The Pleasures of Spring (7 page)

His mother. ‘Mum, what’s up?’

‘Oh Andrew, it’s your father. He’s had a heart attack.’

He didn’t know how he wasn’t killed on the way to Heathrow. He was red-eyed by the time the plane landed in Belfast and he climbed into a taxi and headed for Lough Darra.

The tree-lined drive led past the walled gardens and around to the back. The ruined Gothic revival house on the shores of the lake had been restored by his grandfather, having been in the family for almost two hundred years. ‘House’ was a misnomer. Now it was a money-pit that needed an injection of cash and new blood to bring it back to its former glory.

But while his parents put up with dodgy plumbing and wore sweaters summer and winter to keep warm, no expense was spared on the stables.

His father wasn’t so much in love with horses as obsessed with them. Andy often thought that if he had been born with four legs instead of two, he might have gotten more attention from him.

Until Robert died.

With every homecoming, memories of his older brother flooded his head until he could think of nothing else. Robert had been a charmer, a daredevil and an avid climber. If Andy had been here to keep an eye on him, maybe he would still be alive.

He shook the thought away. This wasn’t the time. His parents needed him now. Before he could climb out of
the taxi, the door opened and Poppy Campbell McTavish hurried down the steps. Her iron-grey pixie crop framed a face that would be beautiful when she was ninety. She had cheekbones that would have made Michelangelo weep. Dark eyes overshadowed pale, papery skin. His father described her as a good-looking woman and his father was never wrong about anything.

He wasn’t sure what age his mother was, she refused to tell him, but neither of his parents had been in the first flush of youth when he was born. They had congratulated themselves on managing to produce one son. A second one, born five years later, had been an unexpected bonus.

He grabbed his hold-all and paid the driver before clambering from the cab and sweeping his mother up in a bear-hug, lifting her off her feet.

‘Oh Andy, it’s been far too long.’

She was right. It was more than eighteen months since he’d set foot in the place and now that he was home, he didn’t know how he would leave it again.

He set her down gently. ‘I know. Sorry, Mum. How is he?’

Her eyes clouded. ‘You know your father. It will take more than a heart attack to kill him. He insisted on checking himself out of the hospital and now he’s in bed giving orders like an emperor. There’s no talking to him.’

Andy could well imagine it. Dougal Campbell McTavish was as stubborn as a rock and they had clashed repeatedly when he was growing up. ‘I’ll talk to him,’ Andy promised.

‘After you’ve eaten. He’s sleeping now and you must be
starving,’ Poppy said, leading him to the kitchen. He knew there was no point arguing.

His mother sipped herbal tea from a china cup while he ate everything that the family cook, Maggie, set before him. It felt like forever since he’d had an Ulster fry. His arteries would be screaming by the time he went home.

Home.

He wasn’t sure where that was anymore. His tiny apartment in London was more of a base to store his stuff than where he lived. Half the time he ended up in company apartments or hotels. International businessman, actor, arms dealer, he had played them all in operations of one kind or another. His last job had been counterespionage – seducing a Russian Mata Hari who was blackmailing someone at the MOD. Irina had been stunningly beautiful, but deadly as poison.

He never spoke of his work to his family. His father disapproved of him enough already and there was no point in making things worse. He pushed his plate away and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. ‘I’ll see if Dad is awake.’

He picked up his leather hold-all and headed for the door.

‘Dougal can’t manage the stairs, so we’ve moved to the green sitting room so that he can see the gardens. I’ve put you in the red room,’ his mother called after him.

Andy paused. The largest and most opulent bedroom in the mansion, traditionally occupied by the master of the house.

He knew his mother loved the gardens. They were her pride and joy. But giving over the room they had shared
for more than thirty years to their son was more than a welcoming gesture. He was the prodigal son returned. They wanted him home for good and he didn’t know how to break it to them that he couldn’t stay. Andy dropped his bag at the bottom of the stairs and went to find his father.

