Out of Sight

by Rebecca Duval

  Ethan sighed. “Just that I dinnae think Lou will be the worst of it. Not by a long shot.”

  Isla stopped dabbing and looked up at him. She had a mad urge to pull his mask off and kiss him right there and then, in front of everyone. That would give them something to stare at. She wadded the napkins in her fist and placed her other hand against his chest.

  “Ethan, if you don’t want to do this, we can leave.”

  “I cannae hide forever,” he spoke so quietly, Isla almost thought she’d imagined it. “I just would have preferred not to look like someone who cannae be trusted not to spill down themselves, you ken?”

  “You’re talking to someone who recently threw tea all over herself, remember,” Isla teased.

  Ethan didn’t smile, but his shoulders relaxed. “Aye, I remember.”

  The young waiter was back, clearly eager to earn his tip, and possibly more. Isla took the glass he offered and pressed it into Ethan’s hands.

  “Next time, bring two.” She winked, and the lad scuttled off.

  “My, what a beautiful dress.” A man in a poorly fitted suit sidled towards them. He was wearing a colourful mask with an obscenely long nose and clutching two champagne flutes.

  Isla shifted uncomfortably and felt Ethan tense-up beside her.

  “Thank you,” Isla murmured. “It’s vintage. And what an interesting mask.” She turned to Ethan. “This gentleman is a Scaramouche.”

  “Is he, aye?” Ethan muttered.

  The stranger drained one of the champagne flutes and plonked it onto the table beside him. “So, how do you know the MacRaes?” he slurred.

  “Oh, we go way back,” Ethan said.

  Isla thought she detected a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth.

  “Is that so?” The man hiccoughed. “I bet you don’t know the mad brother they keep locked away here.”

  Isla glanced at Ethan in alarm, but he only swilled the remaining whisky around his glass.

  “Oh aye, I know him alright.”

  The man swayed and pouted slightly. He lowered his voice. “They say he has syphilis, you know.”

  Isla choked on her champagne, bubbles fizzing up her nose, and tears springing to her eyes.

  “Do they, aye?” Ethan knocked back his drink.

  “Oh, yes,” the Scaramouche continued, oblivious. “Blind, disfigured, quite unhinged.”

  “Well if you’ll excuse us, I think this is our song.” Ethan grasped Isla’s hand in his and extended his cane in the other with one slick movement. As they sliced a path through the crowd, Isla glanced over her shoulder and saw the Scaramouche gaping after them, realisation penetrating his drunken fog.

  “What are you doing?” Isla squeaked in alarm, as Ethan parted the crowds with the swish of his cane.

  “If they’re going to talk about me anyway, I may as well give them something to talk about.” Ethan stopped abruptly. “Are we on the dancefloor?”

  “Yes, but Ethan-”

  Ethan let go of her hand and folded his cane, placing it on the floor beside him. He dipped into a low bow. “In that case, will you do me the honour of this dance?”

  Thirty Four

  Isla gaped down at Ethan, and then around at the hundreds of pairs of eyes fixed on them. “Literally everyone is looking at us,” she whispered.

  “Then might I suggest not wounding my pride by refusing?” Ethan straightened up and held out one injured hand.

  Isla took it, and there was an audible murmur through the crowd, as Ethan pulled her towards him.

  “Can you dance?” Isla murmured as his face drew closer to hers.

  “You tell me.”

  He could. Isla barely needed to think, as he twirled her around the dancefloor, which was a good thing since she felt incapable of anything resembling rational thought. She was dancing with Ethan, he was dancing with her, in front of an entire ballroom of people. Were Connor and Ryder watching? What about his parents? Isla saw mask after mask fly by over Ethan’s shoulder, like a zoetrope. She turned away from the whirling images, focusing instead on Ethan’s face.

  “Well aren’t you going to ask me?” he murmured, as he drew her closer.

  “Ask you what?” Isla blinked.

  “If I have syphilis.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” This was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to her, and here Ethan was, talking about venereal disease. “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.”

  “For all you know, it could be true.”

  “Ethan, if I believed every rumour I’d heard about you tonight, I’d have been running screaming down the drive hours ago, not waltzing across the dancefloor with you.”

