Devil and the Deep (The Ceruleans: Book 4) Read Free Page A

little shake and said, ‘Right, I’ll release the beast.’
    He turned and strode across the drive to his van, which was
rocking on its wheels thanks to the energetic jumping of the deranged old
English sheepdog within. I leaned against the doorframe and watched Luke’s
every move, admiring his tall, broad physique, visible through a paint-splashed
t-shirt and ripped jeans. I was picturing removing said t-shirt later that
evening when the back door of the van was flung open and eighty pounds of fur
and frenzy pounded across the drive and leapt into my arms – which weren’t
remotely strong enough to take the weight, so I promptly dumped the wriggling,
writhing dog at my feet.
    ‘Chester, sit,’ I told him sternly.
    He gave an elated ‘woof’ in reply and then took off into the
house at lightning speed, sending the hat stand by the front door crashing to
the floor in his wake.
    ‘Well, that Dog Training For Dummies book was money
well spent,’ I said.
    ‘Stick to bribery with chocolate drops,’ called Luke.
    He’d closed the back door of the van and was standing at the
driver’s door, ready to get in. As always when he dropped Chester off – which
he did most mornings on his way to work – he hesitated before driving away. It
felt so fleeting, this morning liaison. But then that was the idea: many
human-free hours a day for me, so that we could be together properly later.
    ‘What’s the plan today?’ I asked.
    ‘Knocking down walls,’ he returned cheerily. Even from here
I could see the sparkle in his eyes at the thought of wielding a massive hammer
at old plasterboard.
    ‘Have fun!’ I told him.
    ‘You too. See you later.’ He climbed up into the driver’s
seat, but paused before closing the door and called, ‘You sure you don’t
want me to bring anything later? Or come early and help you… set up?’
    ‘Nope. I have it all in hand.’
    He did an impeccable job of keeping the doubt from his eyes;
just smiled, shut the door and blew me one last kiss before starting the
engine. The van roared off down the lane and turned the bend and slipped out of
sight. I waited until I could hear nothing but rustling grasses and birdsong
and the distant call of the sea, and then I made myself turn away.

3: CHASM
     
    Inside the cottage, I tracked down Chester. He was in the
kitchen, gnawing a squeaky bone with relish. His big, innocent eyes said, ‘Love
me.’ The croissant crumbs all over his furry face said, ‘Scold me.’
    ‘Chester,’ I told him, ‘you are a bad, bad, bad… lovely dog.’
    He opened his jaws in a slobbery grin.
    ‘Now stay,’ I commanded, ‘while I get your lead on.’
    Fifteen minutes and a smashed vase later, I had Chester on
the lead and was walking him along the winding coastal path to the west. I’d
planned an hour’s walk, a break in a field for me to rest and Chester to hurtle
about off his lead, then an about-turn and an hour’s walk back: a peaceful
excursion for me (few hikers followed this trail) but, more importantly, an
energy-sapping activity for Chester.
    It worked: back at the cottage an unusually docile Chester
chomped his way through a bowl of dry dog food and then promptly fell asleep
sprawled belly-up in the middle of the living room floor, leaving me free to
get on with the many jobs I had to do.
    Only in between sweeping and mopping and scrubbing and
dusting and shifting furniture and hunting out a tablecloth and folding napkins
and attempting to fashion an artistic table centrepiece out of flowers from the
garden and ribbons from my grandmother’s sewing box, I kept getting
interrupted.
    First Cara, via text:
    Cara: Hey, hon. What’s the dress code for tonight?
    Me: There isn’t one. Wear whatever you like.
    Cara: Way too many options then! Can it be a swinging
sixties night?
    Me: Nope.
    Cara: Why not? My legs look GREAT in a miniskirt.
    Me: So wear one then. But I’m not telling the others they
have to dress up.
    Cara: Who doesn’t love fancy