Ruin (7 page)

"Everything all right?" he asked, his voice soft and honey thick.

"I...I was just checking Jane had prepared it for you." I waved pathetically at the bed and tried to smile breezily and without guilt. I was a crappy liar. I'm sure he could see exactly what I'd been thinking. "It all looks fine."

"Glad to hear it."

"I'm sorry I left you alone with Mrs. M."

"She's okay. I've slayed meaner dragons than her." His lips quirked up, and I was so relieved that I smiled back. He wasn't mad at me, even though he had every right to be. He'd known what I'd wanted to do—it must have been written all over my face—but he hadn't held it against me.

He held the door for me even though it was capable of staying open on its own. To get past him, I had to get very close. So close, that my arm brushed against his hard abs and solid chest.

Damn, but the body hidden beneath that shirt was everything I thought it would be. More.

I wondered how hot tomorrow was going to be and if he'd shed his T-shirt to cool down. A girl could hope, couldn't she?

It was crazy, but I swear my body hummed for ages after that brief touch.

We went back down the stairs together. "She's in the drawing room. Or that's what she called it," he said.

"I'll make her a cup of tea," I said. "Want one?"

"Sure. Thanks." He headed back to the drawing room, just off the entrance hall. Straight back to the dragon's lair. Maybe he thought she was too old to be left alone, or maybe he was a glutton for punishment.

I made the tea in the kitchen, not with tea bags, but proper leaves and teapot and everything. I found a plate for Mom's cookies and assembled plate, teapot, cups, saucers, sugar and milk on a tray. I managed to reach the drawing room without anything sliding off. The rattling cups announced my arrival, and Ben turned around. He stood by a sideboard covered with old photos, his hands behind his back as he studied them. He removed the tray from me and set it down on the coffee table in front of Mrs. M.

She frowned at him, as if it were wrong of him to take over. I don't know why she cared.

After all, we were both hired help in her eyes. I was amazed we
servants
were allowed to sit with her in the drawing room.

I hadn't been in it in years. It was the 'good room,' the one where we couldn't touch anything and had to sit with our knees together and hands folded in our laps while the adults talked. I'd snuck in once, when I was quite small, just to see what it was like, and suffered the wrath of Mrs. M when she found me attempting to play the piano quietly. The piano was long gone, sold off like most of the paintings, but much of the furniture was the same. It was heavy and solid with brocaded cushions and curtains that had worn thin. Not my taste, but it suited the gloomy room.

The last time I'd legitimately been allowed in the drawing room was after the funeral of Jane's parents, and as such, the room had always felt sad to me. I sighed now as I sat, and wondered how long I had to pretend to be polite to a woman who'd never paid me much attention except to scold me.

I picked up the teapot and poured the tea into one of the cups.

"Stop!" Mrs. M cried. She clicked her tongue. "You're doing it wrong, Kathryn Bell. The milk goes in first. Hasn't that mother of yours taught you anything?"

Ben shot me an encouraging look and picked up the plate of cookies. "Try these, Mrs. Merriweather."

I poured the milk into the teacups as she nibbled the edge of a cookie. She must have liked it because she took a bigger bite.

"Sugar?" I asked her.

"Half a teaspoon." She watched as I scooped enough sugar from the bowl to fill half the teaspoon. "More," she ordered. I filled the spoon three-quarters. "More, Kathryn Bell, for goodness sake." I scooped up a heaped teaspoon's worth of sugar. She nodded approval, and I dropped it into the cup and stirred.

I handed her the cup and saucer. "Another cookie?"

"Just one. Did you make these, Kathryn Bell?"

"No, Mom did."

"Your mother?"

"Yes, Mrs. Wendy Bell."

"I know who your mother is. She hasn't always been a Bell. She was a Wright before she married. The Bells and Wrights have lived in Winter for as long as the Merriweathers and Forsythes. They're good people. Humble. Not grasping or lazy like some."

God, she was such a snob.

"Who're the people in those photos?" Ben asked, setting his cup in the saucer. I shot him a grateful smile for taking the heat off me, but he wasn't looking my way. His gaze was firmly locked on Mrs. M.

