House Of Shadows. Nicola Cornick

her hands around hers and drank deeply. It was scalding hot, but comforting.

      ‘Thank you so much,’ she said. ‘What do I owe you?’

      ‘Don’t worry about it.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘In case you don’t take tea with complete strangers, my name’s Mark.’

      ‘Holly.’ She considered shaking hands and decided against it.

      ‘Nice to meet you, Holly.’ Mark sat back in his chair. ‘So do you want to talk about it?’

      ‘What?’ She stared at him, confused for a moment. Her eyes were smarting slightly. ‘Oh, no, thank you.’

      ‘All right.’ Mark said equably.

      They sat drinking their tea in silence. Holly appraised him with an artist’s eye; his face was hard lines of cheek and jaw, like a stylised angel … He turned his head and their eyes met and again she felt that jolt of recognition, exciting, dangerous. Normally she would have run a mile from such instant attraction but today she felt different. Everything felt different.

      She nodded towards the camera.

      ‘That’s a nice piece of kit. Did you get any good shots today?’

      Mark smiled. ‘Yes, thanks. There’s plenty of potential around here. Are you interested in photography?’

      ‘Yes, I like it. I take pictures and sometimes I’m lucky. That’s different from being good though.’

      Mark inclined his head. ‘So what do you do for a living?’

      ‘I’m an engraver. Glass.’ Holly realised she didn’t want to talk about herself. ‘What about you? Is photography your job?’

      Mark grimaced. ‘Unfortunately not. I’m just an amateur. I used to work as a civil engineer, but I’ve done some travelling lately.’

      Holly drained her mug. ‘Where’ve you been?’

      ‘I was working in Asia for a bit, Norway. My sister lives there, so I stayed for the winter, crewing her husband’s fishing boat.’

      Holly looked at him in surprise. She had seen enough TV programmes to know that was no job for amateurs.

      ‘Are you a good sailor then?’

      ‘No,’ Mark smiled. ‘A very bad one. But I had to do something to pay my way.’ He stood up, a little abruptly and Holly sensed that with him too there were barriers he didn’t want to cross.

      ‘Are you ready to go? I’ll walk you to your car.’

      ‘Oh.’ Holly realised he thought she was a tourist too. She hesitated, suddenly aware of how weird she felt. Everything felt odd, distorted in her mind, not quite real.

      ‘I’m staying near here,’ she said.

      ‘I’ll walk you back then.’

      Holly was not sure that she really wanted company. ‘There’s no need—’

      Mark slanted a smile down at her. She liked the lines that fanned out from his eyes when he smiled and the crease that ran down his cheek. She noticed these things about him quite objectively and yet at the same time not objectively at all.

      ‘I daresay you’d rather be alone,’ he said, ‘but I’d rather know you were OK. Call me over-protective if you like …’ He shrugged. ‘I could walk a few paces behind, if you prefer.’

      The breeze was strengthening now and the day cooling down into evening. They left the car park and the tourists behind, passing the tiny village green with its scatter of cottages and the little stream. After all the noise and bustle the silence sounded loud. They did not speak.

      Whenever Mark drew a little ahead of her, Holly watched him move; the easy, economical movements of someone comfortable in their own skin. His gaze was abstracted now as it rested on the path ahead, his face a little distant in repose. There was a tight knot in Holly’s stomach as she watched him. It felt a little like pain, but it was something different, hot and fierce, that curled inside her.

      At the gate of the mill she stopped. Mark looked up and seemed to register for the first time where they were. He turned towards her, frowning.

      ‘Are you staying here?’

      ‘Yes,’ Holly said. ‘Would you like to come in?’

      She felt his puzzlement, saw the slight narrowing of his eyes as they rested on her face. Much now depended on his interpretation of the invitation, and she had the feeling that Mark had probably had plenty of practice in that. She shifted slightly, keeping her gaze fixed on his. He was so cool, so distant. She needed to bridge that gap. She needed him. The thought of him turning away now and leaving her was unbearable. She wondered if he could feel her desperation.

      He took her hand. His fingers interlocked strongly with hers, and still she did not know the answer and felt quite faint with the need to know. She stepped over the threshold and gently tugged his hand; he followed.

      There was a message from Fran on the mat. It said: ‘I’ve just got back. Call me.’

      Holly read it upside down, stepped over it and turned back to Mark. She could smell his skin, the faint scent of fresh air. He was cold to the touch. She pulled him inside, slammed the door and reached up to kiss him. After a second he responded and she felt sharp desire and such relief that she trembled. The loneliness, the fear, faded.

      She kissed him again, driving out thought, losing herself in sensation, drawing back only so that she could lead him towards the stairs. She could feel his presence behind her, close as a whisper. She was still holding his hand. The late afternoon sun was streaming in at the big bedroom window, , the line of the hills spread out before them. Mark was watching her face.

      ‘Holly, what’s this about?’

      She felt his breath feather across her skin. She could see the shadow of his eyelashes, spiky against the hard line of his cheek. His lips brushed her jaw. Again she felt that fierce rush of desire. She turned her head and Mark’s mouth was suddenly on hers again, one hand tangled in her hair, the other low on her back. Sensation flared. Mark’s hand brushed the thin cotton of her shirt, his palm against her breast. He was still kissing her. Such urgency. She had never even imagined it could be like that and she was fiercely glad; glad she was not alone any more; glad she could forget for a little while. She pulled him down onto the bed beside her and lost herself in him.

      There was a distant ringing sound in Holly’s ears. She struggled awake to find the room full of daylight. Her body felt relaxed for the first time in days and her mind was as clear and sharp as a cut in a piece of glass. She could remember every detail of the night. They hadn’t slept much. They hadn’t talked at all.

      She turned over. Mark lay beside her, curled on his side, sleeping peacefully. The lines of his face were softened. Something pierced Holly’s detachment and made her breath catch in her throat. She looked at him for a moment, then got out of bed and tiptoed over to the wardrobe. She almost tripped over the clothes piled on the floor. Turning the key in the door she took out an old paisley robe of Ben’s she had borrowed the last time she had come down.

      Light was streaming into the long living room and her phone was full of messages. She ignored them. It was the doorbell that was ringing, on and on. Bonnie was agitated, waiting by the door, tail waving. All Holly could think was that if Ben had timed his arrival back now it would be difficult to work out which of them had the more explaining to do.

      She opened the door and found Fran on the step, shivering inside her jacket. It was another sunny morning but they were standing in the shade of the building and the shadows were cold.

      ‘Holly!’ Fran’s eyes were puzzled, her voice full of concern. ‘Thank goodness! I thought you’d disappeared too. Are you ill or something? I heard about Ben—’

      ‘You already