Secret Paths (The Ramblers of St. Claire #4)

1. Prologue

Prologue

Peter

By half past midnight, the wedding reception at The Running Horse has finally wound down.

The last guests are gone. The music has stopped. What remains is the hum of the dishwasher, the smell of roast beef and prosecco, and the small group of us helping Alexandra get the place back into something resembling a pub.

Mandy and I have been given the cutlery.

The final clean batch lies on a tea towel beside the sink. She dries each piece, rubs away the water marks, then sorts it into the drawer beneath the counter. I am meant to be doing the same, but she has already taken one knife from me and polished it again without comment.

I hold another fork up to the light. “This one looks fine.”

Mandy glances over. “You can still see the marks.”

“It is a fork, not jewellery.”

She takes it from my hand and runs the cloth over it twice. “There.”

I inspect it. “You have done nothing.”

“I have improved it.”

“By bullying it?”

“By knowing what I am doing.”

I smile. “You are very bossy when given a tea towel.”

Mandy gives me a look, but there is no heat in it.

She has spent the last few hours holding the wedding together with the sort of steady calm that makes people listen without realising they are doing it.

The bride cried in the pool room after the florist brought the wrong ribbon.

One of the bridesmaids had wine on her dress.

The groom’s uncle decided, shortly after midnight, that the speeches had not covered enough childhood trauma.

Mandy handled all of it.

Now her sleeves are rolled up, her pale blouse is creased at the waist, and one of her turquoise earrings hangs at an odd angle. Her golden blond hair is no longer as neat as it was when she arrived. A curl brushes her cheek every time she leans over the cutlery drawer.

I should stop looking, but apparently I have no control over where my eyes go.

Rain hammers against the kitchen window.

Mandy glances over her shoulder. “Oh, brilliant.”

“You did not bring an umbrella?”

“Or my car.”

I look at her. “You do know you live in Yorkshire, right?”

“I had a lift here.”

“That is not the same as having a plan.”

“I had a plan. I was going to leave before it rained.”

I look pointedly at the window.

She follows my gaze. “Fine. It was not a very good plan.”

“That is more like it.”

She reaches for the cloth on the counter and flicks it against my arm.

“Ow.”

“You earned that.”

“I was agreeing with you.”

“You were enjoying it.”

“I can do both.”

Her mouth curves.

It is not a dramatic smile. Mandy rarely does anything dramatically. It is just there for a second, tired and amused, and it makes the room feel warmer than it did a moment ago.

“You were good tonight,” I say.

She keeps polishing. “At cutlery?”

“At everything else.”

That makes her pause.

“I mostly handed out tissues and got people glasses of water.”

“You talked the bride out of going home.”

“She wanted five minutes away from everyone.”

“She wanted to get in a taxi and leave her own wedding.”

Mandy puts a fork in the drawer. “She was overwhelmed.”

“You made her laugh.”

She smiles again, though her gaze stays on the drawer.

“You were helpful too,” she says.

I turn towards her. “Helpful?”

“Do not make it weird.”

“I am only clarifying.”

“You carried tables, sorted the late drinks delivery and got the groom’s friends off the dance floor before one of them broke a leg.”

“I hid their tequila.”

“You did that too.”

“Very heroic of me.”

Mandy folds the cloth over in her hands. “You were there whenever somebody needed something.”

For a second, I do not answer.

It should not mean much. I am helping at my sister’s pub because she found herself short staffed. It is what I’m expected to do.

But Mandy looks at me as though she has seen something worth noticing, and I cannot quite shrug it off.

“I care about this place,” I say.

“Yeah, Alexandra has turned this place into an amazing pub.”

A chair scrapes against the floor in the dining room. One of the waitresses calls through, “Peter, are you still taking us home?”

“Yes,” I reply loudly. “I am very popular this evening,” I wink at Mandy.

“You are the one with the car,” she says.

“Details… I am giving the girls a lift,” I say. “You can come with us.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Of course not.”

“It’s in the opposite direction of you.”

“That’s okay.”

Her eyes meet mine.

For a moment, neither of us says anything.

Then Mandy puts the last fork in the drawer and reaches for her jacket.

“That would be lovely,” she says. “Thank you.”

I pick up my keys. “See? Rain is not entirely useless.”

She laughs softly and follows me out of the kitchen.

The first waitress lives near the bakery. The second is out past the old mill, where the roads narrow and the hedges seem determined to scrape the sides of the car.

They talk for most of the journey.

The groom’s grandmother dancing to something far too loud. The bridesmaid who locked herself in the loo because she thought the wine stain had ruined her dress. The best man insisting he had only been trying to make people laugh when he stood on a chair and started singing.