The west wing was the oldest part of the house. Generations of McTavishes and Campbells glared at him from the wood-panelled walls. Most had been wealthy landowners. A handful had been military men, but they had all returned home to Lough Darra and done their duty by the estate.

Andy could see his future mapped out before him. Marry the dull, horsey daughter of one of his well-to-do neighbours, settle down with a brood of kids and breed horses.

It wasn’t for him.

The heavy oak door creaked as he pushed it open and slipped inside. The room was in darkness and he was about to leave again when his father called from the bed. ‘Open the damned curtains, I’m not dead yet.’

Andy pulled back the heavy damask drapes and let the morning light into the room.

The shrunken figure in the huge bed bore no resemblance to the man who had packed him off to boarding school when he was eleven. Andy had hated every single minute of it. He had run away twice before his mother had persuaded his father to let him come home and go to a local school.

They were delighted when he went to Queens, but it wasn’t what he wanted, so he had joined the army.

His parents had been convinced he wouldn’t make it, or would drop out after a week, but to their surprise he had loved the rough, tough life. They were even more shocked when he was recommended for the Rangers, and survived the murderously tough training to find his spiritual home.

He’d been in Afghanistan when his brother was killed in a climbing accident. The memory of that phone call and his strong, implacable father in tears, made him break out in a sweat.

‘Hi, Dad.’

Dougal Campbell McTavish grunted. ‘So you’re home?’

The following morning, his head was foggy from too little sleep in a strange bed. The portrait over the mantel stared accusingly down at him as if he were a squatter, rather than the heir to the place.

Andy couldn’t remember which ancestor it was, but he looked as if he’d swallowed a lemon. In one corner of the room a dark stain and cracked plaster revealed yet another leak in the roof. Damned thing was worse than a sieve and this was a sample of what would be waiting for him if he stayed at home.

According to his mother, if it wasn’t the roof, it was the plumbing, or a broken fence or Travellers camping in the meadow. Who on earth would want to live in the country?

Andy rolled out of bed. If he was stuck here for a while, he would have to deal with all the problems, but first he had to ring his boss and tell him the situation.

Niall Moore answered on the third ring. ‘You’ve found her?’

‘Not exactly. Listen, my father had a heart attack a couple of nights ago.’

‘Jesus, is he okay?’

‘He’s as belligerent as ever but I need some personal time because –’

‘No need to explain. You’re due some holidays anyway.
You’ve barely taken a day off in the last year. I’ll put someone else on finding Roz.’

‘No. It’s not necessary.’ Now that he had picked up her trail again, he was damned if he would let any of the other guys near her.

‘You know where she is?’ The anxious note in the big guy’s voice made Andy feel guilty. Niall was crazy about his wife, and if something was making Sinead unhappy, he would move heaven and earth to sort it out.

‘Not yet, but I’ve made contact with her. Online.’

Niall exhaled. ‘Andy. This is my sister-in-law.’ He didn’t need to spell it out. If Andy messed this one up, he would be out of Moore Enterprises on his ass.

‘She stole my phone and she’s been sending me messages. I’m trying to keep the lines of communication open.’

That almost sounded plausible, but if Niall got an inkling that Roz and he were flirting online he would tear him apart.

‘Fine, but if it gets complicated, I’ll put someone else on the job.’

‘Understood.’ The cardinal rule in this game was don’t fuck the client. Well, that wouldn’t be difficult. He didn’t have a clue where she was and until he was sure that his dad was on the road to recovery, he didn’t have time to hunt for her.

The director of the film, Mike Scott, was a down-to-earth man with a Texan twang and chewed fingernails. He
looked Roz over, asked her if she could handle the job, and sent her to costume.

Frankie promised he’d take care of her paperwork, and hustled her away before Scott could ask her any more questions.

‘We lucked out that the leading stunt woman broke her arm,’ he told her, around a mouthful of sandwich. ‘They needed someone in a hurry, so they’re not too fussy about checking your Equity membership.’

Roz wasn’t particularly hungry, but she’d had too many days when a change of plan had deprived her of dinner, so she wasn’t going to miss a meal. She ate slowly, enjoying the man-sized portion.

