"When you said you wanted a candlelit dinner, this isn't quite what I expected." Charity was sitting cross-legged on the settee, on the other side of a low table from Chris, who was still in his chair. He smiled, reaching out to refill her glass with expensive claret. He had always had a taste for that particular beverage, but more so, it seemed, in recent times.
"It's candlelit isn't it?" He waved a hand around at the candles on the table between them. The flames bowed and winked in response, and Charity giggled. The wine was getting to her; or maybe she was just genuinely happy. Chris wasn't sure that he would ever find out how she really felt where he was concerned - but he was getting to enjoy the uncertainty.
"That's not what I meant. Usually you try to dazzle me with expensive foods with names I can hardly pronounce." She gestured at the paper bag on the table, bearing the name of an Indian takeaway in Hotten. "Although admittedly I can't pronounce most of this stuff either."
"I thought this would be more your style. What you might choose on an ordinary day." He pointed at her with his glass. "And part of this arrangement was that you show me your world whilst I show you mine."
"True." She drank a little more wine, and toyed with a carton of something hot and spicy. "But I didn't think you'd be in to this stuff. Didn't imagine that you'd even know where to get it."
"I don't always dine on caviar and roast duck you know." He gestured vaguely at the food. "A... friend... used to eat this sort of thing. I'd never really paid it much mind before then, I have to confess. We shared a meal very similar to this once, and I've been thinking about him a lot just lately, that's all."
"Yeah. Evil Chris Tate is really just as human and as sensitive as the rest of us."
He relaxed slightly, and winced. "That's a lie. Repeat it outside this room and I'll sue." He drank some more wine, looking very distant, before finally straightening up. "So tell me. What's happening with our friend Tony?"
"The police have arrested everybody involved in the murder I witnessed. With luck I won't even have to appear in court." She frowned. "Which is just as well. Your pal Spalding called me at home yesterday, and Uncle Zac answered the phone. I had to make out that it was a wrong number."
"He's no 'pal' of mine." Chris sounded cold again, but Charity was used to his swinging moods by now. She smiled, reaching out and taking away his glass.
"Whatever. Why so much talk tonight anyway?"
"Maybe I couldn't think of anything else to do." He glanced at his watch. "It's late."
"Nearly eleven. What time is Zo‘ getting back?"
"Not before one. She's at some vet party. I don't think I want to know what they do there that lasts that long. What do vets have to talk about?"
"I don't know. I don't care." She leaned across to him, knocking some of the litter from the table, but he did not seem to be paying much attention. She scowled.
"What's wrong? Don't tell me you're not interested anymore."
"Not exactly. I'm just a bit... distracted."
"Then let me distract you some more." She took his hand. "One o'clock is a long way away."
"True." He returned the hand squeeze. "But I really would rather just talk."
She smiled. "I don't think I'm ever going to figure you out. Not if I keep trying for ten years."
"You're welcome to try." For a second they stared at each other, the moment lingering, then Chris looked away. "In the meantime, it really is getting late. Maybe I'd better call Terry."
"If you like." She watched him closely, still trying to work out what was going on behind those bright, dark eyes. "If you're sure."
He smiled, already reaching for his telephone. "I'm sure. Besides, he's only just left, so it'll annoy him having to come back here again so soon. That's reason enough to call." He pressed a button, going smoothly into his favourite clipped, employer's tones. "Terry? Miss Dingle needs a lift home. Now." There was a pause as he listened to something that Terry was saying. "I'm not really interested. Just get up here now." He hung up. "He'll be here any minute."
"You're mean." She said it jokingly, but he nodded as though she had been serious.
"Politeness and generosity never gets you anywhere. My father didn't build his empire on kindness and understanding."
"I suppose that's why some of us are successful businessmen and some of us aren't." She finished the contents of her glass, then reached for her bag as she stood up. "Night Chris."
"Goodnight." His smile was warm and genuine. The distant sound of an approaching vehicle cut it short somewhat, and he glanced towards the door. "I'll call you."
"Naturally." She slung the bag on her shoulder. "Are you going to be alright on your own? I've never asked you how you are after that business in the stable..."
"And now is hardly the time to change that. Terry is waiting." He shrugged. "I'll be fine. I always am." Such was the confidence and self-assurance of the claim that she had to laugh. He'd be fine alright. She almost envied him.
"Okay. Goodnight then." She crossed to the door. For a second she paused and looked back, but he had already turned away. He was facing the desk, with its array of framed photographs, a newly refilled glass of wine in his hand. It seemed that she had already been dismissed from his mind. Still a little confused, she turned again and left.
In the flickering light of the candles, Chris took a long drink of wine. He drank a lot these days, he realised; but he didn't let it bother him. His father had drunk a lot too - and so had his brother come to that. His eyes sought out the photographs in the semi-gloom. So many of Frank, and none at all of Liam. Just an enlarged picture hidden in a drawer, of a young Frank with a woman whose name Chris still did not know - save that her surname had, presumably, been Hammond. He finished his wine, still staring at the photographs, then put the glass aside and turned around. With a strange kind of purposefulness he headed for the drinks tray, dismissing wine with the thought of whisky. Behind him the CD in the stereo came to an end, and the room was plunged into silence. Chris paused as he poured the whisky into a glass. Quite suddenly the house seemed very dark; very empty and very lonely.
But he was used to that.
THE END