Out of Sight

by Rebecca Duval

  “We need to apply a cold compress. Come here.”

  Isla hesitated. “I don’t think it’ll work through my trousers...they’re soaked in hot tea.”

  “Well take them off!” he said, clearly exasperated.

  She didn’t move.

  “Fucking hell Isla, your legs are burnt, and I can’t see!” Ethan emphasised the last two words making Isla feel stupid about her reluctance. She kicked off her shoes, and quickly unzipped her trousers, sliding them to the floor. She winced as the fabric scraped over her skin. Both her thighs were covered in small pink blotches.

  “Here,” Ethan held a cloth out to her, and Isla walked over to him, feeling more naked in her shirt and underwear than she ever had in her life.

  She took the cloth from him, and dabbed it against her left thigh, sucking air between her teeth.

  Ethan grabbed a towel from the side, and held it under the tap, spraying water all over himself before offering it to her.

  Isla pressed it to her other leg.

  “How bad is it?” Ethan asked.

  “It stings.”

  “Are they blistering? Do you need to go to hospital? I can get Ryder…”

  “No, really, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Isla lifted one of the cloths gingerly. “Honestly, it feels better already.”

  Unlike her stomach, which was flipping uncontrollably or her heart, which was racing erratically.

  Ethan held his hand out and Isla placed the cloth in it. Her fingers brushed against his, and she felt a heat run through her that had nothing to do with tea. Ethan’s expression was unreadable as he ran it under the water again. This time he pressed it against her leg himself. Isla’s skin goosebumped under his touch, betraying her. Ethan moved his hand away quickly and she passed him the other cloth, blushing furiously.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, frowning.

  Isla swallowed. “It’s not your fault. It was an accident.”

  “I wasnae talking about that.” His voice was low and uneven. “I shouldnae’ve touched you like that without your permission.”

  Isla’s breath caught in her throat.

  “It won’t happen again.” Ethan turned the tap off and stepped away from the sink. His t-shirt was wet through at the front and clung to his chest, his muscles visible under the damp white cotton. He turned in a full circle, looking lost.

  “Your shirt is wet,” Isla blurted.

  He stilled. “I know.”

  Isla dropped the damp cloths into the sink. She took a deep breath. “Ethan, I-”

  The castle doors banged, and they both froze.

  Then came distant laughter and voices- Ryder’s and someone else’s.

  Isla darted across the kitchen to retrieve her discarded trousers, pulling them on in one fluid motion, but then struggling with the zip, her hands trembling.

  The voices were growing louder. Ethan’s head was quirked to one side, listening, but Isla was more concerned about how she looked than what was being said. Dark stains covered the thighs of her trousers, and she knew she must be flushed and wide-eyed because that was exactly how she felt.

  “Ethan.” Ryder’s voice betrayed his surprise, and Isla realised at once he’d expected to find the kitchen empty. “I thought you were out walking.”

  Ryder looked from Ethan to her and back again. Someone was standing behind him, in the darkened hallway.

  “I just got back,” Ethan said.

  Ryder stepped aside. “Your brother is here.”

  A figure stepped from behind Ryder, and Isla was immediately struck by the family resemblance.

  “Connor?” Ethan sounded as surprised as Isla felt.

  Connor had the same unruly dark brown hair, although his was shorter than Ethan’s- razored around the back and sides, but long enough on top that Isla could see the same wave in it as his brother’s. They also shared the same strong jawline, although Connor’s was cleanly shaven.

  “Well,” he said looking from her to Ethan and back again. “This is...different.” He stepped forward with his hand extended. “Connor MacRae. And you must be Miss Belmont?”

  Isla blinked. How did he know?

  “Isla,” she managed dazedly. “Nice to meet you.” She shook Connor’s hand and felt him sizing her up, but with a sort of friendly curiosity, as though she wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Just what had he been expecting? And what was he doing here?

  “I hope I’m not disturbing ye?” Connor looked between her and Ethan.

  “A bit, aye,” Ethan muttered, just as Isla said, “No, not at all.”