‘What happened to the stunt woman?’ she asked.

‘Broke her arm on the old stairs. She swore a child pushed her, but there are no kids on set. Probably hung-over and didn’t want to admit it.’

He led her around, performing lightning introductions as he hustled her towards wardrobe and make-up. Her hopes of bumping into a naked Jack Winter were dashed when Frankie told her that the stars had their own trailers and were fitted there, but there were plenty of semi-naked hunks in the general wardrobe area.

The American actors were shameless about stripping off to be fitted for their costumes, while the Irish extras were easily identified by their pale skin and their initial reluctance to bare more than their forearms. Still, it was an impressive display of manhood.

Her phone vibrated. It was a message from Andy.

Did Andy McTavish think he was the only man on the planet? She’d love to see his face when he got that one. Roz typed quickly.

Three minutes later, she got a message back from him.

Her phone chirped again, and a picture arrived. She choked.

A male stomach. A naked male stomach. Andy’s. His muscles were strong and defined, and the fine line of hair down the centre made her lick her lips.

Oh, he was wicked. And it didn’t help that he really did have a body that was better than any of the professional actors who were swaggering in front of her.

She grinned. Two could play at that game. The wardrobe mistress told Roz to take off her jeans and T-shirt. While the woman was sizing her up for a costume, Roz took a quick selfie of her own rear. The resulting photo didn’t actually reveal any more than a swimsuit would, but with the flesh coloured thong she looked naked. Perfect.

She Yahooed the shot to Andy. and pressed send before she could think better of it.

The response came back quickly.

For some reason, that made her grin all the while she was being laced into the green velvet costume of Lady Gormflaith, and made up so that she looked exactly like the leading lady, Cheyenne Knight.

The next few hours involved falling, over and over again, from a tree that no sane person would ever have climbed in the long velvet dress, and being knocked onto the ground in a battle scene.

By the time the light faded, she was aching in every limb, and covered in mud. ‘Where’s the nearest shower?’ she asked.

Cheyenne, who turned out to be more approachable than Roz had expected a Hollywood star to be, grinned. ‘You can use the one in my trailer.’

Roz gratefully accepted, and spent fifteen minutes scrubbing off the filth of a night on the ferry as well as a day fighting in the mud. By the time she emerged from the tiny bathroom, she finally felt human again.

‘Wow, you look a lot more like me than I realized,’ Cheyenne exclaimed, eyeing her slicked-back wet hair. ‘I bet if you were dressed like me, we could pass for sisters.’

Roz felt a pang. She already had a sister, one she had spent most of her life hating, but there was something appealing about the thought of having a sister she liked. ‘Unless you plan on wearing black jeans and T-shirt, we’re out of luck,’ she told Cheyenne. ‘I managed to lose my luggage and I’m down to the clothes I’m standing in.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me? You can borrow some of mine.’ The actress scooped a bundle of clothes out of her wardrobe and shoved them into Roz’s arms.

‘No, I …’ Roz stopped herself. She was so used to relying on herself and not accepting help from anyone that she was in danger of being stupid. She did need a change of clothes, and these looked as if they would fit, even if
they were ridiculously out of place for the muddy Irish countryside. One blouse had a price tag attached. It read $800. Roz swallowed. Who paid that much money for a blouse?

‘Only for a day or two,’ she said. ‘And I’ll dry clean everything before I return it.’

‘Don’t be silly. Designers send me stuff to wear all the time. Those are the things I don’t like. Keep them. And here, you’ll need these too.’ Cheyenne tossed a handful of lingerie on top of the pile of clothes.

‘Thank you,’ Roz said. Exhaustion was catching up on her, but she knew what she had to do. ‘Maybe tomorrow night we could ride into the local town and pretend to be sisters?’

Cheyenne clapped her hands, and Roz made her escape to meet Frankie.

