‘I suppose not. Although you could say my parents chose me.’
Harry raised her eyebrows.
‘I was adopted,’ he explained. ‘My adoptive parents couldn’t have children so they took me in when I was a baby. But by the time I was two, my mother was miraculously pregnant.’
‘Don’t tell me, you got overlooked in favour of the natural child and it gave you a mass of complexes.’
Dillon paused. ‘For a while, maybe. I certainly know what it’s like to feel you’re an outsider in your own home.’ He shrugged. ‘But then they tried to make amends and ended up over-compensating. I got all the attention, and it was my brother who got the complexes. He went right off the rails in the end. Drugs, prison – the works.’
She sucked down her brandy, not sure what to say. ‘So we both have families with murky pasts?’
‘Looks like it.’
Harry waved her arm around the room. ‘Well, it hasn’t done you any harm. Look at this house. It’s amazing.’ Her ears started to buzz and she wondered was she getting a bit drunk.
‘It’s not bad.’ Dillon looked pleased with himself.
Harry scanned the room. ‘Mind you, you seem to do most of your living in here.’
His smile slipped a little. ‘Not when I have guests, which is most of the time. And when I don’t, I can shut the world away. High walls, electronic gates – if there’s one thing money can buy you, it’s privacy.’
‘Or isolation,’ Harry said, and immediately wished she hadn’t. Dillon frowned, and stood up.
‘Come on, you look exhausted. You should get some rest.’
He grasped her hand and helped her to her feet. She stood facing him for a moment, only inches away from him, their body heat mingling. Then he turned away and strolled over to the French doors on the other side of the room, beckoning for her to follow. ‘But first I want to show you something.’
The first thing Harry noticed when she stepped outside the door was a pungent scent that reminded her of Christmas trees. It hung in the air like eucalyptus, and instantly cleared her head.
She peered into the darkness, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Then she saw it. Inky black, looming up from the centre of the lawn, was a gigantic wall of hedge maybe twelve feet high and wider than a football pitch.
‘My God,’ Harry said. ‘Is that a maze?’
As she spoke, the moon broke through the clouds and she could see that the dense evergreen had been planted in the shape of an enormous enclosed rectangle, extending as far back as it did across. There must have been over an acre of hedge out there.
‘Awesome, isn’t it?’ Dillon said. ‘The previous owners planted it about twenty years ago. I just had to have it. Come on, let me take you in.’
He strode across the lawn, his trainers making whispering noises against the dry grass. Harry followed, stopping in front of a red triangular flag that marked the entrance to the maze. She felt her brain dissolve into pulp, the way it always did when confronted with a navigational challenge.
‘I feel like I need to throw a six to start,’ she said.
Dillon laughed. ‘Come on, before the moonlight goes. I want to show you what I built in the centre.’
She followed him in. The spicy pine fragrance was more intense inside the maze. All around her were curved, towering hedges. The rough clay path was only a few feet wide, so they were forced to walk in single file.
Dillon took a sharp left, and Harry trotted to keep up. The path followed a tight arc, and suddenly Dillon disappeared. The moonlight waned, and Harry’s skin prickled. She quickened her pace.
‘What do you do if someone gets lost in here?’ she called out.
‘We talk them in from the viewing deck.’ He sounded close by, only a few feet ahead. ‘It overlooks the whole thing. But if you do get lost, just follow the left-hand rule.’
‘The what?’ She clung to the main path, refusing to be tempted by left or right turns.
‘Put your left hand on the hedge, follow the wall and keep walking. You’ll get out eventually.’
By now, the moonlight had completely vanished, turning the hedges into black walls. Harry stretched her hands out in front of her, feeling her way around the blind bends.
‘Don’t worry, it looks worse than it is,’ Dillon said. ‘A lot of it’s just an optical illusion.’
Harry’s step faltered. Optical illusion. The phrase triggered a snap of electricity in her brain, and an image of her bank account showing €12,000,000 flashed into her head.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The paths are designed to lead people down the wrong turns. Psychological trickery.’ He sounded ten or fifteen feet away, but whether to her left or right, she couldn’t tell. ‘For instance, people tend to avoid paths that seem to go back the way they came. Stuff like that.’
Harry tried to see how this could have anything to do with her bank account. Could it have been some kind of trick? She shook her head. Some part of her brain had made a connecting leap, but she’d no idea why.
Feet scuffed against the clay behind her. She frowned. Had Dillon circled behind her? She checked over her shoulder, but all she could see was solid hedge. Her back tingled, and she geared up to a power-walk.
‘Ever hear the story of King Minos and the Labyrinth?’ Dillon’s voice was growing fainter.
‘King who?’
‘Old Greek legend. King Minos of Crete built this huge mazelike building called the Labyrinth. He used it as a prison for the Minotaur.’
Harsh breaths cut through the darkness behind her. She whipped her gaze around, stumbling against the hedge. Where the hell was Dillon?
‘What’s a Minotaur?’ she called out, not liking the note of panic in her voice.
‘A man-eating monster, half man, half bull.’
She jogged along the narrow path. The scuffing sounds behind her grew louder, more urgent, the breathing laboured. Harry spun round again and stared at the dark empty path.
‘Dillon? Is that you?’
Silence. A wood pigeon cooed overhead. The footsteps had stopped. Had she imagined them?
‘Harry?’
She whirled round at the sound of Dillon’s voice, straining to locate him. Somewhere far to her left.
‘Wait there!’ She lurched round a bend. ‘And keep talking so I can find you.’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Just keep talking!’ She broke into a run, her heart thudding. ‘Go on about the Minotaur.’
‘Right. Well, the king locked the Minotaur up in the middle of the labyrinth and every year he sacrificed seven youths and seven maidens into the maze.’ His voice sounded stronger; she had to be nearly there. ‘They’d get lost, and eventually the Minotaur would eat them.’
Feet pounded on the track behind her. Harry gasped. She wheeled around a corner, the disorientation making her head spin. The sound of ragged panting tore after her through the dark. The path began to spiral, the bends so severe she could only see one step ahead. Something warm and damp tagged her shoulder from behind. Harry screamed