  “Aye, right.” Connor’s green eyes twinkled.

  “I was just...making tea...” Isla said, aware of how lame it sounded. She turned away and began wiping down the countertop, pretending not to notice that every pair of eyes was on her. Every pair except Ethan’s. But she knew he was as aware of her presence as she was of his. Every nerve in her body was tuned to the same frequency as Ethan’s, and a faint buzzing ran through her.

  Ethan spoke at last. “Connor, what are you doing here?”

  “It’s Tuesday,” Connor said, as though that explained everything.

  Apparently, it did, because Ethan’s voice took on a strange quality. “It is?” He sounded genuinely baffled and slightly alarmed.

  Isla looked over at him.

  “Aye, you see yesterday was Monday and tomorrow is Wednesday...” Connor teased.

  “Thank ye for that wisdom, brother,” Ethan muttered.

  It was strange to witness the banter between the two of them, to hear Ethan’s accent slipping to match Connor’s thick burr, and to see this side of him that neither she or Ryder seemed to bring out.

  “I should get to work,” Isla mumbled.

  Ethan turned to her and raked one hand through his hair. “Are you...okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said quickly. Too quickly. She glanced over at Ryder, and then Connor and found them both looking at her.

  “Aye,” Ethan said. “Right.”

  He looked like he wanted to say more. Or was that just her imagination? Perhaps he just wanted her out of there. After all, he’d never spoken to her about his brother, even though he’d clearly told his brother about her. He’d obviously never intended for them to meet.

  “It was nice to meet you,” she said to Connor.

  “Likewise.”

  Isla slipped from the room, her legs, and face burning.

  *

  “Well,” Connor said.

  Ethan turned away, not wanting his brother to see what must surely be written all over his face.

  “I wasnae expecting...that.”

  “It’s been a busy few days, with the rewire and...everything, I lost track of time,” Ethan grasped for excuses.

  “Apparently so.”

  “Coffee?” Ryder asked.

  “Aye, go on,” Connor said.

  “It’ll have to be instant,” Ryder said. “No electricity means no coffee maker.”

  Ethan heard him refilling the kettle under the tap and almost groaned. No, no, no. Connor couldn’t stay. Not now. Not after that. Ethan needed time to think, he needed fresh air, a shot of whisky, a cold shower...basically anything that wasn’t a probing conversation with his older brother.

  “Actually, I’ve got things to do…” Ethan trailed off, wondering if Connor would take the hint.

  “Like what?”

  He could hear the disbelief in his brother’s voice, and really, who could blame him? Ethan hadn’t had ‘things to do’ for a very long time. He scrambled for an answer. “You may not have noticed, but I’m trying to clean this place up.”

  “Aye, I noticed,” Connor said. “But why the sudden rush?”

  Ethan turned away. That, he couldn’t answer.

  “Ethan, do you want a drink?” Ryder asked.

  He certainly did, but Ethan thought his brother would probably frown at him busting out the Scotch at this hour. “Aye,” he muttered. “Black and make it strong.”

  There
was a clatter of a spoon in a mug.

  “She’s bonnie,” Connor said.

  “I wouldnae ken.” Ethan shrugged.

  “Come off it Ethan, you’re my brother. You cannae fool me.”

  Ethan tried to sound less irritated than he felt. “I amnae trying to fool anyone. I cannae see remember, how would I know?”

  Connor made a sceptical noise in the back of his throat. “You dinnae need sight for some things, Ethan. So you’ve been spending a lot of time together, have ye?”

  “She works here, remember?”

  “Oh, I remember. But I was beginning to wonder if you did…”

  Ethan ignored the implication behind his brother’s statement. The kettle began to whistle on the hob, and the sound needled Ethan’s already frayed nerves. What had he been thinking of touching Isla like that? What might have happened if Ryder and Connor hadn’t walked in?

  He listened to the slosh of boiling water being poured into three mugs, and the scrape of the spoon against the enamel.

  “Here.” There was a soft thunk as Ryder placed a mug in front of him, and guided Ethan’s hand to it. “You got it?”