It was dark and most of the extras had left for home. Roz supposed she could have gone into the town and found a cheap hotel or guest house, but the long rutted driveway to the castle gate wasn’t appealing at the best of times, and definitely not in the dark.

Besides, while her credit card was a pre-pay in a false name, there was no point leaving any sort of money trail. ‘Can I stay here?’ she asked Frankie.

‘Sure thing, pet. There are three stunt women sharing a trailer, or you can bunk in with me. I’ve got a small caravan to myself.’

‘With you.’ Her answer was automatic. She was pretty sure Hall hadn’t managed to track her to Ireland, much less a castle in the middle of nowhere, but he was too damn good for her to take chances. The thought of a bunch of
actresses taking on a ruthless killer made her shudder. Hall had tracked her down to the food bank. She couldn’t put anyone else in danger.

Frankie was close-mouthed about his own past, but she had a good idea that at least some of it had been in the military. He had a much better chance of looking after himself.

Besides, she had spent so much of her life travelling around, leaving her home at short notice to start up somewhere else, that she had little experience of spending time with other people. She’d never had normal friends or done girly chat. She’d never had a sleepover, swopping clothes and make-up and tales of bad boyfriends.

Roz didn’t think she’d be able to handle that much time with other women. What did girls talk about? she wondered. For all she knew, they lay in bed discussing books they had read – and that she had not.

Frankie pointed to his caravan, and she climbed in, wincing as it tipped under her weight. It was ruthlessly neat, with a single glass on the tiny table, a couch that doubled as a bed and a pile of paperwork weighed down by a hand-made leather arm protector that he used for archery.

She stowed her dirty jeans away in an overhead locker and pulled out a blanket to make up a bed on the child-sized couch at the front of the caravan. Finally, she pulled the curtains and sorted through the clothes that Cheyenne had given her.

When she finally emerged, Frankie whistled. ‘You clean up better than I was expecting.’

She scowled, but was secretly pleased. ‘Does this mean that I have a film star body?’

‘Better than that, you have a Roz Spring body. Most film stars are ridiculously skinny. Cheyenne Knight is the only one who looks real.’

Roz was wearing a pair of skinny jeans, a bra which she suspected cost more than she would spend on an entire outfit, silk panties and the $800 blouse. It had turned out to be the most practical of all the clothes in the bundle.

‘I feel like a sow’s ear,’ she complained. She was terrified to eat anything dressed like this in case she got a mark on it.

‘Nah, it makes a change to see you dressed like a woman.’

‘I can dress like a woman.’ She had a vivid memory of Paris, and a red leather cat-suit which showed off every curve. It made her look far too much like the sister she hated. She had never worn it again.

Frankie handed her a glass of wine and set a plate before her. Her mouth watered. A steak so tender she barely needed a knife to cut it.

‘Acting looks like a good gig. At least they feed you well.’

He nodded and allowed her to eat half of her meal before he asked. ‘So, tell me what brought you here.’

She put her knife down, her appetite gone. ‘I had a bit of trouble in London.’

Roz didn’t have to go into details. In their world, ‘a bit of trouble’ explained everything. She was tempted to stay silent, but Frankie was the one person who might be able to help.

‘You know that Dad’s in prison?’

He nodded.

‘He got caught when he was pulling a scam on the Ramos brothers. They weren’t pleased, but at least when he’s in Pentonville, they can’t do much to him. But he’s due out in a few months, and then they’ll be looking for the money he cost them.’

‘How much?’

She took a deep breath. The number didn’t seem real. ‘Half a million.’

Frankie choked. She had never seen him so shocked. Roz patted him on the back.

‘Yeah, I’ve got to get him off the radar, or find the money by the middle of August.’ It was a depressing thought.

He gave her a measuring look. ‘Peter managed to get himself into trouble. Why are you rescuing him?’

Roz looked through the window at the sky. Out here in the middle of nowhere there was little light pollution and the stars were huge and luminous. She had never seen stars like that in London or Paris. ‘He’s not much of a dad, I know. But I can’t leave him alone. He’ll get himself crippled or killed.’