Part 29 (1/2)

He lurched to his feet, face darkening. 'I don't like being made a fool of.'

'I'm going to bed,' I said coldly, ignoring the threat. I'd had enough of Kit for one day. 'Don't forget to lock up. I've checked the windows already.'

'Fort Knox. This is our sanctuary, Martha. We shouldn't be locking ourselves into our sanctuary.' Suddenly he looked forlorn, swaying in his baggy sweater and polished brogues, a gla.s.s in one hand.

'Come up with me,' I said.

'Soon.'

Sighing, I made my way through the house, turning off lights. I was halfway up the stairs before I looked up. And then I almost died.

A figure was standing on the top step, its face turned towards me. I grabbed the banisters and staggered back, though it took only a split second to realise that this apparition was Finn, gazing gla.s.sily with blank eyes.

'Finn!' I breathed.

His eyes widened in speechless terror, and I took the rest of the stairs two at a time. I knew that rabbit-in-the-headlights stare. He didn't know who I was, or where he was, and he was scared.

'Come on, baby,' I whispered, taking him by the hand. 'Don't be all spooky, you gave me a fright.'

Leading him to the boys' bedroom, I crossed my fingers. If I was lucky, he would return to deeper sleep. He s.n.a.t.c.hed up Buccaneer Bob and lay down, mumbling. His eyes were closed by the time I covered him up. I waited for a couple of minutes, stroking his hair as his breathing deepened, then slid out.

I looked in on Sacha. Her room smelled like a locker room; she needed to sort out her was.h.i.+ng. My girl was curled up under her duvet, one hand resting on her cheek. She was snuffling a little, and her face felt cus.h.i.+ony soft when I kissed it. She looked barely older than her brothers.

All was well.

All seemed well.

Kit pa.s.sed out in the studio that night, surfacing with the mother of all hangovers the following afternoon. By then the boys had gone to play with William Colbert. Kit drooped by the kitchen stove, guzzling Alka-Seltzer and apologising twice a minute. He was wretched, but I was too furious to be appeased. I gave him the silent treatment.

'Can't believe myself,' he said. 'It won't happen again.'

I shrugged. I was pulling on lace-up boots for riding.

Kit hunched, dropping his forehead onto his fists. 'I'm going teetotal until I leave for Dublin. How's that?'

I managed a hollow laugh.

'C'mon, Martha. I'm pulling out the stops! Teetotal. Cold turkey. Not another drop.'

'I'll believe it when I see it.'

'Where are you off to?' he asked as I picked up the car keys. I think he'd really forgotten.

'Galloping into the sunset with Clint Eastwood,' I snapped. 'Got a problem with that? Deal with it.'

Kit capitulated like a lamb. Mum didn't. In fact, she yelled all the way down the drive. Are you mad?

'Tama said he just needed to talk to me. He's an honourable guy. I trust him.'

Yes, but do you trust yourself when you're so angry with Kit?

'Chill. I'm much too fat to have a fling. I couldn't possibly take my clothes off for a new man! I'd need to spend six months in the gym first.'

Remember Sacha's father!

Ouch. She had a point there.

Tama was waiting as I parked next to his ute. We were away within minutes.

'What are those boys up to this afternoon?' he asked, as we crossed the dunes.

When I explained about William Colbert, he nodded. 'I've known Pamela since we were both small.'

'Really? Isn't she much older than you?'

'She was at Torutaniwha Primary School with my cousins. Most of 'em fancied old Pam. She had the boys pawing the ground in her younger days, but that Frenchie got in first.'

We rode steadily, side by side, casting blue shadows. The autumn light was soft and diffused; it was hard to tell where the air ended and the water began. Tama didn't seem anxious to talk for a time, and I didn't prompt him.

As we reached the headland, he scratched his nose. 'This isn't easy,' he said. And indeed, he looked less at ease than I'd ever seen him. For one deliriously skin-tingling but deeply embarra.s.sing moment I thought he was going to make a move then and there, dragging me off Kakama and onto the sea-washed sand. Mum was going ballistic. If she hadn't already been dead, I really think she might have had a heart attack.

'Go ahead,' I prompted, feeling my cheeks burn. 'I'm listening.'

He tilted his hat lower over his eyes. 'I've heard things.'

'Heard things?'

'You've been losing things.'

I was bemused. 'Well, we were burgled and-'

'I'm not talking about the burglary.'

This wasn't at all the conversation I'd expected. 'We're chaotic. We've still got stuff in cardboard boxes. I expect it'll all turn up.'

'An antique painting? You really think it's lying around somewhere?'

'Well, no.'

'How's that lovely daughter?' he asked, in what seemed an abrupt change of subject.

'Sacha? She's . . . well, she's fine.'

'Fine?'

'She's a teenager-all tantrums and tiaras at the moment.'

Then he seemed to change the subject yet again. 'My sister used to live in Torutaniwha. Her husband was a top bloke. Samoan guy. He worked in the forestry. Got crushed by a log and killed. She had two little kids, and they gave her a payout.'

'Ira and . . .?'