  The smell of coffee wafted up Ethan’s nostrils, and he grunted. “Thanks. So was there something you wanted Connor?”

  “Actually, there was,” Connor sounded amused, and not at all put-out by Ethan’s frosty reception.

  “And what’s that?”

  “I want ye to come to dad’s party.”

  Ethan groaned. “Not this again…”

  “Listen,” Connor cut him off. “It’s at The Windsor Hotel, so you willnae have to go back to the house, and you can leave anytime…”

  “I’d prefer to not go at all,” Ethan muttered.

  Connor ignored him. “And the best bit is, you dinnae have to worry about people staring because it’s a masquerade ball.”

  Ethan could hear the desperation in Connor’s voice. Trust his brother to come up with a birthday party theme that would remove Ethan’s main excuse not to go. Though they both knew that wasn’t the real reason. Yes, he hated the idea of a room full of people staring at him, but it wasn’t because of his scars.

  “I can’t.”

  “Ethan, please…you could bring Ryder. What do you think Ryder?”

  Ethan shook his head before Ryder could answer. “You arenae listening to me, Connor. I cannae do it.”

  “And Isla…”

  Ethan’s head snapped around. “What?”

  “I’m just saying...if you wanted to. It might be good to have a distraction…” Connor trailed off.

  Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb. He was going to have a nosebleed if Connor kept this up.

  “Ethan, it’s important-”

  “Fine!” Ethan snapped. “I’ll come to the bloody party.”

  “You will?” Connor’s disbelief was obvious.

  “Aye. For one drink. Alone.” Ethan emphasised the last part.

  “Aye, right.”

  Ethan exhaled slowly.

  “You alright there, brother?” Connor asked.

  Was he? Ethan didn’t know anymore.

  Fifteen

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  Isla snapped out of her reverie and turned from the window back to her mum, who sat across the table from her, with a look of thinly-veiled impatience on her face.

  “Sorry, I was just thinking about...work.”

  Her mum’s expression softened slightly, as Isla had known it would. One thing Juliet Belmont would never chastise her daughter about was being too career-focused. If anything she was probably delighted that work was preoccupying Isla’s thoughts. If only it were true.

  “I asked if you’re ready to order?”

  “Right. Of course. Yes, I’m going to have the sirloin in whisky sauce.”

  Isla caught the upward dart of her mum’s eyebrows.

  “What? I fancy a change.”

  “Apparently so,” her mum murmured, setting down her menu.

  This was one of Isla’s favourite places to eat in Edinburgh, and when her mum had suggested they meet up for dinner, she’d jumped at the chance, desperate to put her first week at Rosehill behind her, but even now, sitting across from her mum, at the small table with its view out onto Royal Mile, and the delectable smells wafting from nearby tables, Isla was finding that certain aspects of her week weren’t so easy to forget.

  Like the pressure of Ethan’s fingers encircling her wrists, the hitch in his breath as she’d read out that letter, the expression on his face when he’d held the cloth against her leg…

  After the young waiter had taken their order, Ms Belmont lifted her wine glass. “I think a toast is in order, don’t you?”

  Isla frowned. “What are we toasting?”

  Her mums’ stencilled eyebrows flew up. “You of course! Len told me how important this contract is-”

  She caught the look on Isla’s face. “Now don’t be mad at him. I asked! He told me that it’s just the start of bigger, brighter things for you.”

  Isla squirmed. “Thanks, mum,” she mumbled. “But I’m not sure we should be toasting quite yet-”

  “Nonsense.” Ms Belmont made a ‘pfft’ sound and chinked her glass against Isla’s. “To my driven, talented, and beautiful, girl.”

  Isla smiled. She knew her mum meant well, but she also knew from experience, that there was no room in Juliet Belmont’s worldview for failure or even doubt.

  She’d been near apoplectic when Isla had confessed she was no longer considering applying to any of the large auction houses because she loved Parsons & Co too much. But now that it seemed like the business was on the up, her mum’s focus had shifted. If her daughter was going to work in a dusty, old shop, then it was going to be the most successful dusty, old shop there had ever been. There could be no middle ground for Juliet Belmont, or her daughter.

