The Betrayal by Laura Elliot Read Free Book Online Page B

rationally?
    ‘Nothing that can’t be discussed another time,’ I reply.
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘Absolutely.’
    Art returns with the bill and places it discreetly on the table. A business card falls from Jake’s wallet when he removes his credit card. I notice the logo as I hand it back to him. A bird, vivid blue head, russet chest. Kingfisher Graphics is written in blue below the logo. I turn the card over and see her name. The letters rise towards me then dissolve into mist. My eyes sting.
    ‘Where did you get this?’ I hold the card out to him.
    The pause that follows is insignificant. In fact, it’s hardly noticeable, yet I’m acutely aware of his breathing, how it shortens before he clears his throat.
    ‘Probably at some trade fair.’
    ‘Which trade fair?’
    ‘How do I know?’ He shrugs, spreads his hands outwards, as if shoving the question away then his face clears. ‘No, that’s wrong. I remember now. We met on a flight to New York.’
    ‘You never told me.’
    ‘I meant to… then it slipped my mind.’
    ‘It slipped your mind?’
    He takes the card from me and glances at the logo. ‘She’s a graphic designer.’
    ‘I know what she is.’
    ‘She gave me her card in case we ever need her services.’
    ‘Why should we need a graphic designer?’
    ‘We don’t need most of the services offered on the business cards that people give us,’ he replies. ‘Have you ever looked at your desk? It’s littered with them.’
    The heat from the pizza ovens blasts over me. I press the beer glass to my cheeks. My forehead is hot, suddenly sweaty. ‘Yes. They’re on my desk, not in my wallet.’
    ‘I’d forgotten it was there. Why are you getting so uptight?’
    ‘Did she mention me?’
    ‘I can’t remember. We were only together for a short while. It took me ages to even remember who she was.’ Nothing in his voice or expression suggests he’s lying but there’s a tremor running through this conversation. It makes me nervous.
    ‘You never told me why you fell out with each other,’ he says. ‘I know what happened that summer was dreadful but I don’t understand why it destroyed your friendship.’
    ‘I’ve no intention of raking all that up again.’ I hate the hard snap in my voice but it’s better than a quiver. Karin Moylan will never make me quiver again. Why is Jake asking? Is it idle curiosity or did she say something? They must have talked about Monsheelagh. How could they not?
    ‘But you obviously haven’t forgotten,’ he says.
    ‘I said I don’t want…’
    ‘Okay… okay.’ He rips the card in two and flings the pieces on the table. ‘Let’s get out of here. The noise is doing my head in.’
    I remember the kingfisher in Odd Bods. Why I should suddenly think about a jumble shop in Gracehills Village where my mother loved to potter on Saturday afternoons is surprising but my mind darts like a silverfish towards the memory. Two months had passed since my return from Monsheelagh and I was with Sara when she discovered the stuffed kingfisher in a glass case, almost hidden behind a set of occasional tables.
    ‘What do you think, Nadine?’ She pulled it free and held it towards me. ‘How would this look on the hall table?’
    I backed away from the bird’s iridescent plumage, its savage gaze.
    ‘It’s too gaudy,’ I said. ‘I hate it.’
    ‘If you feel that strongly about it…’ She shrugged and replaced it back behind the tables. It was sold the next time we returned to Odd Bods.
    Karin Moylan’s name has been ripped in two but the kingfisher is still recognisable: its long dagger beak and pitiless eyes.
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    T he high , black gates with their sharply-pointed tips open and admit us to Bartizan Downs. The round, ornate bartizans are jutting like medieval turrets from the gate posts but the houses with their lush rolling lawns are in darkness. Only the smooth growl of our car suggests that lives are lived within this gated community.
    We go our separate ways when