"Merriweathers," she said.

Ben nodded and stared into his cup. His fingers were too big for the small handle, so he held the delicate porcelain cup as if he were warming his hands on it. "The man with the shotgun...is he Mr. Merriweather, your late husband?"

"Ebenezer, yes. That photo was taken soon after we married."

"He was an imposing figure."

"He was."

I got up to look at the photo. Ben was right. I'd only ever seen Ebenezer Merriweather as an old man, hunched and frail, but in the photo he was tall and handsome with dark hair and broad shoulders.

"The house looks good in the background," he said.

Mrs. M nodded and sipped. She didn't seem particularly interested in talking about it.

"There's a great photo of you and some other ladies sitting on the porch," he said.

I found the one he was talking about. Mrs. M sat in the front, surrounded by four other ladies. She looked young, pretty, and full of life. There wasn't a hint of hardness in her eyes as she smiled back at the camera. The porch looked different too. It wasn't choked by vines and the tiles weren't cracked. It would be great to see it restored to its former state.

"And the two little boys?" Ben went on.

I searched the collection of old black and white photos until I found the one he was referring to. Two boys of about six stood with fishing rods down by the boatshed. They appeared to be the same age. Both had dark hair and matching toothless smiles.

"That's my son and his friend."

"Which one's which?" I asked.

"Peter is on the left."

"And the other boy? Who is he?"

"Nobody you know."

"Did his family leave before I was born?"

She set the cup down with a clank. "You ask too many questions. Just like all the Bells."

I pressed my lips together to stop my smile. She probably hadn't meant it as a compliment, but I took it as one anyway.

Ben asked more questions about the photos. He didn't get up to study them, but seemed to have memorized them all. I sat down again, not particularly interested. I didn't know why Ben was so curious about them. I thought he'd just been trying to make conversation, be polite, but now I wasn't so sure.

When he finally finished his questions, he stood. "Thanks for the tea, but I better get back to work."

Just as he said it, the front door opened. "I'm back!" Jane called. "Got the sealant stuff."

She stopped in the doorway. "Oh, Gran, you're down here." She bit her lip and blinked at the tea things. "Who made tea?"

"I did," I said.

She screwed up her nose. "Did you put the milk in first?"

"Only after Mrs. M kindly told me that was the way it was done."

"Ah. Right. And did you give Gran
half
a teaspoon of sugar?"

"The full half," I said with a wink.

She lightened up a little at that, but I suspected it was because her grandmother wasn't really listening. Her head was bowed, and I couldn't see if her eyes were open or shut. Maybe she was asleep.

Ben accepted the sealant and headed out of the drawing room. I gathered the tea things on the tray and followed him, Jane at my heels.

"Sorry," she said to Ben and I in the corridor leading to the kitchen. "I thought she was going to spend the rest of the afternoon in her room."

"Don't worry," Ben said. "She's not as bad as Kate made out."

"Me?" I stopped to give him a withering glare, but his eyes twinkled mischievously. "Ha! Just you wait and see what happens if you walk in on a private conversation between Mrs. M and someone. I did that once and she grabbed me by the ear and marched me out. I was only twelve."

Jane winced. "She did that? Sorry."

"Stop apologizing! Whatever your Gran does is not your fault."

"Right. I know. Come on, let's go prepare dinner."

"I thought I was making dinner," Ben said.

"You can't cook
and
work around the house. We have to do something."

Jane and I left him and went down to the kitchen. I washed the teacups while she peeled potatoes.

"Do you think he'd stay longer if you asked?" I said.

Her mouth twisted to the side in thought. "I don't know if I should. Gran doesn't like strangers."

"But if you told her he'll help out..."

"She'll want to pay him."

"She's not paying him now."

"No, but he's doing it in exchange for board."

"Why couldn't he stay longer with the same deal? He works in exchange for board and meals?"

She scooped the potato peel up and dumped it in the trash. "I guess, but why would he? I mean, he must have somewhere to go. Even if he doesn't, he'll want to get a real paying job somewhere."

I couldn't argue with that.

