The Pleasures of Spring (30 page)

She brushed his hands away. ‘It’s fine. I’ll do it. You better find some clothes.’

She was right. His trousers and shirt were sodden. His
dad probably had some waterproofs in the back of the car. They would have to do.

Roz fastened her dress and raked her fingers through her hair. She was careful not to look at him. There was a hint of sadness about her. Something was up and it was more than his photograph appearing in the newspaper.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine. Couldn’t be better.’ She gave him a brittle smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

They definitely needed to talk.

Outside he heard the sound of the first cars driving away. It wouldn’t be long before his parents arrived. They had to hurry. Andy stepped out of the car and opened the trunk, offering a silent prayer of thanks when he spotted some of his dad’s old hunting clothes. They would have to do. He yanked them on quickly.

The crunch of gravel announced the arrival of his parents. He had to go, but tomorrow he and Roz were going to have a talk and he would get to the bottom of what was troubling her.

It was still dark when Roz got up the next morning. She had barely slept and her eyes were red and gritty, even though she had managed not to cry all night. Now she had to get out of Lough Darra, even though every instinct in her body urged her to remain.

She dressed silently in a pair of jeans, runners and a warm jacket before she packed a small bag with a couple of changes of clothes. Everything she couldn’t carry would have to be left behind. She heaved a bitter sigh. The story of her life.

Roz eased her outdoor gloves on and ran her hands over the dresser which she had gripped when Andy had made … no, when Andy had fucked her. Just because she was stupid enough to let her messy emotions get twisted into knots by him didn’t mean he cared.

She might be a criminal but she deserved better. She wanted a man to herself, not one she had to share with every woman out there.

Roz pulled her hand away from the polished surface. So what if the memories would be bittersweet? It was time to go.

She slipped out of her room, closing the door silently behind her, and made her way downstairs, remembering to skip the third and the fifth stair, both of which creaked. Mini and Maxi appeared from the back of the house but
for once, refrained from barking. They circled her legs, and she reached down to rub their silky ears. She had never had a pet, not even a goldfish, but these guys had gotten under her skin.

Maybe when she got settled, she could get a dog of her own. And a horse. And – she cut off that line of thought. First, she had to get away.

This was the last time she would be here. She was never coming back. Closing the door behind her had a terrible finality and her breath caught in her throat.

No, she would not cry. She was tougher than this. Squaring her shoulders, she tiptoed across the path onto the grass, in case her footsteps on the gravel would alert anyone in the house, and headed down the drive.

Dawn was a blazing line across the horizon when she reached the road. She hitched her bag more securely over her shoulder and started walking. It was at least a mile further on when she heard a lorry behind her.

On impulse, she stuck out her thumb.

She had hitched before when she lived in England, but the web of motorways that crisscrossed the country had made it difficult and she had got out of the habit. To her astonishment, the lorry pulled up beside her and the passenger door opened.

This driver was a stout man wearing mud splattered wellies and a tweed cap pulled over greying hair. ‘I’m going to Larne, is that any use to you?’

His accent was so thick she could barely understand him, but she nodded and pulled herself up.

The lorry was old and rickety and smelled of the hundreds of live chickens in the back, but the driver was
grandfatherly and friendly. He chatted about the state of the economy, idiots who thought they could drive after they’d been drinking, the gobshites running the government, grandchildren who did all their letter writing via Facebook, and how rough the passage to Cairnryan was likely to be.

He asked her about herself, but not in a nosy way. She always lied when people questioned her, but this time, she told the partial truth. ‘I had a fight with my boyfriend. I couldn’t bear staying there with his mother thinking we were getting married, when I knew we weren’t.’

‘Could you not give him another chance?’ he asked. ‘Couples fight all the time. You have to care about someone to fight with them.’

She shook her head. ‘Too many things are against us. We have nothing in common. He’s rich and, as you can see,’ she gestured to her position in the cab of his lorry, ‘I’m not.’

‘That doesn’t sound like a deal-breaker to me. Most women want to marry a man with a bit of money.’

