Her heart was still racing at him having called. She couldn’t remember the last time somebody had rung the bell and actually expected her to answer the door. All of her shopping was done online and her obsession for collecting meant a constant stream of packages arriving at the castle, but she never answered the door.
She was just withdrawing from the window when something caught her eye. It was him – Luke Hansard – and he was sitting on a bench in her garden. He hadn’t left at all. And he was – what was he doing? Eating a sandwich! Orla’s mouth gaped open at the cheek of it. Her garden wasn’t a public park, for heaven’s sake! For a moment, she thought about knocking on the window, but he might see her if she did that. She could send One Ear out to frighten him off, but the dear dog wasn’t really up to the job. He might look the part with his huge, wolf-like body, but he was far more sheep than wolf in nature.
‘What should I do?’ Orla asked him. One Ear cocked his head to one side, but he really wasn’t any use when it came to such dilemmas.
Orla looked out of the window again, watching as Luke Hansard opened his flask. He was there for the duration, it seemed. Well, there was no use in her standing there watching him. No doubt he’d grow bored once it got dark and would make a hasty retreat when he realised she wasn’t going to talk to him.
She twisted her hands together. There was the tiniest part of her that wished she knew what it was he wanted to tell her about her friend. Helen. Helen Hansard. She’d never known her name. She’d always been Trees and Dreams. But knowing her name now suddenly made her seem more real. Was she in some kind of trouble, Orla wondered? Why else would her husband be here? And why hadn’t he just sent an email like a normal person? He could have contacted her via Galleria, surely.
Orla sat down on the squashy Knole sofa she’d bought via an online auction, not noticing the big rip down the right-hand side. She’d get that fixed at some point. What was troubling her more than the ripped Knole sofa was how Luke Hansard had managed to find her. She hadn’t given out her address to anybody other than her mother, and Luke’s wife hadn’t even known her name. So, how had he found her? As much as she wanted to ask him, she wasn’t sure she wanted to speak to somebody who had so clearly tracked her down. Surely he wasn’t to be trusted. Maybe she should message Helen.
She got her phone out and went to send a message via Galleria.
Hello dear friend. This might sound strange, but there’s a man here who says he’s your husband. Is everything okay?
She hesitated before sending it.
Then she waited, putting her phone down and pacing up and down the room.
Her phone chimed a moment later. She had an answer. Helen at last.
Only the message wasn’t from Helen. Orla gasped as she read it.
This is Luke on Helen’s phone. I really need to talk to you.
Orla usually liked to take a walk on the beach just as the sun was going down, but that wretched man was still there. He’d been sitting in his van for a while, perhaps listening to the radio, but it looked like he was staying the night. He was practically laying siege to her castle and he probably realised that she’d have to come out at some point.
For the first time in her life, Orla cursed having a dog. If it wasn’t for One Ear, she could happily manage without surfacing for at least a week. But there was no way she was going to leave the safety of the castle tonight. One Ear would have to make do with a quick run in the garden.
‘Come on, boy,’ she said, tapping her side. The great beast, whom nobody else had wanted to take away with them from the rescue centre, was up from his mattress like a cannon being fired.
‘Not so fast. It’s just the garden tonight.’
She walked down the spiral stairs to the ground floor, to the door that led into a secluded part of the garden at the back of the castle. The evening air was warm and still and full of the sound of the crows that lived in the ruined part of the keep. Like Mr Luke Hansard, they seemed to be bedding down for the night.
Orla followed One Ear into the garden, taking in deep, settling breaths. She still couldn’t shake the feeling of anxiety that had taken up home inside her chest since this man – this stranger – had rung her bell. He might profess to be the husband of her online friend, but what did she really know about him? Anyone could say anything, couldn’t they? She had to remain vigilant.
Watching One Ear as he happily galumphed around the garden, she began to wonder if her home was as secure as she’d thought it was. She’d naively thought that living in a castle with a large dog was enough and yet here was this man outside her gate. Inside her gate! She’d have to get that sorted out for a start. It had been much too easy for him to walk right up to her front door and then to sit on her bench in the garden. If he could do that, then he could find his way around the side of the castle to the garden she was in right now. It would be a scramble over the wall she’d had erected, but it was probably very easy if somebody set their mind to doing it.
‘One Ear!’ she called softly. The dog looked up from a clump of grass he’d been sniffing and trotted towards her. They were going inside, she determined, closing the heavy ancient door behind them and bolting it. One large key and two metal bolts made her feel a little better but, when she walked towards the window and saw that the van was still parked outside, she could feel her guts churn with fear.
‘Please go,’ she whispered. ‘Please!’
Tears sparkled in her eyes and she could feel she was heading towards a full-blown panic attack if she wasn’t careful. One Ear seemed to pick up on his mistress’s fear and shoved his wet nose into the palm of her hand and gave a little whimper.
‘I’m okay,’ she told him, but the big soulful eyes that looked up into hers told her that he didn’t believe her.
Orla really wasn’t expecting him to be there the next morning. But he was. Had he really spent the whole night in that van of his, or had he gone to a local bed and breakfast and come back at first light? Did he realise that he was trespassing and that she could call the police? Or maybe he innately knew that she wouldn’t want that sort of a fuss.
Some of the anxiety of the day before had left her now, to be replaced by anger. Anger that this man was making her feel threatened and forcing her to hide away. Well, she wasn’t going to have it.
‘Come on, One Ear,’ she called to the dog. He pricked up his one ear and followed her out of the great hall, down the spiral stairs to the ground floor. Orla grabbed one of her hats and pulled it over her head and popped a pair of dark sunglasses on. This man – whoever he was – wasn’t going to stop her from enjoying her morning walk.
She let herself out of a side door and then sneaked out of her garden via a gate in the wall. It led out onto a narrow footpath that went through the allotments. They were usually quiet so early in the morning, although there was somebody there now. An old man with a shock of white hair. He looked up and nodded and Orla nodded back briefly, sure that her hair was covering her face.
Head down, she crossed into a quiet country lane and then took a footpath which led to the sea. The beach was her special place, her sanctuary, the only place she really embraced other than the castle. Nobody disturbed her there. Not that they disturbed her at the castle, but there was something extra special about the beach. People went there to walk rather than talk. There seemed to be some unwritten rule about that. Anyway, she rarely saw anybody there. The beach was long enough to happily accommodate plenty of walkers, should they be there at the same time. Walkers who seemed content to do nothing more than nod a head in acknowledgement of a fellow walker if you happened to glance their way.