The Scarlet Deep
Page 8
The woman who got out was small, but her stride was anything but delicate. Brigid Connor was one of the toughest women Anne had ever met. She was also a ferociously loyal friend.
“You got away late then?” Anne asked. “Oh! I like the purple. I wish I could do that with my hair. Drive go okay?”
“Fine.” Brigid grabbed Anne in a hug. “Good, actually. Nice to stretch my eyes and get away from the lights.”
Like many newer immortals, Brigid still had a hard time adjusting to city lights. Vampire eyes were more sensitive and electric lamps in the city could be overwhelming. Wearing sunglasses at night was often a necessity, not a fashion statement.
“So getting away late…”
“Carwyn’s fault entirely.” Brigid’s face immediately softened. “I had to placate the man for leaving him for a few days. You’d think I was going for years the way he pouts.”
Anne laughed. “He’s adorable.”
“And he knows it.”
“It’s good to see you,” Anne said, guiding her inside. “A friendly visit or is something going on?”
Brigid fell back in her usual chair, a smile flirting at the corner of her mouth. “I don’t know. Is there?”
“What are you on about?”
Brigid looked out the window to the slip of water that was visible. The moon was waning but still full, and the black water glittered silver in the night.
“I love this place,” Brigid said. “I don’t know if I ever told you how much it meant to be here after my turning.”
“You’re always welcome.”
“I know.” Brigid smiled. “You’re so lovely. And this place suits you so well. Such a distinctive part of the world. The water and the land meeting here. So beautiful and isolated…”
Anne was starting to worry. Brigid didn’t seem troubled, but why the philosophical rambling? It was hardly her way to make small talk. Usually she loathed it.
“Brigid—”
“Why does Murphy have a painting of your inlet hanging across from his desk?”
Well, shit.
“I always thought it was a bit odd.” Brigid’s smile had grown now. “He’s got such a fantastic view of the river from his office, but his back is to it. Security, I thought at first, but that’s not it. He’d hear anyone long before they could sneak up on him. No, he keeps his desk pointed away from the view because it’s pointing at the wall where that painting is hanging. And it’s not just a seascape, it’s your inlet. Your view from the dock. It took me a while to figure out why it seemed so familiar, but it finally hit me.”
Anne cleared her throat. “Aren’t you clever?”
“I really am.” The smile had turned into a grin. “He told me once that everyone called him Murphy”—Brigid lowered her voice and wiggled her eyebrows—“‘except those who didn’t,’ which I thought was grossly egotistical of him at the time—check that, I still think it’s egotistical. But then it hit me I knew who did call him Patrick.” She crossed her arms. “Angie calls him Patrick, but then they had a brief fling in the seventies, didn’t they? Know who else calls him Patrick?”
“Brigid…”
“You do! And then I thought, ‘Why hasn’t my dear friend Anne told me about her affair with the luscious Mr. Murphy?’ Combine that with a very intriguing painting hanging in his office where he can look at it every night, and it makes me wonder what gossip you’ve been holding out on. So, my friend who wanted every detail of Carwyn’s mad attempts at courtship, tell me the truth.” Brigid leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. “Are the rumors true, and does he ever lose control outside the boxing ring?”
She knew it was completely unintentional, but Anne felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach.
“It was… far more than a fling, Brigid.”
Some of her turmoil must have finally peeked through, because Brigid lost every hint of frivolity.
“Oh, Anne—”
“It was a long time ago. I… I didn’t know about the painting. I used to paint a bit, but I never knew he took one.”
Brigid was waving her hands. “No! I’m sorry. You don’t have to say anything. I thought it was like Angie, and we tease them both— Shit!” Brigid slapped a hand over her mouth. “Probably shouldn’t mention Angie. I’m an arse.”
If there was anything Anne couldn’t stand, it was a friend feeling uncomfortable in her presence. “Don’t be silly. Like I said, it was long ago. We’ve both had relationships over the years. I know about Angie and… all the others. It’s fine.”
“I’m an idiot,” she said, hanging her head. “So sorry. You’re just so quiet about your love life, and I thought I finally had something to tease you with.”
“Ah, I’m a nun these days.” Anne shrugged. “I can hardly blame you. I had to live vicariously when you and Carwyn got together. Turnabout is fair play, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not.” Brigid looked up. “Not when it was far more than a fling. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“You’re going to keep saying that, aren’t you?”
