Chapter 66
When he woke in the night to nothing but blackness, Tug panicked. This was not his flat. Starting upright in bed – a bloody comfortable bed – he remembered. The extraordinary woman he’d met a couple of hours earlier had asked him to stay the night. He was in one of her guest rooms.
‘Tug.’ She’d sounded oddly hesitant as she’d followed him to the front door. ‘How are you getting back to Falmouth?’
He’d wondered if she was about to offer him a lift and knew he couldn’t let her. She’d had too much wine to risk being stopped by the police. Besides, he had the ‘borrowed’ bike to think about and no way would it fit in her tiny car. He wasn’t sure he’d fit in her tiny car.
He said, ‘I’ll cycle to Bodmin and get a train from there.’
‘On your stolen bike? Does it even have lights?’
He held out a hand for his jacket and scarf. ‘I’m ex-special forces, Tara. I can get myself home.’
She glanced out through the glass that surrounded the front door. The rain hadn’t stopped, it hadn’t even slackened. ‘You’ll get soaked.’
He would; it would be miserable. ‘Did I mention, Special Boat Squadron? I spent over a decade soaked to the skin.’
‘You should stay.’
He felt a nervous tickle in his gut. ‘Now, you’re really being reckless.’
Tara had taken a step back as her face hardened. ‘Actually, I’m not. Because, did I mention, this house has more security than Fort Knox? I can isolate the guest wing and my own rooms. Which I fully intend to do, by the way, in case I’m sending out any confusing signals.’
Her arms were crossed over her chest now. A very clear signal.
‘You came here because you needed to be with someone who knows what you’re going through.’ She let her arms relax. ‘It’s been good, having you here. It’ll be good, meeting up with the others tomorrow. We should stick together, if we can.’
He’d hummed a few bars of ‘The Magnificent Seven’.
She let out an exasperated breath. ‘Now, you’ve given me a bloody ear worm, bozo. Are you staying or not?’
Something had woken him. Movement in the house. Tug pressed the light on his watch. Zero two seventeen hours. He’d said goodnight to Tara shortly before midnight.
The room he was in, one of four in Tara’s guest suite, held a king-sized bed with the softest sheets he’d ever slept in, two bedside cabinets and a built-in wardrobe along one wall. Black-out curtains hung from the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Another noise. He considered and dismissed the idea that Tara might have decided to pay a midnight visit. She really didn’t seem the type. He thought back to how she’d looked in the studio, dressed like a welder, making something heart-thumpingly beautiful. Tara was special.
He swung his legs out of bed and pulled on the sweatpants she’d loaned him earlier.
The corridor was gently lit with tiny inset floor lights.
The glass sculpture, a school of leaping silver fish that ran almost the entire length of the corridor wall, glowed softly.
Barefoot, Tug strode towards the stairs that would take him up to the main part of the house.
He paused before the last door on the right.
Plant room, Tara had pointed out, when she’d shown him down here.
He pushed it open and saw a heavy spanner on a shelf.
He picked it up, reflecting that he might really freak Tara out if the movement was nothing more than her getting a late-night glass of water.
Halfway up the stairs he heard a man’s voice, speaking low, as though not wanting to be heard; then, a woman’s.
The stairs brought him to the entrance hall where damp footprints told him that someone had stood here minutes earlier.
His cane stood in the umbrella stand by the door.
Made of beech wood and reinforced with an internal steel pin, it was designed for users who weighed up to thirty-five stone.
Tug was nowhere near that weight, but the cane had never been intended as a walking aid.
He didn’t need it; the spanner would do.
Moving towards the kitchen, he saw that the huge, open-plan area was gently lit like the rest of the house and, unless someone was hiding behind one of the sofas, it was empty.
The floor creaked behind him. He spun round, spanner in hand.
Tara gasped and took a step back. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she wore an oversized man’s T-shirt. Her legs were long, slim and tanned. He let his right arm fall.
‘There’s someone in the house,’ he whispered.
She gave a quick, nervous nod. ‘I thought it was you.’
As he shook his head, a sound made them both start.
‘Was that your studio?’ he said softly. She nodded again.
‘Got your phone?’
She held it up to show him.
‘Stay behind me, get ready to phone for help.’
He caught a whiff of her scent as she moved; it made him think of the ocean at dawn. Conscious of her closeness, he led the way through the utility part of the house, past the giant, walk-in pantry, the laundry and the downstairs cloakroom.
The intruders were in Tara’s studio. He could see torch beams dancing around in the doorway. Tug closed his eyes for a second to remember the room’s layout: a worktop ran around three of the walls; cupboards sat in a central square; the light switch was to the right of the door at head height.
Staying out of sight, Tug found the switch. As the light flashed on, he stepped into the doorway.
‘Help you, mate?’ he said.
Two people stood frozen in the bright light, a bloke of about his own age and a thin woman with curly brown hair who looked about a decade younger. Both wore dark clothes.
The bloke recovered first. ‘Who the fuck are you?’ he said.
Tara peered around Tug’s shoulder. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she demanded. ‘It’s the middle of the night. And why is she here?’
The bloke squared up to them both. ‘Yeah, last I checked, Tara, it’s still my house.’
Her husband. Possibly ex-husband; that hadn’t been clear. And the Bedlington Terrier he’d left his wife for. Fair play, she did look a bit like a small, snappy dog. And was the bloke out of his mind, swapping Tara for this emaciated bint?
‘You absolute shit.’ Tara had pushed her way in front of Tug now. ‘You’re looking for the token, aren’t you? You came here to steal it.’
The husband – Justin, was it? – stepped forward, hands outstretched. ‘I’m not trying to steal anything, Tara, but you must have seen the news tonight. The whole world is talking about you. Besides, we thought you were out. Where’s your car?’
‘This is a new low, even for you.’ Tara turned to the woman. ‘And by the way, do you know he has sex with me, every time he comes here? What were you planning tonight, Just? A threesome?’
OK, that was information Tug could have done without.
‘It’s not here.’ She was back on her husband now. ‘It’s in a safety deposit box a long way from here and, no, I am not telling you anything else.’
Tug risked putting his hand on Tara’s shoulder. ‘This your ex?’ he said, waiting for her to pull away. She didn’t. ‘Well, it’s your call, babe, but I’d say it’s time to change the locks.’
Tara stepped back until her body was touching his. Tug felt the cool cotton of her T-shirt and the warmth of her skin through it. Her hair tickled his bare chest.
‘First thing tomorrow morning,’ she said, reaching for his hand.
Tug grinned.