We worked together in the kitchen until dinner was ready. Ben came in and washed up while Jane took a tray to her Gran's room. She said she liked to eat alone most nights. I thought it terribly lonely for both of them and said so. Jane merely shrugged. "Sometimes I join her, but not tonight. Tonight we have guests." She smiled as she said it and practically danced around the kitchen. Funny how such a small thing as dinner guests could make someone happy.

We three ate together in the kitchen. Neither Jane nor I asked Ben questions about his travels or his past. We'd both got the message loud and clear. It didn't stop him asking us, however. He wanted to know what the Merriweather house had been like when we were little. He asked us about school, and we told him how we'd gone to high school in Riverside and elementary in Winter, but the latter had shut down a couple of years ago. There were no little kids left. We talked about our friends, Beth and Lucy, and the other people our age in the town, none of whom would be back this summer it seemed. They all had jobs elsewhere, or new friends with beach houses. I expected to see Ben's eyes glaze over, but he seemed to be listening the entire time.

We washed the dishes afterward then sat on the porch, looking over the tangled garden as the sun set behind the trees. The air was still warm, the breeze light, and the birdlife provided music as they settled into their nests for the evening. Dusk painted the sky in oranges and reds with a sliver of gold around the single cloud.

We sat in the wicker chairs, glasses of wine in hand, not speaking. Just looking. Breathing.

It was peaceful. It didn't feel like I was at the old Merriweather place with its flaking paint, creaky floorboards and a crazy old lady upstairs. Hard to believe that Winter was less than a mile away and that my parents would be sitting in front of the TV, watching something they found amusing, but I found dull.

"I can imagine what it must have been like to live here when this place was built," Ben said, breaking the silence. "It would have been busy during the day and dazzling at night with all the lights blazing. But at twilight..." He breathed deeply. "At twilight it would have been a calm oasis."

"Your imagination is more vivid that mine," I said. "I can't see it as anything other than a derelict building set amid an overgrown garden."

"No?" He leaned closer to me, his hand on my chair arm. "Those trees would have been shorter, so you would see more of the sky. And the river would be visible through there." He pointed at a bank of tall bushes covered in pretty white flowers. "The sun would be glinting off it about now."

"You describe it beautifully," I said.

"That's because it is beautiful." His voice was a low rumble in my ear. I could feel his breath on my cheek, which meant he was looking at me.

I turned to him, and my heart stopped. His face was close, his eyes intense. I wanted to fall into them and wallow in their depths. I wanted to feel his breath on my body and his mouth on mine. As if he could read my mind, his gaze lowered.

Jane yawned loudly.

I jumped back, pressing myself into my seat. Ben stood and strode to the end of the porch.

He kept his back to us and ran his hand through his hair.

"I'm going to bed," Jane announced.

"Already?" My voice sounded a little squeaky so I cleared my throat. "It's so early."

She held up her empty wine glass. "This hasn't helped."

"Okay. Goodnight."

"Um, Kate," she whispered. She glanced at Ben then back to me. "You do know what you're doing, right?"

Fuck no. "Of course I do."

"It's just that...he's leaving tomorrow."

"I know."

"And we don't know much about him." She was sounding a hell of a lot like my dad.

"I know that too," I said.

"Okay. Good. Um...have you got condoms?"

"Jane!" I thumped her shoulder lightly.

She bit her lip and gave me a sheepish shrug. "Just looking out for my best friend." She hugged me. "Thanks for staying the night."

"My pleasure."

"Let's hope so!"

We both giggled. "Goodnight, Ben," she called out to him.

He turned and waved. "Goodnight."

She left. Ben and I were alone. I got up and joined him at his end of the porch since he didn't look like he was coming back to me. He didn't watch me, but turned around and leaned on the railing.

"I think she did that deliberately," I said. Fuck, why did I say that? It made me sound like I thought us having sex was a foregone conclusion when it clearly wasn't if his body language was any indication.

"Kate." He blew out a breath and dipped his head. "Kate, I'm sorry. I really, really am sorry."

The porch beneath my feet tilted. At least that's how it felt. It took me a moment to regain my equilibrium. I leaned my elbows on the railing next to him, my hands clasping my glass of wine. "I was going to tell you it's okay. But that would be a lie."