  A smile danced across Ethan’s lips. “Is that so?”

  “Aye,” Isla mocked his accent. “It is.”

  The tempo of the song shifted, and Ethan pulled her against his chest. Isla knew that if she raised her eyes, she would find everyone staring, but she couldn’t bring herself to care, with Ethan’s heart beating against her cheek.

  “What music is this?” she murmured into the lapels of his tuxedo jacket.

  “Le Cygne,” Ethan spoke into her hair.

  Ethan spun her away from him, and Isla floated over the gleaming ballroom floor, her feet barely touching the ground.

  “When did you learn to dance like this?” she breathed, as he pulled her into him.

  “A lifetime ago.”

  “Then why did you ever stop?”

  Ethan’s grip tightened on her hand. “I couldnae do it alone.”

  The song reached its climax, and Ethan lowered Isla into a dip. High above her, the chandelier glittered, and propelled by the rising hot air, the escaped balloons on the ceiling swirled in their own silent dance. A sea of upside-down masks stared on as Ethan gently lifted her, and then the applause started.

  Isla whirled around, searching the ocean of guests for the lone culprit. Connor stepped forward, a wide grin beneath his devil mask, and then Ryder, beside him. A few other guests joined in, hesitantly at first, then with more enthusiasm, until the ballroom roared with applause.

  “I told you,” Ethan whispered into Isla’s ear, raising the hairs on her neck. “That will keep them talking. Now shall we get out of here?”

  “Yes please,” Isla whispered.

  “Ethan? Is it...can it be...is it really you?”

  Ethan froze, his body going rigid beneath Isla’s touch. She peered cautiously around him to find a woman in an ice-blue dress staring at Ethan like she wasn’t sure he was real. She was petite, her dark hair streaked with grey. Isla guessed she was in her late fifties. She lifted her silver, fabric mask, and recognition jolted through Isla. She’d never seen the woman before in her life, but she’d recognise those golden-brown eyes anywhere.

  Beside her, Ethan turned. “Yes ma, it’s me.”

  *

  Ethan’s mum went on staring and blinking, and Ethan stood, silent and rigid. Isla was afraid that if she touched him, he’d shatter.

  A maskless man with a shock of grey hair swept up beside Ethan’s mum, grinning widely. “Darling, another drink?”

  “Richard,” Ethan’s mum’s voice cracked. “Richard. Look-”

  He looked, first at Isla, and then at Ethan, his brow creasing, and then unfolding as his entire face went slack. “Ethan?”

  “Happy birthday Dad,” Ethan said without inflection.

  “I don’t...Connor didn’t...but how…” Ethan’s mum looked from her husband to Ethan, and then to Isla. She looked genuinely shocked. Her eyes wide, her skin pale, her mask shook in her hand. Clearly, she hadn’t expected Ethan to attend the ball, but then neither had Isla. No one had.

  Eventually, Ethan spoke. “Ma, dad, this is my…” they all stared at Ethan, waiting for him to elaborate. “This is Isla.” His brow creased momentarily.

  Mr MacRae collected himself quicker than his wife and held out a hand to Isla. “Richard MacRae. It’s a pleasure.”

  Isla shook his hand.
“Likewise. And it’s lovely to meet you too, Mrs MacRae.” she held out her hand to Ethan’s mum. Mrs MacRae took it, wrapping her long fingers around Isla’s hand and squeezing tightly. Her eyes filled with tears. “Please, call me Marissa. It’s a delight to meet you.” She let go of Isla’s hand.

  “We had no idea you’d be here. Well, of course, we knew you’d be here, but we didn’t think...did we darling?” Richard MacRae addressed his wife, but his eyes never left his son, as though he were afraid that if he looked away, Ethan might vanish into thin air.

  “None at all,” Ethan’s mum whispered. “After all this time-” she broke off suddenly. “But here you are!” It was obvious she still didn’t quite believe it herself.

  “Here we are,” Ethan repeated.

  “That was a beautiful dance,” Mrs MacRae looked to Isla, her eyes shining.

  “Oh, that was all Ethan.” Isla blushed. “I barely had to do a thing.”

  “I never thought...” Mrs MacRae shook her head, and a single tear escaped down her cheek. She quickly brought her hand up to her face. “Excuse me.”