Mandy sits in the passenger seat with her shoes off looking relaxed and tired. She joins in every now and then, adding something dry enough to make the girls laugh harder.

When the last waitress waves from her front door and disappears inside, the car goes quiet.

I turn back towards St Claire.

Mandy looks at me. “Would it not have been easier to drop me off first?”

“Probably.”

“Then why did you not?”

I keep my eyes on the road.

“Peter?”

I glance across at her. “I wanted more time to talk to you.”

Her mouth opens slightly.

Then she smiles. “That is a ridiculous use of petrol.”

“It is not as though I am billing anyone.”

“You work for a bank. I thought you people took money seriously.”

“I will explain my financial philosophy another time,” I grin.

The road shines beneath the headlights, and the village seems to have tucked itself away for the night. Dark houses. Wet stone walls. A fox slipping through a gap in a hedge before it catches sight of the car and vanishes.

Mandy rests her elbow against the door, watching the road ahead.

“You surprised me tonight,” she says.

I look at her. “In a good way?”

“Do not get carried away.”

“That does not answer the question.”

She tucks the loose curl behind her ear. “I thought you would spend the night chatting to the bridesmaids and finding ways to avoid anything heavy.”

“I carried half the tables in that place.”

“I know.”

“I was very impressive.”

“You were useful.”

“Useful. Helpful.”

“They are not insults.”

“I am starting to think they are.”

Mandy turns towards me a little more. “You notice things.”

I wait.

“The bride’s dad was looking for his speech. You found it before he started panicking. You saw the waitress struggling with the drinks delivery and helped without making her feel daft.”

I do not know what to do with the seriousness in her voice.

So I keep driving.

“Are you trying to analyse me?”

“I am not analysing you.”

“Sounds suspiciously like analysis.”

She smiles, but it fades quickly.

“You are not quite what you let people think.”

I glance at her. “What do people think?”

“That you are charming and easy-going and never bothered by anything.”

“That is a very flattering assessment.”

“It is not an assessment. It is a reputation.”

“Ah. Worse.”

Mandy looks down at her hands. “I think it is only part of you.”

The car feels smaller.

I should make a joke. I can feel one forming somewhere in the back of my mind, ready to step in and make the moment easier.

But I do not want easier.

“You are not quite what people think either,” I say.

Her gaze lifts.

“No?”

“No.” I turn into the lane leading to her cottage. “Everyone sees the GP who has a sensible answer for everything.”

“And?”

“And then the chef made one stupid joke about sausages and you laughed so hard you nearly snorted wine out of your nose.”

Her mouth twitches.

“It was funny.”

“It was appalling,” I chuckle.

“It was appallingly funny.”

“And then you made a worse one.” I give her a quick look that says and you know it.

She looks out of the windscreen, but I can see the smile trying to happen.

“So you think I should just be serious?”

“No,” I say, pulling up outside her cottage. “That is the bit I mean. There is more to you than just prim and proper. And it suits you.”

She is quiet for a second.

Then she locks eyes with me, the smile still there, small and reluctant and entirely hers.

“You notice too much.”

“Only with you.” Mandy unclips her seatbelt and slips her shoes back on.

“Thank you for the lift.”

“Any time.”

She does not reach for the door.

I leave the engine running for a few seconds too long before I turn the key. The heater dies with it, and the sudden quiet changes the shape of the car. Rain ticks softly against the roof, and the light by her front door turns the wet windscreen silver.

Mandy sits beside me with her bag on her lap, one hand curled around the strap.

She should get out.

I should let her.

Neither of us moves.

When she turns towards me, the light catches only half her face. Not enough to make her clear. Just enough to make me want to look closer.

There is a looseness to her now that was not there in the pub. The careful GP has slipped a little. The woman underneath the public persona is still here, tucked into the passenger seat of my car, pretending this goodbye is simple.

It is not.

Her hand lowers from her bag and rests on the centre console.

Close.

Not touching.

An invitation, if I am brave enough to take it.

I move first.

Barely.

Just enough for my knuckles to brush hers.

She looks down at the touch.

Then she turns her hand over.

It is not dramatic. No grand gesture.

Only Mandy, letting me lace my fingers through hers.

Her palm is warm. Her fingers fit between mine as if they have been waiting for the touch all evening, and I like it far more than I am prepared to admit.

“You are staring,” she says, but her voice is softer than the words.

“Yes.”

“At least deny it.”

“I have no defence.”

Her mouth curves, small and reluctant.