Anne huffed out a breath. “If I tell you that most of the rumors are likely true and that he was impressively adventurous for a man of his time, would you stop feeling guilty?”
“You got away late then?” Anne asked. “Oh! I like the purple. I wish I could do that with my hair. Drive go okay?”
“Fine.” Brigid grabbed Anne in a hug. “Good, actually. Nice to stretch my eyes and get away from the lights.”
Like many newer immortals, Brigid still had a hard time adjusting to city lights. Vampire eyes were more sensitive and electric lamps in the city could be overwhelming. Wearing sunglasses at night was often a necessity, not a fashion statement.
“So getting away late…”
“Carwyn’s fault entirely.” Brigid’s face immediately softened. “I had to placate the man for leaving him for a few days. You’d think I was going for years the way he pouts.”
Anne laughed. “He’s adorable.”
“And he knows it.”
“It’s good to see you,” Anne said, guiding her inside. “A friendly visit or is something going on?”
Brigid fell back in her usual chair, a smile flirting at the corner of her mouth. “I don’t know. Is there?”
“What are you on about?”
Brigid looked out the window to the slip of water that was visible. The moon was waning but still full, and the black water glittered silver in the night.
“I love this place,” Brigid said. “I don’t know if I ever told you how much it meant to be here after my turning.”
“You’re always welcome.”
“I know.” Brigid smiled. “You’re so lovely. And this place suits you so well. Such a distinctive part of the world. The water and the land meeting here. So beautiful and isolated…”
Anne was starting to worry. Brigid didn’t seem troubled, but why the philosophical rambling? It was hardly her way to make small talk. Usually she loathed it.
“Brigid—”
“Why does Murphy have a painting of your inlet hanging across from his desk?”
Well, shit.
“I always thought it was a bit odd.” Brigid’s smile had grown now. “He’s got such a fantastic view of the river from his office, but his back is to it. Security, I thought at first, but that’s not it. He’d hear anyone long before they could sneak up on him. No, he keeps his desk pointed away from the view because it’s pointing at the wall where that painting is hanging. And it’s not just a seascape, it’s your inlet. Your view from the dock. It took me a while to figure out why it seemed so familiar, but it finally hit me.”
Anne cleared her throat. “Aren’t you clever?”
“I really am.” The smile had turned into a grin. “He told me once that everyone called him Murphy”—Brigid lowered her voice and wiggled her eyebrows—“‘except those who didn’t,’ which I thought was grossly egotistical of him at the time—check that, I still think it’s egotistical. But then it hit me I knew who did call him Patrick.” She crossed her arms. “Angie calls him Patrick, but then they had a brief fling in the seventies, didn’t they? Know who else calls him Patrick?”
“Brigid…”
“You do! And then I thought, ‘Why hasn’t my dear friend Anne told me about her affair with the luscious Mr. Murphy?’ Combine that with a very intriguing painting hanging in his office where he can look at it every night, and it makes me wonder what gossip you’ve been holding out on. So, my friend who wanted every detail of Carwyn’s mad attempts at courtship, tell me the truth.” Brigid leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. “Are the rumors true, and does he ever lose control outside the boxing ring?”
She knew it was completely unintentional, but Anne felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach.
“It was… far more than a fling, Brigid.”
Some of her turmoil must have finally peeked through, because Brigid lost every hint of frivolity.
“Oh, Anne—”
“It was a long time ago. I… I didn’t know about the painting. I used to paint a bit, but I never knew he took one.”
Brigid was waving her hands. “No! I’m sorry. You don’t have to say anything. I thought it was like Angie, and we tease them both— Shit!” Brigid slapped a hand over her mouth. “Probably shouldn’t mention Angie. I’m an arse.”
If there was anything Anne couldn’t stand, it was a friend feeling uncomfortable in her presence. “Don’t be silly. Like I said, it was long ago. We’ve both had relationships over the years. I know about Angie and… all the others. It’s fine.”
“I’m an idiot,” she said, hanging her head. “So sorry. You’re just so quiet about your love life, and I thought I finally had something to tease you with.”
“Ah, I’m a nun these days.” Anne shrugged. “I can hardly blame you. I had to live vicariously when you and Carwyn got together. Turnabout is fair play, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not.” Brigid looked up. “Not when it was far more than a fling. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“You’re going to keep saying that, aren’t you?”
Anne huffed out a breath. “If I tell you that most of the rumors are likely true and that he was impressively adventurous for a man of his time, would you stop feeling guilty?”