  “Marissa.” Her husband rubbed her arm soothingly.

  “Ma-” Ethan started.

  Isla looked down at her empty hands. “Why don’t I get some drinks?”

  Ethan’s hand shot out, closing around her wrist. “No.” He kept his voice low, but there was no way his parents hadn’t heard. Isla risked a glance at Mr MacRae and sure enough, he was frowning at his son. Mrs MacRae’s eyes flickered from Ethan’s hand on Isla’s wrist, up to Isla’s face.

  Isla closed her hand over Ethan’s hand and lifted it from her wrist. He didn’t resist. “I’ll be right back.” She squeezed his hand. “I promise.”

  Isla wound her way through the room full of bodies, murmuring apologies. She didn’t look back once at Ethan and his parents. She couldn’t. She knew the sight of him standing there like a statue would make her chest ache.

  Clearly, there were things going on here that she had no idea about, and whatever those things were, they’d kept Ethan and his parents apart for years, with only Connor as a go-between. As much as she wanted to be there for him, and support him through this, whatever needed to be said wasn’t going to happen with her standing there.

  They needed some space, and she needed another drink.

  Isla took her time finding a server, sliding a glass from his tray, she flashed him a smile. “And if you could take some over there-” Isla turned to gesture, but Ethan and his parents had disappeared. She frowned and craned her neck.

  “Oh. They seem to have gone. Sorry.”

  “Not a problem.” The waiter flashed her a smile and moved on.

  Isla wound her way back across the ballroom, a gnawing starting in her gut. She shouldn’t have darted away like that. She’d promised Ethan she wouldn’t leave him, and then at the first uncomfortable moment, she’d done exactly that.

  She did a lap of the room, twisting her head from side to side, peering over shoulders and around groups of guests, trying to spot either Ethan or his parents, but there was no sign of them.

  Isla slipped through the ballroom doors into the darkened hall, her heart pounding. Voices carried down the corridor towards her. Isla took a step towards them.

  “I didnae ask you to do it!” Ethan’s voice was unmistakable, but he sounded angrier than Isla had ever heard him. Not even on that first day, when she’d crept into his room had she heard such venom in his tone. Isla froze.

  “No, of course not, but what else could we do?” That was Richard MacRae.

  “Ethan, you have to understand-” Mrs MacRae pleaded.

  “No! You have to understand! I told you what I wanted, and you wouldnae listen. You went against my wishes, in every single respect, and then when it was all over you expected me to move on and be grateful?” Ethan laughed. It was a bitter, hollow sound that made Isla’s stomach churn. She shouldn’t have left him. This was not how she’d imagined their reunion going. Isla began moving slowly towards the shadowy figures she could see at the foot of the grand staircase.

  “Ethan, you were our son. You’re our son still.” It sounded like Ethan’s mum was crying now. “Tell me, what would you have had us do? See you sent away for it, in your condition? And for what?”

  Isla stilled her pulse leaping. Away?

  “Because it’s what I deserved! Or does justice have a different definition when it comes to your own son?” Ethan spat the words out.

  Justice for what? Isla’s mind was racing, but her body was locked in place.

  “Ethan Alasdair MacRae! You will not talk to your mother like that!” Ethan’s dad’s voice boomed. “I don’t care how upset you are. We did what we thought was best for you at the time. You disagreed - it’s clear that you disagree still - and for that, we’re both heartily sorry, but I will not have you upsetting your mother.”

  “I amnae trying to upset anyone.” Ethan’s voice was lower now, devoid of the emotion from a moment ago. Isla forced her feet forward. Every single part of her wanted to turn back, pretend she hadn’t heard any of this, but how could she, when that meant abandoning Ethan?

  “Why did you come?” Mrs MacRae asked. She was definitely crying now. “After three years…why now?”

  “Connor asked me to,” Ethan said.

  “But this isn’t the first time he’s asked something of you, I’m sure,” Mr MacRae sounded confused.

  “No,” Ethan agreed.

  “Is it because of her? Isla?”

  Isla thought she’d been spotted, but she was still in the shadows of the corridor a few feet away. Then she realised that Ethan’s mum hadn’t been speaking to her, but about her.

