‘Sorry. That probably was quite rude. But I did bring wine.’ She handed him the bottle as they went through to the kitchen. With the hotplates open and a fan heater whizzing in the corner, the room was warm and almost cosy. Mark had lit some candles and set them around the room.
‘As much for heat as for atmosphere,’ he said, with a slightly awkward smile. ‘Just as well – you look frozen.’
‘I walked here,’ Leah explained, stripping off several layers of clothing.
‘Really? Why?’
‘I just fancied it. And it really is a lot shorter as the crow flies. And I wanted to be able to have some of the wine,’ she said. Mark took it, and peered at the label. ‘Oh, no – you don’t know about wine, do you? It’s only plonk.’ She winced.
‘I do know a bit about wine. And this is not a bad plonk at all. There’s a corkscrew in the top drawer, if you can get it open, that is.’ He went back to the stove as Leah opened the wine. His hair was still damp from washing, and his face looked a little less drawn, a little less hard.
‘So how was your nap?’ she asked.
‘Not bad. Too long. I woke up with a horrendous crick in my neck, and my legs completely numb. You should have woken me.’
‘No way. You looked much too cute, tucked up in that chair. Like a dormouse.’
‘Great. I feel so manly,’ Mark said ruefully, and Leah smiled. ‘How do you like your steak?’
They soon finished the bottle of wine Leah had brought, and Mark disappeared into the cupboard under the stairs to fetch more. They ate and talked until late about their lives before, and about Hester Canning and the fairy photographs, and Mark’s family history. Leah took her cue from him, not mentioning his brother or his father until he did; and not mentioning Ryan at all. And she might have been imagining it, but she thought she could feel Ryan in the room, feel them stepping carefully around the subject of him, and of what had happened between them. As if Mark’s curiosity was a thing she could see or touch, spreading out to probe the room. His gaze was so keen that she felt it penetrate her thoughts if she held it too long, felt that she gave secrets away without saying a word.
‘That was delicious. All memory of the omelette has been wiped from my mind.’
‘I’m very glad,’ Mark said, refilling her glass. Leah took a sip and felt the alcohol warming her, making her languid.
‘So what will you do next? Once you’ve … finished here?’ Leah asked, to break a silence between them that was becoming loaded.
‘Once I’ve finished skulking, and licking my wounds, you mean?’ He lifted one eyebrow.
‘Skulking was your word, not mine.’
‘I really … don’t know. Job hunting, I guess. Once it’s all died down.’
‘It kind of has, you know. I know it hasn’t for you, but I honestly had no idea who you were, when you first told me your name. Other than being excited that I’d found a Canning, that is.’
‘Yes, but I get the impression you’ve been out of it yourself, lately. Out of the loop, I mean. No offence,’ Mark said, holding up one long hand in apology. Leah glanced at him, annoyed for a second that she should be so transparent again.
‘How could you possibly know that?’
‘Takes one to know one.’ He shrugged. ‘But perhaps you’re right. I’m sure my flash in the pan is over with. It just … doesn’t feel like it. But I’m going to sell the house. That I have decided.’
‘Oh,’ Leah said, with a pull of sadness inside, though she couldn’t think what possible right she had to feel anything about it.
‘Will you tell me about it? Your war wound – what it is that makes your face drop like a stone sometimes?’ he asked softly, intently.
‘Does it?’ she said airily, looking away across the room.
‘You know it does. Come on, Leah.’ He tilted his head to catch her eye.
Leah sighed, shrugged. ‘There’s really nothing to tell. Split up with boyfriend last year. Slight broken heart. Not quite ditched the emotional baggage, blah blah blah …’
‘Did he sleep with someone else?’
‘I really don’t want to talk about it,’ she said, more sharply than she’d meant to. For some reason, discussing Ryan with Mark was intolerable. It made her want to jump up from the table and run, to hide her head in her hands. But what did she have to be ashamed of? Why should she be the one who felt like curling up in shadows somewhere, where nobody could ever see her or touch her again? Because I didn’t guess. Because I’m a bloody, bloody idiot, she answered her own question. Because I still love him.