  “I appreciate the support,” Isla said after their food had arrived. “It’s just that this valuation isn’t quite turning out the way we’d hoped.”

  Her mum looked up from her plate in alarm. “How so?”

  Isla shrugged. “The place hasn’t been well maintained, and that’s reflected in the quality of pieces I’m finding. That’s all.”

  But it wasn’t all. And from the way her mother chewed her salmon, her gaze never leaving Isla’s, Isla knew that her mum knew that, too.

  “And there’s the owner. Ethan MacRae,” Isla admitted reluctantly.

  “What about him?”

  Isla opened her mouth, and then quickly closed it again, when she realised that there was no way she could describe Ethan MacRae to her mother, that wouldn’t raise her suspicions.

  “Isla?” her mum prompted.

  Isla bit her lip. “Nothing.” She picked up her glass, and took a swig of wine, avoiding her mum’s eye.

  Her mum sighed, and put down her fork. “Isla Grace.”

  Isla put down her glass and looked over at her mum reluctantly.

  “You’ve worked so hard for this.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that,” Isla said testily.

  “No, I know. But perhaps I do have to tell you this-” she paused. “Be careful, Isla.”

  Isla frowned. “Of what?”

  “You know what.” Ms Belmont turned her attention back to her food.

  Not this again. Isla watched her mum carefully cutting a piece of salmon and sandwiching it onto her fork between two pieces of rocket.

  Her whole life Isla had been listening to this same piece of advice, this same warning over and over. Be careful. Such a mum thing to say, and if it was about driving at night, or holidaying alone, maybe it would be easier to stomach, but it wasn’t. There was an unspoken addition to the sentence that they both knew was there: of men. Or more specifically, of falling in love.

  “It isn’t like that,” Isla said.

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “But even if it was-”

  “Isla! Please tell m
e you’re not thinking of getting involved with a client?” she whispered across the table.

  “Mum, please! I’m just saying, that you don’t need to warn me to be careful. I am careful. I’ve been careful my whole life.”

  Her mum’s face fell. “Oh, darling, I know, but I worry about you, that’s all.”

  “Well, I wish you wouldn’t. I’m fine. I’m not you-” Isla gave her mum a pointed look.

  Juliet Belmont pressed her lips into a thin, red line. “I know that.”

  “Good. Then you know that what happened to you isn’t going to happen to me. I’m not about to get swept up in some torrid affair, and spend the rest of my life regretting it.”

  Isla caught her mum flinch, and a pang of guilt washed over her. She knew how much it hurt her mum to be reminded of her past- of him, but it wasn’t exactly fun for Isla either, being constantly reminded that her mum regretted the affair that had brought her into existence.

  “Do you know that man?”

  For a split second, Isla thought her mum was talking about Ethan MacRae, but then she caught her distracted gaze, over Isla’s shoulder.

  Isla twisted in her chair. “What man?”

  “Just there on the table by the- oh. He’s gone.” Ms Belmont frowned. “He was there a moment ago, and he was looking rather intently in this direction.”

  Isla shrugged. “A customer, maybe?”

  “Maybe.” Her mum didn’t sound convinced. She turned back to Isla, with a tight smile.

  “Now, what were you saying?”

  Isla shook her head. “Nothing important.”

  *

  Isla hugged her mum goodbye, and waved her off until the train had pulled out of Waverley station, then she began the trudge back to the shop.

  It was starting to rain, but even as she yanked the hood of her coat over her head, Isla found herself grateful for the walk. She needed time to think.

  One part of her wanted to heed her mum’s advice the way she’d always done. Shut off her emotions. Get the job done. Get the hell out of there. No looking back. But there was another part of her that worried it was already too late for that.

  Her whole life, she’d been on her guard, not even knowing what she was guarding herself against, never having to work too hard at it, but now...she railed against herself daily, trying not to let Ethan MacRae under her skin, trying not to care, trying not to feel...What would it be like to give in? To let herself just be? To let whatever might happen, happen, and to hell with the consequences?