She laughed and even she could hear the bitterness in her voice. ‘Didn’t you ever hear the saying, “Anyone who marries for money earns every penny of it”? I don’t want to be Cinderella, always being reminded how poor I am.’

‘But Cinderella got the prince in the end, even when he knew she was penniless. Money isn’t the only thing that counts. Seems to me you’ve got looks and brains and courage. Does he?’

Roz thought of Andy, his sculpted cheekbones and long, lean body, his razor-sharp intellect and the dark eyes
that noticed everything. His readiness to throw himself into the line of fire to protect not just the people he loved, but also perfect strangers.

‘Yes, he does.’

Andy was everything she had ever wanted. He was her knight in shining armour. Okay, the armour was slightly tarnished, but he was the man she wanted to have for her own. The man she loved.

The man she was leaving forever.

Despite her resolve, she sniffed and her eyes leaked. She grabbed a crumpled tissue from her pocket and scrubbed her cheeks fiercely. She was not going to cry. She was not.

Wisely, the driver didn’t comment on her blotched, tear-stained face. Instead, he told her to look under the passenger seat.

Gingerly she did, the state of the cab making her grateful for her gloves. In a brown paper bag was a small bottle of Bushmills whiskey. ‘It’s a single malt that I was keeping for after a visit to the mother-in-law, but I think you might need it more. Have a swig.’

Roz wasn’t a drinker, and it wasn’t even noon, but to hell with it. She broke the seal and took a sip. The heat caught the back of her throat, and she coughed, before the honeyed tone soothed and warmed her.

‘Thanks, that helped a lot.’

She re-corked the bottle and put it back under the seat. Today was going to be long and hard. She couldn’t afford to be drunk.

They chatted as they drove. She didn’t offer her name, and he never told her his, but when he heard she was
heading for Belfast, he changed direction so he could drop her at the ring road. ‘Young girls like you shouldn’t be hitching, you know. It’s dangerous,’ he told her sternly.

Roz swallowed a laugh at the irony of that, and agreed meekly.

When she jumped down and waved him on his way, she was sorry to part from him.

Murray’s pawn shop in High Street was small but well positioned, and the guy manning the counter was polite. His eyes assessed her, noting the quality of her jacket and the cut of her jeans. ‘Good morning, what can I do for you today?’

It was an effort to take the ring out of her pocket. She had known she would have to use it to get the sort of money she needed, but handing it over was a wrench that shook her.

The pawn-broker whistled when he saw it. ‘You can barely see where the Titanic hit it.’

Behind him on the wall was a poster advertising the Titanic Experience. Oh yes, she had forgotten the doomed liner had been built in Belfast. Clearly the city had not.

‘Do you have proof of ownership?’ he asked briskly. ‘I don’t handle anything stolen.’

Roz pulled out the receipt she had taken from the desk in Andy’s room. It clearly described the ring, as well as showing how much it had cost.

‘You could sell this back to them, you know,’ he said.

She shook her head. She had considered it, but was certain that the jewellers would have been on to Andy before she was out of the shop. ‘I don’t want to sell it. I’ll be redeeming it soon.’

No, she wouldn’t, but she wasn’t going to admit it, or she would cry again. And she’d already cried more in the last week than in the previous ten years.

‘I can give you eight grand for it.’

‘Fifteen.’

He shook his head. ‘Ten is my best offer.’

She took it and headed for the train station. There was an Enterprise to Dublin leaving in twenty minutes and she intended to be on it.

She exchanged her sterling notes for euros in a bank across the street from Connolly station and asked for directions to the bus depot.
Busáras
, an elderly woman corrected her as she pointed to a glass building near the station.

By the time she got off the coach in Tullamore, Roz was stiff and lethargic. The journey had taken forever. She couldn’t wait to get back to her Ninja. She had never appreciated how easily she had got around on a motorbike until she had to depend on chicken lorries and trains.

The film location machine was still there at the castle, and extras and crew milled around, but without Jack Winter on site the energy seemed to have gone out of it. The noise was less and the voices more subdued.

Roz ducked back into the shelter of the dark forest near the castle as the wardrobe mistress and one of the catering staff walked past. She didn’t want to be recognized by anyone who might remember her.