  “No. This has nothing to do with her.” Ethan’s answer was resounding, and it hit Isla like a punch to the gut.

  “So, she doesn’t know?” Mr MacRae had dropped his voice.

  Know what? Isla steadied herself with one hand on the wall.

  “What do you think?” Ethan snapped.

  “Oh, Ethan-”

  The floor creaked beneath Isla’s foot, and Mrs MacRae cut off abruptly. Isla winced. There was nothing for it now, but to brazen it out. She stepped forward into the hall.

  “There you are!” She feigned surprise, badly.

  Ethan’s brow furrowed above his mask. She saw how tightly he gripped his cane in one hand and the bannister post in the other. Behind him, Mrs MacRae was hastily swiping tears from her cheeks with her thumbs.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not interrupting am I?”

  “Not at all,” Ethan’s dad piped up. “We should get back to the party, Marissa.”

  Ethan’s mum looked between Isla and Ethan, then she turned to her husband. “Yes, of course.”

  Isla flashed them what she hoped was a reassuring smile as they passed, but in truth, she had no idea what her expression was doing. What the hell had she just overheard?

  Music and excited chatter spilled out into the dark corridor as the MacRae’s stepped through the ballroom doors.

  Isla reached for Ethan. “I’m sorry for leaving you.”

  His arm was rigid beneath her hand. He didn’t answer.

  “Ethan? Are you okay?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Ethan gave a short, bitter laugh. “That’s the last thing I want.”

  “Okay. Then, shall we get back?”

  Ethan didn’t answer, but he allowed himself to be led back to the ballroom.

  The music had stopped, and there was an air of anticipation. Isla found a quiet corner for her and Ethan to stand in. He was like a stone statue at her side. Isla wasn’t even convinced that he was breathing. She squeezed his arm gently. She saw Mrs MacRae glance in their direction, and tug on her husband’s arm.

  “Attention, ladies and gentlemen.” The voice belonged to Connor, and it boomed around the ballroom, courtesy of the microphone he was clutching in front of him. “And the rest of you, aye.” There was a snigger in the crowd
.

  Ethan’s parents shifted their attention from one son to the other, although Isla noticed Mrs MacRae glancing back at Ethan as if to check he was still there.

  “Don’t worry, I willnae keep you. I only want to say a few words,” Connor continued.

  The young waiter from earlier approached Ethan and Isla. “Another drink, sir? Miss?”

  Isla took the two glasses from the tray and passed one to Ethan. He knocked it back in one and set back on the tray with a clatter.

  The young lad’s eyebrows raised marginally, but he didn’t say anything. Isla gave him a weak smile.

  “Thank you, I think that will be all.”

  Connor cleared his throat into the microphone. “First of all, of course, I need to say happy birthday to my dad. Where are you?” Connor scanned the crowd. “There he is, ladies and gents.” He pointed. “Richard MacRae, sixty years old today, and doesn’t look a day over thirty, am I right?”

  A ripple of polite laughter passed through the ballroom, and Connor winked at his Dad.

  “In all seriousness. I owe everything to him. Dad, you’re an inspiration truly, and I only hope I can do you, and our family name, proud.”

  Mr MacRae smiled at his son.

  Connor swallowed audibly. “I want to thank you all for coming here tonight to celebrate my dad’s birthday. I know that some of you will have been thrown by the sudden change of venue, and I appreciate your effort coming out here to the unknown. Of course, there’s someone else I need to thank...”

  “I cannae do this.” Ethan wrenched his arm from Isla’s. He strode away towards the terrace, his cane swooping before him. People hurriedly shuffled out of the way, as Connor continued his speech.

  “Without this person, tonight couldn’t have happened. I know he doesnae like the limelight, not that you’d ever have guessed to see him dancing just now...”

  A low ripple of chatter passed through the crowd. Isla heard the words ‘told you’ and ‘it’s him’.

  Connor looked to Isla, a frown falling across his face when he saw the retreating back of his brother. “I willnae ask him to come up here, but I hope you'll join me in showing your appreciation for the owner of Rosehill Hall, my brother, Ethan MacRae.” Connor raised his glass. “To Ethan-”