Page 167 of Three Widows

‘No, Amy.’

‘Have you lost respect for me?’

‘Not that, either. In the back of my mind, I suspected it was too good to be true.’

He saw her eyes fill up and a little piece of his heart shattered.

‘I’m so very sorry, Larry. For hurting you, and for being a sneaky bitch.’

He squeezed her hand and stood to leave.

‘Do you think we could start over?’ she asked.

He paused. Could they? Could he put her duplicity behind him? What the hell? Of course he could. Everyone had secrets at some stage in a relationship. Look at Madelene and Kathleen. Nothing was ever straightforward. No one was good all the time. He was certain Orla Keating could testify to that. He himself carried enough baggage to tip the largest scales.

‘I can if you can,’ he said softly. ‘Do you really want to start over with me?’ Had he actually said that? He must have done, because a wide smile broke out on her face.

‘Oh God, yes, Larry. I do.’

‘Once you get out of here, we’re going away for a week to a nice secluded hotel. We’ll get to know each other properly, and from now on we’ll be honest with each other. Deal?’

She smiled crookedly, her face bearing the scars of her beating. ‘Deal.’

He had no idea how he could afford a hotel for one night, let alone a week, but he wasn’t about to allow lack of money to dim the dream. Money and greed had caused enough heartache, horror and death for one week. But could he truly trust Amy again? He was willing to give her a chance.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him down towards her, and every last doubt vanished.

103

The night had closed in around the lake, casting shadows over Farranstown House, by the time Lottie arrived home with Boyd in tow. He didn’t want to go to his empty apartment with the evidence of the months he’d spent with his son scattered around. Once they had the case tied up, she would help him track down his bitch of an ex-wife and get Sergio back. Witnessing his heartbreak was unbearable.

The kitchen smelled of cooked food, and in the oven, a Pyrex dish held the remains of a stew. First, though, she needed tea. She flicked on the kettle.

Boyd unscrewed the cap of the Merlot he’d brought and searched for a clean wine glass.

‘It’s very quiet,’ Lottie said, a worried furrow creasing her brow. ‘Make the tea and I’ll check on my mother.’

In the sitting room, she found Rose and Chloe folding clothes into an old suitcase.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Ah, Lottie, there you are. Darling Chloe said she will come live with me for a while. Just until you realise I’m capable of being on my own again.’

Chloe rolled her eyes behind her grandmother’s back. ‘Gran is a hard taskmaster. She worked on me all day. I even swapped my shift tonight to help her pack. Isn’t that right, Gran?’

‘You’re a good child,’ Rose said. ‘Unlike your mother, standing there with her mouth open. The image of her father, she is. Did you see my slippers?’

‘On your feet,’ Lottie said when her mouth eventually ceased flapping like a goldfish. ‘You can’t leave tonight. It’s late, and your house will need to be aired before you go home.’

‘I may be getting old and have a bit of that dementia yoke, but I’m not totally senile yet,’ Rose said sternly. ‘We’re going tomorrow, aren’t we, Chloe? Now be a good girl, Lottie, and make us a cup of tea. I’m parched. A slice of brown bread with plenty of jam on it would be nice. What would you like, pet?’ She turned to Chloe.

‘I’ll have the same, Mam.’ Chloe winked, and this time Lottie rolled her eyes before she returned to Boyd in the kitchen.

‘You won’t believe this.’ She took the mug of tea from him, inhaling the grape aroma from the glass in his other hand.

‘Try me.’

She told him about Rose and Chloe.

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