‘Better than being stuck in the office?’ Meg said, starting to smile.
‘Better than the office.’ Maybe.
‘Then that’s okay,’ Letty said, accelerating again. ‘If you like my decorations then you can stay. The pair of you.’
‘You’re very generous,’ William said.
‘We are, aren’t we?’ Meg agreed, and hugged her dog.
And then the car pulled to a halt beside the house—and straight away there was more dog. Killer’s relatives? William opened the door and four noses surged in, each desperate to reach him. They were all smaller than Killer, he thought with some relief. Black and white. Collies?
‘Fred, Milo, Turps, Roger, leave the man alone,’ Meg called and the dog pack headed frantically for the other side of the car to envelope someone they obviously knew and loved. Meg was on the ground hugging handfuls of ecstatic dog, being welcomed home in truly splendid style.
William extricated himself from the car and stared down at her. Any hint of his cool, composed PA had disappeared. Meg was being licked from every angle, she was coated with dog and she was showing every sign of loving it.
‘Killer’s Meg’s dog,’ Letty said, surveying the scene in satisfaction. ‘Fred and Roger are mine. Turps and Milo belong to Scotty but they all love Meg. She’s so good with dogs.’
Meg was well and truly buried—and the sight gave him pause.
In twenty-four hours he should be entering his apartment overlooking Central Park. His housekeeper would have come in before him, made sure the heating was on, filled the place with provisions, even set up a tasteful tree. The place would be warm and elegant and welcoming.
Maybe not as welcoming as this.
He would have been welcomed almost as much as this on Christmas Day, he thought, and that was a bleak thought. A really bleak thought. The disappointment he’d felt when he’d learned of the air strike hit home with a vengeance.
He didn’t show emotion. He was schooled not to show it. But now…
It wasn’t any use thinking of it, he thought, struggling to get a grip on his feelings. Elinor would make alternative arrangements. The kids were accustomed to disappointment.
That made it worse, not better.
Don’t think about it. Why rail against something he could do nothing about?
Why was the sight of this woman rolling with dog intensifying the emotion? Making him feel as if he was on the outside looking in?
Back off, he told himself. He was stuck here for three days. Make the most of it and move on.
Meg was struggling to her feet and, despite a ridiculous urge to go fend off a few dogs, he let her do it herself, regain her feet and her composure, or as much composure as a woman who’d just been buried with dogs could have.
‘No, down. Oh, I’ve missed you guys. But where’s Scotty?’
Scotty was watching them.
The kid in the doorway was tall and gangly and way too skinny, even allowing for an adolescent growth spurt. He had Meg’s chestnut curls, Meg’s freckles, Meg’s clear green eyes, but William’s initial overriding impression was that he looked almost emaciated. There was a scar running the length of his left cheek. He had a brace enclosing his left leg, from foot to hip.
He was looking nervously at William, but as soon as William glanced at him he turned his attention to his sister. Who’d turned her attention to him.
‘Scotty…’ Dogs forgotten, Meg headed for her brother and enveloped him in a hug that was almost enough to take him from his feet. The kid was four or five inches taller than Meg’s meagre five feet four or so, but he had no body weight to hold him down. Meg could hug as much as she wanted. There was no way Scotty could defend himself.
Not that he was defending himself. He was hugging Meg back, but with a wary glance at William over her head. Suspicious.
‘Hi,’ William said. ‘I’m William.’ There. He’d said it as if it didn’t hurt at all.
‘I’m Scott,’ the boy said, and Meg released him and turned to face William, her arm staying round her brother, her face a mixture of defensiveness and pride.
‘This is my family,’ she said. ‘Letty and Scotty and our dogs.’
‘Scott,’ Scott said again, only it didn’t come out as it should. He was just at that age, William thought, adolescent trying desperately to be a man but his body wasn’t cooperating. His voice was almost broken, but not quite.
And, aside from his breaking voice, his leg looked a mess as well. You didn’t get to wear a brace that looked like scaffolding if the bones underneath weren’t deeply problematic.
Meg had told him her parents had died four years ago. Had Scott been in the same car crash? The brace spoke of serious ongoing concerns.
Why hadn’t he found this out? William had always prided himself on hiring on instinct rather than background checks. A background check right now would be handy.
‘Did the car get you here all right?’ the kid asked, and William could see he was making an effort to seem older than he was. ‘It needs about six parts replacing but Grandma won’t let me touch it.’
‘You mess with that car and we’re stuck,’ Letty said. ‘Next milk cheque I’ll get it seen to.’
‘I wouldn’t hurt it.’
‘You’re fifteen. You’re hardly a mechanic.’
‘Yeah, but I’ve read…’
‘No,’ Letty snapped. ‘The car’s fine.’
‘I tried messing with my dad’s golf cart when I was fifteen,’ William said, interrupting what he suspected to be a long running battle. ‘Dad was away for a month. He came back and I’d supplied him with a hundred or so extra horsepower. Sadly, he touched the accelerator and hit the garage door. The fuss! Talk about lack of appreciation.’
Scott smiled at that—a shy smile but a smile nonetheless. So did Letty, and so did Meg. And his reaction surprised him.
He kind of liked these smiles, he decided. They took away a little of the sting of the last few hours. It seemed he could put thoughts of Deliverance aside. These people were decent. He could settle down here and get some work done.
And maybe he could try and make Meg smile again. Was that a thought worth considering?
‘The Internet’s down,’ Scott said and smiling was suddenly the last thing on his mind.
‘The Internet…’ Meg said, sounding stunned. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘There’s been a landslip over at Tandaroit South and the lines are down. They don’t know when it’ll be fixed. Days probably.’
He was having trouble figuring this out. ‘Lines?’
‘Telephone lines,’ Scott said, an adolescent explaining something to slightly stupid next-generation-up.
‘You use phone lines for the Internet?’
‘I know, dinosaur stuff and slow as,’ Scott said. ‘But satellite connection costs heaps. Mickey has satellite connection, but Meg’s only just figured out a way we can afford dial-up.’
‘And…’ He checked his phone. ‘There’s no mobile reception here either,’ he said slowly.
‘No,’ Meg told him.
‘And now no fixed phone?’
‘No.’ Meg