What Her Cousin Wanted

"This afternoon?"

Damian sat opposite her.

Clara drank the coffee too quickly. It burned her tongue, giving her something simple to concentrate on.

He pushed the water toward her.

"I have the opening," he said. "After your inspection, perhaps. We could eat first."

"You don't need to arrange a meal."

"I know."

She looked at the dark circles beneath his eyes.

For a second she wanted to ask whether he had slept. Then she remembered Shelby in the doorway and looked away.

"Fine. After the inspection."

Outside the window, the old yellow dog from the hotel entrance lay beneath an awning with three half-grown puppies crowded against her.

They both watched the dogs instead of each other.

Owen checked his watch.

"We should go. The officials are already arriving."

Damian rose and fastened his jacket.

"You're going to Willowbend too. Come with us."

Clara reached for her camera bag.

Shelby arrived before she stood.

She wore a black hotel uniform and a new gold name badge. Her hair was pinned neatly away from her face. She carried Damian's laptop case with both hands.

"The gifts are in the car," she told him. "They need you to approve the list."

He nodded, then looked back at Clara.

"I'll wait outside."

Shelby remained beside the table.

"Can I talk to you? Just a minute."

Clara put her camera down.

"What is it?"

"Are you really ending it? Or is this another argument?"

"It isn't something people do for amusement."

Shelby glanced toward the doors.

"Then let me have what you don't want."

Clara looked at her.

The words were so plain that for a moment she couldn't find any response to them.

"He's a person," she said at last.

"You know what I mean."

Shelby's face reddened.

"You have work. Schools. You can go anywhere. I'm here. I can look after him."

"Does he know you're saying this?"

"Men aren't stupid."

She shifted the laptop case to her other hand.

"People thought I was the bride. After that day. You weren't there, and I didn't correct them. He didn't either."

A little sound came from Clara's cup as she set it down too hard.

Shelby watched her carefully.

"He lets me into the office. You saw that."

Clara could see Damian through the glass, standing at the open trunk beside Owen. He was checking a list. A perfectly ordinary man having a perfectly ordinary morning while something was being pulled apart inside her.

"You don't need my permission," she said.

Shelby's relief came too quickly.

"I knew you'd understand."

Clara reached for her bag.

"I didn't say that."

Outside, a car flashed its lights.

"What work have you got left?" Shelby asked.

"The gardens. A pavilion on the south ridge."

"That old place across the bridge?"

Clara nodded without thinking.

Shelby looked down at her watch.

"It's so hot. Get someone else to take the photographs. I could ask Damian."

"No."

"I only meant—"

"I'll do it myself."

Shelby gave a little shrug.

"I've arranged another driver for you, anyway."

She hurried outside and got into the front passenger seat of Damian's car.

The lights flashed once more.

Clara stayed where she was.

After another minute, the car left.

***

Owen returned to find her standing by the side entrance.

"Why didn't you go with him?"

"Something came up."

He studied her face, then wisely didn't ask.

"I'll take you."

At Willowbend, the opening drew officials, buyers, journalists, and half the town. Clara waited in the car while speeches finished, then went through the gardens with her camera.

For a little while, work helped.

The paths were the right width. The planting had survived. Water moved across the shallow stone channels without pooling against the restored walls.

A young colleague waved from the demonstration house.

"You came! Can you send us your photographs?"

"That's why I'm here."

They discussed a drain cover and a tree that had been planted too close to a doorway. Clara made notes, glad to have a problem she could point at.

When she returned to the car, the entrance was blocked by men in matching dark shirts.

They weren't breaking anything. They simply stood where customers needed to walk.

Owen swore beneath his breath.

"Stay in the car."

Damian emerged from the sales center with Vince behind him.

Clara watched him cross the square without hurrying.

The men shifted. A short, heavy man at the back tried to remain out of sight.

Damian smiled at him.

"Gordon. You should have told me you were coming."

Even through the closed windows, she could see that the smile wasn't friendly.

Gordon Pike had once supplied most of the region's construction sites at whatever price he chose. Wolfe Holdings had ended that arrangement by buying elsewhere.

He hadn't forgiven the competition.

Vince stepped toward the first row. Damian caught his arm before he could make the situation louder.

Then he spoke to the men as if they were guests who had got lost.

"It's hot out here. There's water inside. Food too. Anyone who came all this way can have a decent lunch."

A few heads turned.

Owen moved swiftly to arrange it.

The first man stepped out of line. Then another.

Within minutes the entrance was clear.

Damian put his hand on Gordon's shoulder and led him toward a side office.

The doors closed.

Clara looked down at her photographs.

She didn't want to know what happened behind another closed door.

***

The replacement driver introduced himself as Dylan.

He was young and unremarkable, wearing a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled back.

"Owen said I should take you wherever you need."

She sent Owen a message that she was leaving the site.

Halfway to the hotel, she changed her mind.

"Can we do the south ridge first?"

Dylan glanced at her in the mirror.

"The pavilion?"

"Yes. I'll finish it now. Then I can leave tomorrow."

"Whatever you want."

She checked the time. If she finished before lunch, there would be no reason to spend another night waiting for a conversation neither of them seemed able to begin.

She opened Damian's contact, then closed it again without writing anything.

Dylan watched her in the mirror until she looked up.

At the trail entrance he offered to carry her camera.

She refused. He stayed beside the car while she walked toward the bridge.

The first time she'd crossed it, there had been six colleagues with her, laughing and holding the handrails steady.

Today there was only the sound of water far below.

Owen called while she was taking the camera out of its case.

"Where are you now?"

"The trail entrance. I'll be a little while."

"Don't go alone if the approach looks bad. We can send someone tomorrow."

She looked at the pale stone path beyond the bridge. She had helped restore what stood at the top of it. She wanted to finish one thing without handing its last small piece to somebody else.

"I've been here before. I'll call when I'm done."

"Keep your phone charged."

"I will."

Dylan stood a few yards away, pretending to study the visitor information board.

After she ended the call, he offered her a bottle of water from the car.

She accepted it and put it in her bag.

"How long?" he asked.

"An hour. Maybe more for the photographs."

"I'll be here."

She nodded and turned back toward the bridge, comforted by the entirely false impression that somebody knew where she was and would notice promptly if she didn't return.

Behind her, a car door clicked shut.

She tested the first plank with her shoe.

It held.

She took another step, then another, keeping both hands on the ropes.

Behind her, Dylan took out his phone.

"She's gone up," he said softly.