Free The Betrayal by Laura Elliot Page A

‘I’d better go back to the cottage. They’ll be wondering where I am.’
    He climbed up the steps behind me. I walked with him to the whitewashed pub where the others were waiting for him. The air was thick with smoke, densely packed with holiday makers. A piper played the pipes and a young girl stretched and pleated her concertina in a mournful wail.
    ‘Call that music.’ Jake threw his eyes upwards. ‘They won’t know what hit them when they hear Shard. See you tomorrow on the beach.’
    The main road leading from Monsheelagh Village was bright with street lamps and a blaze of light from the late night pubs. I left Jake at the door of Barney’s and walked towards the winding road leading back to Cowrie Cottage. There was no footpath, just a hedgerow and tall river reeds. The darkness would have been impenetrable except for my torch. The beam wavered before me as something swift and pattering darted across the road. I walked faster, aware that river rats were probably crouched between the stalky reeds. A car approached, the headlights swerving around a corner. I moved into the grass, hoping my feet wouldn’t slip into the ditch below. The car stopped. A light flared inside when the driver opened the door. I froze, afraid to move forward yet knowing I’d never escape if I ran. Why had I been so stupid? Joan had forbidden us to walk this narrow road alone at night. She had feared a road accident but had not mentioned the possibility of being attacked by a murderer or a rapist. My fears disappeared when I recognised Max Moylan.
    ‘In you get, young lady,’ he said. ‘Walking a country road at night is dangerous. You could easily have been knocked down. I’m surprised Joan allowed you out on your own at this hour.’
    ‘She doesn’t know I’m out.’
    ‘Does Karin?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Did you have a row?’
    ‘Sort of.’ I climbed into the passenger seat. ‘They were expecting you earlier.’
    ‘Sounds like I’m in the dog house again.’ Max sighed and slapped his hand to his forehead. ‘Oh well, it’s not the first time and it won’t be the last.’ He smiled across at me, a gash of white teeth against his tanned skin. ‘Should I duck when I enter?’
    I nodded, remembering the book Karin had flung at me with such venom. I was annoyed with him for spoiling the day. He would breeze into the cottage as if nothing was wrong and Karin would forget her disappointment, forget the hours she’d spent watching out for him. Joan would pour one glass of wine after another and make us forget how lovely she looked when she danced in the pub with the fisherman.
    It was as I expected. Max threw out excuses about a missed flight. He danced Joan around the kitchen when she demanded to know what actually kept him. Her feet tangled in his steps. It was obvious that she’d already opened the vodka bottle. She looked clumsy and cross when she pulled away from him and announced it was time to eat.
    As we ate the cold lamb Max regaled us with stories about his travels. I imagined him in a turban and sarong, sitting cross-legged in villages, recording voices and taking photographs of withered old faces with life stories written between the wrinkles. Karin was enthralled, her hand resting on her chin, her eyes fixed on his handsome face. Joan rubbed her knuckles together when he talked about the elegance of Indian women in their luminous saris. She picked at her food, poured wine with a steady hand and drifted away from us. She lurched forward and fell when she rose to go to bed. The suddenness of her fall shocked Max into silence. For an instant no one stirred. I wondered if he would leave her there, sprawled inelegantly at his feet. Then we moved as one and bent to lift her. We laid her on the bed and Max pulled the duvet over her.
    I saw him the following morning sitting on the rocks in Monsheelagh Bay. His hair was loose from the ponytail and looked as if he hadn’t bothered combing it. I’d risen early to draw the