen teasing about the ‘mysterious lover’. I felt relieved but didn’t know why.
Connor waited while I locked up and set the alarms, and then trod as quietly as Barghest alongside me to my car in the puddle-festooned car park at the back. My gritty-eyed tiredness meant I didn’t remark on his unusual silence until we were almost back at the cottage.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, rather grudgingly. ‘I should have told you I’d be away.’
‘Ah, you’re all right. Like I said, I checked with Chess to make sure nothing had happened.’
‘How did you manage to get in and out of York?’
Connor gave me a grin. ‘I’m a big lad, I can sort myself out with that kind of thing. I have students keen to do me favours, and there’s taxis and all.’
Guilt prodded me again. ‘I shouldn’t have left you to find out from Chess, though. I’ll give you my mobile number. It will probably be easier if you can text me. I don’t always pick upmy emails when I’m at home, and you can’t trust Chess to relay information, particularly if she’s out for the weekend.’
‘That’s very sensible.’ Connor kept his eyes on the bleak darkness outside the car. ‘Thank you.’
‘No drunk dialling, mind.’ I tried a smile and got one back, a lot wider and more appealing than I was sure mine had been.
‘Ah, you great spoilsport. What’s the point of having your number, now, if I can’t phone you in the middle of the night slurring about how much I love you?’
‘Don’t you dare.’ His tone made it plain that he was joking. ‘Anyway, we’re in the same house. You could open my door and tell me. Only,’ I added with new sternness, just in case, ‘you’d better not try it.’
He continued the smile but twitched his head as though he’d made me do something against my will. ‘I’m a lot of things, Rowan, but sex pest never made the list.’
I reached out to change gear and my hand brushed against his leg. He moved away at the contact. ‘And I’m very glad to hear it.’
‘You’ve been very brave to assume it up to now.’
‘You’re a professor. One word of accusation from me and you could lose everything, so maybe it’s you who’s brave.’
He did the smile and twitched-head again. I was clearly surprising him tonight.
We pulled up in the usual spot, but the cottage was in darkness. ‘I didn’t think to leave a light on,’ he said. ‘I was in a bit of a hurry this morning when I left – the taxi turned up while I was beating off the ducks. I didn’t have toast,’ he added, in explanatory fashion.
I opened the front door and wandered through, putting on lights as I went. The cottage began to hum, from the deep rattly purr of the fluorescent kitchen light to the high-pitched squeak of the table lamp in the living room – it was as if the place weretalking to me, through illumination. Although Connor was still at my shoulder, I began to feel the relaxation of Friday night settling over me.
‘I can’t really be bothered with food. I’m shattered,’ I said. ‘I might go straight to…’
The map was back. Hanging on the wall, in its original frame, in its original place. I stared at it.
‘Did I hallucinate the whole thing the other night?’ I asked, faintly.
‘Oh, the map? It was important to you, so I found a framer in York who did me a favour yesterday.’
I stared some more. The frame was definitely the original, but completely repaired and with new glass. ‘But… how?’ I stroked the wood with one finger. ‘I mean, you only had a few days…’
‘Ah, I didn’t say it was acheapfavour now, did I?’ Connor looked – well, it was hard to place his expression. It wasn’thappy, it was more self-satisfied than that and wavered in the direction ofsmug. ‘They came over last night to fix it in situ.’ He looked down at the floor. ‘Actually, they gave me a lift.’