Frankie’s caravan was in the same position, far enough away from the others to make it easy to slip inside without being seen.

‘Hi, Frankie.’ The interior was dim and for a few moments, she couldn’t see him.

‘What are you doing here?’ His familiar voice warmed her, and she smiled until her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she was able to see him clearly.

Frankie was stretched out on his narrow bed, on top of the covers. He was wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, usually a sight to gladden a female heart. But not now. His chest was covered with white bandages, and a sling supported his arm. One leg of his jeans had been ripped up to allow for the cast that covered his left foot.

Almost worse was his face, which was cut and bruised beyond recognition. His normally neat beard was growing out, as it was impossible to keep it trimmed. But he managed a smile for her.

‘Wasn’t expecting to see you so soon. How are you, pet?’

She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but was terrified to touch him in case she injured him more. ‘Better than you, obviously.’

She leaned over, balancing herself on the tiny table, and kissed him gently on the forehead. ‘You belong in hospital, you idiot.’

He shook his head. ‘Hate the places. Full of sick people.’

‘And doctors who could fix you up.’ She kept her voice brisk, even though she was shocked at the sight of him.

‘There’s a doctor on location here, he looks in once a day,’ Frankie said.

‘Hospitals have pretty nurses too.’

He grinned. ‘Nah, the ones in the local hospital weren’t worth staying in for. Besides, there are pretty girls here.’

As he spoke, the door opened and Cheyenne put her head in. ‘Hi Frankie, I’ve got –’ She waved a bottle of beer at him, and broke off at the sight of Roz.

‘Don’t wave that, you’ll unsettle it.’ His words were laconic, but the light in his eyes at the sight of the actress gave Roz a clue about what was going on.

Damn, it looked like nobody was going to have a happy ending. She was never going to see Andy again, and she couldn’t imagine any way that Frankie could have a long-term relationship with a Hollywood star.

‘What are you doing here, Roz?’ Cheyenne asked. ‘When you disappeared, they gave the job to someone else. But Frankie did collect your wages for you.’

‘I’m not back for my job, but the wages will be good,’ Roz said.

She turned to Frankie. ‘You remember that idea you had? I’m in and good to go.’

He nodded. ‘Cheyenne, could you get a bottle for Roz?’

The actress looked from one to the other. ‘Why do I feel like the child being sent on an errand while the adults discuss something important?’ The hurt in her voice was obvious and made Roz feel wretched. But it was essential that as few people as possible knew what she planned.

‘Oh, never mind, I can see you’re not going to tell me.’ There was a distinct flounce in her step as she opened the door and got out. ‘I’ll leave you to talk about me.’

‘I swear, this has nothing to do with you, and I’ll tell you as soon as I can,’ Roz said, but she knew Cheyenne didn’t believe her.

‘Making friends all around then,’ Frankie said, sardonically. He scribbled something in a notebook and ripped
out the sheet with the one beneath it. ‘That’s the farmer who owns Nagsy. I’ll give him a ring and tell him to expect you. The horse has gone back to him and you can pick him up as soon as you pay for him.’

She nodded. ‘Thanks. I need to go off-grid for a while, but I’ll contact you as soon as I can. Don’t tell anyone, not even Cheyenne, anything about this.’

‘I won’t. Where were you staying since you went off with Andy?’

Roz put the pages into her pocket. Front pocket, because it was harder to pick. She knew exactly how easy it was to take something out of a back pocket. ‘It’s safer if I don’t tell you. Remember, if you see Andy, you know nothing about where I am. I’ve ditched my phone but I have your number and I’ll text you when I have a new one.’

She had tossed the phone into the back of the lorry full of chickens. Anyone tracking her that way would think she was in Scotland by now. ‘Until then, you can honestly say you know nothing.’

‘So who cares about honest?’

She shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I’m getting tired of lying. It’s too much of an effort. I’ll be glad when this is over.’ She spotted the keys to her bike hanging on a hook and took them down. She kissed Frankie again. ‘Look after yourself. I need you in my life.’

She was long gone before Cheyenne returned.