‘No, we’re not. At all,’ said Rufus.
‘If I’m not welcome, say the word and I’ll go.’
‘Shut up, will you?’ said Rufus with a grin.
Rory seemed to relax then, and they carried on working side by side.
Later, Rufus wished with all his heart that he’d taken Rory at his word that day, and let him go.
Rufus was sleeping soundly in his bed when the light came on, waking him. Orla had entered his room and was leaning over him, her expression almost crazed, her hair tickling his face. He opened his mouth to ask what was the matter – she never came to his room, and he had long since ceased to expect it – but she laid a silencing hand across his mouth.
‘Get up!’ she whispered, her voice full of excitement. ‘I’ve something to show you.’
Ah Jesus, he thought. It would be another batch of mad paintings. He looked at the clock on the bedside table, it was one fifteen in the frigging morning.
‘Orla…’ he started, pushing his hair out of his eyes, feeling exasperated, sad, irritable.
‘Come on, sleepy. I’ll show you.’
Shit, he thought. Nonetheless he stumbled from the bed, put on his dressing gown – she was wearing her winceyette nightie, he saw – anything to humour her.
She grabbed his hand, holding a finger to her lips to keep him silent.
‘Come on!’ she hissed.
He allowed her to lead him from the room and along the hall. More and more he was coming to realize that Orla, his precious Orla, was… well, she was unhinged. Something had made her unstable. Probably poor Redmond’s death.
‘Listen! Here!’ He’d expected her to drag him down the stairs and out to the barn, but instead she’d come to a halt outside one of the guest rooms. Rory’s room, he realized.
‘What the…’
She shushed him urgently. He could hear a voice. Like a child playing a naughty game, Orla produced a glass from her pocket and held it out to him. ‘Listen,’ she whispered.
‘For God’s sake…’
‘Go on!’
Rufus let out a sharp sigh. How long had she spent doing this, suspecting Rory the same way she suspected any outsider, never mind that he was Rufus’s oldest friend? For all he knew she’d been here eavesdropping every night since Rory arrived, trying to trap him in some imagined transgression.
His mood veering between annoyance and a weary sadness, he took the glass from her and placed it to the door. Instantly the muffled voice became clearer. It was Rory’s voice. And he was talking to someone. He was on the phone.
‘I didn’t pick up the extension because I thought he’d hear the click,’ hissed Orla. ‘I knew he was up to something.’
Rufus tuned her out and listened hard to what was going on in Rory’s room.